Claiming the Duchess (Fitzhugh Trilogy Book 0.5)
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About this ebook
Clarissa, the widowed Duchess of Lexington, has two great loves: the reticent and reclusive Mr. James Kingston and her faithful correspondent Miss Julia Kirkland, whom Clarissa has never met.
Now both Mr. Kingston and Miss Kirkland are due to arrive at Clarissa’s house—and Clarissa is about to find out that nothing of either is as she has been led to believe...
A story of longings--and longings fulfilled.
"Sherry Thomas is the most powerfully original historical romance author writing today."—Lisa Kleypas
Sherry Thomas
Sherry Thomas is the author of The Burning Sky and The Perilous Sea, the first two books in the Elemental Trilogy. Sherry immigrated to the United States from China when she was thirteen and taught herself English in part by devouring science fiction and romance novels. She is the author of several acclaimed romance novels and is the recipient of two RITA Awards. Sherry lives with her family in Austin, Texas.
Read more from Sherry Thomas
The Burning Sky Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Immortal Heights Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Perilous Sea Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Reviews for Claiming the Duchess (Fitzhugh Trilogy Book 0.5)
19 ratings1 review
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5Very little substance and bizarre "additional" book that just stopped. Don't bother
Book preview
Claiming the Duchess (Fitzhugh Trilogy Book 0.5) - Sherry Thomas
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Claiming the Duchess © 2014 by Sherry Thomas.
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants the right to strip any DRM which may be applied to this work.
Claiming the Duchess
Fitzhugh Trilogy Book 0.5
Chapter 1
Algernon House
Derbyshire, England
April 1882
Just before Clarissa, Duchess of Lexington, met the man who would inspire four long years of unrequited love on her part, she was thinking about fossils.
She didn’t have any particular interest of her own in these mementos of prehistoric life, but her fifteen-year-old stepson, Christian, quite adored them—and his collection was growing at a problematic rate.
Christian’s father—and Clarissa’s husband—did not approve of his heir mucking about in the dirt,
as he called it. Worse, he was always threatening to scrap all the specimens that Christian had painstakingly gathered.
Every night during the boy’s Easter holiday, he had lugged about trays of fossils, hiding them in various trunks and broom cupboards. The house was vast and some of the fossils were sure to remain undisturbed. But there was every chance of the rest meeting an ignominious end in the rubbish bin.
If only—
There you are, Duchess.
The voice belonged to Lord Hatchford, the duke’s good friend and fellow womanizer. And where Lord Hatchford was, the duke was never far away.
Clarissa no longer loved her husband, but sometimes, when she came upon him, she still experienced a pang in her chest: She missed her younger self—not the naive girl who had worshiped him, but the optimistic and confident young woman who had believed the world her oyster.
Or had that also been part of her naïveté? In either case, it had been a long, painful disillusionment to realize that the man she married was vain, arrogant, incapable of fidelity, and not even fun to have around.
She turned from the balustrade of the grand terrace where she had been standing. To her surprise, alongside the duke and Lord Hatchford there was a third man.
Duchess,
said Lord Hatchford, allow me to present my cousin, Mr. Kingston.
Mr. Kingston bowed.
He was a young man—Clarissa was twenty-eight and he must be two or three years younger. He was also a handsome man, with an athletic build perfectly set off by his riding attire, a head of thick chestnut hair, and a chiseled face, the severity of which was softened just a little by the shapeliness of his lips—lips that were sharp and cleanly defined, like the rest of his features, yet fuller than one would have expected.
That subtle contrast caught Clarissa’s attention. But she had learned all too well that beauty was only skin-deep—it was certainly the case for her husband.
Welcome to Algernon House, Mr. Kingston,
she said. And please, gentlemen, don’t let me keep you from your ride. It’s a good day for a gallop in the country.
Mr. Kingston bowed again. When he straightened, his gaze returned to her, level and unwavering.
Did you invite that Miss Elphinstone again?
exclaimed the duke, who had sauntered to the edge of the terrace. What use do I have for an old, ugly, and quarrelsome woman in my house?
Clarissa could only hope the woman she respected for her learning hadn’t heard the duke. "I happen to think Miss Elphinstone is