Page 1 of Good Duke Gone Hard

Chapter 1

1815, England

OF ALL THE POSSIBLE reactions Margaret could have imagined she would have upon seeing Jonathan again, she would never have predicted the combination of hugging with all her heart and then slapping with all her strength.

Hugging, yes. Slapping, also yes. But to run up to him, fling herself onto him, hang on for dear life, and then to pull back and slap him for all she was worth? She shook her head at her impulsiveness, for even that behavior surprised herself. Although, truth be told, how can anyone predict their reaction to someone returning from the dead?

With those thoughts racing through her mind, Margaret sat restlessly on her chair as she watched their other houseguest, Mr. Lyle Fairfax, take his oh sweet time to consider his next move on the chessboard.There were only so many possible moves. Didn’t he realize how long he was spending on this one inconsequential move in the grand scheme of life?

Not that she had callers, luncheons, or balls at the moment. In fact, she was dreadfully, but not irrevocably, bored. Another rainy morning had passed, locking her indoors with her painting. But a woman could only sketch and then paint a bird so many times in so many variations of teal and then chartreuse. Again, a seemingly inconsequential pursuit for someone hoping to be a productive member of society. And although painting was a passion, even that couldn’t prevent her restlessness today.

“Dear daughter, that’s the third time you’ve shifted in your seat in the last two minutes,” Her Grace, the dowager duchess of Wellingford, Ainsley Campbell chastised. “Please.” The single word was half plea half encouragement to sit still or seek out another activity. Mother and daughter being well attuned to each other’s moods and communication methods meant small gestures and simple words could convey complex thoughts, even fully plotted schemes, without anyone the wiser.

Margaret raised her eyes to Lyle as he sat leaning forward in his chair with his index finger indenting his chin.

He was lost. Again.

Margaret let out a deliberately long and heavy breath.

No reaction.

She repeated the action, this time adding a vocal hum to the breath.

It was enough to tear his eyes away from the board where she should have been strategizing for her next move. “We can continue this later.” He waved her away with a dismissive gesture, far too informal to reflect their roles, but much more representative of the sheer amount of time they’d spent together since Lyle and her brother had gone into business together. Her brother, Gregory, the Duke of Wellingford, had become an investor in Lyle’s Vauxhall this past summer. While Gregory was away, Lyle was staying on as their houseguest to offer male camaraderie for Jonathan, along with some moral support.

Indeed, much had happened this summer. But Margaret didn’t want to dolefully recall losing her best friend, albeit in marriage to her brother, and being left all alone for the cold, dull winter months. She had no one to blame but herself, since she had just spent the last few months behind the scenes, plotting for Mary and Gregory to finally declare their undying love for each other. Took long enough.

She popped out of her seat. “I’m going out.”

Her mother inclined her head and tilted to the gray clouds outside.

“For a short walk.”

“Yes, dear,” her mother mindlessly answered as she continued her needlework.

What more needlework could their estate need? It had to be going to a charity of some kind.

***

JONATHAN WOODS SAT ON the stone bench overlooking one of the large ponds on the Chatsworth House estates. The pussywillows swayed in the breeze against the flat gray backdrop. It felt like his whole life was flat right now.

Yet the water drew him every day. Sometimes twice a day. And every day, sometimes twice, he answered the call. He had no idea why he came, except that he knew he was searching for and waiting for answers.

Until just recently he had been staying at Glaston Hospital, just off the Bristol Channel, where he knew no one, and no one knew him. More to the point, he remembered absolutely nothing before Glaston. Doctor Phillip Walker became his only reasonable, sane, acquaintance, since Glaston Hospital accommodated the mentally unstable.

He didn’t feel unstable. He couldn’t feel unbalanced because there was nothing to balance—well, almost nothing.

Dr. Walker had become his friend, so close in fact, that for the last few months, after a near three year stint in the hospital, he stayed with the kind, elderly doctor, helping him around his house and on his calls.

And then one day he woke up and finally remembered something: the name Chatsworth House. Upon telling Dr. Walker, Jonathan was determined to find out what it meant. He had no way of knowing what to expect. Since he wouldn’t have been able to sign with his own name–not knowing it–he didn’t send a letter first. He just wanted to show up and see it. Impulsive, certainly. Was he impulsive? He didn’t know. He could be.

He dropped his head in his hands. He could be anything.

MARGARET HEADED TOWARD THE pond. It was her favorite place to think. If she was feeling warm she could always dip her feet in the water to cool off, and when she was feeling particularly spritely, she just disrobed and dove in for a quick swim.

As she meandered toward the pond, she recalled when she first saw Jonathan back from his disappearance of three long years. She happened to be walking past the front door when fate presented him. He was just standing there in all his golden glory, as if three years hadn’t passed, as if her world hadn’t turned upside down, deflated, and squeezed of all life.

When she saw him, she stared for a full ten seconds. She knew because she made herself count. Well, she intended to count to ten. She made it to about four when she broke into a run and flung herself at him. All she could think of was that he felt the same, but different. And he smelled…different. But he was the same man. She was touching the familiar nape of his neck, grasping at his hair, pressed against his chest. Her body confirmed that he was indeed the same man that had been her closest friend and heartiest competitor. And so much more. He was the same man, but so, so different.

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