Once Upon A Regency

by Samantha Grace

  ONCE UPON A REGENCY

  TIMELESS TALES AND FABLES

  SAMANTHA GRACE

  AMANDA MARIEL

  MEARA PLATT

  ALLISON MERRITT

  ARI THATCHER

  DAWN BROWER

  SUE LONDON

  LYNNE BARRON

  TAMMY ANDRESEN

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2015 Samantha Grace, Amanda Mariel, Meara Platt, Allison Merritt, Ari Thatcher, Dawn Brower, Sue London, Lynne Barron, Tammy Andresen

  Resisting Romeo Copyright © 2015 Samantha Grace

  Enchanted by the Earl Copyright © 2015 Amanda Mariel

  Wish Upon a Kiss Copyright © 2015 Meara Platt

  A Duke Worth His Salt Copyright © 2015 Allison Merritt

  Masquerading as a Miss Copyright © 2015 Ari Thatcher

  Searching for My Rogue Copyright © 2015 Dawn Brower

  The Enchanted Cave Copyright © 2015 Sue London

  Taming Beauty Copyright © 2015 Lynne Barron

  Stealing a Lady’s Heart Copyright © 2015 Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover art by Melody Mulvey

  DEDICATION

  For everyone who still believes in the enduring love and magic of fairy tales.

  RESISTING ROMEO

  SAMANTHA GRACE

  RESISTING ROMEO

  CHAPTER ONE

  Once upon a time, Claudine Bellerose enjoyed creating a grand entrance. Her mentor had been one of the best actresses to grace the London stage, and under Nan’s instruction, Claudine had become quite good at commanding a crowd. A stunned silence would descend over the Grand Saloon. Theatre patrons would turn to gawk. And Nan’s mouth would arch into a coy smile that was a testament to her pride in her student.

  Yes, Claudine had learned to standout wherever she went, but three years of living under the Duke of Stanhurst’s iron fist had taught her it was better to go unnoticed. Unfortunately, the giant of a man walking beside her along Bond Street tended to cause a stir wherever they went.

  She eyed the towering stack of hatboxes and packages in Benny’s arms. “Are you certain I cannot lend assistance? Can you see where you are going?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  “I am not helpless. At least allow me to carry one of the hatboxes.”

  When she reached for the stack, he turned his shoulder to block her and kept walking. “I can do it.”

  She stopped on the walkway and sighed. “Benny.”

  His long-legged strides quickly created a gap between them, so she hurried after him. When she caught up, he glowered as if she’d tried to steal all the ham sandwiches Cook had stuffed into the picnic hamper that morning to feed Claudine’s fellow actresses after their Wing Chun lesson.

  Her good friend Sophia Darlington was meeting her at the theatre to teach the other actresses how to protect themselves. A woman had been attacked close to the Drayton Theatre last week. Everyone was understandably nervous, but learning a few Wing Chun moves would likely ease their worry. The ancient warrior art had helped Claudine to regain her confidence, and she was grateful to the Darlington sisters for sharing their knowledge.

  “The question is not whether you are capable of carrying the load alone,” she said to Benny, “but if I should allow it. Don’t you grow tired of fulfilling my every whim?”

  He pursed his lips, which were stained red from his usual breakfast of pickled beets. “Mr. Vistoire said I should take care of you. Friends take care of friend’s friends. You will tell him I did good when he returns, won’t you?”

  She smiled and patted his massive forearm reassuringly. “Of course I will. You are doing a fine job, and Xavier will be pleased when he and Regina return from their honeymoon trip.”

  Benny beamed, his round face aglow with pleasure. The man was uncommonly attached to the American gentleman, Xavier Vistoire. Claudine found it rather sweet, albeit odd since Benny had been Xavier’s guard after he was abducted and held hostage for two years. Not long ago, Benny had proven his loyalty and earned Xavier’s forgiveness by saving his life. And Benny had been very good to Claudine since he’d come to stay at her town house.

  Their mutual friend had asked her to watch over Benny, too. And since Xavier and his new bride had provided her with safe haven when her former benefactor wanted to kill her, she had been happy to take on Benny when the couple craved a little privacy.

  At first, Benny’s size had intimidated her. The Duke of Stanhurst hadn’t been much taller than she, but his fists had been large enough to nearly break her. She couldn’t imagine the damage a man of Benny’s stature could do. He was a kind and gentle soul, however. She couldn’t imagine him ever raising a hand to a woman.

  Claudine directed her gaze ahead and squeaked. “Stop!” She shot out her arm in front of Benny.

  As usual, he followed her order without question and stopped so abruptly the top packages flew from the stack and rained down on an unsuspecting lady as she disembarked from her carriage.

  “Oh!” The young woman’s hand fluttered to her chest. Her bonnet had been knocked askew, and she shoved the brim higher on her head to see. Her gaze traveled up all six foot four inches of muscular man at Claudine’s side.

  “Ah, erm. G-gads— Eh... Oh, m-my!”

  Benny’s reddish brown eyebrows dropped low on his broad forehead. “Is that French?” he asked Claudine.

