Holly and Hopeful Hearts

Holly and Hopeful Hearts

A Bluestocking Belles Collection

Amy Rose Bennett Jessica Cale Susana Ellis Sherry Ewing Jude Knight Caroline Warfield Nicole Zoltack

Contents

Copyright

by Jude Knight

A Suitable Husband

About A Suitable Husband

Prologue

by Susana Ellis

Valuing Vanessa

About Valuing Vanessa

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About Susana Ellis

Other Books by Susana Ellis

A Suitable Husband

Chapter 1

by Sherry Ewing

A Kiss for Charity

About A Kiss for Charity

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

About Sherry Ewing

Other Books by Sherry Ewing

A Suitable Husband

Chapter 2

By Jessica Cale

Artemis

About Artemis

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About Jessica Cale

Other Books by Jessica Cale

A Suitable Husband

Chapter 3

by Jude Knight

The Bluestocking and the Barbarian

About The Bluestocking and the Barbarian

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About Jude Knight

Other books by Jude Knight

A Suitable Husband

Chapter 4

by Nicole Zoltack

Christmas Kisses

About Christmas Kisses

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About Nicole Zoltack

Other books by Nicole Zoltack

A Suitable Husband

Chapter 5

by Caroline Warfield

An Open Heart

About An Open Heart

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About Caroline Warfield

Other Books by Caroline Warfield

A Suitable Husband

Chapter 6

by Amy Rose Bennett

Dashing Through the Snow

About Dashing Through the Snow

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About Amy Rose Bennett

Other Books by Amy Rose Bennett

A Suitable Husband

Epilogue

The Belles would like your help

Meet the Bluestocking Belles

Acknowledgments

Malala Fund

Find the Bluestocking Belles online:

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ISBN: 9781370533190

A Suitable Husband

by Jude Knight

This bonus story is told, one chapter at a time, in between the novellas in the collection.

As the Duchess of Haverford’s companion, Cedrica Grenford is not treated as a poor relation and is encouraged to mingle with Her Grace’s guests. Perhaps among the gentlemen gathered for the duchess’s house party, she will find a suitable husband?

Marcel Fournier has only one ambition: to save enough from his fees serving as chef in the houses of the ton to become the proprietor of his own fine restaurant. An affair with the duchess’s dependent would be dangerous. Anything else is impossible. Isn’t it?

Prologue

London

September 1812

Cedrica Grenford set her portable writing desk on the table. She had freshly prepared quills, a full bottle of ink, and neatly cut sheets of paper, each with the Haverford crest watermarked in the background. She took a deep breath and pushed her glasses farther up her nose. She was ready for this, her first test as confidential secretary and companion to Her Grace, the Duchess of Haverford.

That is to say, to Aunt Eleanor. Who would have thought that little Ceddie Grenford would grow up to one day call a duchess ‘aunt’? Even if that illustrious personage was remotely connected by marriage.

She had not imagined such a result when she had written to the duke to beg a refuge for her father, his distant cousin, who was failing in health and confused in mind. Papa was an ill-paid country vicar with a lifetime habit of giving away whatever came into his hands. Now the church he had served so devotedly proposed to put him into a poorhouse. Or an asylum.

Two weeks ago, the duchess, escorted by her son, the Marquis of Aldridge, descended upon their house and carried Papa off to be cared for in a lovely pensioner cottage near Haverford Castle in Kent, taking Cedrica to London to serve the duchess as a companion. Of course, Cedrica had breathed a grateful sigh of relief… until this afternoon. She might be a little nervous, but she was determined to do well in her new role.

Cedrica, my dear, said Her Grace, come here and meet some of the ladies who form our committee.

Cedrica managed to acquit herself without disgrace as she was presented to some of the duchess’s legion of goddaughters and their friends. Lady Emily Pembroke stopped her conversation with Lady de Courtenay to smile at Cedrica. Lady de Courtenay gave a friendly wave. Miss Sedgely offered a straightforward handshake, and Lady Elinor Lacey introduced the two bored schoolgirls with them as Miss Louise Durand and Miss Blanche Lacey.

The Belvoir sisters, Lady Sophia and Lady Felicity, also greeted Cedrica warmly. I am to act as chairman, and Lady de Courtenay will make a third with you and I, Lady Sophia said. This committee has much work to do, Miss Grenford, and the three of us most of all.

Lady Sophia introduced Miss Lockhart, who in turn made Miss Kate Woodville known to the company. Miss Woodville, it seemed, was a teacher at a young ladies’ academy. Perhaps teaching might be a future for Cedrica. She would make a point of talking to the young woman.

Aunt Eleanor, I brought my friend, Miss Baumann, Lady Felicity said, Esther has a great interest in education for girls, and that is why we are here, is it not?

The duchess smiled. You must be Mr. Nathaniel Baumann’s daughter, Miss Baumann. You are most welcome to our number. Shall we be seated, ladies?

This is no different to taking notes for the meetings of the Ladies’ Altar Society, or the Mothers’ Union, or the Vestry. So Cedrica had been telling herself for days, but these were not farmers’ wives and shopkeepers; these were fine ladies in fashionable silks with upper-class vowels and curious eyes.

And if the ladies were terrifying, the gentlemen would be worse. Lord Aldridge had suggested that she regard the proposed house party as an opportunity to meet a suitable husband and had promised to pay a dowry if such a gentlemen could be brought to propose. His money was safe enough. She preferred not even to speak to gentlemen of the ton if she could avoid it.

Cedrica sat in front of her desk, at the left hand of the duchess and the right of Lady Sophia, who took the head of the table and opened the meeting.

