Contents
Title Page
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Also by Tracy Anne Warren
Excerpt of The Wedding Trap
Fall in love at first sight—and second, and third...
Copyright Page
For my beloved kitties, who passed over the bridge during the writing of this trilogy.
Marshmallow,
a beautiful boy whose light burned bright, but far too briefly.
Sally, “the Boo,”
our sweet, funny black lovebug, who found us one stormy Halloween night and made us her own. We cherished your little hops and loving motorboat purrs.
Mitten, “Miss Mitten,”
my dainty, brown-striped princess. Priceless friend and companion. Thanks for giving me twenty-two wonderful years of meows, lap naps and love.
Chapter One
London, February 1820
This business of acquiring a husband is going to be far from pleasant, Eliza Hammond decided from her place on the saffron-and-white-striped sofa in the upstairs family drawing room of Raeburn House.
Considering this would be her fifth Season—a lowering realization indeed—she knew she would need all the assistance she could get, despite the immense fortune her late aunt had quite unexpectedly left to her only six weeks ago. At least she knew she would be able to count on the steadfast support of her dear friend, Violet Brantford Winter, Duchess of Raeburn. Perhaps with Violet’s assistance, the process would not be as dreadful as she feared. Then again, thinking of the assorted ne’er-do-wells and fortune hunters already vying for her hand, perhaps it would.
“There is Mr. Newcomb,” Violet stated as she reviewed the current selection of Eliza’s prospective suitors. “He seems a very pleasant sort of gentleman with a genuine interest in the arts.”
“Yes, he was most attentive when we happened upon each other at the gallery the other day,” Eliza agreed, recalling the man’s even features and straight auburn hair, a shade that had put her in mind of a glossy-coated Irish setter. “He demonstrated a definite command of the great masters. Perhaps he has an interest in historical subjects as well.”
“What he has is an interest in card playing, followed a close second by a love of the dice,” interrupted a deep, smooth male voice that never failed to send a pleasurable tingle down Eliza’s spine, no matter how firmly she tried to suppress it.
She shifted her gaze toward Lord Christopher Winter, better known to his family and friends as Kit. Tall, broad-shouldered and ruggedly lean, he sat relaxed in a leisurely all-male sprawl upon a nearby chair. Having spent the past twenty minutes eating his way through a stack of small watercress, cucumber and chicken sandwiches, he leaned forward now to conduct a perusal of the dessert tray.
A lock of his dark, wavy brown hair fell across his handsome forehead as he selected a pair of lime tarts and a thin slice of rum cake. As he transferred the sweets to his plate, he got a smudge of whipped cream on one of his knuckles. Eliza’s stomach tightened as she watched him lick it away.
She forced her gaze down to her shoes. Kit was Violet’s brother-in-law and nothing more, she reminded herself. Certainly he was nothing more to her. True, she had once nursed a secret infatuation for him, but such silliness was long since over and done. During the nearly year and a half he had been away traveling on the Continent, she had ruthlessly purged him from her heart. And by the time he returned to England this Christmas past, she had long since grown used to giving him scarcely a thought.
Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t admire him for the gorgeous male specimen he was. And Kit Winter, with his beautiful, lazy-lidded green and gold eyes, sensuous lips and infectiously charming smile, was a gorgeous man indeed. One with an infamously prodigious appetite that seemed to make no impact at all upon his trim, well-muscled physique.
He bit into one of the tarts from his plate, a tiny smile of gustatory delight on his lips as he settled back into his chair. Engrossed in the confection, he seemed utterly oblivious to the volley of disappointment he had just lobbed into the room.
Violet shot him a mighty frown. “What do you mean by that remark, Kit?”
He swallowed and glanced upward. “Hmm?” He took a drink of tea, then politely patted his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, about Newcomb, do you mean?”
“Yes, of course about Newcomb. Of whom else have Eliza and I been conversing?”
“Well, there’s no need to come up cross, Vi. Just thought I ought to give you fair warning the chap is close to being dipped. Last I heard, he lost twenty thousand quid to Plimpton playing high-stakes whist, and his luck hasn’t turned for the good since.”
Violet and Eliza released a pair of mutual sighs.
“If that is the case, then he is out,” Violet declared, turning her bespectacled blue-green gaze upon Eliza. “You certainly don’t want to take an inveterate gambler to husband.”
Eliza silently agreed and contented herself by sipping her tea.
“There is Sir Silas Jones,” Violet continued. “He sent you that sweet nosegay of hothouse roses last week. I hear he comes from a lovely part of Kent. Owns an estate that produces a most bountiful harvest of cherries and apples each year. Has quite the way with plants, I am given to understand.”
“That’s not all he’s good at planting,” murmured Kit as he polished off the last of the sweets on his plate and leaned forward for more.
Violet angled her attractively coiffured blond head. “I suppose by that you mean there is something wrong with him as well?”
“Depends upon your point of view. Some might say there’s nothing wrong with him at all.” He ate a guinea-sized crumpet topped with a generous spoonful of gooseberry jam, then silently held out his empty Meissen cup for more tea.
