Page 3 of The Duchess Debt

Of course, he’d given no explanation for his unexpected decision, just as he hadn’t five years ago when he’d left her standing in the church. But when she’d stopped last night at the village inn and sent word to Grangely Park that she’d arrived and would meet him in the morning, she had hoped to finally be given answers.

Mr. Putnam shuffled his papers and smiled. “Now, let’s discuss the financial arrangements, shall we?”

Thiswas not what she’d had in mind.

Helena turned stinging eyes toward the dirt-smudged window overlooking the village green, only half listening.

Two weeks ago, she couldn’t believe her ears when Papa told her his choice in husband for her—Gabriel Cavanaugh, the same man who’d jilted her the morning of their wedding, only torapidly marry another before the ink on his special license was even dry. When she had learned that Papa had written to Gabe, she’d expected him to send back a cutting reply that called her father mad for suggesting such a match, that laughed at the idea, or at the very least a single sentence in reply:Absolutely not.

Instead, he had agreed to all of her father’s terms. Helena had been so stunned by his reply that she could have been knocked over with a feather.

She should have suspected ulterior motives. After all, what duke would ask his intended to meet him at the village green instead of his ancestral manor? Yet Gabriel had always been a bit unconventional, so she had been willing to go along. And God help her, a dark and self-punishing part of her had wanted to see him again, if only for one reason—to find out why he’d abandoned her. She had wanted—noneeded—to hear the truth from his own lips.

But this morning, there was still no apology, still no explanation. Only distrust and humiliation.

The moment she realized what was happening, she should have turned on her half-booted heel and left for home. According to the terms laid out by her father, she had every right to do just that.

Yet she couldn’t. Of all the matches her father had made for his daughters, this ridiculous one with Gabriel held the most promise for saving her family.

The handsome devil sitting beside her knew it, too, damn him.

“Monthly allowance during the marriage of one hundred pounds plus another one hundred for dresses and personal items,” Mr. Putnam droned on, squinting to make out the figures, “separate from the household funds…”

Helena cast a surreptitious glance at Gabriel. He sat with his back ramrod straight, but then, he’d always exudedcommand and control. He was the perfect specimen of a duke, with an imperial bearing, proud manner, and a full understanding of the importance of the dukedom and his role in it, even when they’d first met. Only in private had he let down his guard and allowed her to glimpse the warm and caring man beneath.

In the end, though, the cold-hearted duke had won out.

“…with control over the household staff, but with the grounds, stables, and all land agent staff remaining under the control of His Grace, and all household bills to be paid by His Grace or his agent, not by the duchess.”

She bit down a frustrated sigh. Apparently, the cold-hearted duke was still winning.

Five years ago, she’d been desperately in love with him. She’d adored his intelligence and wit, how he made her feel just as smart as he was and never belittled her opinions because she was a woman. The way his green eyes crinkled when he laughed always spun warmth through her. So did his easy smiles. She’d never believed in love at first sight until the night they met at the Theatre Royal, when they’d made eye contact across three private boxes between them and he’d given her his first lazy smile. While the rest of the audience was mesmerized byDon Giovanni, she’d been captivated by Gabe. So of course she’d allowed him to introduce himself during intermission, enjoyed the easy conversation that rose between them, gave him permission to call on her at her home, then counted the hours until his next visit. And the next after that. And the next…until they’d fallen in love.

She’d been impossibly happy three months later when he proposed. Downright joyous, in fact, and so much so that she couldn’t stop smiling. She’d wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. She cared nothing about his titles or estates, fortunes, accounts…or the way the gossips talked abouther behind her back for daring to reach so far above her station. His friend James Wentworth and his brother Adam had echoed the same thoughts directly to her face and undoubtedly said even worse to Gabriel. But theonlything that had mattered to her was that Gabriel thought she was wonderful, that he loved her and wanted to marry her, that he trusted in her to be a good duchess.

Until he didn’t.

“Decisions regarding the children—including His Grace’s child, Lady Alice, from his first marriage—will be made solely by the duke.”

She rolled her hot, stinging eyes. Apparently, he didn’t trust her at all and had set up this humiliating meeting to prove it.

Old wounds always ached the worst. But God’s mercy, how much more penance was she expected to endure for sins she hadn’t even committed?

She’d already paid for them, and dearly. All six feet of proof sat next to her, so close that she could smell the familiar scent of him that had been imprinted on her senses years before…port, bergamot, and the musky scent of male. He was just as handsome as she remembered, too. Just as tall and broad-shouldered, golden blond, and fit…Damn him.It would be so much easier to be married to him if he were a hideous monster. If he wereanyoneelse.

But hewassomeone different now, she supposed. When they had finally seen each other again today, there had been no familiar glint in Gabriel’s eyes that had always been there before. No warmth, no affection, and only cool reserve and distance.

He was nothing but a stranger to her now.

“The wedding dress and trousseau will be made by Mrs. Swenson in Canterbury,” Mr. Putnam read off Gabriel’s list,“with final costs not to exceed three hundred pounds for the wedding dress and one hundred for accessories.”

“I don’t even have a say in my ownwedding dress?” Helena demanded in a burst of disbelief, blinking hard to keep her tears from showing.

Mr. Putnam looked immediately at Gabriel for help. “We—that is, His Grace—wanted no misunderstanding regarding the creation of the dress and certainly no confrontation in the church on your wedding day that might delay the ceremony or—”

“Enough!” Helena shot to her feet, the humiliation unbearable.

A strangled sound squeaked from Mr. Putnam’s throat, and he gaped open-mouthed as his eyes darted between her and the pages in his hand. Certainly, he thought every word was just fine. A gift, in fact, for a penniless social outcast who should never have even been considered for marriage, let alone to a duke.