To Seduce a Lady’s Heart (The Landon Sisters)

by Ingrid Hahn

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have the very great pleasure of announcing that in a few short months…” He paused to raise his eyes to the high ceiling a moment, clearly making a quick mental calculation. “Come late January or early February, I’d guess, my wife and I will be welcoming our first child into the world.”

  The room erupted into cheers.

  Hetty gasped. “I’m going to be an aunt again!”

  “Again?” Was there a secret half sibling in the family that Eliza didn’t know about?

  Grace pulled Eliza into an embrace, whispering in her ear, “Our children will be very nearly the same age.”

  Eliza stepped back. Grace veritably glowed. She and Corbeau shared a look. If Eliza didn’t know better, she might have said a touch of color came into Corbeau’s cheeks. He cleared his throat, as stiff and awkward as ever. “I think this is my cue to go make myself useful inspecting the books in the Delamore library. I’ve heard tell they have several particularly rare volumes that I’ve been wanting to study.”

  Grace waved at him. “You go on then. We’ll be all right.”

  He leaned over to place a little kiss on her cheek. “Don’t overtire yourself, my love. Send a servant when you’re ready to depart.”

  Not seeming entirely conscious of doing so, Eliza pressed her hand to her belly. There was as yet no outward sign of the impending event. But that would come.

  Men were coming forward to shake Jeremy’s hand, offering their congratulations. He accepted them graciously and then pushed through the crowd to offer his hand to Eliza.

  “Shall we open the ball?”

  Their fingers came together. He led her to the floor. Other couples came to join them on the line. Jeremy nodded to the waiting musicians.

  The music began.

  “You can’t stop them from talking, you know.”

  “I know. That wasn’t so much my aim as trying to prove to you that I’m worthy. That I’m going to work each and every day to be the husband you deserve. That I can set aside the petty concerns of others. Frankly, I wish I had sooner. But it took you coming into my life before I realized what was important.”

  Eliza had no answer.

  When the dance was over, they slipped out onto the terrace. The night was warm and clear, filled with the scent of the rain that had fallen that afternoon and the soaked blossoms. Overhead hung countless stars, more beautiful than all the gemstones the world over.

  They stood together in a moment of silence before he turned to her, an unusual vulnerability in his features. “I’m sorry for those dreadfully stupid things I said after the duel. And for the duel itself. You were right. All my life I’ve tried to keep myself in check. But I wanted to kill him. Seeing him with you—but I won’t try to offer excuses for my actions. I was wrong. You were right. My anger got the better of me. I can only hope you will, in time, begin to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” It was her turn to be vulnerable. “Jeremy, I love you. You only ever need ask and my forgiveness is yours.”

  He softened. “I shall endeavor not to need to ask for it.”

  “We’re human. We make mistakes. Plenty of them, all of us, and we all need forgiveness. From ourselves and from others. Whenever you need it from me, I will give it. Never be afraid to ask.”

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  She put her arms around his neck and tilted her head as their lips drew closer. “Good thing that doesn’t matter. Because you have me. From this moment forward, we’ll be united to face whatever comes our way.”

  He ran his hand down her back. “Forever.”

  “Forever. And I’m never leaving your side.”

  Their mouths met. He pulled away to whisper in her ear, “You’ll never be alone again.”

  She smiled. “That’s because I have Daisy.”

  It felt good to be playful. The past was finally falling away, because the present was more than she ever could have dreamed. The only thing that mattered any longer was what they did now and in the future. Not what they’d done a week, a month, or a year ago.

  Jeremy swatted her backside. She yelped and giggled. “And me, wife. Don’t think I’m ever going to let you forget it.”

  Epilogue

  Christmas Day, two and a half years later

  “How did she get ahold of this?” Jeremy, sitting on the rumpled covers of the bed, took a sparkling diamond earring from his daughter’s tiny fist. Lady Mary squealed in outrage as her father took her pretty prize, then fell into a peal of giggles as he began tickling her. The child had her mother’s dark hair and her father’s large aquamarine eyes. “I thought you kept them locked away.”

  They were enjoying a lazy family morning in the bedchamber Eliza and Jeremy shared at Idlewood. Mary had woken and nursed before slipping from the bed to toddle about exploring.

  Eliza tried not to smile as she took the jewelry from her husband. One of the unexpected realities of motherhood was trying not to laugh when her child found her way into mischief. “I must have forgotten.”

  “Do you remember the night of the ball?”

  “Which one?” She crossed the room and found the box open on the dressing table. Mary must have crawled up on the chair and helped herself. Little imp.

