Secrets of Scarlett Hall Box Set: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Jennifer Monroe

  With heart racing, she waited as the man opened the doors. How many members would be in attendance? Had any of them published before? Would they be able to help her with completing her novel? Did she have the nerve to even speak?

  “Miss Lambert,” the butler announced when he opened the door.

  The room differed from the foyer only because the walls were white rather than red. Five women, two in clothing that was all black, sat in several club chairs and a settee, each with a glass of wine in her hand. By no means ancient, most had more gray in their hair than any other color.

  “Ah, here she is,” a woman said as she rose from her chair. She was the youngest of the group, perhaps only a few years older than Hannah, with pretty blond hair and blue eyes. “Hannah, we have been expecting you. I am Ellen; we do not use titles in our little group. We find it much too restrictive.”

  “Thank you for having me,” Hannah replied.

  Ellen walked over to a corner, the skirts of her red dress flowing around her ankles, to where several bottles of spirits were displayed. “A glass of wine, my dear?” she asked, although she was already pouring.

  “Yes, please,” Hannah replied.

  “This is your first season, is it not?” Ellen asked.

  “It is. I was ill last year and therefore unable to attend.”

  Ellen gave her a small smile. “A mystery illness?” she asked with a wink. “It seems to inflict many select women in their first season.”

  Hannah could not help but laugh. The woman made her feel comfortable, and she had a suspicion the two would become good friends.

  “Now, ladies,” Ellen said, “I would like to introduce the newest member of our society. Hannah.”

  The ladies gave polite smiles, and Hannah felt awkward standing as they seemed to appraise her.

  “This is Diana. She has not written a word in, what is it, dear? Four years?”

  The woman named Diana, her hair gray with touches of brown, nodded. “I believe that is so. However, I wonder why you must remind me at every turn.” She spoke in a teasing manner, and Hannah could see the camaraderie the two women shared

  When the remainder of the introductions were made—Dorthea, Matilda and Frederica were very polite and had a whimsy about them that matched that of Ellen—Hannah was finally offered a chair. When Ellen returned to hers—a club chair covered in the deepest red Hannah had ever seen—her skirts seemed to disappear into the fabric. Hannah had to purse her lips to keep from laughing.

  After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Ellen raised her glass and called the meeting to order. “We have important matters to discuss this evening, and I feel we are safe speaking of them in the company of our newest member.”

  Hannah could barely contain her excitement. “Yes, I shall tell no one of the matters of which are discussed here. You have my word.” This did surprised her; women meeting to discuss the craft of writing would not have been widely accepted, and she would do nothing to undermine its existence.

  “And there we are, ladies,” Ellen said with a wide smile. “She is to be trusted.”

  Hannah took a sip of her wine. Although she did not know these women, she decided already she liked them.

  “With that being said,” Ellen continued, “we must discuss Lord Hudson.”

  The other women nodded, but Hannah paused. Did this Lord Hudson own a publishing business? Perhaps he had a connection that allowed the women to gain an audience with other authors.

  Ellen leaned forward as she lowered her voice and said, “He was spotted on St. James Street, and the establishment he entered was questionable indeed.”

  The women gasped in unison.

  Hannah was confused. “Do you mean a publisher’s office?” she asked.

  Several of the women laughed, and Ellen replied, “No, my dear. St. James Street is where men spend the majority of their time, and there exist some men’s clubs where gambling and prostitution reign. Let us just say that Lord Hudson went into a house not inhabited by nuns.”

  Hannah’s eyes went wide as the realization of what this woman meant, and Ellen continued her story. Although her reason for attending the meeting had nothing to do with such matters, she found herself intrigued by the stories. All women enjoyed sharing in the latest news, and Hannah had to be patient, for she suspected the discussion would eventually turn to their writing. Therefore, as she sipped at her wine, she listened with interest.

  ***

  John regretted few things in life, and telling Laurence he had no interest in any sort of relationship with Hannah had proven to be one of the greatest. He should have spoken up and told the man the woman had captured his interest, and that these new feelings inside him were overwhelming. However, Hannah deserved better than he, and therefore, John kept his thoughts to himself.

  This evening, Lord Oakley had invited him over for dinner, a lovely broiled salmon and stewed spinach, and they had shared in pleasant conversation with Miss Oakley in attendance. Now, however, they sat in the drawing room, a bright room filled with golds, yellows and browns, sipping brandy and discussing business, and John was glad Miss Oakley had indicated she had matters to deal with elsewhere. Throughout the meal, the Viscount’s daughter had sent him several smiles with which John was all too familiar, and John was well aware that her father had noticed.

  The fact of the matter was, after Hannah, he found Miss Oakley so much like other women, she may as well have been plain. However, he doubted Lord Oakley would appreciate John’s thoughts on his daughter.

  “This is the finest brandy in all of London, would you not agree?” Lord Oakley asked.

  “It has an interesting flavor,” John replied. “May I ask where you procured it?”

