Regency Masquerades: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Six Traditional Regency Romance Novels of Secrets and Disguises

by Brenda Hiatt

  Several times some head of the family would bring them all to the brink of ruin, then a successor would win royal favor through extraordinary valor on the battlefield, or avert disaster by a brilliant investment or even more brilliant marriage. And the cycle would begin anew.

  Ever since Marcus had realized that Uncle Harold was a confirmed bachelor, he had known it was his turn to restore the family fortunes. While his friends set off for Oxford or Cambridge, he had followed an aging bailiff around the estate, studied crops and fertilizers and sheep. While other young men were busy chasing lightskirts or studying the racing form, he had buried himself in agricultural reports and account books, and done what he could to improve the estate.

  All for naught!

  Now, the fate of the Redwycks depended on his ability to woo a fastidious heiress, and he had no idea how to go about it. His one previous attempt at courtship had failed. Although in hindsight he knew he had made a lucky escape, still he had no idea what a woman would want… or need from him.

  His gaze swept back across the long parade of his ancestors. They had known.

  However, they had left nothing of their knowledge behind, except for that special collection in the library. Marcus had found it while in his teens: stacks of treatises, manuals and even memoirs dealing with the amorous arts. He’d devoured them at the time, even though the illustrations in Aretino’s Postures had seriously disturbed his sleep for months. Before too many years passed, however, he had learned of the disastrous consequences of his forebears’ devil-may-care behavior, and had resolved not to follow in their footsteps.

  He turned on his heel, suppressing the guilty envy he felt whenever he thought of his ancestors’ adventures. The fact remained that they had left him nothing of use; nothing about flirtation or courtship, nothing to tell him how to succeed where so many others had failed.

  But succeed he must.

  He would find a way somehow.

  “Damn you all,” he repeated softly, and left the gallery.

  Chapter Two

  “I received some good news from Lord Plumbrook today.”

  Juliana thought she detected a hint of stiffness in Grandpapa’s manner, and wondered at it. He did not often dine with her and her companion, Mrs. Frisby. Instead, he usually dined with his associates in the City, and was too occupied with business to spend many evenings with her. It was a rare treat to join him in a game of chess, here in his favorite room, and hers. She loved being here, loved the oriental carpets on the parquet floor, the fine paintings dramatically displayed against deep red walls, the mahogany display cases containing treasures from around the globe. Even more, she enjoyed matching wits with Grandpapa in a harmless game. She had hoped to enjoy the evening, but now she felt apprehensive.

  “How is Lord Plumbrook, Grandpapa?” she replied, cautiously moving a skillfully carved ivory pawn. “And is dear Lady Plumbrook in good health?”

  “Yes, yes, they are in good health, both of them,” replied her grandfather, making his own move with his usual deliberation before looking back up at her, his blue eyes piercing under thick eyebrows that were as white as his neatly trimmed hair. “Her ladyship is all eagerness to return to London, and has graciously offered to take you about with her again this Season.”

  “She is kindness itself,” Juliana replied sincerely, while hiding her disappointment at the news.

  “She has been more than patient with you, granddaughter.”

  She bit her lip at the accusing note in Grandpapa’s voice. Lady Plumbrook had indeed been more than kind. Juliana knew Lord Plumbrook was under some sort of obligation to Grandpapa, but Lady Plumbrook had not shown any reluctance in repaying the debt. She had taken Juliana under her wing and treated her as the daughter she never had, using all her resources to procure a number of respectable invitations for her. She had braved the snubs of Almack’s patronesses who had persisted in denying her protégé entrance to their exclusive club. She had not even uttered a single word of reproof when Juliana rejected one offer after another from the fashionable if impoverished gentlemen she had introduced to her.

  “I trust you do not intend to disappoint Lady Plumbrook this Season,” continued her grandfather.

  Juliana stifled her annoyance at the warning in his voice, instead pretending to be absorbed in her next move. It was ever a chess game with Grandpapa. She could not afford to show her feelings; he would call her a foolish child.

