Excerpt of The Seduction Of A Duke by Donna MacMeans

With all the malice she could muster, Francesca Winthrop
whacked the wooden croquet ball beneath her foot, sending
her mother’s ball careening across the manicured lawn, over
the edge of the Newport cliffs, and possibly into the
blue-gray waters of the Atlantic Ocean.  Pity, it
wasn’t her mother’s head.

“Really, Francesca, that show of spirit was entirely
unnecessary.”  Alva Winthrop signaled one of the dozen
servants standing about for just such an occasion to search
for her ball at the rocky base of the cliff, before feigning
laughter for the benefit of the other society matriarchs
watching the match.  “Most women would be positively
thrilled to learn they were about to marry a Duke.”

“Most women have at least met the man they are to marry, or
had a say in the selection,” Fran replied, careful to keep
her voice low and her smile in place.  Never show
emotion, or risk the scorn that follows.  She’d been
fed those words in infancy along with her pabulum. 
An only child, raised in a lonely edifice to enormous
wealth, she learned her lessons well.  A tear, a
stutter in public earned her a slap across the face from her
mother in private.  Thus to the others in the game,
Francesca Winthrop maintained a calm façade.  Deep
inside, however, she screamed her protest.

“I won’t do this, maman.”  She glanced away, bracing
herself for her mother’s anticipated reprimand. 
“I’m…I’m in love with someone else.” 

“Nonsense.”  Alva smoothed her hands over her white
muslin skirts.  “Love has little to do with the
stewardship of great families.  You’ve known since
birth that your destiny was to bring a title to the
Winthrops.  With your father’s money and your new
husband’s title, you’ll be received into the best households
on both continents.”

“No, maman, with the influence of your new son-in-law,
you’ll be the one received in those best households,” Fran
said, trying to ignore the stabbing pain caused by her
mother’s lack of consideration.  Yet, it had always
been that way.  Her opinion in matters of her own
future were … insignificant.  Reality constricted her
throat, making words difficult.  “I shall be the one
tied to a man I don’t know and whom I don’t love.”

 “We all make sacrifices, dear.  You’ll learn to
adapt.  He’ll arrive in two days.  We’ll announce
your engagement at the costume ball this Saturday.”

Three days!  Her mother had been planning that ball for
two months, and Fran had been dreading it for at least as
long.  Now she would not only have to find the
fortitude to face a room full of people, but an unfamiliar
fiancé as well.  Dread, as hard and as solid as one of
her painted croquet balls, fisted into a tight knot in her
stomach.

An errant honey bee buzzed Alva’s hat, perhaps mistaking one
of the silk roses for the real thing.  Alva’s waved a
gloved hand to chase it away.  “I don’t know why you
insist on maintaining those ridiculous beehives.  I
certainly won’t miss them when you move to London.” 

London!  Fran hadn’t quite digested news of her
imminent engagement before encountering this second cannon
volley.  She’d have to move to London and live among
total strangers.  The comfortable solitude that she’d
maintained her entire life would vanish.  The knot in
her stomach leapt to her ribcage, inhibiting breath. 
She was dizzy, light-headed.

Alva squinted disapproval toward Fran for a moment, then shifted her gaze, her face brightening.  “Look Simpson has found my ball.  I’ll just go see to it’s proper placement.”

Francesca forced words past her constricted throat. 
They emerged in a harsh whisper, a testament to the
unexpected blow dealt to her future.  “Why now,
Maman?  You must have known of this earlier.  Why
not wait to tell me in private?”

Alva Winthrop stopped and turned, her glance stern and
sharp.  “ Do try to aim for the wickets, dear. 
It’s the winning that matters, not the course one takes to
get there.”

Francesca stood paralyzed.  For a moment, she
contemplated hitting her bonus ball directly toward her
mother’s heel.  The resulting injury might give her
pause over the injury she was causing her daughter.
 In her saddened heart, however, she knew that it would
be a worthless gesture.  Her mother was impervious to
another’s concern.

Not only had her mother not asked about her love interest,
she hadn’t even acknowledged the difficulty and reluctance
Fran had experienced in sharing that information. 
Obviously, her only daughter’s personal desires were of
less import than the advantageous placement of a croquet
ball. 

Francesca gazed beyond the lawn to the familiar tranquil
Atlantic.  A few sails billowed in their escape from
Narraqueswt Harbor.  The Fall River steamer, a tiny
spot on the deep blue horizon, chugged along on its daily
foray between Newport and Long Island.

“Randolph,” she whispered with all the yearning in her
heart.  “Where are you?  Why haven’t you
written?”  If ever she needed his comfort and advice,
now was the time. They had only managed to share a few
brief moments upon her return from Paris as he was leaving
for Germany the next day.  Still, he had promised to
write every day while he traveled on behalf of her father’s
business.  Yet not one envelope had arrived since his
departure three months ago.  Now she would be pitted
against her mother over plans for her future without even
the written assurance of his devotion.  Did he even
know what maman had concocted?  If only she could go
to Randolph, speak to him directly.

Facing the vast expanse of the ocean, even her father’s
gift of height failed to protect her from feeling small,
insignificant, and utterly alone.  Three days! 
What if she couldn’t abide the Englishman?  Her
mother might not have cared about such things, but this was
not her mother’s life.  She must take action. 
She must formulate a plan.

“Francesca, stop dawdling.  We’re all waiting on you,”
her mother called from the lawn boundary.

For the sake of her mother and appearances, Fran composed
her expression, then turned back toward the game. 
Leaning over her mallet, she did as she was told and aimed
her ball for the wickets, but her thoughts focused far away,
on the other side of the ocean.