Jilted In January: A Year Without a Duke, #1

JILTED IN JANUARY

A YEAR WITHOUT A DUKE

BOOK ONE

KATE PEARCE

CONTENTS

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Letter to Mrs. Pemberley

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

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Also by Kate Pearce

About Kate Pearce

LETTER TO MRS. PEMBERLEY

Henrietta Pemberley,

Beckworth Park

My dear Mrs. Pemberley,

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Reginald Tompkins of Richards, Thistlewaite, and Tompkins Solicitors based at Temple in London. We have handled the affairs of the Beckworth estate since 1740 and hope to continue in this role for the foreseeable future.

As you are the longest-serving and most senior member of the late Duke of Beckworth’s staff, I am writing to inform you of the search that is currently being pursued for the heir to the title. This has proven to be far more complicated than we envisioned. In the meantime, I wish to reassure you that all reasonable bills from the duke’s country estate will continue to be paid by this office, and that you should apply directly to me if you are in need.

The late duke spoke most highly of your skills, Mrs. Pemberley, and I am certain that we shall deal extremely well together until the unfortunate matter of the inheritance is sorted out and we can welcome a new duke to Beckworth.

Yours sincerely,

Reginald Tompkins, Esq.

Richards, Thistlewaite and Tompkins

Solicitors

p.s. Please ask the land agent, or his new assistant, Mr. Colin Ford, to send me his quarterly report directly.

CHAPTER ONE

January 1816

The Duke of Beckworth’s Estate

Beckworth Park

D evil take it, what on earth am I supposed to do now?

Colin Ford stood with his back against the door and surveyed the inner sanctum of the land agent’s office. The desk was piled high with official-looking documents and discarded ledgers. Every drawer was open—the contents spilling out onto the floor—and the shelves bearing leather-bound estate books dating back for the last one hundred years had been ransacked.

With a groan, Colin picked his way through the debris and came around to the rear of the enormous desk. On top of a lopsided pile of books, there was a single sheet of paper anchored under an open silver inkstand. Reaching forward, Colin took the paper and read the scrawled words out loud.

I resign. Yours, Archibald Morehouse.

Colin took another deep, shuddering breath. Mr. Morehouse was supposed to have been teaching him how to manage a large estate. In the months he’d spent at Beckworth Park, all he’d learned was how to keep out of the drunken land agent’s way. His offers to help had been rebuffed, and now he could see why.

As soon as the London solicitors confirmed the tidings of the Duke of Beckworth’s death and wanted more information about the principal estate, Mr. Morehouse had bolted. It had taken Colin a month to find the spare key to the estate office and get inside. Now he wished he hadn’t bothered.

Crouching down, he spotted the strongbox that was supposed to hold monies needed for the everyday expenses of the estate. It was open, and a single farthing glinted in the black depths. With a curse, Colin sank to the floor and held his head in his hands. There was no money to pay the outdoor staff their quarterly wages. Archibald Morehouse had absconded with the lot.

As the assistant land agent, would he be held responsible for his predecessor’s crimes? He damn well hoped not. Perhaps it was time to write to his father and ask for help. Even the thought of putting pen to paper and exposing his deficiencies to his irascible sire made him feel nauseated.

After a while, a persistent tapping had him looking back at the closed door. He shot to his feet.

Come in?

He was relieved to see that it was only the housekeeper, Mrs. Pemberley, and not the butler, who could be rather intimidating. She was a kind woman who had made him welcome at the estate and continued to treat him like a favorite son.

Good Lord! Mrs. Pemberley covered her mouth with her hand. "What on earth did Mr. Morehouse do?"

Colin made a hopeless gesture. Stole all the available coin, for one. I haven’t even attempted to investigate the rest of it yet.

Dear me. I never liked the man, but what possessed him to run away like a thief in the night?

I won’t know until I’ve straightened everything out. Colin pushed his unruly hair out of his face. Is it possible that one of the maids could be spared to help me set this place to rights?

I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Ford. Mrs. Pemberley smoothed her apron down over her black dress. We are rather shorthanded at the moment, as you know.

He couldn’t decide whether the recently widowed duchess’s absence was a blessing or a curse. At least she wasn’t here to see the disastrous state of the books, and she’d taken some of the servants to London, meaning there were fewer to pay.

There is one more thing. He cleared his throat. All the ready cash has been taken. I have no coin to pay the outdoor staff their wages this quarter or to settle with the local tradesmen.

Mrs. Pemberley tutted and shook her head. I have some coin set by for the servants’ wages. We can use that if necessary, although luckily the last quarter has only just passed. I will apply to the duke’s solicitors in London for more funds. They seem to be quite accommodating, and they are well aware that some difficulties will arise due to the absence of the duke’s heir.

I suppose I should write to those gentlemen myself. Colin brushed at some accumulated dust on the pile of ledgers. They will need to know about Mr. Morehouse’s desertion.

Indeed. I believe they are expecting to hear from you.

Perhaps I should wait until I can give a full accounting of myself before I bother them with this matter, Colin said quickly.

"You must do as you think best, Mr. Ford. From what I have observed of your character so far, you are a gentleman and will thus behave appropriately."

Colin picked up a handful of scattered papers and studied them. Mr. Morehouse was supposed to be a gentleman.

"But you are the son of an earl."

The fifth son. Colin’s shoulders slumped. Trust me, it means nothing but that I am obliged to make my own way in the world with no money and no prospects.

Be that as it may, I am sure you will come about. There is no need to bother Her Grace about this matter. She has enough to deal with—being widowed at such a young age. Mrs. Pemberley gave him an imperious nod worthy of the queen and sailed out, her black skirt billowing behind her.

Colin sank into the chair and surveyed the mess.

He was still staring at it when there was another tap on the door.

Mr. Ford? Mrs. Pemberley said you would appreciate some help with the— Oh, my word, what happened?

Colin shot to his feet. Miss Leyton?

He thought that was her name. She was one of the indistinguishable gaggle of female hangers-on that inevitably collected at a titled nobleman’s estate when they had nowhere else to go. Not that he didn’t pity anyone in such straits. He knew all about being a gentleman who had no inheritance and had to sing for his own supper.

She came farther into the room, her drab muslin dress stirring up the dust. She wore no jewelry, and her mouse-brown hair was braided tightly to her head. He thought her to be about his own age, but that was about all he knew of her. She’d always seemed pleasant enough when he’d encountered her at the dinner table. The duchess had always treated him as a valued member of the family rather than a servant.

Good morning, Miss Leyton. Colin bowed. "I believe