Chapter 1

Blackwell Ducal Estate. North of London.

June 1817

Two Years after the Napoleonic Wars.

The dreams came.

He saw his sword, dripping with blood, the dust on his scuffed boots, the rip in his lapel, the gash over his belly, the wound still lightly bleeding. The ache in his bones was everlasting, the fatigue in his muscles unable to be cured by rest—but he still fought.

The echo of a thousand blunderbusses…

The whinny of a horse collapsing…

Fragments exploded from the cannons…

Shrapnel embedding themselves into his skin. White powder… ash from the battlefield fire. The taste of blood in his mouth, tinny and metallic. The smell of garbage… the stench of death…

The body at his feet, another Napolean pawn, dead, eyes vacant and body still warm under his stained uniform. A sensation ran up the back of his neck and Julius spun on his feet in time to see another Frenchman surging at him, his sword arching in the air and fear made his blood cold.

The sword came slashing down…

A musket in his hand…blasting…

…And Julius Blackwell jolted from his sleep, the sheets damp with his cold perspiration, slipped to his waist while his bare chest heaved with the rush of adrenaline rushing through his body.

A nightmare.

After the war, they'd plagued him nightly, all of them vivid, all of them making his heart pound through his breastbone. Lately, they had dimmed, but this one….

Instinctively, his hand lifted to the scar on his face, the sliver of skin now a silver scar instead of the raw red from two years ago. A fingertip traced from his temple to his jaw, curving under his cheekbone to end at his chin.

Dropping his hand, he flung the sheets away, slid his legs to the side and braced his elbows on his knees, cradling his head. "These damned nightmares… when will they ever vanish?"

The days of him being Lieutenant-Colonel Blackwell were behind him, well, but in truth, he'd retired with the rankLieutenant-Generalafter returning to England, months after Waterloo. He had been gazetted months before, but the news hadn't reached him until he'd landed home.

A place that was as suddenly foreign to him. He didn't see the London the same way he had before he'd left, no— the reckless, devil-may-care attitude he saw with the young men in Town and the blind na?veté of the young woman parading around twisted something in his gut.

It's as if they didn't know a war had been fought for them. Who cares which man died as long as they can blow their fortunes at a table of whist at Whites.

Pulling his hands from his face, cool air fluttered through the open window and without the fog and smoke of London, clear moonlight streamed in through the thin summer curtains. Slumping back to the pillow, he stared up at the shadows ever shifting on the ceiling.

Falling asleep again was going to be impossible, so Julius slipped out of bed, reached for his trousers and stepped into them. The summer night was mild and cool, but something under his skin itched.

Moving to the window, he flung the panes open, and the night air was cool and carried the budding scents of spring. The edges of rooftops were far off, on estates miles long, but at least here he could see the sky, which calmed his inner restlessness.

Turning, he headed from the room to another bedchamber at the end of the hallway, only hearing his bare feet padding on the Aubusson runner, heading to his sister's room.

"It is until you get to the end," she folded her hand on her lap, her blue-green eyes, a happier shade than his cutting green met his. "When I read it, I thought about you and dear Louisa. Like Tristan, you have slain your fair share of dragon and like Iseult, Louisa is bound to you by an imperishable love."

"Have you spoken to Louisa?" she asked. "You know she writes at times, and she tells me a lot of what is going on in London. I may make a trip there one to day to one the many musicales she has told me about."

A muscle in his jaw flexed. Those letters: they came every Sunday without fail, but he had not read one of them.

"You know she asks for you," Rose, her fingers plucking at the sheets. "Have you ever written back?"

"No," Julius admitted.

Thinking of Louisa, the unassuming petite and curvy wallflower with whom he had married a year ago—and abruptly left her at his townhouse made shame and guilt twist his gut again. Even though their marriage was one of convenience and the parameters of living separate lives was set from the beginning, she deserved better than him.

"She wrote to me today," Rose said, "Her sister has married William Mullens, the Marquess of Everdon and she has invited me to a Bon Voyage celebration for them before they head off on their honeymoon."

A honeymoon. A period of bliss for a husband and his wife. Another thing he had not given Louisa before he had abandoned her in their London townhouse.

It felt like salt being rubbed into his wound.

"Do you want to go?" he asked her while rising from his seat. "It will be a big step."

"Come with me."

This time, his stomach roiled aggressively. "I do not think that is a wise idea, little lamb, but I hope you enjoy it."

"Please rethink that decision," Rose said as his back. "I know you have your issues, Julius, but you do owe her your attention. Being out here with me all the time is not kind to her. What happened to me is no reason for you to put your life on hold."

"What happened to you should have never happened at all, if I'd been here," Julius said darkly.

