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Learn the origins of the Great Family!
The Great Family was not always a great family.
In October 1843, Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn all face problems, their hearts heavy with the challenges of life.
This is the origins story of the Scandalous Scions series—the first great family gathering, where traditions that will last a generation are born and Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn meld into a single, united family.
Find out how the couples of Scandalous Sirens learn that together, they are stronger.
This novelette has not been commercially released for sale. It is only available as a gift to readers of the series, who subscribe to Tracy’s Newsletter.
See the link at the back of this book, after you have enjoyed Law of Attraction.
Table of Contents
Special Offer
About Law Attraction
Praise for the Scandalous Scions series
Title Page
The Great Families
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
The Great Family Gathering, 1867
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Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!
The next book in the Scandalous Scions series.
About the Author
Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey
Copyright Information
About Law Attraction
Her husband will divorce her for adultery, no matter the cost or the ruin it will deliver.
Knowing their love was doomed, Jenny accepted the the Duke of Burscough’s pragmatic and loveless proposal of marriage to force Jack, Baron of Guestwick and heir to the Marquess of Laceby, to marry as his family wished.
Now Burscough is determined to divorce Jenny in an outrageously scandalous and public manner, while the newspapers paw over her secrets and speculate about her morals and values, as well as those of the family who raised her.
It is no longer simply a matter of whether Jack and Jenny can ever be happy together. Now, the great family itself is under attack. Can it survive the public disgrace?
Law of Attraction is the fifth book in the spin-off series following the historical romances of Scandalous Sirens. Scandalous Scions brings together the members of three great families, to love and play under the gaze of the Victorian era’s moralistic, straight-laced society.
Reader Advisory: This story contains frank sex scenes and sexual language.
This story is part of the Scandalous Scions series:
0.5 Rose of Ebony
1.0 Soul of Sin
2.0 Valor of Love
3.0 Marriage of Lies
4.0 Mask of Nobility
5.0 Law of Attraction
6.0 Veil of Honor
…and more to come!
A Sexy Historical Romance
Praise for the Scandalous Scions series
If you are familiar with the previous series, I am sure you fell in love with the huge family like I did.
She is a go to author for me when I need a fix of historical romance.
Tracy Cooper-Posey takes us into the staid yet surprisingly bawdy Victorian Era where appearance is everything and secrets are held inside the family.
Thanks once again, Tracy Cooper-Posey, for giving us another great story and for giving me back my love of historical romances.
I love historical romances and this one filled all my likes, from a dashing, wonderful hero, a beautiful strong heroine, a love story to sigh over, side characters that are interesting, and funny, and move the story along.
I can't wait for the next in this wonderful new series.
I don't often give books five stars, but I really enjoyed the mystery that puzzled all of the characters in this story.
I found the entire extended family intriguing because they, the women in particular, are very aware and careful of what society will think, yet they often have made choices that are deemed semi- scandalous.
A wonderful story set in the Victorian era of such strict social conventions and yet the main characters are shimmering with latent sexual tension. What a fabulous juxtaposition!
Another great series is starting and it looks like it will be great just like all the other series by this author.
Wow, as soon as I started Tracy Cooper Posey’s first book in her new spin off I was hooked.
The Great Families
Elisa and Vaughn Wardell
Marquess of Fairleigh, Viscount Rothmere
1825 Raymond, Viscount Marblethorpe (stepson)
1839 William Vaughn Wardell
1839 John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes (fostered in 1846)
1842 Sarah Louise Wardell (D)
1843 Peter Lovell Wardell
1844 Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell (adopted in 1848)
1844 Patricia Sharla Victoria Mayes (fostered in 1846)
1849 Blanche Brigitte Colombe Bonnay (adopted in 1851)
1853 Emma Jane Wardell (adopted at birth)
Natasha and Seth Williams
Earl of Innesford, Baron Harrow (Ire.)
1839 Lillian Mary Harrow
1840 Richard Cian Seth Williams
1841 Neil Vaughn Williams
1843 Daniel Rhys Williams
1846 Bridget Bronte Williams & Mairin May Williams
1849 Annalies Grace Williams
Annalies and Rhys Davies
Princess Annalies Benedickta of Saxe-Weiden, of the royal house Saxe-Coburg-Weiden, Formerly of the Principality of Saxe-Weiden.