  “You know—when I stood up like a stuffy old popinjay and told people not to gossip.”

  “You’re certainly stuffy and old, my dear, but calling yourself a popinjay is going a bit far.” Eliza smiled as she teased her husband. “But yes, I remember.”

  “Were you really going to hand the jewels over to your mother?”

  Mary had freed herself from her father’s grasp and was running toward her mother with her arms up. Daisy followed, gleefully scampering behind, tail wagging with mad joy.

  Ironically, although “Papa” had been one of Mary’s first words, she had yet to say “Mama.” Never mind that she preferred to spend the greater portion of her day attached to her mother.

  Mary’s tiny shift was askew, revealing her chubby legs. Eliza scooped the child into her arms. “If she’d wanted them, certainly. I’d have given them to her then and there.” She gave him a curious look. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

  He shrugged. “An errant thought, is all.”

  “She can still have them if she wants them. All she has to do is ask.”

  “But she won’t.”

  Mary’s birth had had an unexpected side effect that neither of them had anticipated. For all of Lady Rushworth’s failings as a mother, she didn’t seem to have any failings as a grandmother.

  Which they both saw evidence of when the trio entered the Idlewood breakfast room. Lady Rushworth, fingers bare of all adornment but for a simple gold wedding band, abandoned her kippers to sweep the small girl up and twirl her around. Jeremy and Eliza shared what had to have been their thousandth look since their daughter’s birth and shook their heads. Who was this woman and what had she done with Lady Rushworth? Sometimes she went a whole week without uttering the word “disgraceful.” Not even under her breath. They’d considered senility to be at the root of the change, but her mind seemed as sharp as ever.

  When Jeremy and Eliza had advertised for a nurse, Lady Rushworth had deemed none of the applicants worthy of the charge. More amazing was that Jeremy’s part in Mary’s creation had won him a begrudging truce with the woman. There was no question she still wasn’t happy he’d married her daughter. But she no longer seemed to hold his mere existence against him.

  Also at the breakfast table were Corbeau and Grace, their daughter, Lady Amelia, on her father’s lap, rosebud mouth ringed with jam from raspberries grown year-round in the restored Idlewood orangery, the table around her covered in smears and crumbs. Daisy was grateful for both Amelia’s and Mary’s unrefined meal practices and stood vigil under their chairs to ensure that the servants didn’t have the bother of cleaning the floor. She…he…she was a very considerate dog.

  After a long day of festivities, Jeremy pinched out the candle and collaps
ed in bed beside Eliza, too tired to move. Mary was already asleep between them, having nursed to sleep, and was sprawled as only a small child can sprawl. “I didn’t know Christmas could be quite so loud.”

  Two years ago, his hand would have ached for having played the violin as long as he had today. Today, he almost didn’t notice. The musical selection had been a deft mix of lighthearted and enthusiastic improvisations to delight the children and a few more studied pieces for the adults’ pleasure.

  Though it was dark, he could hear the smile in Eliza’s response. “I shouldn’t wonder if it were louder next year.”

  Jeremy’s eyes popped open. She wasn’t telling him… “You mean because of Corbeau and Grace’s new addition?”

  He couldn’t breathe while he waited for her answer. It seemed an eternity coming.

  “Theirs…and ours, too.”

  The same dizzying array of emotions he couldn’t fully catalog clutched his heart, as when she’d told him she was expecting Mary. Weren’t these things supposed to become easier with practice? After seeing Eliza through childbirth once, it was incredible she wanted to endure it again. That said, Mary herself was a strong inducement. Not because she necessarily needed a sibling, but because the naughty little mischief maker brought so much love and laughter into the house.

  He decided that, for now, the only thing he needed to feel was Eliza’s hand. He reached for her, lacing her fingers with his…and squeezed. She squeezed back.

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  Acknowledgments

  This book would quite literally not have come together without my very dear friends with very large brains. The first draft of this book did not go well. With good reason, you’ll find out—read to the end.

  Fearing I wouldn’t finish by deadline and my romance-writing career would be over before it had begun, I panicked and sought help from a number of sources. Later, when I needed help again in the eleventh hour of my first deadline, a number of them stepped up again. Several months later, after having scrapped the entire draft and started again nearly from scratch, I had yet more help.

  Thank you to Marta Miller Bliese for asking critical questions of the first (failed) draft, pointing out issues of dire concern, and helping me refocus on the bigger picture instead of the collective (disjointed) parts. Thank you a second time for not falling asleep reading a partially finished draft of that same ol’ failed manuscript, and for your wickedly spot-on feedback. Thank you yet again (!) for reading the first chapter after I came to my senses (adding Christiana and the epistolary element) and letting me know I’d finally found my stride with the story and characters. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do. Please start writing again and don’t give up hope. You’re an incredible talent. I think about your stories every day.

