A Dance of Manners
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A Dance of Manners
by Cynthia Breeding, Kristi Ahlers, Erin E.M. Hatton
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Romance/Historical Fiction
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Highland Press
www.highlandpress.org
Copyright ©2009 by Highland Press Publishing
First published in 2009, 2009
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
A Dance of Manners
Enchanted Journey
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Epilogue
The Farmer's Son
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
The Passage to Summer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Royal Watercolors
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Wishes in April
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Praise for
Now Available from
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Join Highland Press authors in new, enticing Regency stories!
“Enchanted Journey” by Cynthia Breeding
Attending a Regency ball by a local group of actors is just what American Ashley Bouvier needs to get over her messy divorce from a cheating husband. She is intrigued by the authenticity of the setting, costumes and character-playing ... and the gorgeous, dark-haired Andrew Colton, Earl of Tiverton. However, when she wakes up in the morning, she is still in the year, 1811, and England is at war with France. Americans aren't trusted and within days, she finds herself accused of being a spy. Must Ashley return to the 21st century to avoid the penalty for death? Will their love be strong enough to survive what happens next?
“The Farmer's Son” by Erin E.M. Hatton
Lady Ellen Spencer comes into an inheritance that grants her title to a country estate as well as a sizable dowry that attracts a bevy of suitors. She is elated when Sir Charles Findley, the most sought-after bachelor of the Season, offers for her hand. Yet, it is Roderick Benton, a farmer's son with soulful eyes and a quietly steady disposition, who makes her heart race.
“A Passage To Summer” by Gerri Bowen
When the normally formal and proper Earl of Wickerdun enters an enchanted forest, his world turns upside down. Songs from wood nymphs, and an aqua-eyed faery make him think he's on his way to Bedlam, yet he never felt so alive. Is she mortal or has she truly enchanted him?
“Royal Watercolors” by Susan Flanders
After finishing an art lesson with young Princess Victoria, Lady Kitty is driven home by a handsome coachman who mesmerizes her with his quick, easy grin and unusual lavender eyes. But Kitty is the daughter of a duke and expected to marry into upper nobility. Her heart aches for what never can be.
“Wishes In April” by Kristi Ahlers
Orphaned and at the mercy of a cruel countess aunt, American-born Cassandra Davenport feels a total failure at fitting in with London's ton. Yet when she meets James, the dashing Duke of Sandringham, her heart flutters and heat sears through her veins. James, bored with the tedious chatter of empty-headed debutantes, is totally charmed with the naïve frankness of the American who would rather discuss Jane Austen's novels than the latest Parisian fashion. Will the duke be able to keep Cassandra out of danger she doesn't realize she is in?
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I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you."
~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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A
Dance
of Manners
A Regency Anthology
Highland Press Publishing
Florida
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A Dance of Manners
An Original Publication of Highland Press Publishing—2009
Enchanted Journey © Cynthia Breeding
The Farmer's Son © Erin E.M. Hatton
The Passage to Summer © Gerri Bowen
Royal Watercolors © Susan Flanders
Wishes In April © Kristi Ahlers
Cover by Cheryl Alldredge
Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information, please contact
Highland Press Publishing,
PO Box 2292, High Springs, FL 32655.
www.highlandpress.org
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
ISBN: 978-0-9823615-2-8
PUBLISHED BY HIGHLAND PRESS PUBLISHING
A Wee Dram Book
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Patty Howell, Senior Editor
Cheryl Norman, Assistant Editor
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Enchanted Journey
Cynthia Breeding
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As a lover of history and romance, Cynthia Breeding is either researching time periods or plotting to add romance to them. She lives on the bay in Corpus Christi, Texas, with her Bichon Frise, Nicki, and enjoys sailing and horseback riding. In addition to having stories in multiple upcoming Highland Press Publishing's anthologies, Cynthia is the author of Prelude to Camelot and Fate of Camelot, a continuation of her wonderful Arthurian series.
Readers can reach her through her website:
www.cynthiabreeding.com
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Prologue
Ashley Bouvier stepped inside the door of her room in the ivy-covered, thatched bed and breakfast cottage nestled in the countryside near York, set her suitcase down, and heaved a sigh of relief. The flight from New York had been exhausting and the train ride from London long, but it had been worth it. She was in England, home to the old Celtic legends of gods and goddesses who rewarded virtue and punished transgressors. For the next month, she wouldn't have to deal with the ramifications of the divorce from her lying, cheating dh—dear/damn husband—who'd married his secretary a week later.
