The Colonel and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 4)

by Paullett Golden

  Miranda turned to Mary, talking over the noise in the room. “At least your girls are all under ten. My Emma is already begging for a come-out. Wants to go to London, she says. Only fifteen and already has a head for boys and balls. ‘Don’t grow so fast!’ I tell her. Alas, to no avail. Her heart is set on romance.” She shook her head, then glanced over her shoulder at her girls, Sophie, Emma, and Olivia, all gossiping by the pianoforte across the room.

  “The trip into Scotland will do her good,” Mary said.

  “I agree. She can’t possibly get into trouble with her grandparents as chaperones. They’ll spend six months in the highlands visiting Georgina’s family. I’ll feel at ease with her away from the neighborhood boys.”

  “Already has her eye on someone?”

  “Five of them, more like,” Miranda said with a laugh.

  The two turned from the window just as Sebastian and Lizbeth’s son Cuthbert and their daughter Colette dumped a bucket of wet snow on their fifteen-year-old sister Freya. Shrieking, her hair matted to her face and the shoulders of her dress ruined, Freya ran after them, Charlotte in hot pursuit, shouting about ruining a Persian rug.

  “Now there’s someone with a head for boys,” Mary said. “My cousin tells me that she has her eye on a boy in Yorkshire, a neighbor of Lord Pickering.”

  “Yorkshire?” Miranda questioned. “What would she be doing in Yorkshire?”

  “They have an estate there, one of his earldoms. My cousin, Sebastian, also has a business deal with Pickering, some sort of canal to help with shipping the coal from his mine, so they frequent south every few months.” Mary eyed her children. “I’m so thankful my girls are too young for boys.”

  Her eldest daughter, Kitty, was nine and following her cousin Olivia everywhere. Mary spied her trying to sneak into the group at the pianoforte. Grace, eight, and Penelope, seven, were playing a game with Sebastian and Lizbeth’s twin girls, eight-year-olds Ishtar and Isis. Lizbeth and Charlotte’s father, Mr. Cuthbert Trethow, was overseeing the game, apparently losing from what Mary could tell by the squeals of the girls. Mary’s son, Edmund, only five and the youngest in the room, was attempting to talk his grandmama into letting him sit on her lap. Catherine was in turn attempting to teach him to sit like a proper young man and heir to a baronetcy.

  Charlotte and Drake’s other two boys, Thomas and Hayden, were showing Lilith and Walter’s two children, Benjamin and Jane, how to call the cockatoo, Captain Henry, to them. They were having rotten luck if Mary could judge from Ben and Jane’s unimpressed expressions.

  Having given up on his grandmama, Edmund headed for the fireplace where Lilith’s dog Jasper was curled on the rug, attempting to rest his aged bones. The dog was ancient and being tormented by Duncan’s wolfhound Fergus, who was determined to have a fellow playmate. Mary was about to walk over to stop Edmund from turning Jasper’s ears into bird wings when she saw Jasper’s tail thumping on the rug.

  Bernard and Theo rushed into the room, sending the door thunking into the wall behind it. Duncan swaggered in behind them, an apologetic expression after hearing the door make contact. After all these years and four naturally born children, Mary’s heart still fluttered to see him. His coffee-brown hair was grey at the temples, though he was only six and thirty. It made him look distinguished, Mary thought.

  “Did you see me?” Bernard asked in his baritone voice. His question was asked to the room at large. “Theron is a beauty! And he’s mine!”

  “The horse is grand,” Theodore said, taking long strides to his father. “I want an Arabian. Will Uncle Duncan’s horse sire one for me, too?”

  “That’s something you’ll have to ask Uncle Duncan. But need I remind you, you don’t like horses?” Drake howled with laughter.

  “I do now.” Theo waved over Bernard to help convince his father. “Did you see the horse, Grandmama? I want one!”

  Duncan made his way to Mary. Miranda excused herself to join Quinn and Sean in their conversation with Lizbeth and Lizbeth’s aunt Hazel.