Ladies, you know why we are here. Several of us were talking about the dearth of opportunities for women in all classes, should they want more of an education than the skills that our world deems ‘appropriate for a woman.’ We do not think ourselves less capable of great learning than our brothers, nor do we consider ourselves extreme examples of our kind. We believe that women who wish to study the arts or the sciences should be able to do so, as have some of us ourselves.

Goodness. Had such ideas been suggested at a Vestry meeting, the speaker would have been laughed out of the room, with her father leading the mirth. Even the Ladies’ Altar Society would have been shocked. But these grand ladies were all nodding, even Her Grace.

But talk butters no parsnips, Lady Sophia continued. We agreed that we needed a fund to support schemes for assisting girls to be educated beyond the sphere to which their sex, class, or both assign them. Her Grace has kindly agreed to be patroness of this fund and has an idea for announcing it to the world and, at the same time, raising money to support it. Ladies, you, your family and friends, and anyone who is in the least likely to support us are invited to Hollystone Hall in Buckinghamshire this December for a holiday house party and a New Year’s Eve Charity Ball.

The explosion of delighted comments that filled the room flowed over Cedrica. A ball. How on earth would she ever manage that, much less the house party that would precede it?

Valuing Vanessa

by Susana Ellis

The Hertfordshire Hoydens, Book 2

By Susana Ellis

Facing a dim future as a spinster under her mother’s thumb, Vanessa Sedgely makes a practical decision to attach an amiable gentleman who will not try to rule her life.

The last thing widower George Durand thinks he wants is another wife, but his difficult daughter is proving hard to handle. In any case, the admirable Miss Sedgely is far too young for him. A love match is not even a remote consideration for these two. Or is it?

Chapter 1

By the time Nicholas had been dropped off at his Mayfair townhouse, the streets were deserted except for the night watchmen patrolling underneath bright street lamps, and George was exhausted. Recalling the days of his youth when he had the run of London and could fritter away the night with his Oxford cronies without the slightest effort, he felt a twinge of nostalgia for that too-brief period of time when he had total and utter freedom from the responsibilities that now weighed him down. These days he did indeed feel his age—next year he would be forty and decidedly middle-aged. Genny had been gone for two years now, and he was still at point non plus with their daughter. His business was thriving, but it seemed to require an increasing amount of his time, which he had only recently realized was a contributing factor to his problems with Louise.

The image of the pretty blonde Miss Sedgely came to mind, along with a whimsical wish to be a decade or so younger. No milk and water miss she! He liked that about her, that she was not afraid to speak her mind. That she had more on her mind than routs and fashion and husband-hunting. He’d often thought it was a shame that society offered few options for women except through marriage, and even then their role was limited to the home and serving as pretty decorations at social events. But then, he couldn’t see her in the same vein as the independent Lady Hester Stanhope either. Miss Sedgely would be an outstanding wife for a man who had the presence of mind to appreciate her outspokenness and her fearless determination to become personally involved with the poor and needy and not just write checks from a convenient distance.

As the carriage approached the modest residence he kept in Town for the times when it was too late to make the thirty-mile trip to St. Albans, he sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had enough problems without adding a romantic entanglement into the mix, the principal of which was his daughter Louise.

At fifteen, she was a miniature of her mother, a dark-haired, petite beauty with dainty features and coffee-colored eyes that flared up like fireworks when she was angry… which was most of the time these days. She had reason to be angry, he acknowledged, having lost her beloved mother two years ago in a carriage accident, and then, after she had finally settled into a stable existence with his sister’s family, she’d been unceremoniously pulled out again to live with a father whose life was his work and who had no real understanding of his own daughter.

Perhaps he should have left her with his sister’s family after all. Eliza loved her like a daughter, and Louise, with no siblings of her own, had eagerly adopted her younger cousins and appeared to be thriving when he’d decided to bring her home. A less selfish man might have given her leave to remain there. But when Eliza’s husband was appointed to the diplomatic staff of Lord Cathcart in St. Petersburg, George found he could not allow her to go.

It had been a major bone of contention between them. Louise had always yearned for the sort of exotic, lavish, aristocratic lifestyle she thought she deserved as the granddaughter of a French comte—an attitude inherited from her unhappy mother and grandmother. His stomach hardened as he recalled how the bitterness of his mother-in-law at having her aristocratic heritage so violently wrenched from her had eaten away into his marriage.

As Genny became more and more dissatisfied with her position as the wife of a lowly solicitor, their quarrels escalated to the point where she began to spend most of her time with her sister, who, as the wife of a duke’s younger son, lived in a fine house and socialized among the ton. He felt conscience-stricken to recall how relieved he’d been when she’d been gone. Plunging into his work had the double benefit of contributing to the financial success of his business as well as helping him to avoid stewing over his guilt and unhappiness over his marriage.

It hadn’t always been like that. They’d married young—he’d been nearly three and twenty and she eighteen—but those first few years had been good ones, especially with the birth of Louise. Genny had been a doting mother, and, as far as he knew, showed no signs of being discontent with her life in those early days. There hadn’t been much money then, but they’d employed a cook, a maid, and a nursery maid for the babe. Genny made the social rounds of St. Albans—such as they were—and they attended a handful of balls and assemblies during the social season. Once or twice a year, they made their way to Norfolk to the Durand family estate to visit his cousin, the 4th Viscount Faringdon. He wondered if that tempting glimpse of the grandiose life might have contributed to her restlessness.

Contributed, perhaps, but it wasn’t the primary culprit. That dubious honor went to her mother, the displaced Comtesse d’Aumale, who resided alternately with the families of both her daughters. While living with his family, the bitter countess railed against him, his income, the house they lived in, the small town and the paysans who lived in it, and just about everything around her. She berated her daughter for marrying beneath her, and held up Genny’s sister Juliette’s husband—heir to a duke, although his brother the duke might still conceivably produce a son—as a far superior choice.

