The Duke of Ravens Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Regency Hearts Series

  Other Books by Jennifer

  Newsletter Information

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  The Duke of Ravens

  Regency Hearts

  Book 3

  Jennifer Monroe

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Regency Hearts Series

  The Duke of Fire

  Return of the Duke

  The Defiant Brides Series

  The Duke’s Wager

  The Spinster’s Secret

  The Duchess Remembers

  The Earl’s Mission

  Duke of Thorns

  If you love Regency that has heart, as well as characters who are fun and distinct, then Jennifer invites you to escape with her into her world. If you would like to drop her a line or join her exclusive newsletter, just enter the link below into your browser.

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  Chapter One

  The crackling of the wood in the fireplace was deafened by the conversation of those attending the party at Blackwood Estates. Caroline Hayward, Duchess of Browning, smiled politely as a couple, whose name she could not recall, walked toward her, laughing at some private joke. They stopped long enough to return her smile with one of their own, presumably genuine, before moving past her toward the table that held various cakes and finger foods.

  She followed them with her eyes, her thoughts filled with wonder. She had often dreamed of possessing joyfulness like those around her, and by all outward appearances, she should be happy. Married to her husband of five years, she now owned the finest of dresses and gowns, expensive jewelry, and had more servants than she would ever need.

  So, why was she not happy? Perhaps it was the fact she had no one in which to confide. So many secrets hid away inside her, words she wished to utter, to let someone know of her pain. However, she could not do such a thing and knew she never would. Not because she lacked the courage to do so, but rather she was afraid of the repercussions that would follow. She was unsure what she feared more; the rumors that were likely to make their rounds or the swift hand of her husband. Reginald was quick to anger, and over the last five years, Caroline had learned to adhere to the old adage that women should be seen and not heard.

  Or was that children? she wondered. It mattered not, for the saying applied to her regardless.

  Smiling at another couple, she raised her wine glass and took a polite sip as she looked over the ornate ballroom. In the far corner played a string quartet, the violin melody threatening to lift her off her feet. Guests were laughing and drinking, clearly pleased with the party. That gratified her; it was the point of these functions, was it not?

  Her eyes fell on her husband across the room, and she frowned. He was engaged in conversation with a woman, Miss Mary French, whose morals were as loose as the tongue of a drunken lout. Watching the two, Caroline felt her heart drop, for she knew all too well that what the Duke wanted, he would get. And judging by his lustful expression, he wanted that woman.

  Letting out a sigh, Caroline took another sip of her wine, pushing out her frustrations about Reginald. Nothing she could say or do would change the man, so why waste time on such worries? Instead, she turned her thoughts to their son, Oliver. The boy had just turned five and was the only light in her otherwise dark world. The time she spent with him she cherished, whether it was reading him a story or allowing the boy to use his exceptional imagination to tell one of his own.

  “Duchess,” a female voice said.

  Caroline turned and smiled at the older woman she knew well. “Lady Barnsfield,” she said as she leaned down to give the tiny Baroness a kiss on the cheek. “Are you enjoying the party?”

  “I most certainly am,” the woman said, her voice a raspy breath. “In fact, I was just telling Harold how your parties are always my favorite. And I must say,” she said as she gave an appreciative smile, “you look absolutely beautiful in that gown.” Lady Barnsfield had always been a kindly soul, and Caroline appreciated the fact the woman had always treated her as a daughter. In most cases, others of the peerage wished only to use her as a means to get to her husband, but not Lady Barnsfield. When she spoke, it was with honesty, and few people appreciated it more than Caroline. More than likely because she did not always have kind words for everyone.

  “I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” Caroline said, honest for the first time that night. “And, as for the gown, I do like it.” She glanced down at the rich blue velvet trimmed with white lace. The neckline emphasized her bosom much more than she would have liked, but Reginald had insisted—no, he ordered—she purchase it the week prior. It would not have been Caroline’s first choice, but she did what she was told and that was that.

  She and Lady Barnsfield continued with their pleasantries, and the conversation turned to Lord Barnsfield and his pitiful snoring. The poor woman clearly starved for company, much like Caroline herself.

  “Oh, there he goes again drinking another brandy,” Lady Barnsfield said, her eyes narrowing. “More than two and his snores will wake the entire household. Forgive me for leaving, but I must go and stop him.”

  Caroline giggled as the woman walked away. Despite the complaints the Baroness gave, she had made it perfectly clear how much love she had for her husband.

  If only I could be as fortunate, she thought.

