“Are you truly happy?”
His eyes twinkled. “Did I not say I wished you to bear me at least a dozen babes?”
“Why does that number keep getting larger?”
“Then again, I’m not certain my heart could survive two dozen nights like tonight, especially given the strenuous exercise my lusty wife requires of me nightly.”
“Henry,” she warned.
“And sometimes before noon.”
“Oh, you are impossible.” She hovered between laughter and the urge to strangle him.
Kingsley saved him from bodily harm, coughing and clearing his throat half a dozen times before saying, “Beg pardon, but I’ll be updating the record book tonight. What name should I put for the foal?”
“What do you think of Telemachus?” Diana asked Henry. “That is the name of Penelope’s son in the Odyssey.”
Henry shook his head. “He may be a horse, but he doesn’t deserve a name like that. As it happens, I’ve given this some thought, and you know I’m not fond of that particular form of exertion. We will call him Rogue, Kingsley, since my wife has a fondness for them.”
He placed an arm around Diana’s shoulders and murmured, “I will leave the naming of all our future foals in your very capable”—he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.—”very beautiful”—a nip—”very talented hands.”
Kingsley muttered something about marriage making a man soft and walked off.
Diana giggled. “Should I inform him not to worry on that account?”
“Dear God,” Henry groaned. “You’ll be worse than my sisters soon.”
“How could I be otherwise with such a husband?” She looped her arms around his neck. “So, our champion is another rogue, is he?”
He nodded. “In my experience, rogues carry the day.”
Her heart swelled at the love in his eyes.
“I thought you were reformed.”
“Where you are concerned, my dearest, darling, delightful Miss Merriwether”—he punctuated his words with a succession of light, lingering kisses—”I will always be a rogue.”
“I prefer Mrs. Weston,” she informed him breathlessly, “and I’m glad.”
“Diana.” His voice was low, heated now. Her name on his lips an intimate caress.
“Henry,” she responded in turn.
As one, they turned and raced through the early morning light, laughing as they chased each other into the house. He closed his eyes and counted loudly as she scurried off in search of her hiding place. She grinned in anticipation as she heard his footsteps on the stairs. A lump beneath the quilts might be obvious, but she didn’t want him to waste time looking. Her breath caught as he whisked away the covers, and she laughed in sheer joy as he pounced.
He’d found her, and she would never let him go.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Anyone who knows me is aware that I like to talk. A lot. I also adore alliteration, as you have probably noticed, and I enjoy researching minutiae entirely too much. I always have more to share after I’ve finished writing a book, which is why some higher power created the Author’s Note…
ON LONDON’S PALLADIAN PALACE
WHEN I WAS REVISING Tempting the Marquess, the second book in the Weston series, I threw in a reference to Thomas and Linnet’s scandalous pairing, mentioning them only as the stable master and the Duke of Lansdowne’s daughter. Why or how I settled on ‘Lansdowne,’ I don’t know, but I did, and Tempting the Marquess went to print. I was finishing graduate school in New York while working on A Rogue for All Seasons, and one of my final classes was Museum and Library Research at the Watson Library, which just so happens to be in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
For two glorious weeks, going to school meant showing up at the Met every day. In my free time, I continually found myself drawn back to the period rooms, especially the ones from the Georgian era. I imagined my characters inhabiting these spaces. The cheery yellow room from Kirtlington Park became a drawing room at Weston Manor. The magnificent green dining room from Lansdowne House— I stopped to reread the label. Yes, it said Lansdowne House.
After learning that there was indeed a Lansdowne House in London in 1800—and it was the epitome of extravagance—I couldn’t allow Diana’s grandparents to live anywhere else. So, while the Duke and Duchess of Lansdowne are fictional, their house in Berkeley Square is real. Work on Lansdowne House began in 1761 for the prime minister, John Stuart (1713–1792), third Earl of Bute. Just two years later, Bute left office in disgrace, and two years following that, the earl sold the still-unfinished house to William Petty Fitzmaurice (1737-1805), second Earl of Shelburne, who was created the first Marquess of Lansdowne in 1784.
Lansdowne served as foreign secretary, then first lord of the Treasury, and finally for a brief eight months as prime minister (1782-83). His support of free speech, free trade, and American independence made him wildly unpopular with George III, but he counted Benjamin Franklin and Samuel Johnson among his friends. Lansdowne House became one of the leading centers for liberal, sophisticated society in London.
Robert Adam (1728-1792), the leading architect of the day, designed Lansdowne House in the popular Neoclassical style, and it is seen as his finest London house. The house survived largely intact—despite being leased to Gordon Selfridge, the department store magnate, who installed his lovers, the Hungarian Vaudeville performers known as ‘The Dolly Sisters,’ and hosted wild dancing parties. Sadly, however, in 1929, Lansdowne House was sold, and within a few years, it was partially demolished to make way for a new street. The dining room and first drawing room were shipped to America and installed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Lansdowne House (or what remains of it) became home to the Lansdowne Club, which opened in 1935 and is still in existence today.