1835 Benjamin Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)
1842 Iefan William Davies
1843 Morgan Harrow Davies
1843 Sadie Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)
1846 Bronwen Natasha Davies
1848 Alice Thomasina Davies (adopted at birth)
1849 Catrin Elise Davies
And their children:
Natasha and Raymond Devlin
Viscount Marblethorpe
1857 Vaughn Elis Devlin (Raymond’s heir)
1861 Richard Seth Devlin
Lilly and Jasper Thomsett
1862 Seth Eckhard Thomsett (heir)
1863 Elise Marie & Anne Louise Thomsett
1864 George Jasper Thomsett (stillborn)
Sharla and Dane Balfour + Benjamin Hedley (Davies)
Duke of Wakefield
1867 Jennifer Jane Balfour & Benjamin Dane Balfour (heir)
Chapter One
Present day: The Burscough townhouse, Marylebone, London. February 1867
It was not possible to overlook her husband’s emergence from his library, for the whole house shuddered under the impact of the library door thudding closed.
“Gwendolyn! Attend me this instant! Gwendolyn!” Burscough shouted.
Jenny put down the pen, her heart skipping a beat. Burscough’s voice through the closed door of the morning room was perfectly clear. He rarely called her Jenny…and never when he was angry.
She could hear Whittle murmuring to her husband. The bent stick of a man dealt with Burscough the same way regardless of her husband’s mood. It was as if Burscough’s temperament had no bearing on Whittle’s day—the
butler did not respond to events around him the way other butlers did. Jenny thought of the many butlers running the homes of friends and family. The best butlers seemed to anticipate the needs of the family they served. Not so Whittle. She wasn’t sure she had seen the blank, placid look in his eyes ever change.
His polite murmurings now would make Burscough even more angry. Jenny slid out from behind the little desk and pulled open the door of the morning room.
Burscough brushed Whittle aside with his out-thrust arm. He looked at Jenny and she shivered, for his eyes were bloodshot and his face was red. His hair was in disarray. The thick locks—some of them silver—flopped over his forehead, shadowing his black eyes. His cravat pin was missing and the cravat itself askew.
“Husband?” Jenny asked.
Burscough raked the hooked fingers of both hands through his hair. “Is it true?”
Jenny had no idea to what he was referring, yet her chest and belly tightened with tension. “Is what true?”
Burscough held his hands out toward her. They were shaking and his fingers still held in clawed arches. “Look at you, so proper. The perfect wife. Not a single button out of place.”
Jenny swallowed. “Burscough, what is wrong? Tell me.” She glanced at Whittle. “You may go.”
Whittle didn’t bow or nod. He turned and stalked away, his long, spindly legs swallowing up a yard of floor with every step.
Jenny turned back to Burscough. “What has happened?”
Burscough stood with his curled fingers hanging, breathing hard as he glared at her. He gave a sound that may have meant to be a laugh, only it was a dry, choked sound. His face, that she had once considered handsome, was writhing with so many emotions she could not distinguish them. It was not merely anger that gave his skin that flush.
“You…you…” His throat worked.
Jenny pressed her hand to her bodice, queasiness stirring. “Burscough?”
He was not much taller than her, yet his shoulders were considerably larger and it was not the flesh of easy living that made them that size. He had a strength that was unnatural. She had seen him bend a poker and remain relaxed as he did so.
Those big shoulders flexed now and his hands lifted again. The fingers were still bent in animalistic ways. His lips moved, as if he was preparing to speak, as his black eyes fixed upon her.
Unlike Whittle, Burscough’s eyes were filled with broiling feelings.
Jenny took a step back, even though he had not moved toward her.
Then his upper lip peeled back, revealing his teeth. It was a snarl.
Her heart slammed against her chest. Jenny caught her breath.
With a growl that matched his expression, Burscough lunged for her.
A little shriek escaped her.
However, Burscough was not reaching for her. He pushed passed her, making her hoops twist aside, and leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Jenny righted her hoops with a tug, lifted the top one and ran after him. Good sense dictated that she go into her morning room and lock the door. Only, she had never seen Burscough in such a state. Even as her fear bloomed, she wondered if he might try to harm himself.
What had driven him to this? What had happened?
She climbed the steps as fast as she could and paused at the top to catch her breath. After bearing two children, her waist was not the size it once had been. Only, the allowance Burscough provided for running the household, that he expected her to use for her own personal expenses as well, did not cover the cost of new corsetry and dresses that matched her new waistline.
She gripped the newel post and tried to breathe deeply, while she listened for Burscough’s movement, to tell her where he had gone. He had moved so quickly, he was no longer in sight.
Then she heard doors opening and closing. The tinkle of china being moved upon wood surfaces.
Her bedroom. He was shifting the dishes and jars on her dressing table.
Fear bloomed hotter than before. Despite her lack of wind, she almost ran down the narrow passage to the last door on the right. It stood ajar. She gripped the door frame, her chest heaving.
Burscough had tipped the bedding onto the floor and was now pawing through the bottles and plates and boxes on her dressing table. The lace runner was on the floor, too.