Frankly, this was something George couldn’t understand. The comtesse had escaped the guillotine, along with her daughters, when her husband had not. The glittering Versailles of the past no longer existed—the revolutionaries and Napoleon had swept it all away in favor of a new republican aristocracy where he and his family and cohorts reigned supreme. The comtesse wasn’t likely to ever win her property back, and even if she did, it would be run into the ground with no money left to put it in order again. George was a practical man, and he thought it foolish in the extreme for his mother-in-law—and then his own wife—to brood over the past so much that they could no longer see the advantages of the present. Ah well. The comtesse and Genny—as well as Juliette—had lost their lives in that horrific carriage accident, and that was that, he had thought at the time. Grief-stricken and relieved that Louise had not been in the carriage as well, he’d had no inkling at the time that Louise would suffer from the same malady as her mother and grandmother.

The coach came to a halt and so did George’s troubled reverie. It was nearly dawn and he had a full day at the office to look forward to, in addition to the thirty-mile return trek to St. Albans. This was why he didn’t particularly care for the social obligations of his position; it was true that he employed clerks to manage the relentless paperwork required in the legal profession, but no matter how reliable they were, his personal oversight was essential to the process.

Good night, Fowler, he called to the coachman as he exited the coach. Or rather, good morning.

G’night, sir. The coachman tipped his hat, climbed back onto the driver’s seat, and urged the horses on to the mews behind the building.

As George neared the entrance of the building where he leased lodgings, he thought he heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a cough. Suspecting an attacker, he whirled around in the dimly-lit front yard, his cane raised for defense. Nothing. He stood, breathless and nearly motionless as he surveyed the area for a potential ambush. His gaze caught on the tall hedges guarding either side of the door. Were his eyes deceiving him, or were some of the branches moving slightly in the calm, breezeless night? He waited a handful of seconds and then descended upon the hedge on the right, his walking stick aimed like a sword as he sought to reveal the unknown person concealed behind it.

The stick clacked loudly as it hit the stone of the building, but a simultaneous scream confirmed his suspicions of a lurker. Moving quickly to head off an escape attempt, George closed in on the small figure huddled in the bushes. A child, by the look of things. The scream, he recalled, had been decidedly feminine, but seeing no skirts, he thought perhaps it was a boy not fully grown. Not the sort of muscled brute he’d first feared, but still a threat to the neighborhood. He slowed his approach, but continued to move closer.

Come out, boy, and explain yourself. What are you doing here?

The small figure crawled out hesitantly, raising his hands in front of him for protection. Don’t hurt me, Papa! It’s me, Louise!

Louise!

He lowered the cane and kept approaching. As he drew closer, he could make out his daughter’s familiar oval-shaped face and brown eyes, wet with unshed tears.

Louise? What are doing here? You are meant to be in St. Albans, with Mrs. Crewe!

Louise ran into his arms. She hadn’t done that for a long time—not since she was a young child. It felt good to hold her there. She was safe. But… how had she got there? What was she doing in the bushes? And why, he asked himself, was his daughter dressed in a shirt and trousers like a stable boy?

A light was lit in the foyer of the building, and the porter’s footsteps could be heard approaching the door. George pushed his daughter back behind the hedge. It wouldn’t do for word to get around that the daughter of George Durand had been seen in boys’ clothing in the early hours of the morning at a lodging house for gentlemen.

A key turned in the lock, and the front door opened. Is anyone there?

The porter, a stout, bald man in a worn green dressing gown and brown nightcap, peered out from behind the open door. Mr. Durand! Is all well with you, sir? I thought heard a scream…

George straightened his spine and gave the man a condescending stare. Certainly not, Hodges. Must have been a dream. All is well here. I-uh- dropped my key into the grass and am having the devil of a time finding it again.

The porter relaxed his shoulders. Is that all? Would you like me to assist you? He tried to stifle a yawn.

Oh no, that is not necessary, George said quickly. I’m sure I’ll find it in short order. Best you go to bed and get a bit more shut-eye while you can.

Well, said the porter reluctantly. If you are certain…

I am.

I shall leave you the candle, at least. You may leave it on the hall table when you come in.

Indeed.

The man left the candle on the top step and padded off to bed, leaving the door slightly ajar, presumably so that George could enter should his search for the key be unsuccessful.

When his footsteps ceased, George motioned to Louise to come out.

Be silent, he whispered. We will discuss this later. For now, we must get you up to my rooms without anyone knowing you are here. These were gentlemen’s lodgings, and women—even daughters—were strictly prohibited.

Louise nodded.

He picked up the candle from the step and blew it out. The more darkness, the less likely anyone would see his illicit ‘guest’.

As they entered the building, Louise removed her shoes at her father’s silent command, and the two of them made their way down the corridor and the two flights of stairs to his residence. When he finally closed the door behind them, he lit a lamp in his sitting room and motioned her to a chair.

Now, do tell me, Daughter, what has brought you to London—and in such a state as you are now, as well.

Louise swallowed and stepped back. "I-I wanted to come to London, Papa. There’s nothing at all to do in St. Albans, and Mrs. Crewe is a dead bore. She makes me study Fordyce’s Sermons every morning after breakfast, and has taken away all of my novels too! My only friend is—well, I have no friends there at all—people are so provincial there, you know, and all my friends are here in London! Please, Papa, you cannot oblige me to stay there! I’m quite certain I shall die from the tediousness of it!"

