A Dashing Duke for Emily_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “No-o-o… He came to buy a nightdress for his mother, and we got to talking and…”

  “Soon she and Thomas were having tea in the restaurant,” Trent said, helping the story along.

  Fanny turned to her brother. “Whose story is this anyway? Keep the tale to yourself,” she admonished.

  He held his hands in the air and took a step back in self-defense. “Whatever you say.”

  Emily could see Mark was looking her way. He was probably expecting her to rejoin him.

  Emily reached out and put her hand on Fanny’s arm. “You must excuse me. I really want to hear more. You are going to stay the night, yes?”

  “Of course, how can we pass up being waited on hand and foot?” Trent insisted. “And it gives me more time with Teresa.”

  “I promise, once all this craziness is over, we will sit down over a good cuppa and gossip until the wee hours.”

  “Pinky promise?” Fanny insisted.

  “Absolutely.”

  “But not on your wedding night,” Trent said with a wink.

  “I promise we will find time,” Emily said.

  Emily returned to Mark and the Duchess. They were continuing to chat with guests, as Emily took Mark’s arm and snuggled up close to kiss his shoulder.

  Emily knew she would never be able to remember the names of all the new people she was meeting and found that she was getting very tired. She turned and whispered to Mark. “Can we take a break? I am becoming tired and I desperately need to either dance a waltz with you or have a cup of tea.”

  Mark laughed. “Even better. Let us retire for a short while and let me show you our quarters. I have had all of your things moved from your room to what will now be our new home.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I should like that.”

  Mark excused them from the gathered group and he led her into the house, up the staircase, and to their suite.

  He showed her, her own private quarters, her dressing room and bath, and the master bedroom where they now stood.

  “Are you nervous about us being together tonight?” he asked.

  She looked up at him, and answered, “A little. But I know that with our love there is nothing to fear.”

  At that moment, the orchestra struck up a waltz that drifted up from the lawn below and went into the bedroom. Mark cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Your Grace, would you care to dance this waltz with me?”

  Emily tilted her head to the left and said, “Why, thank you, Your Grace, I should enjoy that very much.”

  Mark then took her right hand with his left and placed his other hand on her lower back and they waltzed, the lightness of her gown sweeping the floor as they dipped and circled around the room.

  Emily sat alone at her exceptional, but unaccustomed, piano. Her life was beginning anew. Later that afternoon, she and Mark were to depart for the London house prior to leaving for the coast to take the boat to France for their honeymoon.

  But was it only this morning she bid goodbye to Fanny and Trent, and hugged her sisters, and held on especially long to her Mother and Papa before letting them return in their new carriage—waving farewell with her handkerchief as they disappeared around the bend in the driveway?

  The music room was so quiet—so unlike her old home with so much music of activity going on around her. Her sisters singing or humming in some upstairs room. Her mother banging pots or pans in the kitchen or scolding Molly for some mishap. Her father rhythmically raking the newly fallen leaves in the back garden. A vendor in the street calling out his wares. But here, in this room, there was barely a whisper. Not even the ticking of a mantle clock.

  To break the silence, Emily started up the metronome and began to play a simple tune from her now, long gone childhood and hummed along.

  And, as she hummed, she remembered waking up this very morning in the arms of her new husband. When she woke, she could not remember where she was for a split second, but then did, and snuggled up even closer to the man she loved so dearly. And, as she was still half asleep, she realized there would be many more such mornings and, before she knew it, she had drifted back into a willowy, shifting, half-forgotten dream.

  The End?

  Curious to read how Emily’s and Mark’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.

  Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: http://hannahamilton.com/yi70 directly in your browser.

  I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥

  But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…

  More sweet historical romance

  Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of Diana Adores the Puzzled Earl, my best-selling Amazon novel.

  Diana Adores the Puzzled Earl

  Chapter 1

  Robert Donnelly, the thirty-year-old Earl of Donnelly, was seated at his desk staring out his library window across the splendid parkland of his estate. It was a blustery early March day, and there were small whitecaps on the lake embraced by walls of maple and beech forest on either side.

  It is good. It is really good. Robert thought as he put his hand on The Adventures of Hudson Harding, his first work of fiction which he had just finished writing.

  He let out a sigh of satisfaction and stood, walked over to the French doors leading out to the terrace, and watched the scuttling clouds cast fleeting shadows across the broad expanse of lawn and garden leading up to the lake.

