In Love With a Charming Brunette
(A Tale of Two Brunettes—Book 2)
by Tabetha Waite
Copyright © 2021 Tabetha Waite
Cover Design by Mandy Koehler Designs
This title is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, including but no limited to photocopy, digital, auditory, and/or in print, without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations for a review.
Also by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)
Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)
When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)
What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)
Season of the Spinster Series
Triana’s Spring Seduction (Book 1)
Isabella’s Secret Summer (Book 2)
The Spinster’s Alluring Season (Book 2.5)
Alyssa’s Autumn Affair (Book 3)
Korina’s Wild Winter (Book 4)
Novellas
Twelve Gifts by Christmas
Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly (Fortunes of Fate #1)
A Lady’s Guide to Marriage
A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
Miss Pageant’s Christmas Proposal
The Scot’s Bairn
Bedeviling Lord Coxford
The Brunette Who Stole His Heart (A Tale of Two Brunettes – Book 1)
In Love With a Charming Brunette (A Tale of Two Brunettes – Book 2)
Novels
Behind a Moonlit Veil
The Secrets of Shadows
The Piper’s Paramour
Anthologies
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
The Young and the Ruined (Various Historical)
Short Stories
Love’s Frozen Kiss
Love Out of the Ashes
The Magic Shield
The Journey Toward Hope
Thistles & War
Four Calling Cards
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Dedication
For the talented Amanda Mariel who not only designed the lovely covers for this set, but also helped me brainstorm for titles. Thanks for being a great confidante!
Chapter One
Croydon, England
June 1818
Lady Mercy Granville could hardly contain her excitement. She was finally free, embarking on what would likely be her only chance to enjoy life as a single woman before she was forced into marriage to the Viscount of Westbrook, a man who had been chosen for her rather than the other way around. Her father and the late viscount might have come to an agreement about the fate of their children, but that didn’t mean she had to accept it like a dutiful daughter.
At least, not without seeing some of what the world had to offer first.
She’d always wanted to travel, but she knew that once she was wed, it would be years before she’d get to embark on a grand adventure, stuck at some crumbling estate while she waited to birth the requisite heir.
She shuddered just thinking of it.
The carriage hit a rut in the road and threw her to the side of the carriage. Thankfully, the mail coach was not overly crowded, the only other passengers being two elderly sisters who sat across from her, so she hadn’t worried about slamming into anyone. Either way, after hours of grueling travel, she was almost at her journey’s end and the day was bright and sunny and… perfect.
Since her parents were currently on the continent on holiday and away from the estate, Mercy had found the perfect way to secure passage to Brighton. She’d had but a short walk to the local village of Croydon, and since she was traveling light, with just a small valise and trunk, the journey thus far had been relatively easy. But then, as she was attending a rather illicit house party on the coast, she didn’t think she would have to worry about dressing up for anything formal.
When she’d first heard of the clandestine affair by way of one of her fellow debutantes, she knew nothing short of her parents returning home early would keep her from attending. But when she was supposed to go to London to meet her intended instead, that had proven to be a problem.
However, since Mercy was resourceful, she’d found a way around that. She’d enlisted the help of her ladies’ maid, Faith Albright, to trade places with her for the fortnight she would be gone. Since they were similar in coloring and build, both having brown hair, and considering that her chaperone would be her great-aunt, the Duchess of Fontaine, who was in her eighties and hadn’t seen Mercy in the past five years, it should be easy enough to convince her that she and Faith were one in the same.
At least, that was the plan.
Either way, since Faith was already on her way to London and she was nearly to Brighton, the wheels had already been set into motion — quite literally.
When the coach finally stopped at the local inn, she stepped down to the ground and closed her eyes to breathe in the scent of the lovely salty air. She had always enjoyed the trips to Brighton when she was a child. The Royal Pavilion was one of her favorite places to visit and the opportunity to utilize the bathing houses were a delight during the hot summertime in order to take a dip in the cool water. She loved to swim, but there wasn’t much opportunity to do more than remove her stockings and wade in the local stream that ran behind her father’s estate. And since this year was turning out to be particularly warm and dry for England, which was normally rainy most of the time, Mercy’s enthusiasm was even greater than usual.
The sound of a horse’s whinny captured her attention, and she opened her eyes in time to see a trio of gentlemen heading toward her. While they all looked rather impressive with their greatcoats and devil-may-care demeanor, it was the man in the middle of the three that drew her gaze. His dark brown hair lay in disarray, likely from a vigorous ride, and although she couldn’t see his eyes, his carefree expression was enough to tell her that he was a rogue through and through.
