Also By Isabella Thorne
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The Mad Heiress and the Duke ~ Georgette Quinby
The Mad Heiress' Cousin and the Hunt ~ A Short Story
The Duke's Wicked Wager
The Duke’s Wicker Wager ~ Lady Evelyn Evering
Mischief, Mayhem and Murder: A Marquess of Evermont ~ A Short Story
The Duke’s Daughter
The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton
The Baron in Bath
The Baron in Bath ~ Miss Julia Bellevue
Other Short Stories by Isabella Thorne
Mistletoe and Masquerade ~ 2-in-1 Short Story Collection
Colonial Cressida and the Secret Duke ~ A Short Story
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The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton
A Regency Romance Novel
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Fate’s Design Copyright © 2017 by Isabella Thorne
Hidden Pages Copyright © 2017 by Isabella Thorne
Unlikely Engagement Copyright © 2017 by Isabella Thorne
London Reprise Copyright © 2017 by Isabella Thorne
Published by: Mikita Associates
Cover Art by Mary Lepiane
2017 Mikita Associates Publishing
Digital Edition
Published in the United States of America.
www.isabellathorne.com
Table of Contents
Also By Isabella Thorne
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Part 1 ~ Fate’s Design
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Part 2 ~ Hidden Pages
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Part 3 ~ Unlikely Engagement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Part 4 ~ London Reprise
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Sneak Peek of: The Mad Heiress and the Duke
Part 1 ~ The Mad Heiress Meets the Duke
Chapter One
~Part 1 ~
Fate’s Design
Chapter One
With a few lines of black ink scrawled on cream parchment, her life had changed forever. Lady Amelia had to say goodbye, but she could not bear to. She sat alone in the music room contemplating her future. Outside the others gathered, but here it was quiet. The room was empty apart from the piano, a lacquered ash cabinet she had received as a gift from her father on her twelfth birthday. She touched a key and the middle C echoed like the voice of a dear friend. The bench beneath her was the same one she had used when she begun learning, some ten years ago, and was as familiar to her as her father’s armchair was to him.
Lighter patches on the wood floor marked where the room’s other furniture had sat for years, perhaps for as long as she had been alive. New furnishings would arrive, sit in different places, make new marks, but she would not be here to see it. Amelia ran her fingers across the keys, not firmly enough to make a sound, but she heard the notes in her head regardless. When all her world was turmoil, music had been a constant comforting presence. Turmoil. Upheaval. Chaos. What was the proper word for her life now?
She breathed in a calming breath, and smoothed her dark skirt, settling it into order. She would survive; she would smile again, but first, she thought, she would play. She would lose herself in the music, this one last time.
~.~
2 Weeks Earlier
Lady Amelia looked the gentleman over. Wealthy, yes, but not enough to make up for his horrid appearance. That would take considerably more than mere wealth. He leered at her as though she were a pudding he would like to sample. Though it was obvious he was approaching to ask her to dance, she turned on her heel in an unmistakable gesture and pretended to be in deep conversation with her friends. Refusing the man a dance outright would be gauche, but if her aversion was apparent enough before the man ever asked, it would save them both an embarrassment. She smoothed her rich crimson gown attempting to project disinterest. It was a truly beautiful garment; silk brocade with a lush velvet bodice ornamented with gold and pearl accents.
Lady Charity, one of Amelia’s friends in London, smiled, revealing overly large teeth. The expression exaggerated the flaw, but Charity had other attributes.
“That is an earl you just snubbed,” said Charity, wide-eyed. It both galled and delighted Lady Charity the way Amelia dismissed gentlemen. Lady Amelia did not approve of the latter, she did not take joy in causing others discomfort. It was a necessity, not a sport.
“Is he still standing there looking surprised?” Amelia asked, twirling one of her golden ringlets back into place with the tip of a slender gloved finger. Looking over her shoulder to see for herself would only confuse the man into thinking she was playing coy. “I am the daughter of a duke, Charity. I need not throw myself at every earl that comes along.”
“Thank goodness, or you would have no time for anything else.” Charity’s comment bore more than a tinge of jealousy.