  Lord Oakley laughed as he stood before the fireplace, the roaring fire behind him giving him an evil aura. “Now, why would I tell you that?” the older man asked. “In order for you to serve it at a party? I think not.” The man laughed again and went to a chair covered in yellow and brown stripes. “I must ask you, Stanford, why have you not secured a bride?”

  The question caught John off-guard. This man was blunt, to be sure. “The last few seasons, I have not had the pleasure of meeting the right woman,” John said, and an image of Hannah popped into his head. “That is until…”

  “My Catherine,” the Viscount replied for him. “Do not think I did not notice your shared smiles at the dinner table. For the last two seasons, I thought she would find a suitable husband; however, now that she has met you, I am beginning to believe this season will finally be her last.”

  John swallowed hard. If he spoke the truth now, what would happen to the business deal? Yet, how could he allow this man to believe he was interested in his daughter? And how did he keep finding himself in these situations? “I do not think…”

  “No, you are right,” Lord Oakley said with a wave of his hand. “Such matters should be discussed at a later date. You are here for business and I suspect that is where your mind is.”

  “You have read my thoughts,” John replied, relief washing over him. “You mentioned seeking a partner for some businesses you have. What types of matters were you considering?” The man had a vast empire of wine, and John was well aware of the money the man gleaned from his investments. If John could have even the smallest portion of the business, he would be a wealthy man indeed.

  “Each year, the parks and streets become more crowded. Men seeking women and women seeking shops. On Portland Street, I am in the process of securing new properties, which include a jeweler’s and a millinery.”

  “I am afraid I have little experience in those types of businesses,” John said, feeling deflated. “I doubt I would make a wise partner.”

  “The truth of the matter is, I do not need a partner to run them, for I have the proper staff in place already for that. Rather, I am in need of an overseer of sorts. You see, if we were to do this together, you overseeing these new customs would allow me to pursue other business matters elsewhere.�
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  “Elsewhere?”

  “Indeed,” the man said. “Too many years I have come to London, and I grow weary of it. I would like to spend the rest of my days outside of the city. Many areas outside of London are growing exponentially, and I want to be a part of that.”

  “I agree. Since I was a boy, I have seen villages grow to the extent they are nearly cities.”

  “And they will continue to do so,” the Viscount said. “Therefore, my question is this. Do you plan on staying in London for the foreseeable future?”

  “I do,” John replied. “To be honest, I came this season with plans to remain here.”

  Lord Oakley slapped his knee. “That is wonderful. My Catherine wishes to remain, as well, and is never remiss to mention it. It would be wise to consider courting her, for my hand is in many profitable enterprises.”

  John stifled a sigh. “I will need time to consider it, but I would hope to conduct business with you regardless of my decision of courting your daughter.”

  The Viscount tapped a finger to his lips. “Admirable. I respect your reply, for in truth, it was a test.”

  “A test?” John asked.

  “Indeed,” the man said with a laugh. “It was the very fact you did not say yes immediately that is a testament of an acute businessman, one who does not make quick decisions but rather thinks things through beforehand.” He refilled John’s glass although it was not yet empty.

  “I appreciate you believing so,” John said.

  The older man placed the decanter on a nearby table. “Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I do want you to consider speaking to my daughter again. She will make a wonderful bride.”

  “I do not mean to be rude,” John said carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was offend this man, “but I must…”

  “Father?”

  John turned to find Miss Oakley at the door, and he jumped to his feet.

  “My apologies for interrupting, but I am worried for Lucy.”

  Lord Oakley frowned. “Your lady’s maid?” he asked. “What is wrong with her?”

  “She has a pain in her stomach,” Miss Oakley replied. “Will you come check on her?”

  “I suppose I can,” the Viscount said. “I will return shortly.”

  John nodded. This would give him the opportunity to leave without incident. Unfortunately, Miss Oakley smiled at him as she had in the times prior; however, this time it had a slyness to it that he had not noticed before. He shook his head. Perhaps it was simply his imagination.

  “Have your discussions with Father gone well?” Miss Oakley asked as she came to stand before him.

  “They have,” John replied.

  She moved in closer to him, and he had to fight the urge to take a step back. “I am glad we are alone.”

  “Are you?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said breathily. “That is what I have been wanting since your arrival, and the reason Lucy is pretending to be ill. Now my father is busy with her, and I am here with you.”

  John was at a loss for words. He had encountered many women such as Miss Oakley, and he had enjoyed their company. This woman, however, reminded him too much of another, one whose relationship had not ended so well.

  “You see,” she cooed, “I am a collector of sorts.”

  “A collector?” He went to take a drink of his brandy, but she took the glass from his hand and took a sip. She grimaced. “Father has poor taste. The bottles in my bedroom are far better.” She set the glass aside. “As to my collection…”

  “I believe we have…”

  She placed a hand on his chest. “I must first collect payment.”

  He gaped at her. “Miss Oakley, this is most inappropriate.”

  She smiled as she snaked a finger between the buttons of his waistcoat. “I have seen many men such as you,” she whispered. “Men who believe their smiles and words can woo a woman and in turn win their heart. However, I am no fool. In fact, I know what you seek, for it is what I seek, as well.”