ON PENNYROYAL
SINCE ANCIENT EGYPTIAN TIMES, herbal medicines have been used to prevent conception and to induce miscarriage. The use of pennyroyal as an emmenagogue (substance that hastens or induces menstruation) and, if taken in sufficient quantities, an abortifacient, dates back at least to ancient Greece. Aristophanes mentioned the herb in his play, Lysistrata, in which the women of Greece plot to withhold sex until the men agree sign a peace treaty ending the Peloponnesian War.
In Europe, midwives and female healers collected knowledge of herbs that helped—or helped prevent—reproduction. Women shared this information with each other and passed it down from generation to generation. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, however, the field of obstetrics emerged, and male surgeons gradually replaced midwives. With men in charge of the birthing process, much of the information about the use of herbal medicine with regard to reproduction, especially for contraception, was lost.
Printed sources, such as Nicholas Culpeper’s seventeenth century herbals, suggest that a number of common herbs were recognized and utilized as antifertility agents. Pennyroyal, rue, savin (juniper), tansy, thyme, and vervain (verbena) were seen frequently in kitchen gardens, having both culinary and medicinal applications. In 1800, the year in which A Rogue for All Seasons is set, doctors used pennyroyal to treat illnesses ranging from digestive disorders to gout to bronchitis to menstrual cramps. Prepared correctly and taken in limited quantities, these herbs can be very effective, but in high concentrations, they are toxic; the essential oils should never be taken internally.
The other plant Diana employs, wild carrot (Queen Anne’s lace), also has a long history as a contraceptive. Scribonius Largus, court physician to the Roman emperor Claudius, was the earliest medical writer to explore its antifertility properties, but women around the globe have used wild carrot seeds at least as long as they have used pennyroyal. Whereas extended use of pennyroyal can be taxing on the kidneys and liver, wild carrot seeds are safe for regular use. For more information on this subject, I recommend John Riddle’s Eve’s Herbs (Harvard University Press, 1997). Anyone interested in the modern applications of herbal medicine to reproductive h
ealth is encouraged to check out the books and/or visit the websites of herbalists Susun Weed and Robin Rose Bennett.
ON SELF-PUBLISHING
I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN DIANA was Henry’s match. He sealed his fate when he complained about dancing with her in Promise Me Tonight, the first book in the Weston series. Having been through two books with Hal, I had a firm grip on his character; I knew about his family, about where he’d grown up and gone to school, and about his quirks, his strengths, and his flaws. As I attempted to learn more about Diana, Thomas and Linnet’s story emerged, and, through them, I began to understand the girl Diana had been and the woman she became.
Many of the characters in A Rogue for All Seasons are struggling to figure out their place. As this is a romance novel, we know they belong with each other, but in order to accept each other’s love, they must first love themselves. This book took me on a similar journey. Disagreements with the publisher of the first two Weston novels led them to cancel the series, and I discovered that traditional publishers aren’t inclined to pick up a book mid-series. There were discussions about revising Rogue so that it was no longer a Weston novel, but I wasn’t willing to make that compromise.
The decision to self-publish wasn’t an easy one—writers are prone to self-doubt—but I love Henry and Diana’s story, and I hope you did as well. I know that this book found its place; it belongs with you. I have always loved fairy tales, and while the iconic words “And they lived happily ever after.” satisfy my romantic side, there’s a traditional ending phrase I’m going to use instead: This is my story, I’ve told it, and in your hands I leave it.
P.S. I really love to hear from my readers, so tweet me, Facebook me, or email me ([email protected]). I know you have stories to tell, and I’m always in the mood to talk!
THANK YOU!
Thanks for reading A Rogue for All Seasons. I hope you enjoyed it!
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· A Rogue for All Seasons is the third novel about the Weston siblings. The other books are Promise Me Tonight (Isabella's story) and Tempting the Marquess (Olivia's story). If you’d like to read short excerpts from the previous Weston books, please turn the page or visit my website: www.saralindsey.net.
PROMISE ME TONIGHT
Isabella is determined to marry James…
Isabella Weston has loved James Sheffield for as long as she can remember. Her come-out ball seems the perfect chance to make him see her in a new light.
James is determined never to marry…
James is stunned to find the impish girl he once knew has blossomed into a sensual goddess. And if he remembers his lessons, goddesses always spell trouble for mortal men.
A compromise is clearly necessary.
When Izzie kisses James, her artless ardor turns to a masterful seduction that drives him mad with desire. But, no stranger to heartbreak, James is determined never to love, and thus never to lose. Can Isabella convince him that a life without love might be the biggest loss of all?
Praise for Promise Me Tonight
“An exquisitely enchanting debut by a dynamic new author who will instantly secure a place in romance readers’ hearts. This novel is charming beyond belief, with vibrant characters, polished and fresh writing, and one of the most adorable heroines you’ll ever meet. Read PROMISE ME TONIGHT, and get ready to fall in love!”
—NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR LISA KLEYPAS
“A sensual yet endearingly tender love story—every romance lover owes herself this book!”
—NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR ELOISA JAMES
“This is one of the most charming debuts I’ve read in years. If you love Julia Quinn, you’ll love Sara Lindsey!”
—NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR TERESA MEDEIROS
“Delightful characters and sizzling sensuality blend beautifully with a sense of humor and the joy of falling in love. Lindsey is off to a fabulous start.”
—KATHE ROBIN RT BOOK REVIEWS
Excerpt:
JAMES SHEFFIELD HAD ALWAYS CONSIDERED himself a good person, but he spent several moments savoring his best friend’s suffering expression before going in to rescue him from the most boring man in Christendom.
“Took you bloody long enough,” Henry grumbled as they made their escape. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages, but you were too wrapped up in the luscious Lady Finkley to pay any notice. Not that I blame you. Had similar thoughts myself. Bloody unfair, though, that you got to play Casanova while I was stuck with old Blathersby and his sheep.”
“Blathersby and his sheep.” James laughed. “Never fear; I’ve heard it all before and on multiple occasions.” He shook his head. “Come, it’s nearly midnight, and we promised Izzie and Livvy we’d bring them some sweets.”
Henry grimaced. “Lord, it completely slipped my mind. Good thing you remembered. You know how Izzie gets when she’s angry.”
James nodded and hustled Henry over to the crowd waiting to get at the dessert table.
“What a devilishly dull affair,” Henry remarked as they waited in line. “First the christening this morning, and now this. It was good of you to come. You could have been off weeks ago.”
“Of course I came,” James replied, a gruff note creeping into his voice. “Neither of us would have been comfortable leaving until your mother was safely delivered, and delaying our trip for another month made no real difference. The Colosseum isn’t going anywhere, and it was important to your mother that you be here for Richard’s christening.”
“And you,” Henry insisted.
“Only to make sure I keep you out of trouble,” James teased, but his chest was tight with emotion. The Westons were the closest thing he had to a family since he’d been orphaned at age ten and sent to live with his grandfather, the Earl of Dunston. The best that could be said of the earl was that his main property, Sheffield Park, neighbored Weston Manor, home to Viscount Weston and his family.
They had taken him in as another son; their warm, bustling home had been his refuge. When he and Henry had gone off to Eton, Lady Weston had kissed and clucked and wept over both of them, a performance she had repeated when they’d headed to Oxford. She had cried when they’d graduated earlier that year, but James figured that was primarily because Henry had spent more time “rusticating” than he had at school. James had taken a first in literature, partly to please Lady Weston, who was more than a little enamored of a certain Elizabethan playwright. Henry had joked that morning that if his father had not had some say in the naming of his children, the family’s newest addition might well have been christened Hamlet or Falstaff. Yes, the Weston children were fortunate to have such a father. James had once thought himself lucky in his own sire, but—
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Not tonight. Not ever, really. Far better to focus on the present, and—
“Put it back on the plate, Hal. These are for Izzie and Livvy,” James scolded as they filed past the refreshments table.
“When did you grow eyes in the back of your head?” Henry grumbled through a mouthful of cake.
“I’ve known you since we were ten. Don’t you think a decade of friendship gives me some insight? Besides, you eat everything within reach.”
“I’m a growing lad,” Henry retorted.
James chuckled. He was tall at six feet, but his best friend had at least three inches on him and was built like a brawny prizefighter.
“If you grow any bigger, I am going to sell you to a traveling Gypsy circus.”
“Remind me once more why we are friends.”
“Asid
e from the fact that no one else is going to put up with you?” James joked, turning to look back at Henry. “For one thing, you would never have graduated without my help.”
Henry laughed. “I still can’t puzzle out how you went to all those boring lectures.’
“Self-control?” James suggested.
Henry grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it would have made a difference. I was never much good at lessons.”
James couldn’t argue with that. Intellectual pursuits were not, admittedly, Henry’s forte. Bedroom games—actually, games and sports in general—were where he excelled. Still, James was certain Henry was smarter than he let on; his best friend certainly wasn’t lacking in imagination, he reflected, remembering all of the scrapes Henry had gotten them into.
He was smiling as he made his way up to the gallery, Henry right behind him, but his amusement faded when he saw Isabella standing at the top of the stairs, one foot tapping impatiently, her arms crossed.
“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
Standing as she was, the braces of candles flanking the staircase illuminated her from behind, casting a golden glow all about her and gilding her unruly blond curls into a halo. She looked like an irate angel.
“What happened to Livvy?” Henry asked.
Izzie gave them both a pointed look. “She got tired of waiting, figured you had forgotten us, and decided to go to bed.”
Henry looked down at the plate and glass in his hands as the clock chimed the quarter hour. “I’m sure she’s still up. I’ll go take this to her. Wouldn’t want her to think we forgot. She can be nearly as bad as you.” And with that said, he took off down the hallway.
“What does he mean, ‘She can be nearly as bad as you’?” Izzie muttered, sitting down.
“Er, have some cake,” James said quickly, shoving the plate of sweets at her. He waited until she’d downed three gingersnaps and a piece of cake before deeming her mood restored enough for him to safely sit beside her.
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