  She smothered a chuckle with her hand and shook her head.

  Crimson flashed in the lady’s porcelain cheeks, and she tried to cover her discomposure with an indignant sniff and a jab of her gloved finger at Benny. “You, sir, should watch where you are walking.”

  Benny bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am. I will. I promise I will.”

  The lady’s footman eased up behind her, appearing slightly green as if he might be called upon to defend her. She swung her accusing finger in Claudine’s direction. “See that he does or I—I...” Her gaze traveled over Benny again, and she gulped. “Just see that he watches where he is going.”

  “Yes, milady.” Claudine curtsied as the woman bolted toward the milliner shop. Her footman took a wide berth of Benny and dashed after her.

  “Do you know that lady?” Benny asked.

  Claudine bent to pick up her packages. “No, but from the coat of arms on the carriage door, I would wager she is the new Viscountess Wishbourne. I read about the marriage in the Morning Times.”

  The viscountess was too young to recognize Claudine. The duke had kept her out of the public eye the last two years of their relationship. She suspected Stanhurst kept her isolated, so she couldn’t appeal to anyone for help with leaving him.

  Claudine recognized many of the ladies of the ton by sight from her time on stage. At the height of her fame, some had even invited her to perform for their guests. Now, they barely glanced in her direction.

  “Was I supposed to kiss her finger?” Benny asked.

  Claudine smiled. “Only hands when they are offered. We could practice more this evening if you like.”

  “All right.”


  She had been teaching Benny basic manners with the goal of helping him to blend in with the crowds a little better, and for the most part, he was an apt student. They hadn’t covered what to do when a lady angrily shakes a finger in one’s direction, because she hadn’t considered that it might be necessary.

  “Please try not to run down anyone else today, unless they deserve it,” she teased. “I need hearty and hale patrons to attend my play.” With the packages secured, she continued toward her carriage where it was waiting near the intersection.

  A year ago, Claudine had tried her hand at playwriting and found she enjoyed it as much as she did being on stage. When the duke had demanded she abandon acting and threw tantrums when she visited her fellow thespians, she’d decided giving up her career was in her best interests. Wandering the town house and dreading her benefactor’s visits had nearly driven her to madness, but creating a happy life for herself on paper had become her sweet escape.

  Now she had three complete plays to her name, and her latest was being performed at the Drayton Theatre in two weeks.

  Two ladies in pastel gowns approached with their chaperone in tow. Benny stepped aside to allow the women to pass, and the elderly one glowered at them. He simply smiled and wished her a good day.

  He never seemed to allow others’ judgments of him to bother him. Benny’s only concerns seemed to be for his friends. Claudine liked that quality in him very much.

  “You bought a lot of hats,” he said to her.

  “I suppose three seems extravagant to a man who didn’t own a single one until recently.” She was proud of his attempts at conversation these days. In the beginning, he had barely spoken, and his reticence had made for long evenings at home. “The hats are part of the costuming. Very necessary, I assure you.”

  Every item she’d purchased that morning would be used for the production. Funding her play would require her to live miserly for a while, but the sacrifice was worth seeing her dream come to fruition. Some day she hoped to be as successful as Hannah Cowley or Elizabeth Griffin and have one of her plays performed at Drury Lane.

  Reaching the carriage, she passed the packages to her footman and climbed into the aging Berlin. Benny surrendered his bundle as well and climbed inside to sit across from her. Their association was a trifle unusual, to say the least. He followed her around like a personal guard, yet he was not her servant. She had no idea how long he would reside with her, but neither was she in a rush to see him go.

  “Does your play have pirates or sword fights?” Benny asked as the carriage lurched onto the congested thoroughfare.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh.” Benny’s shoulders slumped. “I was hoping for pirates.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  He grinned, revealing a few gaps where he was missing teeth. “If you need ideas, I can help you.”

  “Thank you. I would love to hear your ideas, but first we have to survive this production.” She wouldn’t invest in another show unless this one was successful.

  As the carriage headed toward Drayton Theatre in Marylebone, Claudine retrieved a sheath of papers from the large bag lying beside her on the seat and silently read through her work for the hundredth time. Every time she looked at her work, she found places where small improvements could be made. If she kept changing the dialogue, however, her fellow thespians would soon descend on her like the Senate on Caesar, but she wanted the script to be perfect.

  Benny leaned toward the window to watch the world speeding past. He called out landmarks along the way, which had become his habit on their first trip to the theatre. When he pointed out the church, and the carriage turned onto their street, she tucked her papers away. The Berlin slowed to a stop outside the theatre. The footman hopped from his perch to open the door and set the stairs.

  Claudine smiled at Benny. “Sophia should be here any moment if she hasn’t already arrived.”

  “Go on inside, Miss Claudine. I’ll bring your costumes.”

  “Merci.” She descended the steps with the footman’s assistance and swept toward the arched doorway of the theatre. Stone columns flanked the entry, lending it a regal air. As she reached for the copper door handle, now green with age, the door flew open, and a strapping lad nearly barreled into her.