If only he was Malcolm Grant, the Viscount of Westbrook, she would have no problem agreeing to the match, for he seemed the sort who might understand her restlessness. Sadly, the odds of that were wildly not in her favor. However, that thought did make her more cautious when it came to giving out her true identity. While she intended for these next fourteen days to give her the opportunity to throw caution to the wind, she didn’t need her exploits reaching her intended.
She would have to come up with some sort of false name that sounded plausible.
At that instant, the group rode into the inn yard and dismounted. As their horses were led away to the stables, the man she’d been admiring turned his head in her direction. A moment passed between them, but dissipated just as swiftly when he inclined his head and headed into the inn with his cohorts trailing behind.
Mercy sighed regretfully, but decided it was for the best. In two weeks she would be a betrothed woman, so embarking on a summer romance wasn’t the b
est idea.
After her luggage was unloaded, she glanced about her. Apparently her best friend, Lady Beth Franson, daughter of the Duke of Pinefield, hadn’t yet arrived. Spying an empty wooden bench, Mercy walked over to sit down and wait. Since she wasn’t sure how long it might be, she withdrew a book from her valise and began to read.
***
Malcolm Grant, Viscount Westbrook, had trouble listening to what his fellow comrades, Jacob Sawyer, Earl of Devon, and David Bloom, Baron Crawford, were saying. From his seat near the window inside the crowded inn, he had a rather good view of the lady he’d taken particular note of upon his arrival. And since he wasn’t completely ignorant when it came to judging when a certain woman might be interested in him, it seemed she’d also noticed him.
“Westbrook? Did you even hear what I said?”
Malcolm turned to Crawford with a sheepish expression. “Sorry, old chap. I fear I was woolgathering.”
“Give him a break,” Devon chided. “He’s about to be leg shackled at twenty-seven. If I were him I’d have to be committed to Bedlam by now.”
Malcolm offered a rather obscene gesture in return.
“Let’s focus on what we will do to occupy our time while we’re here, shall we?” The baron suggested with a grin. “The ladies.”
Malcolm snorted and then looked out the window yet again, his attention diverted by the lady. He watched as she gathered her things and then took a seat on the bench. When she withdrew a book, it appeared as though she was going to pass the time while waiting for someone. What a perfect time to introduce himself.
He abruptly got to his feet and by the annoyed looks from his companions he’d obviously interrupted their conversation. “Pardon me,” he murmured. Without offering anything further, he headed for the door.
Malcolm moved out the way for a couple entering the inn, and when he stepped outside, the lady didn’t so much as glance up. She seemed fully engrossed in the novel she was reading, so he decided to inch closer to get a better look at the title.
He had to grin when he spotted it, for he wasn’t surprised that she should be reading a novel. “Are you a fan of ‘A Lady’?”
The lady started as she glanced up at him. Her face flushed slightly, although she said, “I am. Although I’m a particular fan of Persuasion.”
“I see. And is it the letter from Captain Wentworth at the end that sends your heart pounding?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Actually, no. I’m more impressed with Anne’s fortitude. She remains strong throughout the novel even though she imagines that her affections aren’t returned and she believes Frederick has aspirations on another.”
He nodded and then dared to sit down on the bench next to her. He ensured that he was far enough away that he retained a certain respectability yet close enough that he could make out the delicate curve of her face. Beneath her bonnet, he saw a few strands of chocolate brown hair peeking out, and when she fully turned her gaze on him, he saw that her eyes were a mesmerizing hazel. She was wearing a simple gown in dove gray and he wondered where she came from and what her purpose could be in Brighton.
Dear God. Five minutes in the lady’s company and he was already intrigued.
Deciding that he should focus on their conversation rather than her full lips, he replied, “That is a rather forward view you’ve taken, although I can’t disagree with the premise of the story, or your opinion of it, for I’m inclined to have the same view as well. This notion that society has of women being the weaker sex has obviously never met my mother.”
Perhaps he merely imagined it, but it appeared as though her gaze turned sad. “I take it your mother is part of the aristocracy?”
Wondering why that might make a difference, but not wishing to disrupt the bright light in her eyes further, he shook his head and did the only thing he could think of. He lied. “No, actually. I’m a… valet. I’m here on holiday with my… er, master and his friend.” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”
She lifted a delicate brow and glanced away from him. “I’m here to assist my mistress as well. I’m a ladies’ companion.”
Malcolm knew that was a slight impediment, for they were of a different social class, but since he wasn’t here to engage in any sort of attachments, as he had his own betrothed to return to, he was merely here to have a bit of fun. And he rather thought this lady might suit his purposes perfectly. His smile revived. “Does the companion have a name?”