Lady Amelia’s debut earlier this Season had drawn the attention of numerous suitors, and the cards still arrived at her London townhouse in droves. Each time she went out, whether to a ball or to the Park, she was inundated with tireless gentlemen. If she were a less patient woman, it would have become tedious. Gracious as she was, Amelia managed to turn them all down with poise. Lady Amelia’s father, the Duke of Ely, was a kind man who doted on his only daughter but paid as little mind to her suitors as Amelia herself; always saying there was plenty of time for such things. Her debut like most aspects of her upbringing was left to the professionals. What do I pay tutors for? He had said, when a younger Amelia had asked him a question on the French verbs. There had been many tutors. Amelia had learned the languages, the arts, the histories, music and needlepoint until she was, by Society’s standards, everything a young woman should be. She glanced across the hall to that same father, and found him deep in conversation with several white haired men, no doubt some of the older lords talking politics as they were wont to do. She flashed him a quick smile and he toasted her with his glass.
Father had even indulged her by hiring a composer to teach her the piano, after she proven herself adept and eager
to learn. If any of these flapping popinjays were half the man her father was…she thought with irritation.
Lady Patience, the less forward of Lady Amelia’s friends, piped in, “Men are drawn to your beauty like moths to a flame.” Her voice had a sad quality to it.
“I’m sure you will find the perfect beau, Patience.” Amelia replied.
“Yes, well, you might at least toss them our way, when you have decided against them.” Charity said. She peeked wide eyed over her slivered fan which covered her bosom with tantalizing art. Amelia’s eyes were brought back to her friends and she smiled.
While Charity was blonde and buxom, Patience was diminutive, yet cursed with garish red hair. The wiry, unruly locks had the habit of escaping whatever style her maid attempted, leaving the girl looking a bit like a waif, frazzled and misplaced at an elegant ball like the one they were attending. Though her dress was a lovely celestial blue frock trimmed round the bottom with lace and a white gossamer Polonese long robe joined at the front with rows of satin beading.
Charity’s flaws were more obvious, apart from her wide mouth. She had a jarring laugh, and wore necklines so low they barely contained her ample bosom. The gown she was wearing extenuated this feature with many row of white scalloped lace and a rosy pink bodice clasped just underneath. It bordered on vulgar. Amelia intended to make the polite suggestion on their next shopping trip that Lady Charity perhaps should purchase an extra yard of fabric so she might have enough for an entire dress.
“Do not be foolish, Patience. You deserve someone wonderful. If we must be married, it should be to someone that… excites us,” Amelia said, rising up onto her toes and clasping her hands in front of her breast.
Her comment caused Patience to flush with embarrassment. It was easy to forget Patience was two years older than Amelia and a year older than Charity, for her naivety gave her a childlike demeanor.
“Not all of us are beautiful enough to hold out for someone handsome,” said Patience. When she blushed, her freckles blended with the rosiness of her cheeks. Her eyes alighted with hope, and she was pretty in a shy sort of way.
Charity nodded her agreement, but Amelia frowned and clasped Patience’s hands. “You are sweet and bright and caring. Any man would be lucky to have you for his wife. Do not settle because you feel you have no choice. The right man will come along. Just you wait and see.”
Tears swelled in Patience’s bright blue eyes. Amelia hoped she would not begin to cry; the girl was prone to hysterics and leaps of emotion. Charity was only a notch better, and if one girl began the other was certain to follow. Two crying girls was not the spectacle Amelia hoped to make at a ball. She clapped her hands together and twirled around, so her skirts fanned out around her feet.
“Come now; let us find some of those handsome men to dance with. It should not be hard for three young ladies like us.” Amelia glanced back. Patience was wiping at her eyes and fidgeting with her dress— no matter how many times Amelia scolded her for it, the girl could not quit the nervous and irritating gesture—which generally wrinkled her dress with two fist sized wads on either side of her waist. Meanwhile Charity was puffing out her chest like a seabird. One more deep breath and she was sure to burst her seams.
It would be up to Amelia, then. In a matter of minutes she had snagged two gentlemen and placed one with Charity and one with Patience on the promise that she herself would dance with them afterward. Though men waited around her, looking hopefully in her direction, none dared approach until she gave them a sign of interest. She had already earned a reputation of being discerning with whom she favored, and no man wanted the stigma of having been turned away. Amelia perused the ballroom at her leisure, silently wishing for something more than doters and flatterers after her father’s influence.
~.~
Samuel Beresford did not want to be here. He found balls a tremendous waste of time, the dancing and the flirting and, thinly veiled beneath it all, the bargaining. For that was what marriage boiled down to, a bargain. It was all about striking a deal where each person involved believed they had the advantage over the other. If it were not for his brother’s pleading, he would never been seen at a fancy affair like this. Dressed in his naval uniform, a blue coat with gold epaulets and trimmings and white waistcoat and breeches, he attracted more attention than he wished.