  She finished the remainder of her wine and set it on a side table for one of the servants to retrieve. Even after five years, leaving to others that which needed to be done felt odd, but what else could she do? If the people had no work, they would have no reason to be employed, thus losing their positions and being without an income. Without an income, people would have no means on which to live, and Caroline could not see that happen to even one of the servants.

  Another glass was thrust into her hand before she knew what was happening, and she turned to face a man who resembled Reginald in so many ways, he could have been his twin despite the difference of twelve years in age. Neil Hayward was nearing fifty, but he had the same deep lines in his face and gray hair on his head as Reginald, making both appear closer to seventy.

  “I thought you could use another,” Neil said with an air of self-assurance.

  Caroline bent her head slightly. “Thank you.” She made a purposeful glance around the room. “Everyone seems happy, do they not?”

  The man gave a nod of agreement, but his eyes remained on her breasts. His ogling made her sick; the only thing lacking in his gaze was drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.


  She stared at the man, finding it difficult to hide her repulsion—he was the brother of her husband, after all. If he had been any other man and she any other woman, even one titled as she was, arguments would arise. However, her husband cared not for how she was treated by anyone, especially his brother.

  “Indeed,” Neil replied to her question. “Many are enjoying themselves immensely; however, some are growing bored like me. Perhaps you can show me to a guest room.”

  His eyebrows rose, and Caroline thought her stomach would empty on the spot. She had no trust for this man, and she certainly would not walk anywhere alone with him, but most especially to a room with a bed.

  She attempted to temper the panic that tried to rise in her as she glanced around the room to find any excuse to deny him. When her gaze returned to him, his smile had widened, the lust behind his eyes clear.

  “Would you not like to remain and keep me company for a few moments?” she asked with a smile she could barely form. “I am sure we could alleviate your boredom by joining another group in conversation.”

  His crooked smile did nothing to hide the anger that flashed in his eyes. “Of course, that would be a delight.” He glanced away. “Oh, one moment please.”

  He walked over to speak with a man around her own age of four and twenty. A few moments later, both men returned.

  “Duchess Hayward, may I introduce Mr. Christopher Grandstone, Marquess of Trapton.”

  Lord Grandstone gave her a polite bow. “Your Grace.”

  Caroline nodded her acknowledgment. The man seemed pleasant enough, and Caroline welcomed the distraction for Neil.

  “Grandstone has just graduated from University,” Neil said, “and will be returning to Oxford to lecture on government something or other in Africa.”

  Mr. Grandstone shook his head. “Actually, I will be speaking of the abysmal treatment of orphans in Africa, but I would not wish to bore you with the details.”

  “Not at all,” Caroline replied. Any topic had to be better than anything Neil had to say. Plus, she did find herself interested in the subject matter, even if she knew virtually nothing about Africa or its orphans.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when Neil walked away, and she relaxed. The man made her feel as if her gown had been infested with bedbugs.

  “Orphans in Africa?” she said with interest now that Neil was gone. “What made you decide to speak on such a subject?”

  “I hope to educate a new generation of men about the atrocities of what is happening on that continent, especially in…”

  As he continued to speak, something from the corner of Caroline’s eye caught her attention. Neil had gone to her husband and was now pointing a finger in her direction.

  Reginald frowned, and panic washed over Caroline.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting the man mid-sentence, “but I must see to something.”

  “Oh, well, if you must…”

  Before she could get away, however, her husband’s cold hand was on her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh. She knew better than to react, even if his grasp pained her, for all too many times she had been forced to remain in her rooms for a minimum of three days so no one would see the bruises he had left in the wake of his anger.

  “Pardon me,” Reginald said with a curt tone, though he did not look at Mr. Grandstone. “I must speak to my wife for a moment.” He did not release his grasp as he led her from the room.

  The sounds of laughter and music faded as he led her up the stairs. At the top, he grabbed a single candle from one of the stands, cursing when the hot wax dripped on his fingers.

  “Reginald, you are hurting me,” Caroline said now that they were alone. She did not struggle, however; that would bring on even more pain.

  “You have angered me once again,” he growled as he led her to a far door. He removed a key from his vest pocket and inserted it into the lock before pulling the door open.

  “What have I done?” she asked, trying to keep her fear at bay but failing miserably.

  Her jaw cracked as his fist made contact with it, and tiny pinpricks played in her vision. “Thrusting your body toward any man who looks your way?” he said, stepping in close to her, his breath hot on her face. “You are an embarrassment and a harlot. I should throw you back to the streets where I found you!”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rubbed her chin. That would leave a purpling that would last much longer than three days.

