His Three-Day Duchess. Laurie Benson

       Prologue

      London—July, 1819

      As she sat across the desk from her solicitor, it was beginning to feel as if Lizzy had been waiting all her life for Mr Simon Alexander. And as the newly widowed Duchess of Skeffington, she wasn’t accustomed to waiting for anything or anyone. Her husband had died months ago and she had yet to meet Mr Alexander, her husband’s heir or, as he would be referred to now, the Duke of Skeffington. His tardiness today at the reading of her late husband’s will was doing nothing to help the annoyance she already felt towards a man she had never met.

      ‘I’m sure he won’t be much longer,’ Mr Nesbit said, furrowing his grey brows and glancing at his pocket watch for what must have been the fifth time since she had arrived at his office at promptly one o’clock in the afternoon.

      Lizzy toyed with her emerald necklace and didn’t even try to hide her irritation. ‘At least one of us is confident in that. You’re certain he knows where we were to meet?’

      ‘I was very specific in my letter. He knows.’

      She glanced down the table to Rimsby, the impeccably dressed old man who had served as butler of Skeffington House here in London for as long as Lizzy had been married. This was a man who valued protocol and proper behaviour, and she imagined he was just as displeased with his new employer’s tardiness as she was. Mrs Thacker, who was seated next to Rimsby, had an odd blush about her at the mention of the new Duke—a blush that in the twelve years that the woman had been her housekeeper, she had never seen brighten her normally sombre countenance.

      ‘Do we still have to wait for him?’ She directed her question to Lord Liverpool, the executor of her husband’s estate, who at the moment was standing by the window looking out at the busy London street. ‘We know he finally is in London after all these months. Can’t we just begin and Mr Nesbit can give him a brief summary of what he missed when he arrives?’

      He stepped away from the window and turned to face her. ‘Skeffington was very insistent that the will was to be read only when everyone who benefited was present and Mr Alexander, as the new Duke, must be present.’

      Beside her Mr Mix, her late husband’s secretary, shifted in his chair. The leather gave a considerable creak, which was surprising in light of his small, wiry frame. The gentleman, who was about twenty years older than Lizzy’s twenty-nine years, continued to sit silently, offering no indication on how he felt about the tardy behaviour of the new Duke. But as he had worked with her husband for all those years, she assumed he was accustomed to keeping his opinions to himself. He sat staring at his clasped hands on the table and she wondered once again why he had been content to be berated by her husband for so long. Certainly, there were other members of the House of Lords who would have welcomed his services. He could have put the Duke’s company behind him long ago, unlike Lizzy who had been forced to endure it since she was seventeen.

      ‘Do you know if Mr Alexander will be retaining your services, Mr Mix?’ Lizzy asked him to pass the time.

      ‘I do not. Since he just arrived here in London a few nights ago, we’ve not yet had the opportunity to meet.’

      Now that Mr Alexander was finally in London, Mr Mix had to believe that the status of his job was precarious.

      ‘I know how my husband relied on you. I’m sure the new Duke will, as well.’ She tried to be reassuring when she noticed his right leg bouncing nervously under the table.

      ‘That’s very kind of you, Your Grace,’ he replied, giving her what appeared to be a strained smile.

      He wasn’t the only one who was feeling the need to move. Lizzy wanted desperately to get up and walk about the room, but Lord Liverpool was already taking up that action. They didn’t need to bump into one another as they waited for the tardy Duke to grace them with his presence. It appeared he had settled into his new station in life already and was going to be one of those gentlemen who strove to create a grand entrance by arriving late, reminding them all that he was a duke of England and they all would have to adjust to his schedule. She had witnessed behaviour like this before. Well, she was a duchess and had held her esteemed rank longer than he had!

      She was just about to request a glass of sherry to still her agitation when one of Mr Nesbit’s clerks appeared in the doorway and announced the Duke of Skeffington. Lizzy’s stomach did an uncomfortable dip. It had been six months since she’d heard someone announce that name and she had to remind herself that her odious husband was dead. Now that his successor was in London, she would have to grow accustomed to hearing that name without that familiar feeling of dread.

      Turning her head, she finally came face-to-face with her late husband’s heir. The handsome gentleman standing tall in the doorway with the lean, athletic build was not what she had expected. He appeared to be only a few years older than she was and by the cut of his brown tailcoat and the state of his boots she could assume he was a man who dressed out of necessity instead of fashion—even though the cut of the coat did wonders to draw attention to his broad shoulders and the defined muscles in his arms. His dark eyes rimmed with thick dark lashes settled on Lizzy for a few additional heartbeats before he continued to survey the occupants in the room. For those extra moments that their eyes held, the room seemed to fade away.

      Mr Nesbit came around the table, breaking the spell that had come over her, and shook the new Duke’s hand. ‘Your Grace, thank you for joining us. We were growing concerned that there might have been an accident.’

      ‘No, there was no accident. As you can see, Nesbit, I am in one piece.’

      And a very fine piece he was in with that jet-black hair, a lock of which was threatening to fall into his dark eyes. But when it was apparent he had no intention of apologising for keeping them waiting, it reaffirmed Lizzy’s belief that only arrogant selfish men would hold the title of Duke of Skeffington.

      ‘You have been keeping us waiting for over an hour.’

      She hadn’t intended to address him. She was at the end of her tether, waiting for confirmation that Skeffington had given her Stonehaven as her permanent residence. Six months was a long time to live without knowing what your future would