George’s face reddened. Despite his non-violent nature, he had an overwhelming desire to throw something. How did she slip away from the house? Where did she get the masculine attire? And how in blazes had she managed to travel the nearly thirty miles to get here? Thus far, she hadn’t said anything he had not heard before. She’d made her grievances plain to anyone within hearing distance, since he’d categorically refused to allow her to travel to Russia with her aunt’s family and brought her back home again.

He forced himself to speak normally. I don’t yet comprehend how you could have traveled here all on your own—you will explain that to me shortly—but your own behavior confirms to me that you haven’t the sense of a gnat. Must I keep you under lock and key, Louise, in order to prevent you from harming yourself with your foolish behavior? I confess to being astonished that the daughter I raised could have embarked on such an ill-advised prank. He threw his hands up in the air. Young ladies do not roam the countryside alone, not to mention London, nor do they dress in masculine attire to do it. Your deception could have been detected at any time, and heaven knows, I could have awakened to the news that my only child was assaulted or even murdered!

Do not pretend you would not be relieved, Father dear, to have one less complication in your life! If you had only allowed me to travel to St. Petersburg, you might never have been obliged to concern yourself with me again! Her jaw was set, but he saw a lonely tear slip down her cheek.

George sighed heavily, feeling a tightness in his chest. "Surely you do not believe I should have been glad to hear of your death! Such a thing is beyond my understanding. I know you wished to go with your aunt, Louise, but how could I let you go, knowing that by the time I saw you again you would be a grown woman and nothing like the little girl who went fishing with me and learned to bait her own hook despite her fear of worms."

Oh, Papa. Louise smiled briefly in spite of herself. Young ladies do not bait hooks.

He reached over and took her hands in his. You did, though, before your mother convinced you such a pastime was not worthy of you.

She paled at the mention of her mother, and he wished he could take back the words. Her mother’s absence still had the power to distress her, and he himself could not think about Genny without a twinge of guilt.

You are all I have left, Louise. At the time, I thought it best that you have a mother figure to see you through your time of grief, but I should not have left you there so long. It was not my intention to—abandon you there. He shrugged. But each time I saw you, it seemed you had become part of the family, and I found it impossible to tear you away, to share what has become a bachelor household.

But that is what you have done, Papa! I could have danced with Russian princes in St. Petersburg, but instead you have obliged me to live in this stupid village where there is nothing to do and no one of interest to meet. And so I sit with nothing to do but listen to that stuffy Mrs. Crewe, while you-you… angry tears spilled out of her eyes … appear only for dinner, and not even that much really, with your constant trips to London.

Accepting the loan of his handkerchief, she dried her eyes and blew her nose. "I do not believe you really wish to have a daughter at all. Sometimes I wish I had been with Maman and Grand-mère in the carriage that day. For then at least I would be with them, and not left to be a virtual orphan as I am at present!"

How can you say that? George swayed slightly, feeling a sudden heaviness in his core. You would prefer to be dead than be my daughter, Louise?

Louise looked up at him through tears, and he hurried to pull her out of her chair and hug her to his chest. I may not be the best of fathers, dear child, but I shall do better in future. You may depend upon it.

Chapter 2

White’s Gentlemen’s Club, St. James Street, London

26th August, 1812

After a long day of dictating legal documents for the wealthy shipping magnate who was his long-time client, George Durand, Esq. decided to take an early dinner at White’s before making his way to his London lodgings. He preferred the calm, congenial atmosphere of the gentleman’s club to the noisy fuss of restaurants and, as a bonus, he wouldn’t encounter any eligible marriage partners or their matchmaking mamas. A full-flavored English beefsteak followed by good stiff brandy in the company of his cronies seemed like a delightful conclusion to his exceedingly monotonous day.

He settled into a cozy leather chair in the front parlor and was giving his order to the waiter when a newcomer approached him.

Durand! By all that’s holy, I haven’t seen you for an age! How the hell are you doing? And the saucy wee lassie?

The newcomer was Lord Nicholas Lacey, his former brother-in-law, whom he had not encountered since the somber dinner at the Lacey estate following the funeral of both their wives, as well as their mother-in-law. At one time, his family and Lord Nicholas’s had been inseparable—their wives Geneviève and Juliette being sisters—but since the day of the tragic carriage accident nearly two years ago, the two men had only seen each other in passing. No doubt this was due to the fact that their wives had been the organizers of the social calendar—and also that neither man had felt much like socializing since then.

Good to see you here, Lacey. Will you not join me for dinner? I’ve just ordered mine and would gladly suffer your company whilst I take my meal.

The tall, light-haired gentleman took the seat opposite from him and rubbed his hands together. Be glad to. What’s up for dinner, Hickham?

The waiter looked up obligingly. "Beefsteak, roast goose, pork pies, and flounder. Our chef has also prepared an excellent bouillabaisse, if that will appease your appetite."

Lord Nicholas ordered the flounder and turned to his former brother-in-law. A brandy?

George shook his head. I’m having mine after, he said.

His friend rolled his eyes. "I’ll have mine before and after," he told the waiter, with a sidelong glance at George.

Dipping rather deep these days? inquired George when the waiter had disappeared toward the back of the building.

Lord Nicholas shrugged. More so than before, I suppose. Never more than half-sprung, though. Haven’t been ape-drunk since my salad days.

Hickham brought him his drink. Lord Nicholas took a generous gulp and set it on the side table. You know, when I recall how vexed I felt when Juliette used to scold me for it, I feel like getting on my knees and promising to never imbibe again if she will only come back to me. He stared down at his hands. Then he looked up and shook his head sadly. But she never does, so as long as nobody gives a damn…

George wrinkled his brow. Nonsense! You have family who gives a damn. I do myself, and so do all your other friends. And what about Blanche? Don’t you owe it to Juliette’s memory to conduct yourself with honor?