  “In fact, it is that very subject that Lord Plumbrook addresses in his letter.”

  Juliana paused in the act of moving her knight.

  “Lord Plumbrook writes that his good friend and neighbor, the Earl of Amberley, is eager to make your acquaintance.”

  An earl! she thought, releasing the chess piece. How perfectly dreadful.

  “I suppose it is the usual tale,” she said aloud. “Gaming debts, estates mortgaged to the hilt, rapacious creditors?”

  “There is no need to be so cynical, child.”

  “I am sorry, Grandpapa. But do you truly wish me to marry a gamester, someone who will fritter away whatever you choose to settle on me within a year, and be a parasite on you ever after?”

  She watched him carefully for signs of weakening. This argument had been very effective last year. Now it seemed not to be working at all. A triumphant smile stretched Grandpapa’s thin, wrinkled face as he moved his bishop. Drat! she thought, looking down to see him challenge her queen.

  “Of course not, my dear granddaughter. Lord Amberley is no gamester. He has only recently come to the title, and a burden of debt accumulated by his uncle. Lord Plumbrook says this Lord Amberley is a most conscientious young man. He has been seeking to restore the family fortune through better management of his estate, and it is only with the greatest reluctance that he has conceded that he must make an advantageous marriage as well.”

  “How condescending of him,” she muttered, moving at random.

  “Don’t be impertinent!” he said, a touch of anger in his voice. “You should be grateful for such an opportunity. Checkmate.”

  She looked down at the chess pieces, realizing she had been distracted and outmaneuvered. She could not let him goad her into further betraying herself.

  “Forgive me, Grandpapa,” she said, hiding her clenched fists under the table, “but you know I do not wish for marriage.”

  “Pshaw! All females wish for marriage. You are merely being fastidious. I expect you’ll feel differently once you have met Lord Amberley. Lord Plumbrook says he is very handsome and amiable, and will make you a charming husband.”

  “Then perhaps when I refuse him you will finally believe that I do not wish to marry.”

  Grandpapa glared at her, a vein pulsing in his high forehead. She had the satisfaction of knowing he was at least attending to her words now.

  “You are not still cherishing that foolish plan you broached to me last year, are you?”

  She looked him in the eyes and nodded.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I thought you’d outgrown such folly. A Grand Tour! A green girl like you, junket about the world by yourself? Bah!”

  “Mrs. Frisby would come with me. You cannot say she has no experience of travel,” said Juliana. Mrs. Frisby, the widow of one of Grandpapa’s sea captains, had accompanied her husband on many trips to both the East and West Indies.

  “I should never have engaged her services,” he said, frowning. “Most likely it was she who put these insane notions into your head.”

  “Please, you must not blame poor Mrs. Frisby. She did not put any notions in my head; I have always wished to travel.”

  “Hmmph! That must be why you attended to your French and Italian lessons at Miss Stratton’s school, and little else.”

  “Both Monsieur Dubois and Signor Bonelli said I have an aptitude for languages. So you see, I shall be able to go on splendidly—”

  “Splendidly? You are more like to end up like Lady Hester Stanhope, cruising about the Mediterranean with her lover
, her reputation in tatters!”

  “I do not wish for romantic entanglements. Particularly not with adventurers interested in my fortune. I met enough of them in the polite drawing rooms and ballrooms of the ton.”

  Grandpapa frowned. She almost thought she had scored a hit, but he came back staunchly. “You say that now, granddaughter, but you do not know how clever some of those rogues can be. Besides, you would run into debt within a sennight. I know the troubles Mr. Coutts has had to endure.”

  Juliana winced at the reference to Lady Hester’s banker.

  “Grandpapa, I would not run into debt. You know I have never exceeded the pin-money you give me. Moreover, you know I have managed the household accounts this past year and more, since I discovered your old housekeeper was cheating you.”

