Amanda Forester (8 page)

“Are ye ever going to tell me how ye persuaded Lockton to sell it to ye and how much ye paid?”

Tavish’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “Persuading was no’ difficult. It seems Lockton had gotten the news that the castle was seized wi’ the Great Plague. It gave him great joy to rid himself of the obligation of dealing with the sick and dying.”

“Poor, poor John,” murmured Elyne.

“Nonsense. We took the castle for a steal. John would be pleased his life was sacrificed for the betterment of our coffers.”

Elyne laughed.

Tavish smiled. “I shall live on that laugh all my life.”

“I hope it is no’ the only food ye had planned, for I might grow hungry.”

Tavish’s smile grew brighter. “Come. I have something else to show ye.”

They walked back, hand in hand, to the ruined castle, now filled with life. Many of the people who lived and worked at Alnsworth Castle balked at accepting their new English lord, so they traveled the short distance to the tower and pledged their allegiance to Tavish Grant. All around, people were settling in and making repairs. They greeted Tavish and Elyne with smiles due the laird and lady of the castle.

Tavish led her up to their familiar room in the tower. “I thought perhaps a new bed for us,” he said with a wink.

“I had actually grown fond of that cracked headboard,” said Elyne with a wistful tone. She entered the tower room to be greeted by the same cracked bed.

“So have I.” Tavish grinned. “But I got us a real mattress, decent sheets, and two goose-down pillows!”

Elyne laughed. “Well done! I should wish for naught else.”

“Naught else? Och, I hate to disappoint, but I have desire for much more.” He lowered his voice to a seductive tone. “I am trying to entice ye to bed.”

Tingles ran up her spine and heat coiled within her. “I see. Ye can try.” She looked up at him through the corner of her eye.

“We have a lot o’ repairs that need to be done around the castle. I need sons. Lots o’ them. Big, strapping lads.” He moved close, his gaze roaming over her body and settling on her lips.

“I shall do my utmost.”

He placed his hands reverently on either side of her hips and pulled her toward him. “I have it from my cousin ye are good breeding stock.”

A giggle bubbled up within her and was shared by his kiss. Elyne wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. He was hers. Now and forever.

Amanda Forester holds a PhD in psychology and worked for many years in academia before discovering that writing historical romance was decidedly more fun. Whether in the rugged Highlands of medieval Scotland or the decadent ballrooms of Regency England, her novels offer fast-paced adventures filled with wit, intrigue, and romance. Amanda lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. Visit her at
www.amandaforester.com
.

If you love Amanda Forester’s witty, romantic, fast-paced adventures in lush historical settings, you’re in luck.

The
Highland
Bride’s Choice
is first in an exciting new trilogy of novellas set in medieval Scotland, featuring the Campbell sisters (first introduced in Forester’s acclaimed Highlander trilogy). Don’t miss the second novella in the romantic adventures of the Campbell sisters, as Effie Campbell and Connor Maclachlan defy the odds in:

The Wrong Highland Bridegroom

Available April 2014

The Highland Bride novellas bridge the distant past of medieval Scotland with the more recent past of Regency England, the setting of Forester’s hot new Marriage Mart trilogy. Just as the Campbell sisters find true love, the descendants of their union prove that love spans generation and romance never dies. Read on for a sample of the first book in the Regency series,
A
Wedding
in
Springtime
, the tale of ruined debutante
Miss
Eugenia
Talbot
and notorious rogue
Mr. William Grant
, who is the distant heir of Elyne and Tavish Grant.

Continue reading for a preview of the second book in the Marriage Mart series and get a glimpse of Effie and Connor Maclachlan’s descendent in
A
Midsummer
Bride
, wherein
Duncan
Maclachlan
, Earl of Thornton, refuses to marry American heiress
Harriet
Burton
for all the right reasons—much to her dismay.

A Wedding in Springtime

Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca

London, Spring 1810

Ten minutes into her societal debut, Eugenia Talbot was ruined.

A favorable presentation in court cannot ensure a young lady’s successful launch into society, but a poor presentation can certainly ruin it. Miss Eugenia Talbot pressed her lips together in an attempt to make the laughter gurgling up inside her die in her throat. The Queen of England glared down her royal nose at Genie. Her Royal Highness, Queen Charlotte, was not amused.

Genie took a deep breath—hard to do laced so tight in her stays she feared one wrong move would crack a rib. The restrictive corset held her posture rigid, which helped keep her headdress in place, a heavy jeweled item with a monstrous white ostrich plume. Genie knelt in a deep curtsy before the queen, a move she had practiced with a special tutor hired by her aunt to ensure her correct performance. A deep curtsy wearing the required elaborate hoop skirt of court that weighed almost two stone needed to be practiced.

