The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR CANDACE CAMP

  delivers pure delight with the previous novels in her acclaimed Legend of St. Dwynwen trilogy

  A SUMMER SEDUCTION

  and

  A WINTER SCANDAL

  “A sweet small-town tale in a Regency trilogy. . . . Readers will enjoy the Austen-esque details of village life.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A sure crowd-pleaser. . . . A neat mystery, a dollop of danger, and, of course, a steamy love story.”

  —Booklist

  “Sexy and sweet! Candace Camp delivers another beautifully written story with just the right touch of mystery and a generous helping of a scandalous romance. . . . The perfect read for historical romance fans.”

  —Coffee Time Romance

  “A charming, sometimes suspenseful tale of romance.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  Read on for more rave reviews!

  Be sure to read Candace Camp’s dazzling Willowmere novels. . . . Critics adore this breathtaking Regency trilogy of the unforgettable Bascombe sisters!

  AN AFFAIR WITHOUT END

  “[A] delightful romantic mystery. . . . Cunning intrigue. With clever and witty banter, sharp attention to detail, and utterly likable characters, Camp is at the top of her game.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Sprightly dialogue . . . [and] a simmering sensuality that adds just enough spice to this fast-paced, well-rendered love story.”

  —RT Book Reviews (41/2 stars)

  A GENTLEMAN ALWAYS REMEMBERS

  “An intensely passionate and sexually charged romance. . . . A well-crafted, delightful read.”

  —Romantic Times (4 stars)

  “A delightful romp set in the Regency period. Ms. Camp has a way with truly likable characters who become like friends. The action pops . . . and the relationships are strong.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Where the Bascombe sisters go, things are never dull. Candace Camp delivers another witty, heartwarming, and fast-paced novel.”

  —A Romance Review

  A LADY NEVER TELLS

  “This steamy romp . . . will entertain readers.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “With a bit of mayhem, humor, misunderstandings, and enough sensuality to please any reader, this consummate storyteller writes a well-crafted and enchanting tale.”

  —Romantic Times (41/2 stars)

  “Superbly written and well paced, A Lady Never Tells thoroughly entertains as it follows the escapades of the Bascombe ‘bouquet’ of Marigold, Rose, Camellia, and Lily in the endeavor to make their way in upper-crust London Society.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “A Lady Never Tells carries an allure that captures the reader’s attention. Ms. Camp brings a refreshing voice to the romance genre. The touch of elegance mingled with the downright honesty of the main characters takes your breath away. . . . One of those rare finds you don’t want to put down.”

  —Winter Haven News Chief

  “Filled with humor and charm. . . . Camp keeps A Lady Never Tells from becoming a clichéd romp with her fine writing.”

  —A Romance Review (4 roses)

  Thank you for downloading this Pocket Books eBook.

  * * *

  Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  or visit us online to sign up at

  eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A Winter Scandal Excerpt

  A Summer Seduction Excerpt

  About Candace Camp

  One

  Genevieve Stafford watched, smiling, as her brother led his new bride onto the floor for their first dance. “I’ve never seen Alec look so happy.”

  Her grandmother let out a small, ladylike snort. “One would think Alec could have waited a few months at least. A hasty marriage is always cause for gossip, and when it is to a nobody, people are bound to talk.”

  “People would talk no matter who Alec married or how long they waited,” Genevieve reminded her.

  “I suppose it is inevitable when one is the Earl of Rawdon. Still, there’s no need poking a beehive with a stick. I had hoped Rawdon would choose a more appropriate bride, given the scandal his first engagement provoked.”

  “One can hardly blame Alec for Lady Jocelyn’s behavior.” Genevieve quickly came to her brother’s defense.

  “ ’Tis a logical consequence of Alec’s considering only how a woman looks, instead of her birth or family or character.”

  “Alec does love beauty,” Genevieve admitted. “But there is more to Damaris than that.”