Without pause, Violet lifted the heavy silver teapot from a matching silver tray and poured. A delicate tendril of steam spiraled off the surface of the beverage for a moment before Kit brought the cup to his lips.
“So?” Violet encouraged when he failed to say more.
Kit set his teacup onto its saucer with a faint clink. “Man’s a womanizer. Has six by-blows by four different women and those are only the ones he acknowledges. One might say Jones is a man who likes to plow a field.”
Eliza felt her cheeks grow pink. A small guffaw escaped the duchess before Violet recovered herself.
“Kit,” Violet said in reproof. “Might I remind you there are ladies present, myself included. That is no kind of talk for the drawing room.”
He forced an irreverent grin from his lips. “Sorry. You are right, of course. My apologies, ladies.”
“Nevertheless, I am glad to learn that Sir Silas is not a man to whom my dear friend should direct her time or attentions.” Violet tapped a thoughtful nail against the scrolled sofa arm. “Of the other gentlemen who have recently extended their regards to Eliza, we know Viscount Coyle and Mr. Washburn are not to be received, the both of them known fortune hunters forever on the lookout for a likely heiress to replenish their pocketbooks.�
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“What of Lord Luffensby?” Eliza said. “He sent me that very pleasant book of sonnets.” Wordsworth, she recalled with pleasure, the poet one of her favorites.
“Of course. I met him only once and very briefly but he struck me as a most amiable man. Very considerate and gently spoken.”
A soft but unmistakable snort erupted from Kit.
Violet shot him another look, one of exasperation this time. “Pray do not tell me there is something amiss with Lord Luffensby too? Surely not. I know his cousin and she gave me to understand that he has a most comfortable income and no predilections for the usual vices.”
“No, not the usual ones, that’s for certain.”
Violet waited for a long moment. “Oh, do go on before Eliza and I both expire of curiosity.”
“I am not sure I ought to say. As you already reminded me, there are ladies present.” Kit paused, glanced at Eliza. “Unmarried ladies.”
“Well, dear heavens, what is it? Surely it cannot be so terrible Eliza cannot be allowed to hear. And it isn’t as if she is a miss just out of the schoolroom.”
Kit tapped a considering finger against his lips. “He has a nickname among certain fellows. Lord Poofensby.”
Poofensby? Eliza frowned. Was Kit referring to the man’s wardrobe? Luffensby did tend toward being a bit of a dandy but nothing too extreme. She looked over at Violet, whose brows were also furrowed in confusion.
“I am sorry but you’ll have to be clearer,” Violet said.
“Clearer?” Kit rolled his eyes, then heaved a beleaguered sigh. “You know, for a woman who reads Greek and Latin and speaks five languages, you can sometimes be remarkably ignorant.”
“There is no need to be insulting. Just say it out. I am sure it cannot be so very bad.”
“All right. He…um…has a liking for men.”
“Well, what is so remarkable about that? A great many gentlemen enjoy the company of others of their sex. I don’t see why you are making such a—Oh.” Violet broke off, her eyebrows rising. “Oh! Oooh.”
Eliza looked between them, still not entirely understanding the message that had just been passed. Then suddenly she remembered a bit of text she had read once in one of her books on ancient history about men who cared for other men in an amorous way. She had found the notion quite astonishing at the time, yet never considered such things might still go on. Certainly not here in present-day England!
A fresh blush stole over her cheeks.
“Quite so.” Kit stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankle. “Not the sort of fellow likely to give you a family, assuming that is what you want?”
A family, Eliza thought, was exactly what she wanted. It was the single most important reason she had decided to find a husband and wed. Her shoulders dipped, her spirits disheartened by the entire conversation.
“Well, who else is there?” Violet withdrew a white silk handkerchief from her dress pocket, then removed her spectacles and began to polish the lenses. “You have received so many bouquets and trinkets, there must be someone suitable in the bunch.”
“But there is not,” Eliza bemoaned. “Oh, Violet, don’t you see, it is simply no use. They are all of them unsuitable in one way or another. Either they are after my fortune or they have some dreadful personal difficulty they wish to conceal through a convenient marriage.”
Violet slipped her eyeglasses back on, then reached out and patted the top of Eliza’s hand. “Now, do not let this discourage you. The Season has not even begun yet. There is no telling all the eligible bachelors who will be arriving in the city over the next few weeks. Men who would give their eyeteeth to have you for their wife.”
“Perhaps a single rotten molar but no more.” Eliza shook her head. “No, the facts must be faced. The sad truth is that no suitable gentlemen wanted me before my aunt died and none of them wants me now. Some days I wish my aunt had not gotten angry with Cousin Philip and cut him out of the will. Some days poverty seems a remarkably easier choice.”
“Poverty is never easy and do not spout such self-defeating nonsense. I know you would never wish to go back to that life. You lived under that old woman’s miserly thumb far too many years—forgive my harsh sentiments toward the dead—not to enjoy a little comfort now. If anyone deserves her fortune, it is you.”
“Maybe, but it does not seem to be doing me much good.”
