by Quinn, Ella
THE TREVORS
BOOKS I - IV
Ella Quinn
Contents
Books by Ella Quinn
Acknowledgments
A PROMISE OF LOVE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
IT TAKES A HERO
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Author’s Note
ONE DUKE OR ANOTHER
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
Author’s Note
MARRIED BY TWELFTH NIGHT
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright © 2019 Ella Quinn
* * *
All rights reserved.
Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Books by Ella Quinn
The Marriage Game
THE SEDUCTION OF LADY PHOEBE
THE SECRET LIFE OF MISS ANNA MARSH
THE TEMPTATION OF LADY SERENA
DESIRING LADY CARO
ENTICING MISS EUGENIE VILLARET
A KISS FOR LADY MARY
LADY BERESFORD’S LOVER
MISS FEATHERTON’S CHRISTMAS PRINCE
* * *
The Worthingtons
THREE WEEKS TO WED
WHEN A MARQUIS CHOOSES A BRIDE
IT STARTED WITH A KISS
THE MARQUIS AND I
YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST EARL
* * *
Novellas
MADELEINE’S CHRISTMAS WISH
THE SECOND TIME AROUND
I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
* * *
The Trevors (A novella series)
A PROMISE OF LOVE
IT TAKES A HERO
ONE DUKE OR ANOTHER
MARRIED BY TWELFTH NIGHT
To my granddaughters Vivienne and Josephine.
May you always find love and friendship. And to my husband for sticking by me and my life changes. You are my hero.
Acknowledgments
For any book to come together it takes a team. My thanks to my friend, Jenna Jaxon, and my lovely mother-in-law, Margaret Baker, for beta reading the novellas, and to Doreen Knight who corrects all my Americanisms and other sundry problems.
Thanks also to my editor, Ali MacGraw, for making the book shine, and to my fellow authors for coming together for the projects that gave birth to these books.
For One Duke or Another: A special thank you to Ann Marie Friedenberg for Oberon, the name of Guy’s horse, and to Candace Nagy and Charlene Whitehouse for finding the post with the name when I could not!
Last, but certainly not least, to you, my readers who make this all worthwhile! I hope you love The Trevors!
A PROMISE OF LOVE
Book 1, of The Trevors
Chapter 1
New York City, July 1817
Miss Genevieve Elizabeth MacGowan, Jenny to her close friends and family, poured a cup of tea and handed it to her father as he settled back against the leather chair, which was his habitual seat in the drawing room. “Have you a date for the Elizabeth to sail yet, Papa?”
“Tuesday next.” Angus MacGowan nodded as if in approval. “But you’ll have to be aboard the night before. She’ll sail with the morning tide.”
Tuesday next? “Papa, that’s in three days!” Leave it to her father to think packing for a trip of several months can be accomplished in a matter of hours.
“That it is. But the cargo we were waiting for has arrived, and I can’t delay the ship.”
She studied him closely, looking for any signs he might not have recovered from his illness. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Aye, lass. I’m as fit as a fiddle.” Even after more than twenty years in the United States, her father still had his Scottish brogue, and his ability to hide the truth.
“So you say,” she scoffed.
“I am sure he will be fine,” Sarah Brodhead, Jenny’s aunt said. “One cannot grow older without any problems.”
“Leave it to you to mention my age,” her father scowled. “I don’t see you getting any younger.”
Jenny hid her grin behind her tea cup. Sarah had come to live with Jenny and her father four years ago, after her mother’s death. Her aunt, only a few years older than she, had her own house, her circle of friends, and was not financially reliant on anyone. Only Sarah’s firm belief that Papa was not to be trusted to successfully chaperone her niece and secure a successful match had made her leave her home for theirs. Unfortunately for Sarah, despite having escorted Jenny to all the major cities from Washington, D. C. to Maine, she had yet to find even one gentleman she wished to call husband. Occasionally Jenny thought that she might be too picky, then she remembered she would have to live with the man and be intimate with him. Better to find someone she loved. It would be easier to overlook any flaws he might have, and he could overlook hers as well.
Silence had fallen over the room, prompting her to fill it. “I hear that Paris is lovely this time of year.”
“It will be now that there is no more fighting,” Sarah responded tartly and glanced at Papa. “It’s a good thing I have already sent our measurements and a list of what Jenny and I will need to that modiste in Paris.”