Nicholas scrubbed a hand across his face. Blanche? She doesn’t need me. She’s with m’brother and Caroline. Haven't seen her for months.

George's nostrils flared. "She’s your daughter, man! Your responsibility!"

Nicholas flinched. "She's better off there. Father and mother figure, cousins more like siblings. A ducal household. What can I offer a fifteen-year-old daughter?"

Love, George responded. Her own father who shows her attention and doesn't shrink from involvement in her life. That beats all the rest, man.

Nicholas pulled at his cravat and stared blankly into the distance. Then he turned back to meet George's eyes. "What about your daughter? Is Louise not residing with Eliza's family? When did you last see her, George?"

Not any longer, George retorted. "Eliza and John and family are en route to St. Petersburg for a post with Lord Cathcart. Louise is with me in St. Albans, and the last time I saw her was yesterday morning before I departed for London."

Nicholas pressed his lips into a fine line. Didn't want to take her along, I suppose. Be truthful, George, you are in the suds with Louise as much as I am with Blanche, are you not? What right have you to ring a peal over me?

Of course not, George sputtered, then he shrugged. Apologies, Lacey. Your daughter is naturally your concern and nothing to do with me, other than the fact she is my niece and Louise’s cousin. He grimaced and rubbed his chin. And you are not far wrong in your conjecture that my daughter and I are at odds, but not for the reason you think. You see, Eliza and John were more than willing to take Louise with them to Russia, and she, herself, was eager to expand her horizons at the Russian court, but I withheld my consent.

Nicholas whistled. "No doubt that set up her bristles, he commented. What motivated you to do that, Durand? Guilt? How do you expect to manage a daughter all on your own?"

I expect to hire a governess before too much time passes. For now, she is under the vigilance of the vicar's wife, but that good woman finds my daughter very taxing on her nerves. His mind raced in search of answers for the first question. Louise's head is easily filled with grand thoughts of titles and associating with royalty. He shook his head. I cannot believe it prudent for her to be exposed to that sort of life and then have her hopes dashed upon her return to reality.

"Ah, yes, I've heard that phrase in my home often enough, Nicholas admitted. ‘I’m the granddaughter of a comte, Papa,’ and it is nearly always followed by ‘and my uncle is a duke.’ No doubt after residing in a mansion with a ducal family, Blanche's head is likewise floating around the clouds."

"But your brother is a duke, argued George, and she will socialize in exalted circles the rest of her life. The d’Aumale title and estates that my daughter—and my wife and mother-in-law before her—pinned their hopes on someday regaining no longer exist, and almost certainly never will. She’s the daughter of a solicitor, not a comtesse, and that is all she will ever be. I see no advantage in encouraging her delusions."

Perhaps, but you are yourself the cousin of a viscount. Do you not associate with his family on occasion?

Once a year, perhaps, said George, but my cousin and I are not intimate friends, and he has four sons, so there is little chance the title will ever come to me. No, Louise must learn to accept her place. His eyes filled with unshed tears. But I must confess that the real reason I refused my consent was because I miss her. I have decided that I must have my daughter by my side.

Capital! exclaimed a new arrival, Lord Hooper, a mutual friend. I was certain this was where I could find two gentlemen in need of an evening of gaiety. Lacey, Durand, you must join our party at Vauxhall tonight. I have two tickets that will go unused if you do not take them, and this is a special masquerade in honor of the British victories on the Peninsula. A benefit for the troops, in fact.

A masquerade? Nicholas shook his head. I haven’t a costume.

And we just ordered dinner, protested George.

Nonsense, argued their friend, his chin high. Eat your dinner and meet us later. Old Taplin has a shop across from the carriage entrance. You can get all manner of masks and whatnot there. I don’t wear dominoes myself, he offered. Too hot for summer. A mask is quite enough, in my view.

Vauxhall, said George, exchanging a glance with Nicholas.

Why not? responded Nicholas with a shrug. I can’t say I have anything better to do.

George sighed. Might as well, he agreed reluctantly. A benefit for the fighting men, is it? I should like to think I’m not shirking my duty.

Lord Hooper threw his head back and laughed. You don’t fool me, Durand. It’s the myriad of delicate flowers of femininity you wish to feast your eyes upon at the Gardens.

George chuckled. You might just have something there.

Unquestionably, said Nicholas. Don’t all gentlemen have a weakness for pretty flowers?

And so it happened that George and Nicholas found themselves at the Royal Vauxhall Gardens on the night of the Grand Masquerade.

Vauxhall Gardens, Lambeth, London

Five hours later

Over there, Vanessa, under the tree next to the Orchestra. Is that not the Regent dancing with Lady Jersey?

Eugenia shouted in the direction of her elder sister’s ear while she waved an arm toward the couple in question.

Vanessa, wincing at the combined intensity of the lively music and her sister’s exclamation, glanced briefly at the couple in question and shook her head.

"I shouldn’t think so, Genie. The Regent is far sturdier of figure. In any case, the woman is too young to be the dowager, and the current Lady Jersey would never look so pleased to be dancing with him."

The younger sister, pretty and blue-eyed with sleek copper hair, and flushed with excitement, sighed deeply. I suppose not. Sally doesn’t seem to care for him much, does she?

Lady Philippa Hooper, the third member of the party, deliberately raised an eyebrow. Not after the scandalous affair he had with her mother-in-law. Her Pomona green mask revealed brown eyes that mirrored the color of her chestnut hair. "Although Anthony saw her give the dowager the cut-direct once, which she would never dare with Prinny."

Eugenia giggled somewhat nervously, and Vanessa grinned. Although married for two years and the mother of a year-old son, Genie still occasionally displayed the naïveté of the nineteen-year-old she was.