  Sneaking a kiss to Mary’s cheek, Duncan leaned his shoulder against the wall and wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders. She sidled closer to him, tucking her side against his hard frame.

  “I take it he enjoyed his surprise,” Mary said.

  “Understatement of the year. I believe we have an enterprising horseman on our hands. He’s already making training plans.”

  “Like father, like son.” Mary pinched Duncan’s side until he laughed and dodged her. “You missed poor Freya being doused in snow by her siblings.”

  “Ah. That would explain the shouting match I heard coming from the stairwell. And speaking of the devil…” He nodded to the open door as a newly changed Freya marched into the room, head held high.

  Hazel said loudly enough for all to hear, “Be sure to tell young Samuel about being iced.”

  Freya’s cheeks turned a rosy pink. Mary covered her mouth to hide her laughter. The teasing began, all started by Hazel. The children—little devils, the lot of them—started singing songs of wedding bells between Freya and Pickering’s neighbor, the young Samuel. If it were not all so funny, Mary would feel sorry for Freya, who was a shy girl, even if a bit stubborn.

  “Shall we join them?” Duncan asked, tugging Mary forward.

  With a nod, she walked arm-in-arm with her husband to join the family. As they arrived to the sitting area by the hearth, Hazel stood to embrace Freya who was red-faced and close to tears.

  “Come now, sweetie,” Hazel said, winking at Lizbeth and Sebastian. “Auntie Hazel meant no harm. I’ll have you marry for love and no other reason. And not until you’re five and thirty, at least.”

  Freya laughed at that remark and said, “Like you? You married for love.”

  “Of course, my dear. There was no love greater than that between myself and Lord Collingwood, God rest his soul.”

  Mr. Cuthbert Trethow cleared his throat. “Oi! I beg to differ. The love between myself and my Elizabeth knew no bounds. No love greater—hmph!” He smiled at his sister in good humor. “In fact,” he said, looking around to make sure all heard, “I loved her so much, I was disinherited for it. Top that, sister!”

  “Disinher—what is this nonsense?” Hazel said, returning to her seat. “Is that what Papa told you? Is that why the two of you had a falling out? Oh, dear boy, you were disinherited the moment Papa decided Lord Collingwood’s son should be my betrothed. He must have told you that tale to cover his own embarrassment for disinheriting his fourteen-year-old son.”

  Cuthbert crossed his arms. “Poppycock. I was threatened disinheritance if I married Lizzie. The entailment was a threat.”

  Hazel shook her head. “Have we never spoken about this?”

  “I never did because I thought it would embarrass you.”

  “And now who’s embarrassed, hmm? Papa lied, Cuthbert. It was part of the bribery he used to ensnare Baron Collingwood.”

  Mary’s cousin, Lilith, took a seat, her eyes flitting from her husband Walter to her mother-in-law Hazel. “Bribery? And here I thought you and Harold married for true love.”

  Hazel winked at everyone gathered around. “If you believed everything you heard, you’d be too gullible for your own good. Harold was my true love, alright. If souls have mates, he was mine. But not at first.”

  Freya kneeled on the floor before Hazel. Mary and Duncan took seats next to Charlotte and Drake. While the children continued their games and gossip, the adults gathered around Hazel and Cuthbert.

  “Tell us, Aunt Hazel,” Freya pleaded.

  “Yes, do,” Charlotte said. “You’ve said for years it was a love match.”

  “And it was,” said Hazel. “Only I was the last to know. My father and my future father-in-law had been friends since childhood with plans to unite their children. Baron Collingwood had other plans when the time came, his eye on another girl for his
son. My father wasn’t bothered until I was nearly embroiled in scandal concerning another young gentleman who shall not be named.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh, yes. Shocking, I know. Me involved in scandal? Never, you say! ‘Tis true! Or almost. Until Papa became desperate to marry me off in haste before scandal could spread. Papa had to sweeten the deal for the unrelenting Baron Collingwood to marry his son to me, much to both Harold’s and my protests, for we did not get on.”