She took a deep breath as she brushed her long, brown hair back, inhaling the fresh scent of country air. There would be trails to walk and moors to explore. Right now, she wanted to see the house that would be home for a month.
Ashley walked down the hallway of the old, two-story house, eager to explore. Downstairs, a huge stone-hewn fireplace took up nearly one whole wall,
its hearth large enough to step in. As a history teacher, she could appreciate the old house's charm. She envisioned earlier times, when a tripod had stood in it, a cast-iron kettle filled with savory stew hanging over a fire. Comfortable overstuffed chairs sat invitingly close, a soft woolen throw—shorn, no doubt, from the local sheep—folded over each one. The bathroom was quaint and rustic with a commode and a chain she actually had to pull to flush. A four-footed claw tub stood in one corner. She smiled as she ran a hand along the high brim. It reminded her of something from the 1800s, a time period almost as romantic as the Celtic myths.
A kitchen addition at the side of the house held a one-door refrigerator, a gas range and a chipped-enamel sink that still had a pump handle attached to the side, although actual plumbing had been installed. The wooden countertops showed signs of many a knife having been used. Briefly, Ashley thought of the granite counters and Jenn-Air appliances in the spacious, thoroughly modern kitchen of her New Haven home. Not my home any longer. Hers. She brushed the thought aside. No use looking back to what had taken place nearly a year ago.
She eyed the costume draped over her suitcase. The lady at the Visitor's Centre—Eponia she said her name was—had assured Ashley that she would enjoy attending the Regency Ball, which a local theatre group was putting on that night. If this were the real Regency period, she would be too old, at twenty-six, to be having a ‘Season.’ Luckily this was 2009 and a ball would be a great way to meet people. Eponia had also arranged for a driver to come and pick her up.
Ashley gave a huge yawn. Time for a quick nap before she faced a new world.
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Three hours later, rested and refreshed from a lavender-scented bath, she was ready. She glanced at the grandfather clock, ticking away regally in the library. She still had a half-hour before the car would come to take her to the ball. She walked over to a shelf of books. There were several on Robin Hood, but that wasn't surprising, since Nottingham Wood wasn't that far away. Her hand paused on the leather binding of another book. When God Was A Woman. Intrigued, she opened it to the Table of Contents listing Histories of Goddesses from Isis, the Celts, and the Romans. She briefly skimmed the topics, wondering when the world had lost touch with the auld gods. The doorbell sounded and she put the book down. She would get to it tonight when she returned from the party.
Opening the door, she gasped. Instead of a taxi, a landau waited with four white horses. A huge, albino dog with red eyes and ears sat alongside the driver. A white-liveried footman opened the door to the coach and bowed.
“My lady, if you please.”
“I thought you'd come in a car,” Ashley said as she shut the door and walked down the steps toward him.
The young man looked puzzled. “Why, no, my lady. We always come for our guests like this.” He lowered the steps and offered his hand. “Please, the duke prefers his guests to be on time.”
Duke? Oh, right. This theatre group must believe in authenticity. She really should play along. She smiled and put her gloved hand in his, ready to assume her character.
“I certainly wouldn't want to keep the duke waiting.”
He helped her up and closed the door. As she settled on the well-padded leather seat, Ashley smiled. For tonight, she was going to be in the midst of nobility—albeit actors—and she could be a light-hearted, flirtatious girl again.
A burden seemed to lift from her shoulders as the carriage jerked and the horses’ hooves clattered on the gravel drive.
She was ready to party.
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Chapter One
Ashley looked around the elegant ballroom in awe. The theatre group really had outdone itself. Huge crystal chandeliers twinkled with hundreds of wax candles. Numerous French doors opened on to expansive terraces. Pale yellow brocade papered the walls, which were lined with mahogany chairs. Ashley blinked and looked closer. They were Hepplewhites—they must be copies, but good ones—for the chair backs were entwined hearts and the slender, tapering legs ended in spade feet. This theater group must have a very wealthy sponsor.
The floor was waxed to a mirror-sheen, and from behind a screen of skillfully arranged plants, an orchestra played a quadrille as the dancers—all fantastically costumed—walked through the intricate steps.
Someone bumped into her and she turned to find a middle-aged man leering at her. His waistcoat strained over a large paunch, his cravat was loosely tied as if he needed air, which he probably did, judging from the redness of his face. She smelled brandy on his breath.
“Dance with me?” he slurred.
“No, thank you.” She started to move away, but he blocked her path.
“It is just one dance.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Humor me.”
“No, really—”
From behind her, a man's deep baritone voice spoke. “Unhand the lady, Northrup.”