Rising majestically from her curtsy, Genie was pleased she had successfully navigated that potential hazard and brought herself under control. Perhaps the Queen had not noticed the stifled giggle. It was hardly Genie’s fault, for when the Lord Chamberlain announced her name he also let loose an audible bodily noise. Having the unfortunate influence of brothers in her formative years, Genie could not help but find amusement in the Lord Chamberlain’s offense.

“How is your family, Miss Talbot?” asked the queen with staunch politeness.

“They are all well, Your Highness,” responded Genie as coached.

“Are your parents with you in London?”

“No, Your Highness. I am staying with Lady Bremerton, my aunt.” Genie glanced at Aunt Cora, whose frozen countenance betrayed her anxiety over Genie’s presentation.

“And your brothers and sisters?”

“I have four brothers. Two at university, one in the regulars, and one in the Royal Navy.”

“Ah, our sons, they have been ripped from our bosom. Ripped I say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Genie, pressing her lips together again. She was going to kill her brothers when they returned for teaching her deplorable cant. She could not laugh.

“It is a foul wind that blows from France,” said the queen.

And the Lord Chamberlain chose that moment to blow a little foul wind himself. It was loud, long, and just when Genie thought he had finished, he gave another little toot. She clenched her jaw so tight tears formed in her eyes.

She took a calming breath, sure she had gotten herself under regulation until she spied a man silently laughing, his shoulders shaking, his smile hidden behind his hand. He caught her eye, gave her a broad smile, and winked.

The entire drawing room was silently staring at her with censure. The queen gave her a look that could blister paint. The more Genie tried to get herself under control, the more amusing the entire scene became. It could not be helped; her body started to shake.

Genie tried to take a deep breath and a giggle escaped. She tried to squelch it, but a laugh emerged, followed by an unladylike chortle and an unfortunate snort. The more she tried to stop, the worse it became, and with a burst, Genie was laughing out loud.

The queen waved a hand to dismiss her. Instead of dissipating Genie’s humor, it only made her laugh harder. Genie managed another deep bow and walked backward out of the queen’s presence, giggling as she went. By some miracle, she did not trip on her gown and fall to the floor. It hardly would have mattered if she had.

The Lord Chamberlain and the laughing gentleman had conspired against her. Her debut into society was a disaster. She would surely never be admitted into
haut
ton
. She was a failure. A social pariah.

Eugenia Talbot was ruined.

***

People stared as they passed her. Genie never felt more self-conscious, and feared her face was as bright as her skirt. She wanted nothing more than to hide away from the malicious looks and vicious whispers. Unfortunately, wearing courtly attire with feathers that soared at least two feet above her head, she was hardly inconspicuous among the steady throng of people in the outer chambers of the drawing rooms. So she plastered on a fake smile and waited for her aunt to summon her to the coach while the minutes dragged into lifetimes.

“Uncle! I am so glad you are here,” said a youthful voice. A young woman was being escorted into the royal drawing rooms. She struggled forward in a similar unwieldy hoop skirt, dyed an unfortunate shade of bright pink.

“I could not forget your presentation to court,” said a male voice behind Genie.

“I shall be so much less nervous with you here,” gushed the young girl.

“Trust me,” said the man, “after what I just witnessed, you shall be brilliant by comparison.”

“What happened?” asked the girl, forgetting herself for a moment and cocking her head to one side, forcing her to use both hands to steady the plume of white feathers rising from her head.

“A debutante with a shocking lapse of propriety, who is no doubt being banished to the outer regions of the empire as we speak.”

Genie turned to face her accuser. It was none other than the laughing man.

With a flash of recognition, the man had the decency to look sheepish. He waved the young girl forward into the drawing room and stepped up to Genie. He gave Genie a bow and came up smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. He was a handsome man; there could be no denying his appeal, with sandy blond hair and laughing eyes. His features were pleasing, high cheekbones giving him an impish appearance. His attire was splendid in the required royal-purple silk coat and knee breeches. Unlike others who appeared foppish in the requisite colors of the English royal court, the man before her commanded his style. It was not every gentleman who could wear purple silk britches with confidence.

“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” said the man with a disarming smile.

“Forgive you? Why, there is nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth, did you not?” Genie presented the man with a smile, the kind she kept on a shelf to feign good humor when she had none to give.

