Miles' Lesson Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Miles' Lesson

  Jennifer Connors

  Published by J Connors Publishing, LLC

  Gilbert, Arizona

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Creative Commons License

  Miles' Lesson by Jennifer Connors is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

  Based on a work at www.jenniferconnors.com.

  Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://jenniferconnors.com/contact

  Copyright © 2010 by Jennifer Connors

  Cover design by Darren Connors

  www.jenniferconnors.com

  This book is dedicated to my fans and for those who wondered what happened to Miles. Such a character deserved a happy ending of his own!

  Chapter 1

  The sky was dark, the hour late. There was little sound besides the constant rattle of the rain against the house. Miles Clarendon, the Duke of Sutherland, was sitting alone in his study, drink in one hand, letter in the other. His focus was elsewhere, not really taking in his environment.

  The letter, a brief note from Bethany Whitmore, the Countess Whitmore, was clenched so tightly that the paper was wrinkled beyond repair. Not that it mattered to Miles, whose heart felt much like the tattered paper he held.

  The woman he loved, the only woman he'd ever loved, had decided to give her errant husband another chance. Her note, although kind, had devastated him as nothing else had in his life. Not even the death of his miserable father had caused him as much pain as reading the few sentences from his former lover.

  No, Miles thought, not lover. Although they had broken her wedding vows a few times, it had never been completed. The night of his father's death would have been the first time they'd been together. Unfortunately, he was called away before the deed was done and now Miles was left to wonder if he would still have a chance with her if they had made that last step.

  Bethany's letter was sympathetic, but nothing could console him. She said she wanted to stay friends, but surely her husband, Miles' former friend, would have something to say about that. Miles had left Colin in no doubt that he had cuckolded him during his absence. Although their escapades were tame compared to what Miles had wanted to do, he and Bethany had not had sex, unlike Colin and half dozen whores across Europe.

  How could she forgive him? What kind of woman could get past those indiscretions with grace? Feeling his heart break anew, Miles had even more respect and admiration for the woman he loved. A woman that he could have had as his own wife, had he not be his usual selfish self. When he realized how much he wanted her, it scared him. He decided to marry her off to someone else, in the hopes of making her his mistress. He should have known that she wasn't cut out for that kind of life. Bethany was too loyal to fall into that trap. Which was one of the other reasons it took a year before she was willing to consider sleeping with him.

  But over that year, something had happened to Miles. Bethany was a good influence on him. She made him a better person, convincing him to give more to charity, pay more attention to his fellow man. If one good thing came from this whole affair, Miles had to admit that he wasn't the same shallow, selfish being he used to be. For that, he could only appeal to her influence.

  Since receiving the letter, Miles had locked himself away in his one refuge, his study. The oak paneled room, surrounded by hundreds of books, was his private space. He kept a large desk, currently covered in paperwork for the new estates he'd inherited upon his father's death. The floors were covered in large, colorful Persian rugs, and two high backed wing chairs flanked the unused fireplace. The large window overlooked his garden, which lay unseen in the darkness.

  Shaking himself out of his reverie, Miles opened the letter once more to read its contents. Staring at the smudged words, Miles ached to have her in his arms again. It was difficult to admit, but he had to come to terms with this chapter of his life. Before Bethany, he'd had the carefree life of a man about town. His roguish good looks had earned him many women at his side. Despite his unfortunate reputation, he could have had any woman as his wife, but now, he was guaranteed to have match making mothers throwing their daughters in his direction. Not everyone could become a duchess.

  Was this his fault? He wondered silently as he took another sip of the fine French brandy in his hand. Were his bad deeds coming back to haunt him? He had to admit that he had felt little remorse for those deeds. He was born to a life of privilege. He never had to apologize, and he never had to lift a finger for all that was given him. Bethany had called him spoiled, but even she had fallen under his spell. Or had he changed to suit her? Shaking his head, Miles decided to put the matter to rest. She was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Chapter 2

  Early the next morning, having spent the night in his chair in the study, Miles awoke to a dreadful knocking on his study door. His idea of putting the matter to rest had been to drink himself into a stupor and pass out where he sat. Now, the knocking was drilling a hole in his head.

  “What?” he screamed, hoping his ill-tempered voice would make whoever it was go away.

  When Miles saw who entered his private domain, he knew he was in trouble. The elegant woman, dressed in the latest fashion, with a hat that barely fit through his doorway from all the peacock feathers, came to stand before him, staring in disapproval. Her pinched lips and squinty eyes made Miles want to walk right out of the room and find the first available place to hide.