  She leaned in and touched her lips to his, and when she moved away, she held a five pound note in her fingers. “You see, I collect kisses, and I thank you for the payment.” She slid the note into the front of her dress, her eyes sparkling as if daring him to go after it. “Tell Father you have no interest in me for I have none in you.” She then winked, gave a mock curtsy, and left the room, leaving John to gape after her.

  What had just happened? In a way, he wanted to laugh, for if he told anyone about his interaction with the daughter of the Viscount, he would not be believed. And he could not blame them, for he would not have believed it if he had not experienced it himself.

  The truth of the matter was he had been bested at his own game!

  So, why did he feel shame? Had he not done nearly the same to dozens of women? However, as thoughts of Hannah entered his mind, he realized the foundation of his guilt; if she were to learn of this kiss, whatever relationship they had developed, as limited as it was, would disintegrate.

  “She is well, now,” Lord Oakley said when he returned. “Women are prone to make matters worse than they are. You have yet to endure the wails of a woman in childbirth.” He shook his head as if the memory was unfathomable.

  “Yes, well, if you will forgive me, I must be on my way. I have matters at home to attend to.”

  “Yes, I must complete some work of my own. Shall we meet again?”

  “Yes, I believe we should,” John said, although business was the last thing on his mind at the moment. In fact, all he cared for was seeing Hannah and asking permission to court her. He would have to take a chance, and if she learned of his past, he was confident she would forgive him. After his encounter with Lady Catherine, what he wanted became abundantly clear, and being without Hannah was a punishment he could no longer endure.

  Once outside, he wiped his mouth in disgust on the sleeve of his coat, the thought of what had transpired making his stomach churn. He took a deep breath and stepped into his waiting carriage, ready to tell Hannah what he felt for her.

  Chapter Twelve

  As each minute passed, Hannah began to realize that the writing society was less about writing and more a gossip club. In the beginning, the talk had been interesting, but as they continued to discuss all sorts of sordid matters—gentleman in houses of ill-repute and gambling halls, women who carried children from men who were not their husbands and the like—she became more disheartened. She felt horrible for the actions of many and prayed they were not true, for how could two people swear a life together only to consort with a servant?

  “Her father is quite upset, of course,” Matilda croaked, her black dress giving her already pale skin a sickly look to it. “By all rights, he should be after all the money he spent on her dresses.” The other women nodded, and Ellen smiled at Hannah.

  Her eyes dropped to the book in Hannah’s hands, and as if recognizing her discomfiture, said, “Ladies, I believe our newest member may be here to seek our aid with her writing. Therefore, before we are able to bring this meeting to a close, we should listen and offer whatever advice we are able.”

  Relieved, Hannah smiled. All was not lost after all! She took one last sip of her wine, realizing she had consumed more then was customary for her, for she felt a bit giddy. “It has been my dream for a very long time to become a published author.”

  “As is with many women,” Frederica said, her wrinkled features reminding Hannah of a prune, “you will soon learn that dreams are best left as dreams and nothing more.”

  Not caring for such advice, Hannah ignored the woman and continued. “Currently, the man will ask the woman for her hand, but although the characters love one another, I feel as if an important piece is missing.”

  Dorthea sighed. “You are young, and I understand the problem you are facing, for I came to the same predicament in my story.”

  “You did?” Hannah asked in surprise.

  “Indeed. You see, in these types of stories, the man swears his loyalty
to the heroine and promises her all her dreams will come true, but the truth is, no such men exist. Therefore, it makes writing about him practically impossible.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Hannah replied firmly. “Surely these novels have some bases of truth?” She looked at each of the women for reassurance in her statement but did not find it. “But what of your writing? Surely you have used some of your own life experiences to create your stories.” The women looked at one another, and Hannah was in shock. “You mean, you have all given up on your writing because you have lost your belief in it? What is a writing society where writing is not the topic of discussion?”

  Matilda looked down at her hands. “We do speak of it from time to time, and some of us still put words to parchment. However, we have come to know that finding anyone willing to publish anything but poetry by a woman is near impossible. Also, if one did find a publisher willing to secure her work, would her husband agree? I tell you, it is unlikely.”

  “I thought the right man would do such a thing,” Hannah said with annoyance. This group was far different than the one she had attended in Albert’s cottage. However, most who attended those meetings were younger, as was she, and therefore saw the world much differently from these women.

  “The hour grows late,” Ellen said, and the ladies began to rise. “We shall meet again next week.”

  Hannah remained seated and forced a smile as the women bid their farewells and left one by one. When only she and Ellen remained, they walked out to a carriage that awaited out front.

  “I suspect our meeting was not to your liking,” Ellen said.

  Should she be honest and risk offending the woman? Had she not been kind enough to allow Hannah to attend? “It was pleasant and I enjoyed myself,” she said. However, the lie did not sit well with her. “I did not expect the advice that was given, if I were to be honest.

  “The others have a way of saying what they think regardless of how it may be received. Although what they said seemed cruel, it was the truth.”