“Not at all. Merely trying to encourage my niece—timid thing, needs encouragement. Do what I can to make her feel at ease.”

“You are charity itself.”

“No, no I…” The man paused and gave her a guilty grin. “I’m not going to redeem myself from my careless words, am I?”

“I can forgive your words. You are no doubt correct that my aunt is at this moment trying to find a penal colony for me at the greatest distance from London. What I cannot forgive is your shocking wink that caused this trouble.”

“Surely this affair is not my fault! It is my Lord Chamberlain who embarrassed himself beyond redemption.”

“If you had not laughed, I would have been able to calm myself.”

“How could I not be amused? Honestly, I do hope the poor man survives the night.”

“But no one caught you laughing,” said Genie, getting at the heart of the injustice. “They were only looking at me.”

“Naturally they were looking at you. Between the two of us, there can be no comparison.” The man’s easy smile turned flirtatious, but Genie was accustomed to flattery regarding her appearance and considered herself immune to its charms. The magnitude of her failure weighed down her shoulders. She wished she could tear off the heavy headpiece, but she had brought upon herself enough scandal for one day—all thanks to the man before her.

“I do wish I had never seen you,” said Genie in uncharacteristically clipped tones. “And since you are no doubt correct that my aunt is even now booking my passage to the Americas or Botany Bay, I will take comfort in the fact that I will never see you again. Good day, sir!”

With fortuitous timing, Genie was called to join her aunt and she practically flew into the coach on the plumes of her own headdress. Unfortunately, her sweeping exit was hindered by the logistics of maneuvering three hoop skirts belonging to herself, her aunt, and her cousin, which was done with such haste Genie feared her gown would be sadly crushed. Her aunt demanded the curtains be drawn, as if the mere sight of Eugenia Talbot was so offensive the whole of London must be protected.

“Disaster! Oh, how could you do this to me?” Lady Bremerton lay back on the plush squabs of the town coach as it jolted forward, her hand on her forehead for dramatic flair. “I should have known you needed more training, more tutelage. After all, your father’s family can have no concept of what is expected in higher society, let alone what is proper in court.”

Genie swallowed down a retort. She had intended to prove she was every bit as polished as the other debutantes. Acting the hoyden before the queen proved otherwise.

“I am sorry, Aunt Cora,” said Genie, her contrition a tight knot in her chest. “Sorry, Cousin Louisa.” Louisa’s eyes were sympathetic, but her aunt would give no quarter.

“Sorry will not do you any good, nor will speaking to a known rake,” chastised her aunt.

“A known rake?”

“Mr. Grant. I saw you speaking with him. He will do you no good.”

“I know that is true,” said Genie with a flush.

“Oh, what is to be done? You are ruined, ruined for sure. My reputation is in tatters. There is nothing else for it; you must be married. And quick!”

A Midsummer Bride

Available November 2013

London, England, June 1810

“So we have a deal?” Duncan Maclachlan, Earl of Thornton, handed a quill pen to Lord Langley, trying not to let his enthusiasm show. Being a generally reserved man, it was not a difficult task to accomplish.

“Yes, we do.” Lord Langley dipped his pen in the ink and signed his name to the contract. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“As do I.” Thornton breathed deep. This transaction was definitely going to help his situation. The financial crisis was becoming dire. “Have ye plans to leave London for yer country house?”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I should.” The elderly Lord Langley leaned back in his chair, his bulk making the chair squeak in protest. “I do not wish to travel, but staying in London for the summer, that would be even worse. And yourself? Do you have plans for the summer?”

“House party.”

Lord Langley grimaced. “Not for me. Too much bother. All those children running about.”

“Children?”

“Such as yourself. Those young bucks can be irritating beyond words, and the young ladies are far worse.”

Thornton smiled. “Then I fear ye would despise my summer plans. The Duke of Marchford asked me to host a house party at Thornton Hall in Scotland.”

“All the way to Scotland? No, too far, odd notion.”

“He is my friend and I am always pleased to be in his service.”

“Had to, eh? Him being a duke and all. But who will travel all that way?”

“He is a duke…”

“Ah yes, and in want of a wife.” Langley shook his head. “The hills will be crawling with young ladies come to take their shot at the biggest prize in all of Britton. Oh, I don’t envy the young, no I surely do not.”

“Youth is a crime age will correct in time.”

“And what of yourself? You also are of unmarried status and in possession of a title. You best take care of your own neck, lest you find it in the matrimonial noose as well.”

Thornton only smiled. He could not even begin to think of matrimony until he had resolved his financial difficulties.