“Well,” Papa said, clearly ignoring that last remark, “at least Napoleon kept most of the English away from our shores. It would have gone much worse for us if old George and his son hadn’t had the French to keep them busy.”
“Very true.” Sarah’s tone held a touch of bitterness which Jenny understood well. “The French are our true allies. Something many here would be well served to remember.”
Between Jenny’s mother’s family, who had fought in the Revolutionary War, and her father, whose family had once been outlawed by the English, she had been raised with no love for the country or its people. Then a few years ago, English soldiers had occupied her maternal grandmother’s house, causing the lady to suffer a heart attack and die. Sarah had been there when it had happened.
When one of her friends had suggested London as a pl
ace to look for a husband, Sarah had given the woman a very chilly set-down.
Unable to help herself, Jenny asked, “What about that earl you once met?”
A slow blush crept up her aunt’s neck into the cheeks. “He was quite nice, actually. Not at all like those Red Coats that took over our house during the war. Then again, he did not believe our country had been treated fairly, so it was easy to be in charity with him.”
“That explains it.” Jenny half wondered if the earl would somehow show up once she and her aunt arrived in France. She set her cup down and began to rise. If she were to leave so soon, there was much to do. After all, they would be gone almost a year.
“Isn’t he the one,” Papa asked, “who said that Wellesley fellow didn’t think his country should have attacked us the last time?”
“Indeed he is.” Her aunt puckered her brow. “Although, I believe he is the Duke of Wellington now.”
“The earl?” Papa demanded.
“No, Wellesley. He pulled himself up by the bootstraps from what I understand.”
“Not that I think we need the peerage, mind you, but it’s good for a young man to find his own way.”
Abruptly, Aunt Sarah stood. “I have a great deal to attend to tomorrow if we are to depart so soon. I shall bid you a good night.”
After the door had closed behind her aunt, her father turned to Jenny. “I will miss ye, lass.”
She stepped over to her father giving him a tight hug. “I’ll miss you as well. If you would prefer that I—”
“No, no. I want ye to see some of the world. If ye find a man to love ye, than all the better.”
“And if I do not, what will happen to the company?” Although perfectly capable of running the business herself—she had, after all, been her father’s assistant for years—she knew that even men she had known and actually done business with would never accept her as the director of MacGowan Shipping Enterprises.
“I’ll think of something.” He lowered his bushy red brows at her. “What I don’t want ye doing is marrying unless you’re in love. The French are more used to that sort of thing than the English, so it’s a good thing you’re going there first.”
“First?” Whatever could he be thinking?
“You can’t tell me that Sarah hasn’t decided to visit London at some point.”
London was the last place Jenny wanted to be, yet she wondered if her father was right. “If she has, she has kept her plans from me.”
“Aye, well, she has her own fish to fry. As long as she does right by ye first, I’ll have no complaint.” He hugged her tight, as if she was leaving on the morrow. “Now give me your word that if you bring back a husband, ye’ll love him, and he won’t be an Englishman.”
“I shall promise you that if I marry, the man I come home with will have my love and the ability to run the company.” She shuddered. “The very idea of an Englishman touching me is enough to make me feel ill.”
“Ah, lass,” he sighed. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
Rising on her tip toes, she pecked his cheek. “It will all work out the way it is supposed to. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
“There ye go again. Throwing me words back at me.” He grinned. “Just keep them in mind.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she hugged him once again. “I will. Good night, Papa.”
He bussed her cheek. “Sleep well, my love.”
London, April 1818
“Congratulations.” Jenny glanced from her beaming aunt to the equally happy Geoffrey, Earl of Warwick, and summoned a smile. She had known this was coming, and was a little surprised it had taken so long for them to announce their decision. The only problem was that their marriage would delay her journey home.
Shortly after they had arrived in Paris, the earl had joined them and bullied his sister, the Countess of Heathcote, whom Jenny had not been invited to call Penelope, to sponsor Jenny in Paris society. Paris, however, had been a disappointment. Although there were several gentlemen she thought might be eligible, they had all turned out to be indolent. In fact, it had astounded her that there were so many worthless gentlemen in what Geoff called ‘Polite Society.’ Even many of the younger sons were merely looking for an heiress to support them. They were more interested in living a life of leisure than working for a living like a good New Englander would do.
In her ignorance, she had mentioned moving to America to one or two likely prospects, but the men had been horrified. It was as if she had suggested they live in the jungles of South America. As for the appalling number of English in France, well, she had no desire to see any of them again. They were worse than the French and had behaved as if there was something wrong with working for a living. One of them had actually had the gall to call the United States a country of merchants.