Ashley turned gratefully to her rescuer and inhaled sharply. Her savior was tall, and the dark broadcloth of his frockcoat did nothing to minimize the broadness of his shoulders. In fact, the perfect tailoring only served to enhance his muscular torso, and the blue waistcoat accentuated a flat belly. His snowy-white cravat contrasted with his raven hair and dark eyes. He could have been a Celtic god. But, of course, he was an actor. She wondered why she'd never seen him in a film before. She was sure she'd remember if she had.
The drunk scowled and reluctantly dropped his hand. “Should you not have something better to do, Tiverton? Like find Lady Felice?”
“Lady Felice is currently dancing with the duke. I hardly think I could interrupt them.” Although he spoke to the other man, he kept his eyes on her. “This is highly improper of me, but given the circumstances, allow me to introduce myself. I am Andrew Colton, Earl of Tiverton.” He gestured. “This rude specimen is William Barclay, Viscount of Northrup.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave her a smile. “He is not usually a bad sort. Just a bit foxed at the moment.”
His smile was devastatingly seductive, as if he shared an intimacy with her. Her nipples tightened against the thin fabric of her gown, and when his glance swept her neckline, her breasts suddenly felt heavy and full. How could he cause this kind of reaction with just a look? The man really did deserve an Oscar. Ashley was play-acting, too, of course. So the men wanted to be an earl and a viscount. Well, why not?
She extended her hand to shake Andrew's. “I'm Ashley Bouvier.”
A look of confusion swept Andrew's face, and then he turned her hand and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss. Even with her gloves on, his mouth sent warm tingles up her arm. Did he have any idea of the effect he had on her? Probably, but she didn't care. Her dastardly ex-husband had never once been inclined to be so romantic with her. How pleasant.
“Delighted, Miss Bouvier,” the earl said and gave her that lopsided smile again.
Northrup gaped. “You are American!”
“Well, yes,” she said, then flushed at his outraged look. “Is that a problem?”
“Of course not,” Andrew said smoothly. “Guests are welcome. Who is sponsoring you?”
Sponsoring her? She looked wildly around for the lady from the Visitor's Centre, but didn't see her. Why did she need a sponsor? This wasn't real, after all. “I—”
“I am.” An older woman, wearing a crimson ball gown decorated with black lace and cut low enough to show ample cleavage, joined them. “Do close your mouth, Lord Barclay, before a fly gets in.” She tilted her head so the jewels intertwined in her curls shimmered, and arched an eyebrow at Andrew. “You know how I love to surprise people at these rather boring affairs. A foreigner is quite the thing.”
A slight frown appeared on his face before it became impassive. “Lady Waitley. I had no idea you and the baron were here.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Lord Waitley is indisposed. However, I did want my ... guest ... to enjoy herself.” She smiled at Ashley, although it didn't reach her eyes. “Come along, dear. I want to intr
oduce you to Hart ... that is, the Duke of Devonshire.”
Ashley had no idea who her benefactress was, and she wasn't sure she even liked the actress, but something strange was going on. How much was play acting here and how much was real? As she allowed Lady Waitley to lead her away, Ashley looked over her shoulder.
Andrew Colton was staring at her, the frown back on his face.
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Caroline Waitley was up to no good. Andrew watched as she led the pretty, American woman away. That she had come to the Duke of Devonshire's house party alone boded ill for the wives of the ton whose hapless husbands were so easily taken in by her questionable charms. He well-remembered the cut direct his mother, the Marchioness of Ashford, always gave Lady Waitley for attempting to seduce his father years ago.
“Wonder where that woman found an American,” Northrup muttered beside him. “Not too many of them in England these days, what with the embargo.”
“We are not at war with America,” Andrew replied.
“Yet.” Northrup made an attempt to straighten his cravat and then gave up. “That damnable Frenchman drops his Berlin and Milan decrees—or so he says—and resumes trade with America. You know Waitley has French relatives ... and the American's last name is French. This ‘guest’ might very well be a spy.”
Andrew hadn't exactly been thinking of Miss Ashley Bouvier in those terms. She was no innocent debutante that he need fear touching her would get him caught in the parson's trap. His mind was on the soft ivory mounds peeping out from the gown she wore and wondering how her breasts would fill his hands. The green silk made her eyes seem like the depths of a forest and brought out the burnished red in her hair. Hair he would like to take the pins from and wrap his fingers in the glossy strands ... and then he would pull her gently toward him and bend down to kiss that fully delicious mouth ... With a start, he realized Northrup was still talking.