My Mother Forced Me Into The Marriage Market — I Never Expected To Capture The Heart Of A Notorious Duke

Part 1

I traced the spine of my favorite leather-bound book, savoring what might be my last moments of peaceful solitude.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the drawing room of our country estate, and the gentle patter of raindrops against the glass felt like a quiet farewell.

I had spent all my twenty years in the rolling hills of this countryside sanctuary, perfectly content with my quiet life.

My mother’s voice pulled me sharply from my comfortable reverie.

She sat primly on the edge of the settee, a letter clutched tightly in her gloved hand, her posture radiating an exhausted sort of exasperation.

The invitation had finally arrived, signaling our departure for the capital in less than a fortnight.

My heart sank instantly at the realization of what this meant for my immediate future.

I had no desire whatsoever to be displayed in crowded ballrooms like prized cattle at a market.

My mother’s cheeks flushed with indignation at my improper language, reminding me that this was precisely why I needed a season in society.

She insisted that she and my father had indulged my peculiarities for far too long.

My father lowered his newspaper with a heavy sigh, a gentle soul who had finally yielded to her relentless insistence.

He tried to soften the blow by pointing out that I should have been married years ago.

My younger sister Emily would make her debut next year, and it would be highly irregular if I were not settled first.

I argued desperately that my happiness did not have to be tied to marriage, that my books and the countryside were enough for me.

My mother rose, smoothing her skirts with practiced precision, delivering the painful truth I could not escape.

In our world, happiness was entirely dependent on a suitable match, particularly for a young woman with no fortune of her own.

Our estate was respectable but entailed to a distant cousin, leaving my sister and me with terribly modest dowries.

My older cousin Rachel, still unmarried and completely dependent on the reluctant charity of relatives, stood as a perpetual reminder of what awaited me if I failed.

I swallowed my bitter protests and finally conceded that I would do my duty, though my eyes betrayed my deep reluctance.

I promised nothing beyond proper decorum, and my father gently accepted that small compromise.

Two weeks later, the elegant square outside our rented townhouse buzzed with overwhelming and exhausting activity.

I descended from the carriage with a heavy heart, taking in the stately stone facades that stood in stark contrast to the wild beauty of home.

My mother immediately ordered me to stand straight, reminding me that one never knew who might be observing us.

Her warning proved far more prescient than either of us could have possibly imagined at the time.

Across the square, from the window of an imposing and grand townhouse, a pair of piercing blue eyes was indeed watching our arrival.

David Carter, the Duke, lounged in his study with a glass of brandy, thoroughly bored with his privileged existence.

At thirty-two, he was the most eligible bachelor in the city, obscenely wealthy, titled, and breathtakingly handsome.

He assumed I was just another eager debutante thrust upon the marriage market, a predictable and tedious distraction.

His closest friend warned him against adding another conquest to his extensive collection, reminding him of how his last paramour, Brenda Evans, had become tediously besotted.

David merely smiled, dismissing love as a convenient fiction invented by poets and embraced only by the weak-minded.

Yet, as he watched me pause to look up at the gray sky, he noticed a certain defiance in my posture that caught his attention.

I seemed less eager than the others, a potential challenge to amuse him during an otherwise dull season.

The very next evening, the glittering ballroom was illuminated by a thousand candles, suffocating me with the heat of the crowd.

I stood at the periphery in my pale blue silk gown, my expression clearly betraying my profound discomfort.

Rachel hissed at me to smile, noting that I looked as though I were attending an execution rather than a celebration.

The conversations in the room suddenly quieted as a tall, imposing figure arrived at the entrance.

Even without the hushed whispers of his title, I would have recognized the casual, predatory confidence with which he surveyed the room.

Women young and old practically preened under his passing gaze, well aware of his devastating appeal and wealth.

Rachel whispered his identity, warning me that he had left a trail of broken hearts across the city and was utterly unattainable.

Before I could process her warning, my mother appeared at my elbow, her eyes alight with terrifying ambition.

She urgently informed me that we were about to be introduced, demanding that I mind my sharp tongue.

I barely had time to compose myself before the Duke stood before us, resplendent in formal black eveningwear.

When he bowed and our eyes locked, I felt an unexpected, inexplicable jolt that I stubbornly refused to name.

He welcomed me with a rich baritone voice, and I replied evenly, determined not to betray the sudden fluttering in my chest.

I confessed that I preferred the peace of the countryside, and when he questioned my tastes, I told him I preferred genuine conversation to practiced flattery.

My mother gasped in absolute horror, but David surprised us all by letting out a sudden, genuine laugh.

He called me refreshingly direct, and before I could invent an excuse, he extended his hand for a waltz.

Aware of the envious stares of every unmarried woman in the room, I reluctantly placed my gloved hand in his.

As we moved across the floor, I steeled myself against his undeniable charm, recognizing him for the practiced seducer he was.

He complimented my dancing, and I coolly dismissed it as the result of endless instruction rather than any distinguishing talent.

He pulled me fractionally closer than propriety allowed, amused by my refusal to accept his empty flattery.

He asked if we were friends, insisting I call him by his first name, but I challenged him immediately.

His smile deepened, revealing a disarming dimple as he confidently predicted we would become very well acquainted indeed.

I curtsied deeply as the music ended, avoiding the intense heat of his gaze.

I told him softly that I had no interest in becoming another notch on his bedpost of conquests, and I turned my back to walk away.