  “Your grace,” was all the woman said. She stood like a gargoyle, awaiting his response.

  “Mother,” Miles returned with equanimity. As much as Miles detested his father, his relationship with his mother was no better. She was a woman of the ton, a gossip mongering, judgmental person with nothing better to do but try to ruin other people's lives. Her marriage had never been loving and her ability to be maternal, non-existent.

  “You look dreadful. Did you sleep in that chair?” Miles always equated his mother's voice to an angry goose, all honking and vicious.

  “Yes, what of it? Last time I checked, madam, I was free to make my own bad decisions.” Miles took his head in his hands and rubbed his throbbing temples.

  Watching her son, the dowager duchess had some sympathy for him. She walked to the bell pull and summoned a footman. When the young man entered, she ordered some tea and toast and returned to sit in the other wing chair by her son.

  “I missed you last night at my dinner party. I had many young ladies lined up for you to peruse. As a duke, you really must think about getting married.”

  This was an old argument that cropped up every few months since he'd left school. Of course, in those days, he was only the heir apparent. Now that he assumed his role as duke, he needed a wife and an heir of his own.

  “You would not even have to like her. Just enough to produce an heir. Your life does not have to change, Sutherland. You can continue your tom cat ways.” Her small smile was an indication of how devoted she had been to her own wedding vows.

  “Thank you, mother. That is of great reassurance.” Miles stood as the footman entered the room with the tray. He saw that his chef was smart enough to put coffee o
n the tray, instead of tea. Pouring himself a cup, ignoring his guest completely, Miles sat at his desk and drank deeply of the rich brew.

  “I am planning a party at my estate in Shropshire. You are to attend and mingle with the young women. Then, you are to choose one to be your wife.” Miles realized that it was entirely too early for his mother's high-handedness and bad attitude.

  “No,” was his only reply, which he made before taking another sip of his coffee.

  “You have no choice.”

  Turning his head to side and regarding his mother carefully, he asked, “And why is that?”

  “Because if you don't attend and make a match, I shall start talk about you and that married woman you spent a year cavorting with. When I am done, she won't be able to be seen in respectable company.” The dowager's eyes sparkled with the venom she spewed.

  Miles' expression remained passive, but inside he reeled over the threat. As angry as he was with Bethany for breaking his heart, he would never wish something as heinous as allowing his mother to start discreet rumors about her. The effects of which would follow her until her dying day.

  “You are truly an evil woman, mother.” His voice kept a passive monotone. Miles had never hated anyone as much as he hated his mother at that moment.

  Smiling her victory, the dowager rose from her place and moved toward the door. “Then I can expect you?”

  “Of course. I would not miss it for the world.”

  The dowager took her leave and none too soon. Miles had the feeling that he would be violently ill.

  Chapter 3

  Riding on horseback, Miles approached the estate where he spent all his youth. He was born there and had lived there until he left for school. He remembered nursemaids, governesses, tutors and instructors. What he didn't remember was a time when his parents took any interest in him whatsoever. They spent most of the year in London, leaving him behind with a bevy of servants to see to his care.

  Technically, the house now belonged to him. There was a smaller, dowager house on the estate that his mother should occupy, but up until now, Miles saw no reason to move her. However, if she insisted that he make a match during this party, he would have her moved before the ink dried on his wedding certificate.

  Approaching the house, he had a stab of conscience. Would Bethany approve? he wondered. Shaking his head, Miles put her out of his mind. Since when did that woman become the yardstick against which he measured his behavior? He'd lived over thirty years of his life without her and he could do so again.

  One of the groomsmen came out to retrieve his horse before Miles could put his feet on the ground. Miles recognized the boy, but had no idea of his name. For some reason, that bothered him.

  “What is your name, boy?” he asked, trying to assuage his guilt.

  With a startled look, as if being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the lad answered, “D... Daniel, your grace.”

  “Thank you, Daniel. You are doing a fine job.” Leaving the boy to his duty, completely missing the shocked look on the young groom's face, Miles walked up to the front door. Before he could lay a hand on it, the door was opened by a sour looking, older gentleman.

  “Bosworth, how are you?” Miles inquired as he removed his gloves and hat, handing them to the dour butler.

  “I am very well, your grace. I trust your ride from town was a pleasant one.” The butler's voice was a deep, rich baritone that Miles remembered always being frightened by.

