Betting on a Lady's Heart: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 14)

by Arietta Richmond

  Dealing with regular assassination attempts had become the theme of Cecil’s life. It should not be so hard to keep a ruler alive – but, increasingly, it was. He stepped through the outer doors, taking a deep breath of the fresher air, here, where the overly perfumed crowd had thinned, and a breeze from the open windows disturbed the air. It was always a relief to leave the building, to step away from the toadies and the petty behaviour of people who sought favour from those in power.

  His carriage waited, as unexceptional as he was himself – black, without any crest or distinguishing decoration, yet of the finest workmanship. It was drawn by a matched set of bays – also of the highest quality, yet with nothing distinctive about them. He settled onto the deeply padded seat, and relaxed, watching the city pass by outside the window, as his coachman conveyed him home.

  Easter had passed, and April was upon them – spring was beginning to bring the city to its best, with flowers everywhere, in the fenced parks in the squares of the wealthy, in the window boxes of the poor, and in Hyde Park and the like. And, as always, with the spring came the most hectic part of the year in London – the Season. Once, he would have ignored it completely, immersed in his work.

  But that immersion had brought changes, these last four years. Changes mostly wrought by six men, and those around them. When he had welcomed the men known as ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’, back to England, after their long and exemplary service in France and Spain, he had expected only to ensure that they remained available to serve the crown, even whilst they resigned their commissions, and took up, again, their civilian lives. In the end, their influence on his life had been far more profound.

  They had become, in truth, friends. He had come to care for them as people, not just operatives at his command, and to care for their friends and families too. He had watched, as they each found love, and as the shadow of war and its privations left them, allowing each to grow into his full potential. He was proud of them, as proud as a man might be, had they been his sons.

  That thought made him laugh – for they were all far too old to be his sons. He was but 45, and they were, on the whole, each close to 30. He had, before their return, begun to feel old, nonetheless. They had changed him, their youthful energy, and their ability to care for others undiminished by war – in fact, he rather thought that they cared more deeply as a result of those experiences.

  Now, he looked at life, and was chagrined to realise that they had made him jealous – him, the man who had held aloof, who had, with utter precision and knife sharp intellect, had commanded the King’s intelligence network for nigh on 20 years, while the country was beset by war after war. Now that they had shown him what life could be like, and now that the demands of his role were reduced, he found himself wanting more – a situation he had never expected to be in.

  And a desire that he had no idea of how to satisfy.

  He had begun to approach the issue systematically, as he did everything, by simply allowing himself to be seen about in society more often, by engaging with others, sometimes, for whole evenings at a time, allowing himself to forget the need to gather intelligence in every moment, about every person. He had been both surprised and disappointed by those he met as a result – met as people, rather than studied as part of his role. Those who were a disappointment were shallow of character, and, now that he allowed himself casual conversation, he had discovered that they were most lacking in that area.

  But those who surprised him were the small number of people who had hidden depths – of humour, of insight, of wit, and of kindness. As he considered that idea, one image in particular rose up in his mind, inescapably associated with the concept.

  Anna Trubridge, Dowager Viscountess Farnsworth, was a woman that he could respect, a woman who he had come to value, for her generous heart, her astute observations, and her acerbic wit. She was, perhaps, 4 or 5 years younger than he, widowed and childless. Her niece, who she had raised, was now married to one of the Hounds, and he thought that, even with the charity projects she had taken on, she was lonely, and a little lost – not that she would ever admit such a thing.

  He enjoyed her company, and her conversation, on the occasions when they happened to attend the same events. He had even startled himself, and her, by dancing with her, a few times this last year, at the weddings of one or another of the Hounds. Perhaps she would be there, tomorrow tonight.

  ~~~~~

  Anna stood in her dressing room, considering the array of gowns hung there. They were, all but a few, of sedate and unexceptionable colours, as might traditionally be expected of a widow. Many of them, in greys and dark purply tones, were a remnant of the final months of her mourning. Mourning now more than three years done. But they had been reused two years ago, when her brother-in-law had met an untimely death.

  She realised, in that moment, that the gowns depressed her, they were a reminder of sad and difficult times, of loss and loneliness. Not that she was, if she was honest with herself, much less lonely now. She filled her days with her charity work, taking on a greater load there, now that Lady Pendholm was remarried, had become the new Duchess of Windemere and spending more time away from London. But it was not, really, enough to fill the emptiness.

  In that moment, she made a decision. She would have new gowns made. It was past time that she refreshed her wardrobe. A few of these would be kept, in case of future need for mourning, god forbid, but the rest might be repurposed into gowns for the girls that they helped with their charity. She studied herself in the mirror, wondering what she would look like in a new, colourful gown. She had, this last year, lost some weight, regaining much of the shape of her youth – probably the result of running around so much after the charity girls’ children!

  Regardless of the reason, it pleased her. And better fitting gowns would be a pleasure to wear.

  The resolution made, she chose the brightest of the gowns in the room, and called for Nell to come and assist her in changing. Once dressed, she called for her carriage, and set out to visit the most exclusive modiste in London – who also happened to be a friend.

  In a startling turn of events, just this last Christmas, it had been revealed that Madame Beaumarais, renowned modiste was actually the Marquise de Beaumarais. She had hidden here, her husband still trapped in France, for four lonely years, until he had managed to come to her. Anna, like so many of her other dedicated customers, had been delighted, rather than horrified (as propriety would have demanded) when she had declared that she would not give up her business. Her attentions, however, were now reserved for a very small number of exclusive clients – everyone else was seen to by her staff.

  Anna was lucky enough to be amongst that exclusive group who received personal attention. She spent the afternoon in a whirl of conversation, fabric, and lace, and came away feeling more cheerful than she had for some time. Madame… no, the Marquise… no, she had asked that they call her Collette – would she ever get used to that? – had heard her request and exclaimed with delight, and swept her along, until she had ordered a good two dozen gowns, to deal with every possible occasion, amongst them a number of evening gowns in far more daring colours and styles than she had ever thought to wear.

  But Collette was a force to be reckoned with, once she had a project before her. Anna had meekly allowed Collette her way. A fact which, she thought wryly, would shock most who knew her. She went home, afterwards, wondering if she had made the right decision, but determined not to back down.

  She would not allow herself to doubt her judgement. It was time for her to stop living in those mourning shades.

  The following afternoon, a messenger came to the door, carrying two large boxes. Collette had, as usual, performed magic. Two dresses were already made. As Anna opened them, carefully unfolding the garments from their cocoon of wrapping, and laying them out on her bed, she had, again, a moment of doubt. Until Nell gasped behind her.

  “My Lady! That is the most beautiful gown I have ever seen. You will look magn
ificent!”

  The maid’s words reassured her, and she lifted the gown to hold it against her, as she turned to the mirror. The deep rich red tones of the gown somehow made her cheeks look flushed and bright, in a good way. Her dark hair, only slightly streaked with grey, was the perfect contrast to the colour.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to prepare for her evening out.