Don’t worry, little sister. Mother is not present to hear your improper assertions. In any case, as a married woman, you are no longer accountable to her.

Eugenia shook her head. "She doesn’t seem to know that, however. Why, the squire is afraid of her and I suspect Reese is as well. In her presence, he acts the perfect son-in-law. Attentive to her every word."

Vanessa snorted. No doubt he feels obligated, since she had her heart set on a title for you, Genie. I still can’t fathom how the two of you managed to convince our parents to consent to the marriage.

Eugenia shrugged. I suspect it was Papa. Seeing Vanessa’s eye roll, she continued, He follows her lead, I know, and never gainsays her, but I do believe he has a way of exerting his influence.

Vanessa bit her lip and nodded. Perhaps that was so. She’d long suspected that to be the reason her mother had withdrawn her objection to Vanessa’s involvement with the Foundling Hospital. Not that she didn’t still complain about it, though. Mrs. Sedgely’s character was what it was, and dissatisfaction with everything and everyone was firmly ingrained there.

The music ceased suddenly, and Mr. Hook announced that a brief intermission while the musicians took refreshments. The ambience reverted to the usual babble associated with crowds of people in public, and Vanessa took a deep breath of relief. As much as she enjoyed music, the sheer volume of the brass and drum instruments was beginning to get on her nerves. Not to mention that it was nearly impossible to conduct a conversation over all the fanfare.

As for refreshments, interjected Philippa, who had been listening in amusement to the two sisters’ banter, I have to wonder what has happened to our husbands. Surely they have had more than sufficient time to return with our food. I am famished.

No doubt they have happened on some acquaintance or other, complained Eugenia. Reese loses all notion of time when he talks about farming.

Anthony as well, confessed Philippa. Although his repertoire is not limited to farming. But here in Vauxhall, I suspect he’s found a magic act of some sort. He does consider himself an accomplished magician, you know. Amateur, of course, she added unnecessarily.

Vanessa shrugged. In that case, she said, waving a hand in the direction of a waiter, let us order the food ourselves. We don’t require husbands for that.

Aside from paying the bill, grumbled Eugenia as the three ladies pooled the contents of their reticules in order to locate enough coins to pay the reckoning, I might agree with you.

Pish posh, said Vanessa while they waited for their order to arrive. Reese is so besotted he will give you whatever you wish.

I’m just not accustomed to carrying coins around. Reese pays when he’s with me, and everything else is set down to his account.

That is the last of my allowance, said Philippa with a deep sigh as she watched the waiter depart with their order—and their money. More than a month left in the quarter and I haven’t a feather to fly with. Anthony will be furious.

Vanessa snorted. Ladies! What has happened to your sense of independence? Your ability to make your own decisions and stand by them? Your gumption? You are fully-grown women and not children. Genie, you are a mother as well. Little Richard needs you to be able to stand up for yourself—and him.

Eugenia stiffened. I am a good mother.

Of course, you are— began Vanessa, stricken by remorse.

Stop this, Vanessa, Philippa ordered. This isn’t about Genie or me. We are both fully capable of managing our own lives and husbands. This is about you, because you are unwed. And, in spite of all your posturing, I don’t believe you are happy about that.

Vanessa flinched. I can’t believe you said that.

Eugenia glared at Philippa while she took Vanessa’s hand and squeezed it. She didn’t mean it, Vanessa. Of course she didn’t. Did you, Philippa?

A flush crept across Philippa’s face. I-I, she began, before being interrupted by the arrival at their table of the master of ceremonies, Mr. C.H. Simpson, dressed for the occasion in a gold-buttoned, navy blue frock coat, buff-colored knee breeches, and a cocked hat trimmed in gold braid.

Good evening, ladies, he intoned while making the exaggerated courtesy for which he was well-known, extending his right leg back on tip-toe while he raised his hat high with the left arm. It is a great pleasure to see such fine ladies as yourselves enjoying the festivities this evening.

Thank you, Mr. Simpson. Vanessa surprised herself by managing to recoup her composure before her companions. It is a fine evening to celebrate our brave soldiers’ victories on the Peninsula. We are forever indebted to them for their service.

Indeed we are. Indeed we are, agreed the obsequious gentleman. So unfortunate that the greater part of the brave souls cannot be present to see it, but no doubt their family and friends will be sure to apprise them of it.

At that point, two waiters appeared, carrying trays with covered dishes, plates, glasses, and bottles. Mr. Simpson, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod, moved aside and waved them toward the ladies’ supper-box.

"I see your refreshments have arrived, so I shall leave you to enjoy your meal. Bon appétit, dear ladies! The evening is young yet, and the Royal Gardens have many more pleasures to offer you. The Turkish band will be playing at ten o’clock in the Rotunda, and, of course, you will not want to miss the fireworks at half-past eleven." He did another of his spectacular bows, and moved on to the guests in the adjoining box.

Mr. Simpson is truly a gentleman, Eugenia mused as the waiters set out the tableware, poured the wine, and removed the covers from the platter of cold sliced chicken, ham, and cheese, and the bread and butter. I know some scorn him for a buffoon, but I always look forward to seeing him. I believe he is sincere in his efforts to make the visitors feel welcome.

Philippa welcomed the food with gusto. I’m famished. I do wish the proprietor would allow thicker slices, however. I rather wish I had ordered a custard, or even a Shrewsbury cake. She removed her mask and set it on the table next to her plate before spearing slices of chicken and ham with her fork to deposit on her plate and cut into slices.

The waiter who had brought their order halted. Would you like me to bring you a sweet, milady? We have some lovely strawberries and the freshest cream to be had in the kingdom.