  “The ride was pleasant enough. My reason for being here is decidedly not.” Miles couldn't remember a time he'd said so many words to the ancient butler.

  “Most of the guests are not arriving until tomorrow, your grace. Your mother is, of course, already in residence.”

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Miles asked, “Does she expect me to attend her upon my arrival?”

  “She asked me to inform you that she is in the blue parlor, your grace.”

  “Well, in that case, I shall go to my rooms. Please have a bath prepared for me. Has my valet arrived?”

  “Yes, your grace. He arrived a few hours ago. I shall see to your bath.” The butler turned and walked behind the stairs.

  After a bath and a change of clothing, Miles felt marginally better. Although his body felt clean and refreshed, his spirit was just as downtrodden as before. He entered the dining room, ready to do battle with his mother.

  Looking up from her soup, his mother remarked, “And how long have you been here, Sutherland. I expected to see you long before now.”

  “You know exactly when I arrived, mother. You also know that I have been bathing and resting. So why the pretense?”

  Lowering her eyelids and regarding her son carefully, she replied, “Can you at least try to behave this week? Can you not play by the rules?”

  Taking his seat at the head of the table, Miles arched an eyebrow in response. Play by the rules? He'd never lowered himself to that before. And he couldn't understand why he should do so now. Her words came back to him from the last time he'd seen her. Would his mother follow through on her threat to make Bethany a pariah among the ton? Miles didn't need a crystal ball to see that she most certainly would.

  Deciding to play nice, he asked, “Bosworth said most of the guests would arrive tomorrow. Does that mean some of the guests are already here?” Miles let his eyes sweep around the room in question.

  “Yes, Lady Norbury is here with her daughter, but they have decided to take their supper above stairs this evening. Their journey, it seems, was quite a trial.” The dowager's voice sounded eager to impart some gossip on her only dinner companion. Unfortunately, Miles was not going to take the bait.

  “And who else should I expect this week?” he asked, purposefully avoiding leading her on.

  “I left a list of the guests in your study, along with my notes on each of the unmarried chits. There will be six girls for you to select from, all of which have the highest pedigrees.”

  “Very well, mother.” Miles kept his thoughts to himself for the rest of the meal. What did it matter who he married? If he knew one thing for sure, it was that none of the women on his mother's list would compare to Bethany.

  Chapter 4

  The guests arrived throughout the next day. His mother was there to greet everyone and to order the servants around like a drill sergeant. Miles kept to his study. It would be soon enough that he met the women, and for now, he was content with his solitude.

  At his mother's bequest, he was summoned to the patio to meet the invited families. Begrudgingly, he walked outside to see several groups, mostly women, congregating on the patio. Putting on his best indifferent face, Miles went to the his mother's side.

  “Oh, here you are, Sutherland. Allow me to introduce you to some of our guests.”

  Miles barely listened as his mother rattled off names of different families, unmarried girls with little sense and no personality. It reminded him of the house party where he met Bethany. She stood out because she didn't giggle and carry on like a child just out short skirts.

  He smiled when appropriate, bowed as necessary, but didn't engage. Miles wasn't interested in what these mothers had to say about their “beautiful, talented, angelic” daughters. Truth was, they were all equally qualified to be his wife, without any common sense among them. What he saw, when he looked at their faces, was what his mother had been all those years ago. A bright faced, fresh young girl, matched to man to raise her standards, but without any hope of love or affection. His father had a mistress before he married and had maintained one until his last breath. His mother's only job was to produce an heir and when that was done, Miles was sure his father never visited his mother's bed again.

  What a bleak existence, he thought as he watched the girls parade around and bat their eyelashes. Something stabbed at his heart. Was it sympathy? For his mother? No, never. The woman had made her life what it was and he wouldn't make excuses for her. She'd had to play by the rules, and now she expected her son to follow those same
rules, even knowing how miserable they had made her.

  After what Miles felt was an appropriate enough amount of time, he excused himself under the guise of having estate work to do. Striding off into the garden, his long legs carried him toward a wooded area not far from his house. There were plenty of woods near his estate. As a child, Miles would pretend to be a highwayman, laying in wait for a victim to approach. The victim was often a nursemaid, sent to make sure he didn't get in too much trouble.

  As he wandered the grove, his mind turned to Bethany. What was she doing? How was she doing? Was she happy? As much as the whole affair pained him, he wanted her to be alright. While lost in thought, Miles never saw the young woman on the ground until he tripped over her skirts, falling flat on his face.

  “Sir, are you alright?”