  “You have done very well, my dear,” he said, with an indulgent, patronizing smile that set her teeth on edge. “The experience will hold you in good stead when you are mistress of a large household of your own. Lord Amberley has a fine home in the Cotswolds. Redwyck Hall, I believe it is called.”

  He sat back, half-closing his eyes, and Juliana could see he was already imagining her the chatelaine of a vast ancestral seat, surrounded by a horde of his great-grandchildren. She shuddered. She’d spent half her life here, in Russell Square, and the other half within the confines of Miss Stratton’s select school for girls. Now Grandpapa seemed set on dooming her to live the rest of her life in dreary domesticity, subject to the whims and demands of an unknown husband and as many children as were necessary to ensure the succession of the earldom.

  Once again she clenched her fists in a desperate attempt to control her frustration, while she sought words to explain herself.

  “Grandpapa, you have surrounded yourself—and me—with such wonders. Can you not understand why I wish to travel?”

  She jumped up and went to stand by one of her favorite paintings, a view of the Grand Canal in Venice, by Canaletto himself. She gazed up at the luminous sky, the crisp details of domed churches and the gracefully curved prows of the little boats that plied the sparkling canal. Then she turned back to her grandfather.

  “I should like to see Venice for myself,” she said.

  She went to one of the display cases, where priceless bowls and vases from China gleamed, their colors and patterns exotic and mysterious in the flickering candlelight.

  “I should like to see where these were made.”

  Going to the other case, she waved toward a set of carved ivories depicting palm-trees and elephants.

  “I should like to see a real elephant, with my own eyes.”

  “Are you mad?”

  She jumped as Grandpapa slapped the game board with his fist. Turning around, she saw that bright red color suffused his pale face. She’d miscalculated terribly. He did not understand. Guilt overcame her anger as she watched him struggle to his feet. He looked dreadfully frail, despite the anger blazing from his eyes. She ran to help him, but he shook off her hand.

  “With all your opportunities, with all that Lady Plumbrook and I have done for you, is this all you can say?” he demanded. “That you wish to gawk at outlandish animals in strange, heathenish countries?”

  “Better that than to suffer through yet another Season spent gossiping about who has a tendre for whom, or discussing the latest style in sleeves! Or to make idle conversation with some fool who has parted with his fortune and now hopes to use my dowry for his clothes, his gaming, and his–his mistresses!”

  “Is that the fate you think I wish for you, girl?” he demanded.

  “No, Grandpapa. But can you not understand that I do not share your dreams for my future?”

  “You are too young to know your own mind,” he said curtly. He cleared his throat, then continued. “In two weeks’ time, you will meet Lord Amberley, and I expect you to greet him with courtesy, amiability and above all, an open mind.”

  He turned and hobbled out of the room. She watched, not knowing whether to scream or cry. Instead, she paced about the room. Part of her wished to go and make her peace with Grandpapa. But how could she, without giving in to his plans?

  As she strode past the display cabinet containing the china, it rattled slightly, and she slowed her pace. Agitated though she was, she could not risk damaging any of the objects Grandpapa had so lovingly collected. She left the room and headed for the small conservatory at the back of the house. Though potted palms, camellias and other plants lined the walls, there was room to walk here.

  She closed her eyes, basking in the warmth of the room. For a moment, she pictured herself standing in the Piazza San Marco in Venice, bathed in sunshine. Then a gust of wind brought rain to tap against the windows, reminding her that she was in London, and that it was not yet April.

  She thought of Lady Hester, riding across the desert on camels or fine Arabian horses. She herself had never even ridden a horse; Grandpapa judged it too dangerous. A gentle walk in the conservatory or the park was the only exercise permitted her.

  She reopened her eyes. A feverish energy coursed through her body. No, a sedate walk was not enough. She lifted her arms and began to waltz, as she had been taught at Miss Stratton’s school, although as yet she had not been permitted to do so in company. She circled the room, to an ever-increasing tempo, adding an occasional pirouette or leap such as she had seen on the stage of the Opera House. Finally, she came to a stop, breathing quickly, her heart pounding.

