His Majesty’s Hounds - Book 15
Sweet and Clean Regency Romance
Attracting the Spymaster
Arietta Richmond
Dreamstone Publishing © 2018
www.dreamstonepublishing.com
Copyright © 2018 Dreamstone Publishing and Arietta Richmond,
All rights reserved.
No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.
ISBN-13: 978-1-925165-25-8
Dedication
For everyone who had the grace to be patient while this book, and every other book that I have written, was coming into existence, who provided cups of tea, and food, when the writing would not let me go, and endured countless times being asked for opinions.
For the readers who inspire me to continue writing, by buying my books! Especially for those of you who have taken the time to email me, or to leave reviews, and tell me what you love about these books, and what you’d like to see more of – thank you – I’m listening, I promise to write more about your favourite characters.
For my growing team of beta readers and advance reviewers – it’s thanks to you that others can enjoy these books in the best presentation possible!
And for all the writers of Regency Historical Romance, whose books I read, who inspired me to write in this fascinating period.
Books by Arietta Richmond
His Majesty’s Hounds
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
Courting a Spinster for Christmas (coming soon)
Restoring the Earl’s Honour (coming soon)
The Nettlefold Chronicles
The Duke and the Spinster
A Duke’s Daughters – The Elbury Bouquet
A Spinster for a Spy (Lily) (coming soon)
A Vixen for a Viscount (Hyacinth) (coming soon)
A Bluestocking for a Baron (Rose) (coming soon)
A Diamond for a Duke (Camellia) (coming soon)
A Minx for a Merchant (Primrose) (coming soon)
An Enchantress for an Earl (Violet) (coming soon)
A Maiden for a Marquess (Iris) (coming soon)
A Heart for an Heir (Thorne) (coming soon)
The Derbyshire Set
A Gift of Love (Prequel short story)
A Devil’s Bargain (Prequel short story - coming soon)
The Earl’s Unexpected Bride
The Captain’s Compromised Heiress
The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair
The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 1
(contains the first three books in a single volume.)
The Count’s Impetuous Seduction
The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption
The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress
The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 2
(contains the second three books in a single volume.)
A Remembered Face (Bonus short story – coming soon)
The Marchioness’ Second Chance (coming soon)
A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion (coming soon)
Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish
The Duke’s Improper Love (coming soon)
Other Books
The Scottish Governess (coming soon)
The Earl’s Reluctant Fiancée (coming soon)
The Crew of the Seadragon’s Soul Series,
(coming soon - a set of 10 linked novels)
Table of Contents
Attracting the Spymaster
Dedication
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Here is your preview of Courting a Spinster for Christmas
Chapter One
Books in the ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ Series
Books in ‘The Derbyshire Set’
Regency Collections with Other Authors
Other Books from Dreamstone Publishing
Chapter One
“I will expect your usual efficiency about this, Setford. And… might we manage at least one meeting, without you asking something of me? If you were not so annoyingly good at what you do, I would not tolerate your presumption.”
“Of course Your Highness. I do not presume to anticipate your wishes. I merely suggest what I believe to be in the best interest of Crown and Country.”
“Hah! So you say. But I tolerate you, because you are right, an alarming amount of the time. Now, be off about your business, and leave me to the stifling afternoon of courtiers’ petty complaints that I must face.”
“As you wish Your Highness.”
Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, bowed to the correct degree, and left the room, slipping quietly through the courtiers who crowded the outer chamber, ignoring their curious eyes. He was a man of middling height, with middling brown hair, and plain, if perfectly tailored, clothing. Nothing about him stood out, at all – except his piercing pale grey eyes.
The Prince Regent had been generous, as always – generous in his rewarding of good service, and generous in his delivery of more dangerous and onerous tasks to be undertaken. Setford sighed – the work of a spymaster was never done, no matter that the war was nearly three years gone. Most threats, now, came from closer to home, from malcontents who saw the Prince Regent’s increasing excess in his life as intolerable, and sought to act as a result.
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 and May were gone – spring had given way to summer, which was beginning to carry the city past its best, with the flowers in the last full bloom, 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 summer came the slowing of 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 br
ought 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 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 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 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 Lady Farnsworth 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 was 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 rang 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 magnificent!”
The maid’s words reassured her, and she lifted the gown to hold it against herself, 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 very obviously with child – between July 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 not yet become unbearably warm, 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 last Balls of the Season.”
Hunter smiled, and Setford moved on into the crowd. As always, he managed to slip through the throng, 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 dark-haired woman beside Charlton, who was also increasing, was instantly recognisable as his wife, even though her back was to Setford. But he was not immediately 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.
Attracting the Spymaster: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 15) Page 1