  ~~~~~

  Lord Setford stepped down from his carriage, looking up at the elegant and extensive house before him. It was odd to be attending a social event, simply for the pleasure of company. Making sure that his coat sat perfectly, he settled his hat into place, and went up the stairs.

  Barrington House was the London home of Hunter Barrington, the Duke of Melton – one of the Hounds, and a man for whom Setford had future plans – plans which Hunter himself was not yet aware of.

  He moved into the house, in the line of arriving guests, passing his hat off to the footman waiting to receive and store such things, and moved forward, to where Hunter and Nerissa, his Duchess, were greeting the guests. Nerissa was now obviously with child – between June and September of this year, there were at least six babies expected, within this group of friends, and the women had made a pact between them, to defy society’s conventions, and not hide themselves away – at least not until the last.

  Setford rather admired them for it. Nerissa looked well, and beautiful as always, and her smile was broad.

  “Lord Setford! It is wonderful to see you here tonight. The weather has finally warmed, and everyone seems to be full of energy as a result.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace. You certainly appear the picture of health, if I may say so.”

  Hunter turned to greet him, laughing.

  “Of course she is, Setford – sheer stubbornness would guarantee it, for she would not wish to miss a chance to greet old friends.”

  Nerissa looked at him with mock indignation, and they all laughed for a moment in shared enjoyment.

  “I had best move on, and let you deal with the rest of this line of guests. It seems that you have a crush to be envied tonight.”

  “We do – although perhaps only because this is one of the first balls of the Season.”

  Hunter smiled, and Setford moved on into the crowd.

  As always, he managed to slip through the crowds, almost unnoticed, his habit of remaining inconspicuous so ingrained as to be completely unconscious. But his piercing grey eyes scanned the room, taking note of everyone present, of who spoke with whom, of who watched whom, and of the apparent mood of those present.

  He had reached one edge of the room where a few chairs had been placed, surrounded by a veritable jungle of potted plants, and paused, fading back into the shadows a little. It was well that he had paused, for, at that moment, his attention was caught, and everything else faded from his awareness for an instant.

  On the other side of the room, close to the terrace doors, a group of people stood talking. Those facing him he knew instantly – the Duke and Duchess of Windemere, and Charlton Edgeworth, Lord Pendholm. The slim, dark haired woman beside Charlton was instantly recognisable as his wife, even though her back was to Setford. But he was not instantly able to identify the other woman beside her, also with her back to him – he was caught by the sight of her, a trim figured woman, in a spectacular gown of a flamboyant deep red shade, the elegant fall of which spoke of the hand of Madame Beaumarais.

  Then she turned, to look across the room, and a small expulsion of air left him – he would not dignify it with the appellation of ‘gasp’ – for it was Lady Farnsworth – but transformed. For the last four years, he had seen her, spoken to her, even danced with her, and she had always been attired in almost drab colours – sometimes, admittedly due to mourning. But always drab, and, of late, less than well fitted.

  Yet here she stood, as if magic had been performed, turning back time. She seemed far younger, only the slight streaking of grey in her hair revealing her age, the rich red silk falling, clinging just enough to demonstrate the shape of the figure beneath it – she was the picture of everything a man might desire in a woman.

  Setford sank onto one of the chairs, simply watching, drinking her in, delighted, yet also curious – what had caused this wondrous transformation? He would have to find out – such a puzzle was beyond him to leave alone.

  But… how would he ever speak to her, as they had in the past, with the utter distraction of that transformation before him?

  Continued….

  Get

  “Attracting the Spymaster”

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  Books in the ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ Series

  Claiming the Heart of a Duke

  Intriguing the Viscount

  Giving a Heart of Lace

  Being Lady Harriet’s Hero

  Enchanting the Duke

  Redeeming the Marquess

  Finding the Duke’s Heir

  Winning the Merchant Earl

  Healing Lord Barton

  Kissing the Duke of Hearts

  Loving the Bitter Baron

  Falling for the Earl

  Rescuing the Countess

  Betting on a Lady’s Heart

  Attracting the Spymaster (coming soon)

  Restoring the Earl’s Honour (coming soon)

  Books in ‘The Derbyshire Set’

  The Earl’s Unexpected Bride

  The Captain’s Compromised Heiress

  The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair

  The Count’s Impetuous Seduction

  The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption

  The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress

  The Marchioness’ Second Chance (Coming Soon!)

  Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish

  The Derbyshire Set Omnibus Edition Vol. 1 (the first three books all in one)

  The Derbyshire Set Omnibus Edition Vol. 2 (the second three books all in one)

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