  But it was useless. She felt more restless than ever. She would have to find a way to win over Grandpapa, or she would, indeed, go mad.

  The next day, Juliana arose early. She went to the window, and was cheered to see that the clouds were high and a light pearly color, not threatening imminent rain. She would be able to go to Green Park as she had planned, to walk with her friend, Miss Penelope Talcott.

  Pen had been one of her closest friends at Miss Stratton’s school, part of a threesome the teachers had dubbed “The Three Disgraces”. She had just returned to London from Sussex, along with her uncle and aunt, Sir Ralph and Lady Talcott, who had taken her in after her parents’ death. Juliana had not seen Pen since the end of the previous Season. Now that Catherine, the third of their group, had married and lived in Cumberland, Pen was the only friend whom Juliana could trust as a confidante.

  An hour later, after breakfast with Mrs. Frisby, she alighted from Grandpapa’s carriage at the entrance to the park. A brisk wind blew up, making her glad she had donned a warm, dark blue wool pelisse with a matching bonnet, and insisted that her maid Polly dress in her warmer clothes as well.

  A short distance away she spied Pen, wearing a fawn-colored pelisse and accompanied by her aunt’s maidservant. As Juliana ran toward her, Pen turned and smiled in greeting, her hazel eyes sparkling, her red locks curling around her face under the brim of a bonnet trimmed with pink and yellow flowers. It seemed Lady Talcott’s taste in clothing had not improved; certainly Pen would not wear such an unbecoming hat of her own choice. Though of course, Pen would not have protested, not wishing to seem ungrateful.

  Moments later they embraced.

  “Oh, how I have missed you, Pen,” Juliana said, holding her friend’s slight figure tightly for a moment.

  “And I you. Seeing you again is by far the best thing about coming back to London.”

  They linked arms and began to walk, their maids following behind, closely enough for respectability and just far enough for privacy. Juliana looked down at her friend. Despite the hideous hat, there was a pretty color in Pen’s lightly freckled cheeks. She also seemed to be in far better spirits than Juliana would have expected. Their last Season had been a trial for both of them. Many in the ton had looked askance at Juliana because of her connections with Trade, while Penelope’s family had never quite found their niche in London society either, despite regularly overspending their income to create a false impression of greater wealth than that afforded by their modest estate in Sussex. Juliana could not imagine that Pen looked forward to y
et another Season.

  “How was your journey, dear?” she asked. “You don’t look tired at all.”

  “Actually, we have been in London for several days now. Aunt Mary insisted we go shopping the first day back. She bought me this hat.” Pen rolled her eyes upward expressively.

  “It is dreadful,” agreed Juliana. “I suppose you could not persuade her to let you choose for yourself?”

  “How could I, when it so important to her to purchase all the latest fashions? Besides, hats like this will serve my purpose very well.”

  A mischievous smile played around Pen’s mouth.

  “What are you planning, Pen? Do you think if you repulse enough suitors you will be sent home in disgrace?”

  “No, although that would be lovely. The bluebells will be coming out in another few weeks.” Pen sighed, then continued. “I have no scheme. It is merely that I have become resigned to the prospect of another Season.”

  “I see how you are smiling. You cannot fool me. What is your plan? Let me guess. You have a suitor back in Sussex, and you hope that ugly hat will repel any London beaux whom your relatives might favor.”

  A telltale blush appeared under Pen’s freckles, but she shook her head.

  “Come. Am I in the right of it?”

  “We—there is no understanding. He has not offered for me, or anything like that.”

  “But you think he will. Tell me. Who is it?”

  “It is Mr. Welling, the curate. He will likely obtain the living at our parish once the present rector retires, which we think he might do next year. I trust that by then my aunt and uncle will have resigned themselves to the fact that I will not make a better match.”

  “I am sure all will be just as you wish.” Pen, who had been raised in a country vicarage, had often said she wanted nothing better than to return to such a quiet life, surrounded by children and pets.