“You best be double cautious if Marchford’s grandmother will be attending.” Langley got a wistful look in his blue eyes. “The Dowager Duchess of Marchford is a woman you would do best not to cross. I’ve heard she has contacts with a matchmaker.”

“I’ve heard the same.”

“I fear you may be in someone’s sights.”

Thornton merely shook his head. As an impoverished Scottish earl, he was not at liberty to take a wife. Ironic in a way, since he was not opposed to the institution of marriage as his friends proclaimed to be. Yet unlike them, he found conversing with the female of the species challenging, which was just as well, since his restricted pocketbook forbade ladies of any variety.

A banging on the front door could be heard all the way in the library and interrupted the conversation. The butler arrived shortly after to inform his lordship that a Captain Beake and a young lady had arrived to beg an audience with him. No card was presented.

“What? Never heard of him. Send him on his way,” demanded the earl.

“Very good, sir, I only bring it to your attention because the lady claims to be a relation of yours.”

“Got all the relations I need. Don’t need any more poor relations crawling out of the woodwork trying to get their fingers on my money.”

The butler paused and cleared his throat. “The young lady claims to be the daughter of Lady Beatrice.”

Silence fell heavy on the room. Lady Beatrice was Lord Langley’s only child. At the age of seventeen, in a scandal still discussed with malicious enjoyment, Lady Beatrice had run away with a sea captain—an
American
sea captain—never to be seen again.

Naturally, everyone assumed Lady Beatrice was mad, for what young woman of sane mind would elope with an American sea captain? Poor Lord Langley tried to hush up the scandal by saying he had her confined to an asylum, but everyone knew the truth.

“These imposters.” Lord Langley sat down hard on his chair. “Every once in a while I have someone pretending to be Beatrice come around the house trying to steal money from me. Someday they will murder me in my bed.”

“I will send them away, my lord,” said the butler.

“No,” Langley sighed. “Curiosity and hope are the bane of men. Send them in.”

“Shall I stay to ensure yer safety?” asked Thornton, a trifle curious himself.

“Yes, that would be appreciated. Thieves, naught but thieves. Stay and be a witness to my demise.”

“Try to keep yerself from murderers at least until our transactions are completed,” commented Thornton with a touch of humor to lighten the moment.

“All heart you are,” muttered the old man, but the edges of his mouth turned up.

The butler escorted in two persons of dubious quality. The first was a man whose life was etched in the lines on his face. His tanned features revealed him to be a man of action; his eyes squinted, as if still staring into the sun. His blue coat marked him as a sea captain, and he looked every bit of his occupation.

The second person was a lady in a simple muslin dress, wool coat, and pelisse that had seen better days. Under a ragged bonnet, her auburn hair was pulled back in an efficient manner and her most striking feature was her height, about the same as her male companion.

“Captain Beake and Miss Harriet Redgrave,” intoned the butler, as if apologizing for their presence in the room.

“What do you want?” snapped the Lord Langley. “You’ll get no money from me.”

The sea captain appeared slightly taken aback by this pronouncement. “This lady, Miss Redgrave, presented herself to me as your granddaughter, the daughter of Lady Beatrice.”

“I told you, Captain Beake, that I have never met my grandfather. He would not know me,” said the lady with an unruffled calm that was intriguing considering her situation.

“Ah, but what grandfather would not know his own flesh and blood? Why, you are the smitten image of him.” Captain Beake attempted to make his case.

“I do not believe the correct turn of phrase is ‘smitten’ image, Captain Beake.” Miss Redgrave glanced away with such disdain that Thornton immediately saw the likeness between her and Lord Langley. Could it be true?

Lord Langley’s eyes opened wider and he stared at Miss Redgrave for a long moment. “Where are you from, Miss Redgrave?”

“America. Boston. This gentleman, and I use the word loosely, attacked my ship, pressed innocent Americans into service to the British crown, and abducted me here. My only aim is to return to America on the next ship home. My parents will be frantic with worry.”

“Ah yes, what bonds there are between parent and child, and even greater bonds between a man and his only grandchild.” Captain Beake gave the room an oily smile. “So much so, I’m sure we can negotiate the price of reward for returning the little miss to you unhurt and unmolested.”

Lord Langley’s eyes narrowed. He stepped toward his desk and put his hand on the box of dueling pistols. “You can have no business with me, Captain. I will bid you a good day.”

“Ah, but perhaps I did not make myself clear.” Captain Beake tugged at his blue coat as if he was about to make a speech. “I protected this young maiden on the voyage. On this ship there are many men, no? I made sure to protect her innocence.”