  The countess cast her a sideways glance. “Taking up the cudgels for Alec’s wife now, too? As I remember, you wanted him to marry Damaris no more than I did.”

  Genevieve felt a flush rising in her cheeks under her grandmother’s scrutiny. The countess had a way of making her feel as if she were five years old with a stain on her skirt. “I did not want him to be hurt again. I feared Damaris was an adventuress who would leave him once she’d gotten what she wanted. He would have been devastated.” Her grandmother would never know how close Alec had come to that state when he thought Damaris had left him. The countess had been carefully shielded from the tumultuous events at Castle Cleyre. Genevieve went on carefully, “I—I came to see that I had been wrong about her. The important thing is, Damaris adores Alec, and he loves her.”

  “Pfft. Love.” The countess waved away the notion. “Alec has a regrettable tendency toward poetic notions.” She frowned at the thought of this shortcoming in her grandson. “At least you are not given to such nonsense.”

  “No, of course not.” Genevieve was unaware of the little sigh she uttered.

  “Ah, Felicity!” Real pleasure in her voice at last, the countess turned away to greet her old friend Lady Hornbaugh. “I wondered where you had gotten to.”

  “Thought I’d slipped off for a nap, eh?” Lady Hornbaugh trumpeted. “I considered it, I’ll tell you that. Nothing like a vicar’s sermon to cure insomnia, I always say. Hallo, Genevieve.”

  “Lady Hornbaugh.” Genevieve greeted her grandmother’s friend with polite deference, though inside she groaned. Whenever Lady Hornbaugh—with a voice that could be heard across any ballroom and of an outspoken bent—was around, Genevieve lived in dread of what she might say.

  “You drew a nice number of guests,” Lady Hornbaugh went on, nodding and surveying the room. “Who is that with Sir Myles?”

  Genevieve glanced over. Sir Myles Thorwood was making his bow to two women standing beside a well-dressed blond man. Good humor shone from Myles’s dark-lashed, golden-brown eyes, almost the same shade as his sun-kissed, light brown hair. His full, expressive mouth was, as usual, curved up in a merry grin. He was impeccably dressed, his broad-shouldered form showing to best advantage in the formal black attir
e. He was not as handsome as some—Lord Morecombe, for instance, who had the looks of a Lucifer—but it was generally agreed that Sir Myles Thorwood was possessed of an indefinable, irresistible, and apparently unending supply of charm.

  “Flirting, as always.” Genevieve frowned. She was, she knew, one of the few people in the ton who was not beguiled by Sir Myles. The man had been one of her brother’s closest friends for years, but Genevieve and Myles rarely met that they did not find something upon which they disagreed.

  “That is the Earl of Dursbury. Excellent family, of course. Never a whiff of scandal.”

  “So that’s the new earl. Knew his father, of course—and a dull dog he was.” Lady Hornbaugh raised her lorgnette and stared unabashedly. “Then the beauty beside him is his stepmother?”

  “Yes. Dreadful woman.” Lady Rawdon sniffed.

  Genevieve studied the attractive woman now chatting with Sir Myles. Lady Dursbury’s lustrous, dark hair was done up in an intricate arrangement of curls; her eyes were large and a soft, doelike brown. Diamonds winked in her earlobes, matched by the pendant around her throat. She wore a round gown of deep plum silk, her full, white bosom swelling above the lace-edged neckline. Genevieve could not help but contrast the woman’s curvaceous figure to her own tall, narrow frame.

  “The old earl died a year ago, as I recall, so she’ll be out of her year of mourning. She’s been stuck out in the country since she married Dursbury, and now, I’ll wager, she intends to make a come-out of her own. Who’s the young chit with them?”

  “Miss Halford,” Lady Rawdon said. “She was old Dursbury’s ward. Lived with them since her father died a few years ago. It’s said her ladyship is very fond of her.”

  “Harry Halford’s daughter? I warrant Lady Dursbury is fond of her, then.” Lady Hornbaugh let out one of her boisterous laughs. “Girl’s worth a fortune. Shouldn’t wonder if Dursbury has a mind to marry her.”