  Thank you to Laurel Wanrow for swooping in without hesitation when she had so much else on her very full plate and while regaining her footing after a setback of her own. Laurel and I were sisters living under the (very real) Curse of Book Three, and we’re alive to tell the tale. Thank you for all your help and advice. I miss our library time!

  Thank you to Miguelina Perez for doing a rush read on the first (failed) draft when I’d been stuck for days. Thank you for loving the characters and being so supportive. Thank you for brainstorming to get me unstuck. Thank you for beta reading the draft that eventually became this book. Having you in my corner bolsters me when times are tough.

  Thank you to Adele Buck, who texted me after seeing a note on Facebook and offered to help, encouraging me to allow the characters to mess up more.

  An extra big thank-you to the brilliant calls-it-like-she-sees-it Christi Barth. She’s been extremely—extremely—generous to me with her time and expertise. She has helped me time and again. Selflessly, too. There is no way I can ever thank this woman enough or pay her back for what she’s done; I only hope I can pay it forward someday. Christi, I hope you enjoy the character named in your honor (though she’s quite different from you) and the love story I gave her in the book to reflect your own in a very small way. Thank you for matchmaking so M. C. Vaughn and I could find each other.

  Thank you to my two new critique partners, M.C. Vaughn and Carrie Lomax, for support, encouragement, coffee, lunches, insightful comments, and endless hilarity.

  Thank you to Meghan Maslow, Carla Coupe, and again to Adele, who read the first fifty pages of the failed version of this story in critique group and offered advice. Though I scrapped that draft (rightly so—it was awful), your insights and questions helped me learn and grow.

  The romance-writing community is an incredible group of talent and support. I’m humbled to be a part of this group. I hope what I do, how I act, and what I write reflect well on all of you when my books go out into the world.

  And to my beta readers, Linda E. and Nicole R. from Goodreads, Mary D. from Facebook, and my RWA friends, Katrina Sizemore, Miguelina Perez (again), and Carrie Lomax (again). You all helped immeasurably.

  Thank you to the team at Entangled. Each and every one of you has been incredible to work with. A shout-out to Holly Bryant-Simpson for seeing on Instagram I was in Atlanta and getting in touch so we could meet and chat. I can’t wait to see you again!

  But most especially my editor, Erin Molta, whose smarts have helped me grow as a writer as she gently but firmly guided these manuscripts into their final form with kindness, insight, and warmth. (Including another late-in-the-game major revision.) Thank you for what you bring to the world with these amazing books.

  If this story works, it’s only because I received no-nonsense guidance from these talented people. If it doesn’t, the failing is wholly my own.

  Thank you again to the lovely Geraldine, my son’s former babysitter—we miss you! And to the vivacious and readerly Emily, his new babysitter. To Jamaila Brinkley, for our babysitting co-op, all our talks, and the pretzels she allowed me to pilfer when I wandered through her kitchen absently mulling over plot points, dialogue, and how to realize the dark moments and grand gestures Erin Molta patiently guided me toward.

  I also have to give a shout-out to Sherri LaRowe, our Realtor, who saw us through real estate trauma and drama with grace, humor, and a special kind of brilliance. Maybe that’s why the first draft of this story had no conflict—I had too much in real life! Nobody is savvier or harder working than Sherri. She is nothing short of a living, walking, breathing blessing—in every sense of the word. (The Silver Lion Inn near Idlewood is named after the silver spray-painted lion statue she and I saw next door to the first house my husband and I tried to buy.)

  Most of all, thank you to the man himself, my beloved husband, Jonathan, for his hard work, support, and indefatigable sense of humor, even when he’s turning a pithy phrase at the expense of what a duke might do with his you know what.

  About the Author

  Ingrid Hahn is a failed administrative assistant with a B.A. in Art History. Her love of reading has turned her mortgage payment into a book storage fee, which makes her the friend who you never want to ask you for help moving. Though originally from Seattle, she now lives in the metropolitan DC area with her ship-nerd husband, small son, and four opinionated cats. When she’s not reading or writing, she loves knitting, theater, nature walks, travel, history, and is a hopelessly devoted fan of Jane Austen. Please connect with her on social media! Find her on Twitter as @Ingrid_Writer, on Instagram as ingrid_hahn, and on Facebook as Ingrid Hahn.

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