"But a year away, Julius?" Rose pressed. "Think of Louisa, how she must feel. A newlywed lady, a duchess at that, with an absentee husband. A marriage of convenience at least holds unto the tenements of respect, and mutual honor to each other.

"But you've been with me for a year and with your absence and inattention, you have shown her neither. Do you have an apathy to tender sentiments?"

And damn, why did she have to say that?

Retreating to his rooms, Julius felt like he was the worst kind of bastard. He had no right to touch his wife with hands awash with blood and capable of unspeakable sins… but she truly did not deserve his silence either.

He, at least, owed her an apology and an explanation of the matter. Her sensibilities were so delicate he knew he could not do more than that, and, for if Louisa ever knew, ever suspected the baser side of him, the parts of him that he hid from the world, she would wonder why she had married him at all.

The guilt of war.

The blood on my hands….

The constant anger simmering under my breastbone…

Without reason, his mind flew back to the moment when the priest pronounced them man and wife, he had kissed her hand, soft and tipped with perfect oval fingernails.

He settled into bed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed, slightly comforted by the cool air and clear moonlight streaming through a part in the curtains, and he stared up at the shadows frolicking on the ceiling.

It was so quiet he heard the soft swish of paper sliding under his door as if were a siren. Sliding from the bed, he plucked the card up from the floor and opened it to see the invitation to his wife's soiree.

"Very tactful, Rose," he snorted.

Mayfair

Dawn found young Louisa Compton, Duchess of Blackwood, staring through the large bow windows, watching the hazy pink hues sliver through the murky gray with placid eyes.

A soft knock on the door had her tuning, "Come in, Miriam."

Her lady maid came in and curtsied, her dark unform only broken by the white cap on her head, "Good morning, Your Grace. Should I prepare your bath?"

"Yes, please," Louisa said.

"Understood, Your Grace," Miriam said while moving to the washing chamber.

"When you are finished with that, please notify cook that I'll take a light breakfast this morning" Louisa added, moving from the bed and reaching for her wrapper.

The next hour passed in a monotone routine, bath, dressing in a soft lilac morning dress, sorting out letters and cards in her drawing room while sipping tea and then, as breakfast came along, Miriam appeared at the door.

"Pardon, Your Grace, Lady Coltrane is here to see you. Should I send her in?" Miriam asked. "

At hearing her oldest friend was there, one she had known from the schoolroom, she exclaimed, "Prudence is here? Yes, please, and send up some refreshments soon after."

While her maid left, Louisa tried to tidy up, while trying to quell the delighted surprise in her heart. She was putting a stack of unopened cards when a musical voice said, "You needn't clean up for me, dear. I am quiet acquainted with your disorganized tendencies."

"Prudence." Louisa smiled as her friend gently discarded her attractive rose-pink Leghorn bonnet, revealing her stunning neatly swept-back hair. Her peach traveling gown had a rose chiffon corsage and a shawl collar trimmed with rose-colored piping.

"Wh-what a lovely gown," Louisa stammered, as her friend kissed the air near her cheek. "I have never seen anything so beautiful."

"Oh, you have," Prudence laughed. "Do you remember the gown I wore to your engagement announcement?"

Thinking of soft blue gown that gathered under the bosom and fell in a soft, graceful column with delicate puff sleeves made Louisa nod. "True. Please, sit and tell me, what brings you my way when I believe you were somewhere in Scotland?"

"I was in the merry isles," Prudence said. "It is a beautiful place, dear Louisa. I would like to take you on a jaunt someday."

Stifling a laugh, Prudence shook her head instead. The ‘jaunts' Prudence took were four months at least and they were all over the world. Having inherited a tidy sum from her father and with no desire to marry, Prudence occupied her days trotting over the world and played chaperone to young ladies when the mood struck her.

"As much as I would love to take you on that offer, you must remember that I am a married woman," Louisa replied.

"And how is your darling husband the honorable Duke of Blackwell doing by the by?" Prudence asked as a maid came in with a tea tray in hand. "Have you heard from him?

"No, sadly," Louisa said calmly then made her tea, trying not to cringe at the disdain for her husband in her friend's voice. Her insides felt a bit sedate with that answer, which she knew should not be the case.

No wife should be this calm talking about her husband, but then again, her marriage was not the usual, was it.

She had endeavored not to think of the Duke, especially after he had made it unmistakably clear to her that she was nothing more than a wife in name, a contractual obligation of his station.

If only the jealous ladies that shot daggers from their eyes at her at stealing the most eligible bachelor in London knew that their marriage was a sham.

"You will be looked after, as my wife, you will want for nothing, every pleasure you desire will be at your fingertips…"

Except for him. I cannot have him.

"You do know that most marriage are not so—" Prudence wrinkled her nose as she looked for the right word, "—blasé."

"Coming from a lady who has never married?" Louisa teased.