“What you need is a mentor,” Violet said. “Someone who knows Society and could smooth your way. Teach you how to be easier in company, have more confidence so your shyness does not leave you tongue-tied and silent among others, unable to show what a lovely personality you possess.”
Violet paused, tapped a thumb against the knee of her elegant lavender merino wool day dress. “As you will recall, I once had the same problem as you. So shy in public I could barely string a pair of words together. Then during those insane months when I switched places with Jeannette and married Adrian in her stead, well, I had no choice but to change my ways. Why, if it had not been for Kit—” She broke off and stared at her brother-in-law for a long, pregnant moment. Suddenly a merry laugh bubbled from her lips. “Well, of course! Why did I not think of it before?”
“Think of what?” Eliza asked.
“Of you and Kit. Why, it is perfect. Kit will help you find a worthy husband.”
“I’ll do what!” Kit jerked upright in his seat, his cup rattling precariously on its saucer. Only his innate sense of balance kept him from spilling hot tea all over his fashionably tight buckskin pantaloons. In no mood to risk a burn, especially in so vulnerable an area of his anatomy, he steadied the china and set it onto a nearby side table.
Eliza Hammond, he noticed, looked as shocked as he felt, her pale lips parted, her slender jaw slack with obvious astonishment.
He straightened his waistcoat with a firm double-handed tug. “I must have misheard you. Sounded like you just suggested I play matchmaker for Miss Hammond here.”
“Not matchmaker, no. Eliza and I will be able to locate gentlemen aplenty, I suspect. Your role will be more in the way of mentor, just as I said. You can help vet her prospective suitors, but more importantly you can do for her what you did for me. Teach her how to be more confident in company. Give her techniques and ways of interacting in Society so she need not feel so reticent.”
“Well, I hardly think I’m the proper one to help,” he sputtered, anxious to put a stop to Violet’s wild notions before they had a chance to propagate any further.
“But of course you are,” his earnest-eyed sister-in-law stated. “You are the very best person to help. For one, you are family, so there will be no need to worry about you telling the world all the details of our little project. For another, you know absolutely everyone in the Ton. If you aren’t friends with them already, you know someone else who is. Plus, you hear all the best tidbits, as you have so eloquently demonstrated this afternoon.”
“I hardly know everyone. Been out of the country these many months past, I’ll remind you. Even now I am catching up.” His lids narrowed accusingly. “And I hope you are not implying that I am a gossip.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Violet assured. “You are just friendly and popular, that is all. People tell you things, things neither Eliza nor I will ever be in a position to find out. Which gives us a great advantage since you will be able to weed out the fortune hunters and blackguards and leave only decent gentlemen from which Eliza may choose. That way she will be able to concentrate on deciding if she feels genuine affection for any one particular man without having to worry that he might have unscrupulous motives. No, I cannot think of a person better suited to help our dear Eliza than you.”
Kit restrained the pained grimace that rose to his face. If he had known tossing out a few opinions about a couple of fellows would provoke such dire results, he would have kept his blasted mouth shut. Should have kept eating, that’s what he should have done. Kept eating and kept silent.
Reminded of food and suddenly in need of su
stenance, he plucked another tart off the serving tray and popped it into his mouth, the delectable flavors of raspberry and sweet cream taking the edge off his distress.
“I am not a project,” Eliza said in a low, stiff voice.
“What is that, dear?” Violet questioned, turning her head toward her friend.
“I said, I am not a project, as you referred to me earlier. Neither of you need feel duty-bound to take pity upon me. I shall find some way to manage for myself.” Short speech done, Eliza lowered her eyes to her lap, fingers linked together, her knuckles squeezed tight enough to turn them white around the edges.
Kit ate another tart, surprised at Eliza’s small burst of outraged pride. He hadn’t realized she was capable of such fortitude, quiet little brown wren that she was. In fact, she’d spoken more this afternoon than he was used to hearing her say in an entire day, not that he ever really spent enough time around her to be certain how much talking she normally did. Yet she had always struck him as one of those plain, reserved women who tended to walk into a room and fade from notice two minutes later. The quintessential wallflower. And a bluestocking, to make matters worse. Only now she was a rich bluestocking wallflower, and Violet expected him to make her over into a glorious swan.
Impossible.
Perhaps giving birth to her latest child four months before had done something to disrupt Violet’s usual good sense. Maybe if he phrased his arguments just right, she would see reason and back away from this ludicrous plan.
Violet shifted toward Eliza. “Now, do not ruffle up so. You know I meant no insult, and neither of us pities you. Do we, Kit?” She gave him a stare that brooked no opposition.
“Of course not,” he chimed.
“I apologize if my choice of words was poor,” Violet went on. “But Eliza, even you admit that you are shy and do not feel easy in Society. And while there is no disgrace in such behavior, it does make it more difficult for others to see your true beauty. Particularly gentlemen, who—let us be frank—tend to be led by their eyes and other unmentionable portions of their anatomy.”
“Their brains, do you mean?” Kit remarked, unable to restrain the quip.
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