Against her wishes, they had arrived in England after Christmas with the intention of introducing her to the ton while Geoff and Sarah planned their wedding. Unfortunately, there was no escape. With gales prevalent in the northern Atlantic, winter was not the time to sail back to New York. “When do you plan to marry?”
“Sometime in the next two weeks,” Aunt Sarah replied. “Geoff must obtain the special license, Penelope has decided to host the wedding breakfast, and there will be a ball.”
“We do not wish to wait long though,” he commended as he gazed down at his betrothed.
Sarah had blossomed under the attentions of the earl, and become a great favorite of his sister and other members of the ton. Jenny did want her aunt to be happy, and she was thrilled that Sarah had finally found her true love. However, it posed a slight problem for Jenny. Someone would have to be hired to accompany her back to America.
“Of course not.” She hugged and kissed her aunt, then embraced Geoff. “I am exceedingly happy for you. I’ll wait until you are wed before I sail home.”
“Oh, my dear.” She could swear her aunt was beginning to sound English. “I really think you should remain for the Season. After all, you never know whom you might meet.”
Jenny wanted to argue, but she could not very well disparage Englishmen with Geoff present. Instead she raised a brow and made her only other argument. “You know as well as I do that I have already met the cream of the ton, and none of them meets my requirements.”
“Aside from that,” Sarah continued as if Jenny hadn’t spoken, “it will take a while to find a suitable companion who is willing to travel to America. Geoff and I would go with you, but I shall have a great deal to do at Warwick. It has been left without a mistress for too long.”
He aunt was definitely picking up an English accent. Well, that was probably for the best as she’d be living here.
Jenny would arrange for her own passage, preferably on a MacGowan ship, and find a way to hire a companion. Then she would kiss her aunt and new uncle farewell. “I shall remain for a month, no longer.”
“I know you will find the right gentleman for you.” Her aunt took her hands and squeezed them. “I can feel it.”
If only she had her aunt’s certainty. The one thing Jenny did not want to do was fail her father. Perhaps she would meet a gentleman from Scotland she could love. They must have a Season there as well. Surely she had relatives who could help her. The only problem was that her father had not maintained in contact with them, saying it was dangerous.
April 1818, London
Lord Francis (Frank) Trevor glanced around the brilliantly lit ballroom wondering what the devil he was doing there. As the second son of the Duke of Somerset, one might suppose he would be used to the ton. And one would be mistaken. Other than the brief period of time he had spent on the Town during a university holiday, he had been acting as his father’s factor. A job that by rights belonged to his eldest brother Damon, Marquis of Hawksworth. His father’s heir. One could not even state with confidence that his father had any good reasons for doing what he did. Mostly the duke’s behavior was the result of sheer pigheadedness.
Frank hadn’t ev
en had a holiday from running the dukedom’s estates. Not only that, but he was chafing at running in his father’s harness. It was not in his nature to be constantly under another man’s boot. Lately, he had been searching for a way to change his life.
He had also become a bit short tempered. Not a state of mind that pleased him. Perhaps that was the reason that as soon as Father had departed for Scotland with a few of his cronies, Mama had decided Frank could benefit from a touch of Town bronze. How the hell that was supposed to help him when he dealt mainly with crops and animals, he had no idea.
He might as well realize he was trapped in a life he did not want and had no hope of employment outside of slaving for his father. He should have been allowed to buy a commission or take a position in government as other younger sons did. Add to that, after Damon’s marriage to Meg Featherton at Christmas, their father had it made very clear that in the future he would be making any necessary matches for his children.
Frank heaved a sigh. Ergo, being here was a waste of time and money, though, thankfully, not his own.
A glass of wine was pressed into his hand. “Frank, you are supposed to be having fun.” His brother, Damon, had the same a lazy smile on his face he’d worn since marrying Meg. “Not looking as if you’re facing a hanging.”
Frank took a long pull on the wine. “I am merely having trouble knowing where to start. How did you manage to talk father into this visit?”
“Ah, well.” Rather than answering his question, his brother scanned the crowd. “Your mother decided it was time you were introduced to some of the ladies. I believe she also felt you were due for a little time away from the estate.”
As if he would really be allowed to choose his own bride. “Did she happen to send you a list of ladies of whom father would approve?”