Prudence slanted Louisa an eye. "I have seen my mother and father navigate a marriage of convenience with more than this detached air than you and your beau have. They were not in love, but they shared a marriage based on mutual respect and shared goals, they made sure to be loyal to each other, honest, and worthy of each other's trust."

Dropping her eyes, Louisa's studied the blue scrolling on the teacup's rim. "Our marriage was a contract though. When His Grace approached my father with the offer, he made it clear it was a marriage of convenience."

"Matters not," Prudence said stiffly. "He shouldn't have married you and swanned of to god-knows-where and left you here as a target for humiliation."

Though Julius had not embodied the role of husband, he had ensured that she would be provided for, and had given her a generous allowance that meant that she was able to live a very contented life and, as yet, had nothing whatsoever to complain about. She was sure her dowry had not even been touched.

"It may be, but I have come to accept it," Louisa replied. "If it wasn't for my new station, my sister wouldn't have met her new husband and is happy as a clam."

Prudence leaned in and captured Louisa's hands with her, holding her gaze with a caring one, "And you should be too. Don't you want to be happy, Louisa, don't you want to have the true love experience that you are entitled to have?"

"I do," she replied, forcing a smile. "But I am content Prudence. All things considered; the shy wallflower that had been ignored for three seasons could have done much worse."

"That's true," Prudence said squeezing her hands. "But you deserve so much better, especially now that—" she pulled away and breathed out "—I'm sorry, Louisa. I misspoke."

While Louisa did not know what her friend meant by that, the icy sensation in her chest told her it would be another rumor, unfounded or not, that Julius had taken another lover to his bed at his estate in Blackwell Hall.

"No, tell me." She told Prudence calmly. "Another rumor, I assume?"

"It's been said he was seen with Lady Darlington… in flagrante," Prudence said quietly.

"The infamous widow who is not that discreet with her affairs," Louisa swallowed. Emotion welled up within her, a lump materializing in her throat but she straightened her shoulder and sipped her tea. "I… see."

"You're not…upset?" Prudence asked, her delicate brows lowering.

"An unspoken rule of our marriage was never to pry into each other's personal affairs," Louisa replied hollowly. "I won't overstep the boundaries we had set."

"Not if it makes you a laughingstock?" Prudence asked, her tone aghast. "It's not right, Louisa. If these rumors are true, how is it fair for you to bear the brunt of his shame while he lives a carefree life?"

"If," Louisa repeated. "If these rumors are true."

"It still makes you the target of humiliation," Prudence huffed. "They already call you the Abandoned Duchess. You possess the right to express your desires, your needs. You have the power to take a stand for yourself, do you not? Before you wed, hadn't you made a list of what you require in a husband? Was not honestly and fidelity on that list?"

Her mind momentarily drifted to the list she had made long ago, which rested in her bureau drawer, turning musty. "I—" Louisa started, then pressed her lips tightly. "The terms of our marriage are as they are. During his proposal, he'd been frank about his terms on our marriage and I'd agreed to them."

Prudence shook her head vigorously. "Did those terms include extra-marital affairs?"

"No."

"Then dash the terms. Even if its not a matter of love, it is a matter of propriety and he is turning your life into a mockery. I have seen how women smile to your face and snicker at your back. Please, for your sake, don't take this ignominy anymore."

"I know you mean the best, Prudence, but I can take care of myself," Louisa added calmly. "The ladies who do hate me more for marrying Julius than anything else, even those rumors of his unfaithfulness.

"I know you are capable of handling his own affairs and are a private soul by nature," Prudence said reaching over and hugged Louisa tightly, "I just hate to see you living a life that can be so much better I'll be at home if you need me."

"Your Grace?"

Blinking, Louisa schooled her features into a soft smile and turned to the housekeeper, smiling slightly. Lost in her thoughts, she had not heard her footsteps. "Yes, Mrs. Rowe?"

"Your tea is ready," the housekeeper replied, settling the tray beside a book on the table.

"Thank you."

The housekeeper's face fell, and her voice was very soft when she touched Louisa's arm. "You seem out of sorts." Mrs. Rowe, "If you would like to talk about it, I will give a listening ear."

Louisa was tempted to tell her everything. However, she didn't want to burden her with the problems because the more she thought of it, the many rumors about Julius's infidelity, the more her heart curdled in shame.

Even if love was not a part of their marriage, simple decency and respect should be. She had never given Julius a reason to be mortified by her actions but the many rumors from his were ripping her apart.

"Thank you but another time, Mrs. Rowe."

When the older woman left, Louia took her tea, went to her escritoire and picked up a pen. It was about time she told Julius what she needed from him and what she would not accept anymore. He could either stop the affairs, become a better husband, or they would have an annulment. She wondered what he would choose.