Devil in Duchess's clothing

Prolouge

1849
West Sussex, England

Lady Emma Gordon closed her eyes for a brief moment, needing a respite from the sight before her.

Her husband—late husband, Lord Henry Gordon was being lowered into his grave while the priest performed the last rites.

She supposed it wasn't that tragic. After all, the man had been eighty years old and had lived a full life. In fact, he'd been well past his prime when she'd met him seven years ago...

And despite the fact that there wasn't any love lost between the late Duke and her, he'd still been her mentor, he'd given her a direction in life that she'd previously lacked. So it stung. It stung because the only person she'd trusted was gone. She was all alone now. In her line of work, being alone was not a pleasant thing.

Emma opened her eyes and brushed away the wisps of hair that had escaped her simple coiffure.

That was when she saw him...

A dark figure standing on the other side, away from the cemetery. She'd been expecting someone, of course. She just hadn't expected them to come so soon, even before Henry's body was cold in the grave.

She clenched her teeth, steeling herself against the surge of irritation.

You can do this, Emma told herself. Henry himself had trained her to deal with these kind of situations. She knew she was stronger than she felt at that moment.

She didn't acknowledge the man, gave no outward appearance that she'd seen him.

Once the funeral ended, Emma along with the rest of the distant relatives and friends went back to Goodwood house, their country seat. After seeing to the comfort of all the guests that were staying back until the evening and bidding farewell to those leaving right away, she made her way to her office. Her bottom had barely landed on the chair behind her desk when a knock sounded.

Emma sighed.

"Enter," she said.

The butler, Harrison peaked in. "You have a visitor, your grace."

"I shall see him here, Harrison," Emma nodded.

                **********************

Garrett hadn't known what to expect when he'd been asked to visit Lady Gordon at her husband's funeral. He'd thought it inappropriate, but despite being a marquess himself, there were people above him who'd asked him to do this. And so, here he was.

There were a number of things that struck him as unusual in the situation. At the top of that list was the Duchess. He'd been told that she was much younger than the Duke. But he hadn't imagined that she wouldn't even be as old as him. Or that she would be so lovely...

When he'd seen her standing there during the funeral, her black skirts fluttering in the wind, he'd been struck by her beauty. It was not the empty but pretty facade of a  debutante, but the sort of rich beauty that never faded.

He'd seen her standing with her back ramrod straight, surrounded by several people. And yet she'd looked alone. She didn't lean against anyone, not even for show. She hadn't shed a tear either, but Garrett had sensed her grief. Although the Duke had been several decades her senior, the lady had genuinely grieved.

Yes, the lady intrigued him, he admitted to himself. That didn't mean he appreciated being sent to this place to coddle a young widow when he had better work to do. He'd been asked to deliver a letter, for God's sakes. Garrett was the bloody Marquess of Waterford but he was being treated no better than a robin. All he lacked was a red uniform.