  “You are to remain here tonight. Do not leave. Tomorrow I will decide on your punishment, but for now, I will enjoy the remainder of my evening. But worry not, for I will not be alone. At least there are those who know how to show me the respect I deserve.”

  He pushed her through the door, the weak light of the candle lighting up a small room with a tiny window that contained only a small bed as the only form of furnishings. There was no commode, only a simple bucket where she could relieve herself.

  “Oliver,” she whispered. “May I at least kiss our son goodnight?”

  He snorted. “No. The boy is weak enough already. He does not need you fawning over him any longer. That will be the next thing we will improve; the way you coddle the boy. But I do not wish to discuss it now. I have more entertaining matters to attend to.” He let out a cough as he closed the door, leaving her in darkness, and locked the door behind him.

  Caroline sobbed as she crawled across the unfinished wooden floor and felt around for the low bed. On it, she curled up into a ball and wept.

  As her ears adjusted to the silence of the room, she could just make out the muffled noises of the party below. Her husband would make excuses for her, and the guests would accept them without a single thought for her.

  She stood and walked over to the window. No moon or stars winked in the sky. Just as her life, it had been cast in darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Caroline put all her weight into the hoe one last time and the dirt broke. Finally. She had been working on the tiny garden outside her family home all afternoon, but the drought had made working even this tiny plot difficult. There would be no harvest this year, and her father raved inside the house, the last of their money spent on spirits.

  The sound of a horse approaching made Caroline turn, and a faceless man rose up, his roan lifting its hooves regally, as if proud to carry the man who sat upon his back.

  “You, girl,” the man called out, “I would speak to your father.”

  Before she could respond, her father stumbled out the door. “Ah, Your Grace, you came!”

  “Of course I came,” the man said with a snort. “I said I would, did I not?”

  Her father rubbed his chin. “I suppose you did at that. Please, come in.”

  The man looked at her expectantly—how he looked out her without eyes, she did not even wonder—and she rushed up to grab the reins as he dismounted. He gave her an appraising glance up and down, and Caroline could not help but shiver. She had a bad feeling about this.

  She stood, holding the reins of the horse as if she had nothing better to do. Inside, voices muffled by the closed door, her father and the man talked. Then the door flew open, and her father walked out, wearing a smile large enough to split his face.

  “We are saved!” he shouted.

  Caroline looked at him with shock. “We are? Did this man bring rain?”

  Her father gave her a stern look. “Of course, not, child. He is paying off all our debt, and we will own the deed to the land. Just think! I will own my own house and land!”

  Suspicion crept into Caroline’s mind. “In exchange for what?” she asked.

  The man then stepped from the door. “For your hand in marriage, of course,” he said. Then his facial features came into focus, and Caroline screamed.

  Caroline woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. She had not dreamed of the day her father had traded her for the small cottage and the land on which it sat, not since the last time Reginald had locked her in the room. However, the f
act she had experienced the dream before did not take away the horror of it.

  The first rays of the sun shone through the window onto the bed, providing a little warmth, though she felt cold inside. She had cried herself to sleep, worried about her son. Reginald had not returned once he locked the door, not that she had expected him to, of course. Many a nights she had dreamed of leaving Blackwood Estates, taking Oliver with her. The two would escape into the night and find residence elsewhere, and maybe she would find someone to love her.

  Those dreams did not come last night, however. Perhaps it was evil of her to imagine another man in her life, for she was a married woman. Granted she was treated with contempt, but perhaps that was the expected life of a Duchess. Her father had never struck her mother at any point in Caroline’s upbringing, but perhaps her mother was as good at hiding such horror from her daughter as Caroline was at hiding it from her son.

  She looked down at her wrinkled gown. Margaret would have a difficult time ironing out the creases in the material, but the woman never made a complaint. If anything, she looked upon Caroline with sadness. Not pity, thankfully, but at least she did feel sorry for Caroline, although they never discussed what both knew was the truth of her marriage—her husband was a tyrant.

  She shivered as she thought of her wedding night. It had been nothing as she had imagined. He had demanded she remove her clothing, and he flung her on the bed and went about his duty as a Duke—and as her husband. Their intimacy was anything but intimate, and when he was finished, he left her alone in the bed.

  Later, finding out she was with child, he had merely sniffed, but he continued to have his way with her whenever he felt the urge, until the doctor had informed him it would be unsafe to the baby she carried. Reginald had not been happy at the prospect of not having his desires satiated, thus he went in search of other means in which to do so. And although she had tried to appease him over the years, her smiles were never returned and her attempts at affection were rebuked.