Philippa stopped chewing for a moment, and then shook her head. Not for me, thank you, she answered after swallowing. I put on weight far too easily.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. I shall have a plate of strawberries, she declared. Assuming it is not terribly dear, she added, fumbling in her reticule.

Three shillings, volunteered the waiter.

Ah, yes, I can just manage it, she said as she handed him the coins.

What? she queried when she saw the mirth on her companions’ faces. What did I do to amuse you so?

Philippa, who had just taken a sip of the claret, fought to refrain from spewing it all over the table.

Vanessa, dear, you don’t really want strawberries, do you? You ordered them because you wanted to prove you don’t give a fig what anyone thinks, said Eugenia, when she had stopped laughing.

Heat flushed through Vanessa’s body. That’s ridiculous! Of course I wanted the strawberries. I love strawberries! Then, narrowing her eyes, I have nothing to prove. Nothing at all.

Now, now, don’t be angry, begged Eugenia, lightly rubbing her sister’s arm. We are all three friends. What is a little teasing among friends?

Vanessa closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back wall of the supper-box. They were right. She was far more disturbed by her spinster status than she wanted to admit… even to herself. Nearly every lady her age—four and twenty—was married and settled, including her younger sister, who already had a son and heir.

As she would have been, too, had her betrothed not eloped to Gretna Green with a dairymaid and, by so doing, made her the laughingstock of the ton.

As it had been an arranged marriage, her heart had been more bruised than broken, but being the subject of society’s cruel jokes proved to be devastating.

There she is, that girl whose fiancé left her for a milkmaid. Can you imagine?

She’s pretty enough… I wonder what could have turned him off her?

Of course, that was a very long time ago, and Vanessa was no longer a naïve, impressionable eighteen-year-old, but the armor of indifference she’d affected to protect herself had become a wardrobe staple over the years. One that had effectively protected her from receiving any further offers of marriage, to the mortification of her mother.

But was that what she really wanted?

She’d long ceased to care about the comments about being on the shelf or at her last prayers. Although she’d resist going to caps until her last breath. Her dark blonde hair was one of her best features, and she was vain enough to wish to show it off as long as she could. Until it turned gray, that is.

Her shoulders slumped. In her mind’s eye, she saw an image of herself in thirty years: capped gray hair, face wrinkled with pasty white skin, wearing a dull brown gown of a fashion long abandoned. Her mother, bedridden and crotchety, finding fault with everything as she always did, but especially badgering her about her failure to find a husband to support her. No children. No grandchildren. And a lifetime of being the victim of her mother’s taunts.

Bloody hell, she said aloud. "I suppose I do wish to be married after all."

What a disappointing realization to come to. For the entirety of the two years of her involvement with the Foundling Hospital, she’d deluded herself into believing that these efforts would lead to a sense of satisfaction and well-being that would compensate for her lack of a husband and family. And she had indeed found it satisfying to intercede for the poor and unfortunate. In spite of that, however, she was still obliged to live under her mother’s thumb because she’d been born a female.

Her companions’ feasting paused only long enough for smirks and giggles.

Of course you do, Philippa said matter-of-factly. Have some wine. It’s more or less drinkable.

Vanessa took a sip of the claret and sat up straight in her seat. That’s debatable.

Eat, Vanessa. The chicken and ham are quite good, if you can get some before Philippa finishes the plate.

Vanessa ate. And eventually she began to feel better.

The waiter returned to take their plates, and then a large bowl of berries and cream was set before her.

Three spoons, she told him. We shall all share it.

Philippa’s eyes lit up, and even Eugenia, tiny in stature and always a light eater, smiled in anticipation.

As they enjoyed the sweet treat, Vanessa finally got up the courage to broach the topic that was troubling her.

So, she said, eyeing her friends with a pensive expression on her face, I need a husband. Not just any husband, mind you. One who will not try to rule me or give me grief every time I turn around. How do you suggest I find one?

Philippa wiped cream from her lip with her handkerchief and looked at Vanessa with narrowed eyes. That should not prove difficult, so long as you do not have your heart set on a love match. Many successful marriages began as arranged marriages.

As well as many unsuccessful ones, observed Eugenia. But I do agree that it would be wise to determine in advance what sort of gentleman would suit you. Age, for example, or appearance. Social and financial status. That sort of thing. She tilted her head and aimed her gaze at her sister.

Vanessa stared blankly at her sister. Up until that point, she hadn’t considered what she wanted in a husband beyond someone she could tolerate who wouldn’t try to rule her. A love match seemed too much to ask—and she wasn’t sure she could trust any man with her heart, in any case.

I shan’t be overly particular, so long as he is honest, fair, and rational. And a gentleman, of course.

Philippa snorted as she put down her fork and leaned back in her seat. What a relief that you won’t be considering a farmer or a greengrocer for a husband.

Vanessa raised her eyebrows and sent her a glassy stare. Don’t be ridiculous. I could not continue my work with the Foundling Hospital if I married into the lower orders. But that doesn’t mean I plan to angle for a title. Titled gentlemen are few and far between and would likely not look twice at someone like me.

Philippa shrugged. Not all titled families are so high in the instep, she volunteered. My own parents were more concerned with our happiness than titles. They interrogated poor Anthony unmercifully when he first asked to pay court to me, although he was already a viscount.

Vanessa bit her lip to keep from smiling as she envisioned the eccentric Lady Pendleton quizzing her potential son-in-law over the dinner table. The Pendletons were outside of the ordinary, though. It was different with sons, she thought, and the Pendletons, like the Sedgelys, had no sons.

What about a professional man? suggested Eugenia. A doctor or a lawyer, perhaps? Or an army officer? Reese and I were introduced to a Captain Spencer from Exeter last week at the assembly in Hitchin. He looked well in his dress uniform, she added dreamily.