  She took in his livery and recognized it as belonging to the Clarendon. The hotel provided footmen for their guests, but she couldn’t imagine what business any guest might have with the theatre. “Pardon me, ma’am.” He held the door open to allow her to enter.

  Dismissing the matter as unimportant, she thanked him and went in search of Oliver Jonas to deliver her scripts. She discovered the manager already in the auditorium with the small cast and crew gathered around him in front of the stage. He appeared to be reading from a sheet of foolscap.

  Tilde, Claudine’s understudy and close friend, gasped and covered her mouth. Her lover wrapped his arm around her waist, and she buried her face into his shoulder.

  Claudine’s heart bolted. “What happened? What is wrong?”

  One of the stagehands spotted her moving along the aisle and shook his head. His forehead was wrinkled as if he couldn’t comprehend the situation well enough to explain it.

  She hurried her step when no one responded. “Oliver?”

  The manager turned and thrust the piece of paper toward her as if appealing to her for help. His usual robust complexion had a sickly gray cast to it. “The Drayton Theatre is being closed,” he said. “The company is being evicted.”

  “Under whose orders?”

  “The new owner’s.” Her friendship with Oliver went back many years. His mother had shared a stage with Nan when she first brought Claudine to Drury Lane. She and Oliver had kept each other company when they were supposed to stay out from under foot. He’d taught her to juggle, and she’d tried to teach him to sing. In all the time she’d known Oliver, Claudine had never seen him shaken.

  She took the paper and skimmed the bold handwriting. He wanted the theatre vacated in two weeks. Hoping she had misread it the first time, she read it again, but it was succinct and left no room for misinterpretation. “But we have a performance in two weeks.”

  “Not any longer.” Oliver cursed under his breath and raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. “Everyone is to begin packing their belongings. We have a week to vacate the building.”

  Oui. She had read the letter, but it still made no sense. How could he do this with no warning?

  “Where are we to go?” Jane asked, her light blue eyes filling with tears.

  At sixteen, she was the youngest member of the company, and she had only been at the Drayton for a month. Her natural talent and willingness to run herself ragged for the other players had saved her from the workhouse after her release from the children’s foundling hospital. Jane truly had no other options. Neither did a few of the others who’d found their way to Oliver’s door after a few unlucky turns.

  Oliver grimaced. “I don’t imagine the gentleman cares where we go, Jane. He intends to sell the property.”

  Lars hugged Tilde when tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. “We will find work elsewhere, schatz. Do not worry.”

  He was correct, of course. Lars and Tilde were seasoned players who had performed in theatres all over the Continent, but they had come to the Drayton at her urging to perform her play. Claudine couldn’t help feeling responsible that they were in this situation.

  “This is not right.” She squared her jaw, crumpled the letter, and stuffed it into her bag. “I will go speak with Mr. Hawke at the hotel. I’m sure once he realizes he is displacing everyone, he will reconsider. At a minimum, he should postpone until after the play.”

  Oliver scoffed. “The nob doesn’t care what happens to any of us.”

  Perhaps that was true, but she wasn’t ready to surrender, and Oliver’s fatalistic acceptance of the situation was disappointing. He was the manager, for heaven’s sake. He should be a champion for the company
—not lying down so Mr. Hawke could wipe his boots on him.

  If Oliver wouldn’t rise to the occasion, she would. “I will handle Mr. Hawke.” She plopped her bag on the front row. “When Miss Darlington arrives, please convey my regrets. If she doesn’t want to proceed with the lesson without me, I will call at Wedmore House this week to reschedule.”

  Benny and her footman entered the auditorium with the purchases she had made earlier.

  “Please leave the costumes backstage,” she said. “I need to pay a call to the Clarendon. Will you be joining me, Benny?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “I was hoping you would be agreeable.”

  Gentlemen tended to be better listeners when Benny stood behind her.

  RESISTING ROMEO

  CHAPTER TWO

  At three o’clock, Russell Hawke met his old school chum Marcus Fletcher outside the restaurant at the Clarendon Hotel. Russell spotted his friend in a corner flirting with two ladies. Marcus hadn’t changed much over the years. He was still tall and slender with a head full of hair that always looked like he’d been caught in a windstorm. Russell cleared his throat as he approached the trio.

  His friend turned to greet him. “Russell, punctual as always. Ladies, this is the friend I mentioned a moment ago. Shall I make introductions?”

  The blond slid her hand through the crook of Marcus’s arm as if staking a claim. “Please do,” she said, her sultry voice thick with a Portuguese accent.

  As Marcus spun one of his outlandish tales about Russell being a sheik from a country neither woman had ever heard of—mostly because it didn’t exist—the brunette’s brown eyes locked onto Russell and lit with interest.

  No, Russell’s roguish friend hadn’t changed a bit.

  “A sheik and a British colonel rooming at the Clarendon,” the brunette said with a breeziness to her voice that suggested she was taken in by Marcus’s lies. “How marvelous.”