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “Miss Faith Albright.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Albright. I’m… Freddie.”
At that moment, a carriage pulled to a stop in front of the inn, and a lady’s head poked out. With curly blond hair surrounding her face and bright blue eyes, she opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Albright stood suddenly. “My lady.” She curtsied to the new arrival and then turned to him. “I have to go,” she said. “It was nice meeting you… Freddie.”
With that, she handed over her things to the footman who opened the door for her. Malcolm slowly rose to his feet, watching as she climbed inside. As he stood, willing her to look back at him, she glanced over her shoulder and offered him a small parting wave before she disappeared inside.
The hair on the back of his neck rose as Malcolm became aware that he was no longer alone.
A firm hand clasped him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you just say someone had caught your fancy, Westbrook?” Devon teased.
“Indeed. She looked rather appealing. Might she have a companion?” Crawford ribbed.
Malcolm merely shrugged off their mocking taunts and reluctantly turned away from where the carriage had gone.
He hoped that wasn’t the last time he saw the lady.
Chapter Two
Mercy hoped that was the last time she saw Freddie. The man was entirely too charming and handsome for her peace of mind. While she was looking for a bit of fun at Brighton, that was where it ended. Her heart had to remain free.
“Do you mind telling me what that was all about?”
Mercy looked over at her friend, Beth, and sighed. “Nothing.”
The girl snorted. “It didn’t look like nothing.” Her lips curved upward in a smirk. “You wouldn’t be trying to gain the upper hand by flirting with the gentlemen before me, would you?”
Mercy rolled her eyes. “He’s a valet, Beth. Besides, you know my hand is already spoken for. My parents have made that perfectly clear.” She shook her head. “Let’s just focus on enjoying ourselves at this party, rather than throwing men into the mix and ruining everything.”
“Now you’re taking all the fun out of our planned excursion!” Beth laughed. “I know what will make you feel better. Since we’re staying at the Royal Crescent with my aunt, who you know, is quite forward thinking, we shall have plenty of time to ourselves to explore Brighton on our own.” She grinned broadly. “And there is a mansion at the end of the row where we shall engage in all manner of clandestine activities!”
As her friend continued to chatter about the pale-stucco exteriors of the Crescent with their private terraces and bay windows, Mercy found her attention wandering. While she told herself nothing good could come of furthering her acquaintance with Freddie the valet, she couldn’t help but let her mind flash back to their conversation on the bench. There was something particularly attractive about a man who enjoyed to read.
“Did you read the books I sent you?”
Mercy blinked at Beth, who was looking at her expectantly. When the question finally penetrated her consciousness, she said, “Yes, although I found Anthony Relhan’s depiction of Brighton much more appealing than that of Dr. Richard Russell, who merely noted the healing effects of drinking seawater.” She scrunched up her nose. “While I fully intend to enjoy the water along the beach, I have no intention of ingesting it.”
Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the row of terraced houses connected to one another. With a lovely view of the sea, the sun sp
arkling on the water, Mercy couldn’t wait to rush out there in her bare feet and take advantage of the lovely day.
However, Beth had other plans for her.
As the carriage stopped and a footman came out to take their things, she looped Mercy’s arm through hers as they walked up the steps. “There is a welcome gathering this evening at the Mansion. And it’s to be a costume ball!”
Mercy couldn’t hold back a groan. “If I wanted to rub elbows with society, I could have done that in London.”
“Yes, but we would have been heavily chaperoned there, whereas whatever happens in Brighton stays in Brighton.”
Mercy snorted. “Scandal always finds a way.”
“Not when no one knows who you are,” Beth pointed out with a wink.
Mercy just shook her head. She’d always known that Beth was bold, if not downright reckless. And something immediately told her that this would be a fortnight she would never forget. She just hoped she would survive it. Either way, she had no one to blame but herself. She had been determined to see this trip through and she would.
“Auntie!” Beth called out merrily. “Mercy has arrived!”
After a few moments, a slender woman with black hair and enchanting blue eyes strode out of one of the front rooms. She held her hands out and grasped Mercy’s in her own. “Dear girl. It’s lovely to see you again.”
Mercy smiled. “And you, Lady Franson.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, nonsense. Call me Margaret, or Auntie if you prefer. I will answer to either.”
Mercy had always found it difficult to believe that a duke’s sister, especially one as lovely as Margaret, had never chosen to marry, but then Beth had told her why in strict confidence. During a particular ball in London, she’d leaned over and whispered that her aunt preferred the company of other ladies.
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