Vanessa bit her lip to keep from laughing. He’s probably married already… as you are, Genie. Have you forgotten your long-suffering husband so soon?

Eugenia narrowed her eyes. Of course not—

Although, Vanessa continued, a naval officer might be ideal. A sea captain, who rides the waves the world over and only comes home every two years or so.

Might as well be a spinster, Philippa murmured.

You wouldn’t say that if you were the one who was required to live with our mother, advised Vanessa. You know very well a married woman has ever so much more freedom, with or without the presence of a husband.

Philippa considered this. A widow, then. You could rule your own life as a widow.

Don’t be ridiculous, Eugenia chided. Surely you don’t expect her to murder her husband!

Vanessa’s body quaked with amusement. Of course I shouldn’t do anything of the sort. But I might not scruple at consenting to a deathbed wedding, she teased.

The ladies laughed and the conversation took a turn to more banal topics until Reese and Lord Hooper returned to the table, accompanied by two other gentlemen.

Philippa, my dear, look who Reese and I happened upon near the Chinese Temple! Lord Hooper waved a hand toward his companions, each duly removing their masks to be introduced to the ladies.

Vanessa prepared to smile politely in anticipation of being presented to the newcomers, but when she got a full glimpse of the darker gentleman, she had a sudden fluttery feeling in her stomach. Where had she seen him before?

Why Nicholas, what a surprise to see you here! Philippa exclaimed. Vanessa, Eugenia, this is Lord Nicholas Lacey, brother to the Duke of Ashbury. He and Anthony were at Eton together. She looked enquiringly at his companion. I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your companion.

Likely not, said the gentleman in question, with a polite smile. We don’t mingle in the same social circles.

Nonsense! retorted Lord Nicholas, giving him a playful nudge. Ladies, I present you Mr. George Durand, Esquire, my brother-in-law. George’s late wife Geneviève was sister to my Juliette. He swallowed and paused, and Vanessa shot a questioning look at Philippa, who shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Lord Hooper cleared his throat. George and Nicholas, please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Bromwell and her sister, Miss Sedgely, my wife’s intimate friends. And this lovely lady, he indicated with a touch on Philippa’s shoulder, is my wife, Lady Philippa Hooper.

The ladies nodded in acknowledgement.

A pleasure to meet you, Lord Nicholas, Mr. Durand, said Eugenia.

Likewise, said Vanessa, smiling at both gentlemen. For some reason, she could not remove her eyes from Mr. Durand. He was a handsome man, to be sure, of average height and pleasing form, his dark hair a shade or two darker than his companion, with warm brown eyes and a decidedly masculine visage. But it wasn’t his good looks that compelled her interest; it was the growing certainty she had met him before.

Lord Nicholas and Mr. Durand bowed politely to each of the ladies. Might we have the honor of joining you? asked Mr. Durand. Nicholas and I had been indulging in the dance this evening, and I, for one, must confess that I no longer have the stamina of my youth. He drew out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

Of course you may! exclaimed Vanessa. There is more than sufficient room for six here, provided the three of us move back.

The ladies settled themselves in the back, while Lord Hooper and Lord Nicholas took the bench at their right, Reese and Mr. Durand, the left.

Lord Nicholas eyed the empty dish on the table with interest. I see you ladies have already partaken of the Gardens’ culinary delights. Alas, I find myself sharp-set, even as I shall vigorously deny that I am headed for my dotage as poor George has just now asserted.

Mr. Durand shrugged. I find I can bear the loss of my youthful attributes quite cheerfully inasmuch as the foolishness of my youth has likewise retreated to the past.

Lord Nicholas snorted. You? Foolish? Impossible to credit it!

Personally, Vanessa was hard-pressed to see that the passage of time had made any inroads upon the visage of Mr. Durand. Indeed, his face had lost that freshness characteristic of young gentlemen in their twenties like Reese Bromfield, but Vanessa considered his well-defined jawline and finely sculpted features much to be preferred. Nor could she fail to approve his broad shoulders and trim waistline. Where had she encountered him before? She was certain they had not been formally introduced, or she would have remembered his name.

Reese and Lord Hooper were staring at each other in horror.

We were meant to fetch refreshments, Reese recalled, his ears turning red with remorse.

I beg your pardon, my dear, said Lord Hooper to his wife. We never meant to be so rag-mannered toward the ladies in our care.

Vanessa laughed. We here are not such helpless females. As you see, we were quite capable of getting supper on our own.

Although our pockets are considerably lighter than they were, complained Eugenia.

Reese reached across the table to squeeze her hand. I shall make it up to you, my love. And Vanessa too, of course.

Vanessa wished she could refuse, but the truth was that she, too, was a bit short of the ready, after purchasing a supply of books for the classroom at the Foundling Hospital with the last of her pocket money. You are very kind, Reese. A lady could not have a more generous brother-in-law!

Would it be beyond the pale, do you think, dear ladies, if we were to partake of nourishment in your presence? It seemed that Lord Hooper, as well as Lord Nicholas, was feeling peckish.

Not at all, the ladies chimed in simultaneously.

While you satisfy your appetites, we shall take the opportunity to dominate the conversation, Vanessa asserted with a teasing smile.

Anthony grinned. More so than usually is the case? he said, exchanging knowing glances with the other gentlemen.

Precisely, agreed Vanessa.

And that is what occurred. While the gentlemen dined, the ladies peppered the two newcomers with questions. Both Lord Nicholas and Mr. Durand were widowers, although the conversation seemed to dance around the manner of their wives’ deaths, which must have occurred at more or less the same time. Both had daughters of fifteen years, with whom Vanessa silently commiserated, recalling what a difficult