“Stop scowling, Samuel,” said Percival as he returned to his brother’s side from a brief sojourn with a group of lords. “You look positively dour.”
“Did you find the man?” Samuel inquired.
Percival sipped his wine and shook his head. “It is no matter. Let us concentrate on the women. We should be enjoying their company and you seem intent on scaring them all off with your sour expression.”
Unlike himself, Samuel’s older brother Percival loved the frivolity of these occasions. As the eldest son of an earl it was very nearly an obligation of his office to enjoy them, so Samuel could not begrudge his brother doing his duty.
“You think it my expression and not our looks that are to blame?” Samuel asked, only half in jest. To appease his brother he hid his scowl behind the rim of his wine glass.
The Beresford brothers were not of disagreeable appearance, but they lacked the boyish looks so favored at the moment. They did not look gentlemanly, the brothers were too large, their features too distinctly masculine, for the women to fawn and coo over. Additionally Samuel had been sent to the Royal Naval Academy at the age of twelve, a life that had led him to be solidly built, broad across the chest and shoulders. He felt a giant amongst the gentry.
“Smile a bit brother, and let us find out.” Percy elbowed Samuel in the side.
“What is a wife but an ornament to show off at these functions? I cannot imagine any necessary criteria other than beauty. Just pick the prettiest one and have done with it.” Samuel’s comment earned him a narrow-eyed glare from a passing woman. He smiled gaily back at her.
“How can I when my brother insists on offending them before I can open my mouth? I should have left you at home,” Percy said with a long suffering sigh.
“I wish you would have done.”
Samuel did not mind life ashore in small doses. It was a chance to have a real meal, something other than salt-cured meat, and a decent cup of tea with fresh cream. He also got to spend time with Percy, though he would not admit to missing his brother out loud. After too long on land, however, he become irritated and itched to get back to his ship, until it became a near-physical pain to be away from it.
“Father insisted you interact with women whose company you did not pay for.” Percy said as he sipped from his wine glass.
“I heard him threatening to reduce your allowance. Do you think you could survive on your officer’s stipend?”
“I could,” Samuel said peevishly.
“Besides, I have missed you, dear brother and if I did not drag you along with me I would never get to see you,” said Percy. “No doubt you will be back at sea before the week is out.”
Until the time Samuel had joined the Royal Navy and left home, he and his brother had been nigh inseparable. Only a year separated them in age, but the lives they led could not have been more different. Samuel had long ago banished any remnants of jealousy he had once felt at his brother’s status, something earned with nothing more than the luck of being born first, and Samuel would no more trade places with Percy than he would with a beggar on the street.
“Then I shall be a good little brother then and assist you in your hunt for a wife,” said Samuel. “After all it is essential that the heir get an heir. I myself am not so encumbered.” He swapped his empty glass for a full one and walked in a lazy circle around the room, his brother in tow.
“First, we must find the most beautiful woman in the room. No, not her, that is for certain. Did you see the ears on that one? I could use them for wings and find myself in France.”
Percy snickered, but turned it into a cough behind his hand. “Really now Samuel, stop insulting
them and be serious!”
It was Samuel’s opinion that Percy would benefit from considerably less seriousness in his life. He already bore the marks of stress and duty in the frown lines beside his mouth and even a few strands of grey had appeared in his dark hair.
“Fine, fine,” said Samuel, coming to a halt. He never felt quite steady on solid ground and was always bracing himself for the rocking of a deck. “There. She is the one.”
Samuel pointed. Percy swatted his hand down and looked around anxiously. “Do not go pointing like you have seen something you wish to buy in a shop window. These sorts of women do not appreciate being treated so. And no, certainly not her,” Percival hissed.
Percival was being obstinate. The woman was clearly the most lovely in the room by a fair margin. She had hair the color of warm honey and her gown was a vibrant red, which perfectly complemented the pearly sheen of her skin. Luminescent that is what she was, shining in the light of the chandelier.
“Why not?” Samuel asked, frowning. He squinted, trying to pick out some flaw his brother must be seeing.
“Because she” said Percy, taking Samuel by the arm and drawing him further away from the lady in question, “is Lady Amelia Atherton.”
“Lady Amelia? What luck! You do know my ship’s name is the Amelia, Percy. You cannot count this as anything but fate that you should marry her.” Privately, Samuel did not believe in fate, but his brother was a romantic. The sooner he got his brother a bride, the sooner he could quit these ghastly outings.
The Duke’s Daughter - Lady Amelia Atherton: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 3) Page 1
