Free How to Tame Your Duke by Juliana Gray Page A

to the factory floor.”
    “And that’s all? The factory?”
    “No, no. Surely you’ve heard of the Ashland Spa Hotel? No? Dashed fine hot springs, which Pater’s turned into a proper health resort, a mile or so out of town. Then there’s shops, smiths, that sort of thing. Burghers strolling about like sheep.” Freddie stifled a yawn into his sleeve. The chestnut gelding beneath him jigged with surprise. “Hardly a decent-looking girl among them, of course. I daresay it’s the wind that does it.”
    Ashland Spa. A proper hotel, a mile or so out of town.
    Clouds were scudding by, each one darker than the next. Emilie glanced up at the sky and back down to the beaten grass before her. “Do you mind if we ride in? I confess I’ve rather a curiosity.”
    “Ah! Surveying the territory for your weekly half day, eh?”
    “Something like that.” Emilie kept her voice even.
    “Tally-ho, then.” Freddie nudged his chestnut to the left.
    Freddie was right; the town was unremarkable, an English village turned factory burg, the jumble of old half-timbered buildings at its heart surrounded by orderly rows of identical two-over-two workers’ houses with well-kept gardens the approximate size of pocket handkerchiefs. A packet of rain hit Emilie’s cheek just as they trotted through the outskirts. Freddie slowed his horse to a walk and peered at the sky. “Blast,” he said. “We can turn back, if you like. Stop at the Anvil and wait it out.”
    “Surely you’re made of sturdier stuff than that, your lordship.” Emilie tucked the brim of her cap downward.
    “Hell. You’re
that
sort, are you?” Freddie hunched his bony shoulders and heaved a melancholy sigh.
    Well, she was, after all. Emilie never had gone in much for the pomp and circumstance of her earlier life, which Stefanie found such fun and which Luisa performed with such stately grace. Emilie had always preferred curling up in an alcove with a book, or else riding across the soggy fields of Holstein-Schweinwald-Huhnhof on her horse. The worse the weather, the better: On a fine day the villagers would be out, bowing and scraping at her approach, and she’d have to straighten her back and nod regally, and her thoughts would fall back into conventional lines. No more adventure and scandal running riot in her head.
    Emilie peered out into the gathering drizzle, at the townspeople pulling out umbrellas or else dashing for cover, and without warning, the Duke of Ashland’s words echoed back in her head.
An absolute ruler, a despot, attempts to rearrange the succession to suit his own interests, to prevent the natural growth of a democratic form of law . . .
    Easy for an Englishman to say, of course. Nobody in Holstein-Schweinwald-Huhnhof had ever thought of democratic rule. What would the villagers do with the vote, if they had it? Papa had ruled so benignly, so benevolently. The poor had been taken care of. The wealthy had paid their taxes. The middling classes had prospered and sent their sons to school. The winds of change blowing over much of Europe had left the little principality untouched.
    The assassin’s bullet had come out of the blue, a shock to Emilie’s own heart.
    Her fingers went cold under her gloves. She pushed the thought away, as she usually did, but she could not push away its physical effects. The horse sensed her agitation, the clenching of her hands about the reins, and tossed his head.
    They hadn’t let her see Papa’s body, when they brought it back. Luisa had gone in, white-faced, and confirmed the death of their father. And Peter, of course. Poor dear Peter, childhood friend, heir to the neighboring province of Baden-Cherrypit. Stefanie had snuck in later, before they had prepared the bodies, and said that Peter had been struck in the neck, and that his dead flesh was as white as a sheet. Had bled out, probably, into the fallen October leaves of the Schweinwald.
    The horse jigged; Emilie cursed and put him right. “I say,