He yanked the drawer open and pushed the little bottles and jars inside to one side. There was a neat pile of folded handkerchiefs in one corner, all of them unadorned linen, with not even a monogram to distinguish them, for silk thread was also beyond her financial reach these days. Burscough scooped them and tossed them on the floor with an impatient movement.
“What are you doing?” Jenny demanded, at last able to spare breath enough to speak.
He whirled. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Only, in her heart, she now knew for what he searched. The fear that had been merely a smoke shape solidified and grew cold in her chest.
Burscough turned on one heel, surveying the room. “Your diary,” he said. “Where do you keep it? Every woman has a diary, where she whispers her secrets. Where is it?” He tugged on the handle of the top drawer in the chest next to her wardrobe. The drawer slid out without resistance.
With a low growling sound, he shoved it closed, then pulled the remaining four drawers open, then shut, with sharp knocking sounds.
He turned to the washstand and considered it. Jenny froze.
Burscough bent and pulled on the handle of the little cupboard at the bottom of the stand.
The single thought that gripped her was the knowledge that Burscough must not find her journal. Jenny took a step toward him, with no idea how she might halt Burscough. He was far, far stronger than her.
Then she realized that the little step had betrayed her.
Burscough considered her as he tested the handle of the cupboard door. “Where is the key?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Jenny swallowed. She couldn’t speak. She mustn’t speak. Above all, she could not let her journal fall into Burscough’s hands.
His smile was a snarl. He gripped the handle of the little door and with a heave, ripped the door out of the washstand. Wood squealed and the metal hinges whined as they twisted out of shape.
Jenny sank to the floor, her worn cotton dress billowing around her. Her legs would no longer hold her up. She watched with mindless horror as he bent and pulled the thick journal from the back of the cupboard. The stamped and embossed leather book had been a gift from her mother, just after her wedding. At the time Jenny had marveled at the excessive number of blank pages it contained. She had decided it would take a lifetime of events to fill so many pages.
Four years later, most of the pages were used, despite containing her writing and minimizing the margins.
Burscough fanned the pages. Then, with another mirthless grimace, he strode out of the room, clutching the leather volume.
The worst had happened.
* * * * *
Present day: The Wardell house, Grosvenor Square, London. February 1867.
Jack came to a sliding halt on the floorboards, three steps inside the drawing room doors, when he spotted the lady sitting on the front edge of the claw-foot chair next to the round table.
“Mother!” he said. Shock stole all other words. The enormity of finding his mother upon a chair in Elisa’s drawing room at three in the afternoon, when he thought her to be in Bombay, tending his father’s affairs, was simply too large to encompass.
Lady Victoria Laceby rose to her feet. She showed none of the exhaustion a journey from India would normally impart. “Good afternoon, John.”
Jack looked behind him. Paulson was nowhere in sight. The butler had suggested he use the drawing room, knowing his mother was here waiting for him.
“Do you seek escape?” his mother asked.
“What are you doing here in London, Mother?”
“No enquiries about the comfort of my journey?”
“Was it a pleasant tr
ip?” His tone emerged stiff. He moved over to the sideboard where the other brandy decanter was kept topped up and poured himself a glass. It was only four in the afternoon, but hell and damnation…his mother was here!
He tossed back the slug and hissed as it burned the back of his throat.
“Thank you, I will have a madeira,” his mother said.
Guilt prodded him. Jack poured a decent amount of the dark liquor into a glass and handed it to Lady Victoria. “This is a surprise,” he told her and grimaced at the enormous understatement.
“Which is exactly what I intended it to be. I swore Elisa to silence. Paulson, too.”
“Why on earth would you do such a thing?”
Victoria speared him with a direct glance. Jack had forgotten that unforgiving gaze of hers. His chest tightened.
“If you had known I was coming to London, you would have discovered you had business to tend on the northern edges of Scotland.” She sipped the madeira and put it aside, then settled back on the chair and rearranged her skirts. Then she put her hands on her lap, neatly on top of one another.
Her hands were work-worn and thin, with thick blue veins over the back of them. Jack focused on the brown spots between the veins and the frail look of her flesh and realized with a start that his mother was aging.
“You are suggesting I would have run away?” he asked, his heart thudding hard, for if he had known of her impending arrival, he would have been tempted to find any legitimate excuse to leave London.
“Your letters stopped,” Victoria said. “The last one was a year ago.”
“I’m sure everyone has kept you apprised of the news.” Guilt stirred, for Jack had been putting off writing to her for so long that the effort of writing had become insurmountable. It was far easier to not write at all. “I have been busy,” he added. “As it happens, I was commissioned for a project in Inverness. Not quite the northern edges of Scotland, but very nearly.”
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