  As the family leaned in to hear Hazel and Cuthbert’s tales of true love, scandal, and disinheritance, Mary smiled at Duncan who winked back at her. Looking around the room, Mary knew the deepest happiness of her life. This was, after all, what she had always wanted—a home filled with family and the laughter of children.

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for purchasing and reading this book. Supporting indie writers who brave self-publishing is important and appreciated. I hope you’ll continue reading my novels, as I have many more titles to come, including the continuation of this series.

  I humbly request you review this book on Amazon with an honest opinion. Reviewing elsewhere is additionally much appreciated.

  Connect with me online at www.paullettgolden.com, www.facebook.com/paullettgolden, www.twitter.com/paullettgolden, and www.instagram.com/paullettgolden, as well as Amazon’s Author Central, Goodreads, BookBub, and LibraryThing.

  All the best,

  Paullett Golden

  If you enjoyed The Colonel and The Enchantress, read on for a sneak peek of the next book in The Enchantresses.

  The Heir and The Enchantress

  Available 2020

  August 1754

  Cornwall

  The coup of the year was the house party at the Longfirth estate. Miss Hazel Trethow pinched her cheeks in the foyer mirror. This would be her coup if she had her way. And she would have her way.

  Her curls assessed, her bosom primped, her rouge heightened, she headed for the drawing room. As soon as the door opened, a babble of voices cut the foyer’s silence. The hostess, Miss Agnes Longfirth, sat near the double doors with her friends, all tittering and fanning themselves. A quick look around the room revealed a gaggle of girls but no gentlemen. Hazel’s heart sank. Had they declined the invitation?

  “Hazel!” Agnes rose from her chair in greeting.

  “Oh, Hazel, they’ve all agreed to come” said one of the women.

  “Even him,” said Agnes.

  Kissing her friend’s cheek, Hazel took her seat in the circle. With deft hands, she fluffed the skirt of her robe à l’anglaise to ensure the outline of her hoops showed to advantage.

  The house party was no ordinary house party. Agnes’ overbearing parents were traveling the continent, having left her in the capable hands of the governess who, as luck would have it, was in love with the gardener and willing to make a deal with her charge that Agnes could host a house party in her parents’ absence on the condition the governess could spend the week undisturbed in the gardener’s cottage.

  Agnes looked about her. “While none of our esteemed guests have arrived, I’m positive they will. The butler will escort the gentlemen here as they arrive, and we will greet each with all the delight our fair bosoms have in store.”

  The ladies looked one to the other, giggling with accelerated fanning.

  “Once we’ve claimed our gentleman for the party,” Agnes continued, “we may spend the remainder of the week in his company, uninhibited by guardians or parents. At last, we can all live. Whoever thought up this ridiculousness of chaperones should perish in a duel.”

  “But what of the butler?” voiced one of the girls.

  Agnes waved a hand. “Don’t worry about him. I caught him in the pantry with a scullery maid this summer. He won’t breathe a word of our transgressions and will do all our bidding.”

  The honored guests of the occasion so happened to be gentlemen, rakes to be precise. One such gentleman was the love of Hazel’s life. Granted, she had never met him. But everyone knew of him. And she was determined to have him, one way or another. Anthony Faldo, Viscount Brooks.

  Her lips ached to know the pleasure of Lord Brooks. Should all proceed as planned, Hazel would long at last have her first kiss.

  About the Author

  Celebrated for her complex characters, realistic conflicts, and sensual love scenes, Paullett Golden has put a spin on historical romance. Her novels, set primarily in Georgian and Regency England with some dabbling in Ireland, Scotland, and France, challenge the norm by involving characters who are loved for their flaws, imperfections, and idiosyncrasies. Her stories show love overcoming adversity. Whatever our self-doubts, love will out.

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