A Duke Won't Do

A DUKE WON'T DO DUELING FOR DUKES JESSIE CLEVER A DUKE WON’T DO Published by Someday Lady Publishing, LLC Copyright © 2023 by Jessica McQuaid All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ISBN-13: 979-8-9861220-9-0 Edited by Judy Roth For Kayla. Because you are freaking awesome. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Ready For More? Also in this Series About the Author CHAPTER 1 Lady Gwendolyn Bounds had just taken a bite of her eggs when she learned her father had sold her to a sheep farmer. That wasn’t precisely how it went, but that was certainly how it seemed. Because it wasn’t only her father’s news that was so unsettling but also the fact that Gwen and the word marriage had never been uttered in the same sentence before. In fact, it took all her strength not to involuntarily touch the smallpox scars that marred her cheek the moment her father spoke the very word. Marriage. Impossible. It was enough that it felt as though everyone’s eyes drifted to her, that briefest of moments when their faces registered disbelief and not a small degree of pity—for Gwen or for her prospective husband, should he be saddled with a disfigured wife, she couldn’t be sure. When it had become apparent that people of society were repulsed by Gwen’s scars, her family had closed ranks around her, protecting her from the outside world, and assuring her she would always have a safe place within the family. Although no one ever spoke of it aloud, it was a tacit understanding in the family that Gwen would remain unwed, a spinster and comfort to her mother in later years. Even though she understood and appreciated her family’s protection, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were missing something important. She had not even had a season, and now at the age of six and twenty, only extraordinary circumstances had led Gwen’s mother, Nancy Bounds, Countess Stoke Bruerne, to consider presenting Gwen to the ton. Because if the gossip were true, there was not one but two dukes looking for a bride that season. As the mother of three unwed daughters, Countess Stoke Bruerne would have been branded an utter failure as a matriarch had she not immediately decamped the family from their country home in West Northamptonshire and proceeded directly to their London townhome to begin preparations. But now, it seemed, it didn’t matter so much as far as Gwen was concerned. This was probably why Gwen’s mother spluttered in her tea when her father made the announcement of Gwen’s impending marriage over breakfast. Because if a Bounds daughter should marry anyone that season, it was going to be one of the dukes on the Marriage Mart and certainly not some obscure sheep farmer in the far-flung regions of England. “Henry, you cannot mean it. You’ve signed a wedding contract for Gwen?” Nancy asked as if her husband had just announced his intentions to join a Bavarian circus. Henry Bounds, Gwen’s father and Earl Stoke Bruerne, was unfazed as he spread marmalade on a piece of toast. “Yes, it’s all settled. You needn’t thank me, Nancy. The opportunity arose, and I took advantage of the situation.” Stoke Bruerne had just passed his sixtieth year, but his dark hair remained largely untouched by gray, and he still wore it in a severe style, swept back from his forehead where two horizontal creases appeared every time he made a pronouncement such as this one. Today the creases might have been a pair of moats protecting a medieval castle. Gwen set down her fork and looked across the table to where her youngest sister, Eloise, sat, hoping to gain comfort from her sister’s ubiquitous smile, but Eloise was looking at their mother, her face decidedly drawn. Gwen shifted her gaze and felt an immediate spike of concern. Her mother’s mouth was open, her jam knife forgotten in her hand, her eyes huge pools of disbelief. Horribly, Gwen was fairly sure her mother wasn’t breathing. She reached out a hand. “Mother,” she said softly, placing her fingers against her mother’s wrist. The woman jerked, and Gwen was only too glad she hadn’t been touching the wrist of the hand that held the jam knife. “Henry, what have you done?” Gwen turned, casting her gaze down the length of the breakfast table to where her father sat at the opposite end. This afforded her a view of her other sister, Annie, who poked at her sausages, clearly hoping not to be noticed and drawn into the conversation at hand, and Grandmother Bitsy who continued to shovel clotted cream on her scone as if the conversation around her had nothing to do with her. Which perhaps it didn’t, but at least the woman could show some support. Henry touched his napkin delicately to his lips although Gwen was certain the man never allowed a crumb to stray into his bristly mustache. “What have I done?” He gestured vaguely in Gwen’s direction. “I’ve reduced the number of daughters for whom you must find husbands from three to two. I am sure you will appreciate the effort.” Finally Nancy set down her jam knife. “I certainly will not appreciate the effort.” Henry Bounds was not one to react to such an affront, but at his