Along Came a Duke by Elizabeth Boyle

inherited that much from her father. It was a Seldon trait that never failed to find its way into the blood.
    â€œYou’d abandon me?” Preston asked, though he knew he needn’t. Once a Seldon made a declaration, it was carved in stone—no matter if it drove them into deeper waters and left them drowning.
    â€œYes,” Hen told him, giving every bit of proof he needed to know she would. And Henry as well.
    But they couldn’t! It was only the three of them left. Mulish obstinacy they had in spades, but sadly the Seldons weren’t a prolific lot. And the three of them had always stuck together. Henry and Hen had been his only family since . . . well, since always.
    Preston glanced around the large room and the rest of the vast rooms in the house and shivered. They’d be cold and hollow without them. No one coming and going. No one to take his meals with.
    Something he hadn’t felt in years too many to count rose up inside him. Not since the day he’d come to live in this house. Alone? They couldn’t do this to him. They wouldn’t.
    One look at the set of Hen’s brows, the line of Henry’s jaw, said only too clearly they would.
    â€œYou’ve left us no choice, Preston,” Hen said, rising from her seat and setting her napkin down on the table. “Either you marry and take a respectable place in society, or we will leave and never come back.”
    Worst of all, they could do it. They’d both inherited a tidy fortune from their mother—Hen having added to her own coffers with three advantageous matches—so neither of them truly needed him.
    And neither did society, for that matter. The ton would blackball him without a second thought and he’d be persona non grata in London.
    Glancing down at the paper in his hand, he asked, “Is this the only way?”
    Hen’s gaze rolled skyward. “Oh, good heavens, Christopher! Whatever is wrong with marriage?”
    â€œI’d say we ask your late husbands,” he muttered.

Chapter 3
    â€œT his will never do,” Lady Essex declared as she stared out the window of her carriage. The lady, who had planned to take Harriet to Town, had agreed to bring along Tabitha. Unwilling to be left behind, Daphne had managed, in true Dale fashion, to reason and arrange her way into the party.
    Now their grand trip to London, which should have taken only two days, had come to a grinding halt a good half a day away from the city gates, much to Tabitha’s relief and dismay. After pressing on in a terrible spring squall earlier in the day, all their hopes of reaching the city before nightfall were dashed. The mired roads had slowed their pace so much so that as evening had fallen, Lady Essex had declared they must take shelter, news that had brought a sigh of relief from a beleaguered and exhausted John Coachman.
    â€œTomorrow! I cannot believe we shall have to wait until tomorrow to reach London!” Daphne said as she secured her pelisse and checked her hat to make sure it didn’t blow off.
    Tabitha said nothing. After all, ever since her uncle had declared that she was to be married, Tabitha had found herself in the middle of a maelstrom, with her aunt and uncle refusing to listen to her protests against this match.
    â€œYour uncle has chosen well for you ,” Aunt Allegra had stormed. “ A man well connected, and an heir presumptive to a great title. Think of how you will be able to help your family, your dear cousins!”
    Then they had proceeded to treat her with such overreaching care and kindness—after all, one day their very own, dearest Tabitha would be a marchioness!—that Tabitha had found herself wishing for her corner in the attic and the solitude of her former chores.
    â€œCome now, Tabitha. You cannot tell me you aren’t the least bit disappointed about not getting to London tonight,” Daphne asked as they dashed across the inn’s muddy