Synopsis:Reginald Aiken, Duke of Warwick is dead and his young widow is not grieving…until the will is read. Isobel Kennilworth Aiken, Duchess of Warwick spent 6 years of her young life in a loveless marriage. Now, at the age of 24, Isobel is a widow. As Isobel awaits the reading of her late husband’s last will and testament, she feels no grief, but in fact is quite hopeful. She is eager to start her life anew. But, as the droning of the solicitor’s voice washes over her detailing the bequests to various servants and family members, a shock awaits her. The "other woman" was not his mistress, but his lawfully wedded wife and together they had a son. Six year old Reggie is now the Duke of Warwick, displacing Reginald’s brother Charles.
There is a collective gasp as the revelation is made that instantly cuts off Isobel and Charles and dashes their hopes for the future. Isobel must indeed start again, not as a titled, influential and wealthy widow, but as plain Miss Kennilworth, tainted by scandal, something to be avoided at all costs in Regency England. Can she get past the disgrace and humiliation she has endured and fight her way back into society? Will she find love again with her childhood sweetheart, Andrew Stafford, former vicar, now Lord Saybrooke? Or perhaps she will rekindle the romance with Jeremy Ingles, Lord Westcott, who had caught her fancy at her come out six years earlier, but had not been ready to be leg shackled.
But before Isobel can find true love, she must come to grips with her past mistakes and the people she has hurt along the way. She must discover who she is without the title of duchess to her name.
The solicitor, Mr. Pickens cleared his throat, signaling that the reading of the will would commence. The family hadn’t understood the delay and Mr. Pickens, ever the stickler for propriety had refused to say. No one but he and a handful of servants had seen the black-veiled woman slip silently into the room with a young boy in tow. They stood in the back, the woman clinging to her son’s hand. That was Pickens’ cue. He began to read.
“The ninth of April in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and seventeen. I, Reginald Wilbur Percival Aiken, 7th Duke of Warwick, Marquess of Crewes, and Viscount of Fenwick, being of sound mind hereby bequeath…”
Pickens’s voice flowed over Isobel like a dream. He named servants and sums that were less than Isobel’s pin money, but to each servant the sum was a boon. The list of servants seemed to go on forever with names she did not recognize. It did not concern her. Pickens droned on past second cousins and cousins. There were no surprises. Those Reginald had approved of were rewarded handsomely. Those of whom he had disapproved were made to feel his displeasure from beyond the grave, including his sister, Letitia, who had wed a loose screw and was living to regret it. Letitia had not bothered to attend the reading.
“And to my wife…” Here Pickens paused and Isobel sat up a little straighter.
“…to my wife,” repeated Pickens seeming loathe to continue, “Adriana…”
There was a universal gasp. Isobel looked hard at Mr. Pickens.
“Surely, Mr. Pickens, one of your clerks has erred. My name is not Adriana.” Isobel’s voice was tinged with ice, something she had perfected in her four years as marchioness and two years as duchess.
“If you’ll allow me to continue, Miss,” Pickens said, decidedly uncomfortable.
Isobel sat wide eyed, staring at the poor solicitor. Miss? Miss! She was not Miss; she was Your Grace, My Lady, or even Ma’am, but never Miss! But she said nothing, her stern gaze speaking louder than words.
Steeling himself, Pickens continued. “To my wife Adriana Vasquez Aiken, I leave the bulk of my estate in trust for our son, Reginald Vasquez Aiken, who upon reaching his majority will assume all responsibilities as the 8th Duke of Warwick, being my legitimate son and heir.
Pickens halted, allowing the shocking news to sink in. No one spoke. Isobel could barely breathe. Even her garrulous Aunt Maude could not speak. Finally, Lord Charles broke the tense silence.
“What impertinence is this? Is this a joke?”
“I am afraid not, Lord Charles. I can assure you that it is true.” Pickens’ disapproval was evident, but as the Duke of Warwick’s representative he would fulfill his duty. “His grace married Senorita Adriana Vasquez in August of ’09 in Spain, near Talavera. They were wed by a Catholic priest. They also wed again in 1811 in Derbyshire, after returning to England, so that no one would question the legality of the marriage, I assume. There can be no doubt that marriage is legal.”
Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Google+
Buy Link: Amazon