The innocent Miss Redgrave snorted. “Protect me? You kidnapped me!”

“Good day, Captain,” growled Lord Langley, his eyes ablaze, his hand gripping the box. “A good day to both of you.”

“The least you can do is compensate me for the burned timber!” demanded Captain Beake. “This chit almost set the ship ablaze what with her mad experiments. Odd goings on, if you ask me. Had to lock her trunks in the hold to protect us all.”

“The voyage was very long,” defended Miss Redgrave. “You cannot expect me to abandon my experiments just because you got the notion to sink my ship. Besides, the fire was mostly contained by the time you found it.”

Thornton had no idea what to make of this interchange, and for a moment, it appeared neither did Lord Langley, who merely stared at the two persons before him.

Seizing the opportunity, Captain Beake once again pressed his case. “You see, she admits she started the fire. Some compensation must be in order—”

“Out!” Thundered Langley. “If you kidnapped this young woman on the high seas, I most certainly hope she caused you as much trouble as possible. A good day to you, sir!”

“Do a good deed, see how you are rewarded,” grumbled Captain Beake as he shuffled out of the room.

His movements were followed by two sets of cold eyes, so similar that Thornton glanced back and forth between Miss Redgrave and Lord Langley to confirm what he was witnessing. The appearance of a grandchild to the Earl of Langley.

“You can go too, you imposter.” Lord Langley leveled his disdain at Miss Redgrave. “How dare you play on the sympathies of an old man?”

“Sympathies?” Miss Redgrave countered. “I have not heard my mother ever mention you in the same breath as the word ‘sympathy.’”

“Do not talk about the Lady Beatrice as if you were worthy to lick her boots. You are naught but a scheming female, trying to weasel away my money. I have met some conniving females trying to walk away with a portion of my blunt, but you want to be recognized as my heir and steal it all!”

Miss Redgrave’s green eyes flashed. “I have no interest in your wealth. I have no need for your precious money. I know you have had no contact with our family for many years, but I thought you might at least have some consideration for your own flesh and blood.”

Langley stood with his hand still on the box of pistols, so Thornton did not quit the room, though now he was not sure whom he was there to protect.

“You’ll never get ahold of my money! You have no proof you are my granddaughter!” charged Langley.

Miss Redgrave’s mouth formed a thin line. “Could you ask the butler to bring in my trunks and ask my maid to step in?”

Thornton wondered what Langley would do, but the request was granted. “Curiosity,” muttered Langley under his breath.

Silence fell while they waited for whatever floorshow Miss Redgrave might be able to produce, giving Thornton an opportunity to study her. At first he assessed whether he thought her capable of posing any threat, but he rejected the notion. She stood with her back to the door, not in a defensible position, which would have been instinctive for a would-be marauder.

Miss Redgrave was certainly tall, and with her serviceable wool coat and tanned face, her appearance gave the impression she was more interested in practicality than beauty. Yet he had to admire her pluck. Despite her position, she stood up to both a captain in the Royal Navy and a peer of the realm without flinching, a feat most men could not boast. She radiated an outward calm, yet he could see her white knuckles where she clenched her hands, betraying her nerves.

Despite his role as protector to Lord Langley, Thornton felt a sudden urge to reassure her. If she had truly been abducted all the way from America, she must have had a most difficult voyage.

Two trunks were brought into the study, one so heavy it required two footmen to carry it. Lord Langley allowed this, most likely out of curiosity about what she could produce. Thornton also suspected the man feared he was in the presence of his errant daughter’s child.

“I do not know who you are, sir,” Miss Redgrave addressed Thornton in a brisk businesslike manner, “but I have something of a sensitive manner to show his lordship.”

“Of course,” said Thornton, as disappointed as the ejected staff to not see what she had in her trunks. “I shall bid ye farewell.”

“Stay,” commanded Lord Langley. “What if there is something in the trunk to hurt me?”

Thornton felt it time to introduce himself. “I am the Earl of Thornton, at yer service, Miss Redgrave.”

“A Scotsman, are you?” Her tone was approving, not like most who could barely hide their disappointment once they discovered Thornton’s earldom was located in Scotland.

“Aye.”

“You are a friend to my grandfather?” Her tone indicated a clear disapproval.

“Business partner,” he explained, surprising himself how quickly he abandoned Lord Langley to his fate in order to win her approval.

She smiled at him and her face came alive. Without warning, his solid, methodical heart skipped a beat.