  Genevieve’s grandmother shrugged. “She’s a plain little thing. And I’ve never heard that Dursbury was cash-strapped.”

  “No. Still, never bad to have more. Mayhap Sir Myles has a mind toward the heiress, as well,” Lady Hornbaugh speculated.

  “Myles?” Genevieve repeated, startled, then laughed. “Myles is not the marrying sort.”

  “He is a dreadful flirt, of course,” her grandmother agreed. “I have seen him break many a foolish young girl’s heart.”

  “You malign the young man,” protested Lady Hornbaugh, who obviously had a soft spot for Sir Myles. “He’s not at all unkind. Quite the opposite, I’d say.”

  “I did not say it was his fault. I don’t suppose Sir Myles can help it if silly girls melt at his smile or think his compliments mean undying devotion. Thank goodness Genevieve had too much sense to pay attention to his blandishments.”

  “Sir Myles never flirted with me,” Genevieve pointed out. “He was too loyal a friend to Alec. Not, of course, that I wanted him to.”

  “Still, no matter how much he enjoys his bachelor state, Sir Myles must marry one day,” the countess remarked. “He has that whole brood of sisters, no brother to follow him or produce an heir. But I cannot imagine he would be interested in so plain a chit as Miss Halford. The widow would be more his style.”

  “Dursbury’s stepmother?” Genevieve asked. “But she is older than Sir Myles, surely.”

  “Three or four years, perhaps. Married young to an old man,” her grandmother summed up succinctly. “I imagine the lady’s charms would outweigh that.”

  “It certainly doesn’t seem he finds any fault in her,” Genevieve said tartly.

  “And Lady Dursbury returns his interest,” Lady Hornbaugh responded gleefully.

  Lady Dursbury’s face was glowing, her eyes sparkling, as she chatted with Myles. The woman leaned forward to put her hand on his arm, smiling up into his face. Genevieve felt a twinge of annoyance, an emotion not uncommon where Sir Myles was concerned, and she turned away, looking out across the large assembly room.

  “It’s no wonder,” Lady Hornbaugh went on. “Thorwood’s a handsome young devil. Don’t you agree, Genevieve?”

  “What? Oh. Yes, I suppose,” Genevieve said with great indifference, wafting her fan. “I have known him so long, I scarcely notice.”

  “Not notice!” Lady Hornbaugh hooted. “Good gracious, girl, now you have me worried about your eyesight.”

  “I suggest we cease discussing the man,” her grandmother put in, “as he is making his way toward us right now.”

  Genevieve glanced over to see that Myles was, indeed, striding across the floor toward them, smiling. Her spirits rose in anticipation. Her verbal skirmishes with Myles were always invigorating, no matter how irritating the man could be. And, she was honest enough to admit, it was rather pleasant to watch him walk.

  “Lady Rawdon.” Myles made a perfect bow to the women. “And Lady Hornbaugh. Lady Genevieve. I cannot believe my good fortune to find three such lovely ladies unattended.”

  “Flatterer,” Lady Hornbaugh replied without a hint of displeasure, and rapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. “As if we did not know that ’tis the presence of only one young lady that brought you over to visit us. ’Tis Genevieve who draws the young gentlemen.”

  “I fear you mistake Sir Myles,” Genevieve said drolly. “He has no preference for me or any other particular lady. He is like a butterfly, drawn to all the flowers.”

  Myles’s eyes gleamed gold with amusement. “Lady Genevieve! You are implying I am fickle?”

  “I would not say fickle. Merely . . . indiscriminate.”

  He laughed. “My lady, you have a cruel tongue.”

  “I would say a truthful one.”

  “Nay, I cannot allow you to count yourself so low.”

  “Myself? I believe we were discussing you, sir,” Genevieve shot back.

  “But if I am indiscriminate in my tastes, then my desire to ask you for this dance would cast you among the vast lot of young ladies whom I admire. And you must know that you are on a level quite above them.”

  Genevieve could not keep from chuckling. “You are a complete hand.”

  “That I may be. But will you give me your hand for this dance?” He extended his arm to her.

  Genevieve took his arm, and they started toward the center of the floor. “Rather cocksure of yourself, I must say,” she told him. “Offering me your arm before I answered.”

  “Oh, I knew you would dance with me,” Myles said with a grin. “You cannot resist.”

  “Indeed?” Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “You count yourself so charming?”

  “No, but I know that however obstinate, haughty, and disagreeable you may be, you love to dance.”

  Genevieve drew in breath to shoot back a sharp retort, but instead she laughed. “You are an excellent dancer,” she admitted. “Indeed, it was you who taught me to dance.”

  “Did I?”

  “I might have known you would not remember. No doubt it is more difficult when one has danced with every young lady of the ton.”

  “One must practice, after all.” Myles grinned and leaned his head toward her in that way he had perfected, as if the woman on his arm were the only woman in the room. “But ’tis always memorable to dance with you.”

  “Don’t try to cut a wheedle with me.” Genevieve rolled her eyes. “You just told me you did not recall. It was one summer when you and Gabriel came with Alec to Castle Cleyre. Grandmama had quite despaired of my learning to dance properly. My dancing tutor had left in a snit.”

  Myles let out a bark of laughter. “Chased off by the rough edge of your tongue, no doubt.”

  “He was an oily little man,” Genevieve shot back indignantly. “He tried to kiss me one day—and I was only thirteen!” She stopped, realizing that Myles’s teasing had led her to touch on a most indelicate subject. It was one of Myles’s many annoying qualities—somehow when she was around him, she found herself blurting out the most appalling things. Fortunately, Myles rarely seemed sho
cked, no matter what she told him.

  “I am surprised Alec didn’t have his hide.”

  “I did not tell him, of course. I was afraid he might kill the little weasel, and I would not have wanted Alec to go to gaol, of course.”

  “Of course. Why didn’t you get Alec to teach you to dance?”

  “He wasn’t as good a dancer as you. Gabriel was quite good also, but I had such a mad tendre for him that I stumbled all over my feet whenever he was near.”

  “Your girlish dreams were for Gabe and not me?” Myles raised his hand to his chest dramatically. “Lady Genevieve, you wound me.”

  Genevieve laughed. “Then you may take consolation in the fact that you rank well above Gabriel now.” She glanced over to where Lord Morecombe and his wife, Thea, stood talking and laughing with Alec and Damaris.

  “Ah, Genny . . . can you not forgive Gabe yet?” Myles asked in a more serious tone.

  “He turned against my brother.” Genevieve’s blue eyes flashed in a way Myles had witnessed often enough in Rawdon, reminding him how close the Staffords still were to their fierce and autocratic ancestors. “The Morecombes broke Alec’s heart, and it was not just Jocelyn’s tossing him aside that did it. Alec believed Gabriel was his friend. You do not know how it was, growing up in the castle. There were no children of proper birth anywhere around, and a Stafford could not be friends with a servant or a tenant’s child. Father would have had his hide.”

  “I think it was not only Alec who found it lonely at Cleyre,” Myles said gently.

  “Oh, well . . .” Genevieve glanced at him. Myles could be disconcertingly perceptive at times. She shrugged carelessly, erasing the heat from her voice. “I did not feel it as Alec did. When he went off to school and you and Gabriel befriended him, it meant a great deal to Alec. For Gabriel to accuse him of frightening Jocelyn into running away—even going so far as to suggest that Alec might have harmed the silly girl! It wounded Alec deeply.”

  “Yet Alec has forgiven him.” Myles nodded toward the two men, deep in conversation.

  “Yes. Well . . . Alec has a warmer heart than I.” Genevieve smiled ruefully. “Mayhap he has more of our mother in him. It is enough for him that Gabriel apologized for his accusations.”