  Robert was a tall broad-shouldered man who one might mistake for a laborer with his wide chest and sturdy legs. But his face was refined and noble looking with his surprisingly handsome blue eyes and black, well-groomed hair. He dressed like the gentleman he was, and many in the county of Cambridgeshire were surprised he remained unmarried at his age with so many eligible young aristocratic maidens paraded before him by his older sister, Amelia, who lived with him at Balfour Hall—the family seat.

  And while his sister was insistent on the need for a Donnelly male child, today Robert’s thoughts were on his first literary child. Any moment now he expected the arrival of his dear friend, Sir Cecil Hancock—perhaps the most renowned London publisher of quality fiction.

  The estate’s wealth came from London income properties long held by the Earls of Donnelly. And Robert decided to review the statements from his agents in London who managed the properties while he awaited Sir Cecil’s arrival.

  Shortly thereafter, there was a knock at the library door and Sithens, the Balfour Hall butler, entered.

  “Your Lordship, Sir Cecil Hancock has just arrived and begs to be admitted.”

  “Show him in, please,” Robert replied.

  Sir Cecil was a man in his early sixties—red faced, balding, and looked as though he might be suffering from gout by the way he walked unsteadily and supported himself with a cane.

  “Robert…” Sir Cecil, said breezily as he hobbled across the room and took hold of Robert’s hand. “It has been far too long. When were you last in London?”

  “Several months at least.” He clapped Cecil on the shoulder and asked. “Whiskey? Sherry? Tea? What shall it be, old man?”

  Cecil gave a nod. “Would not say no to a dram or two of your finest single malt.”

  Robert turned to Sithens and nodded. “Make that two,” he instructed. Sithens went to the sideboard and prepared the drinks as Robert invited Cecil to sit with him by the fireplace where a cheerful fire was keeping the cold at bay.

  “Now then, Robert, what is so pressing that I needed to take a day from my busy schedule to meet with you all the way up here in the wilds of Cambridge?

  Robert laughed slightly. “I’ve written a cracking good book and I want you to publish it.”

  Cecil seemed taken aback. “A book? What kind of a book?”

  “After my travels to the Americas, I decided to write about my adventures. It’s a romantic adventure novel. Set in the American west and in the South American Amazon. I think you will find it to be a
strapping good tale, my friend. How soon can you publish it?”

  “Wait… wait… Is it a history of your travels or is it a novel?”

  “You might say it’s a bit of both. My hero—not me—meets a charming lady and… well… it becomes a romance you see.”

  Cecil was silent as he sipped his whiskey and digested what Robert had just told him. Finally, he looked up and said, “I am sincerely sorry, Robert, but it would be most unwise for you to publish such a work under your own name.”

  “Why ever not?” Robert asked sternly as he stood and towered over Cecil.

  Cecil seemed to be uncomfortable and shifted in his chair.

  “Robert, you cannot be that naïve. Surely you know that other than scholarly works and sermons--and maybe, in a reach, a book of travel and exploration--a gentleman of your stature cannot conceivably publish a work of romance. There is a terrible stigma attached to anyone of your class stooping to the level of writing fiction. You would be laughed out of the House of Lords, not to mention ridiculed by the critics and press, and most likely excommunicated from the Church of England.

  “Oh, Cecil, that cannot be. Certainly, you exaggerate,” Robert insisted.

  “Well, maybe about excommunication. But I most certainly do not exaggerate about the rest. Remember the scandal that pursued from the publication of the Duke of Bedford’s ill-advised novel, The Trials of Cybil, several years ago?”

  “Hmm. I might remember something like that.” Robert began to pace in front of the fire.

  “I know it seems extreme and unfair, but what you want to do is just not done.”

  Robert turned and faced Cecil. “But, certainly, in this progressive day and age of eighteen hundred and seventy-two, such conventions must be ripe for a challenge, do you not think?”

  Cecil held out his glass to Sithens to be topped up. “I wish I could say otherwise, but, my dear friend, if I were to publish a novel under your name, I’m afraid you would find yourself severely shunned by most of your class. Not to mention scaring off potential brides. And I do not say that lightly.”

  Sithens returned with the whiskey.

  “And then there is how that might affect our publishing house. Not only would reviewers refuse to review my books, but I might well lose some of my most prestigious authors.”

  “Then let me publish under an assumed name,” Robert suggested.

  “I wish it were that easy, old friend. But if we were to publish under an unknown name, hardly any reviewers would look at the book, and the sales would be so small as to be almost negligible. And I am sure you do not want that.”

  Robert began pacing again and took another whiskey.

  “But certainly you do take on new unknown authors from time to time. Is that not true?”

  “That is true, but often they have created a reputation by being published in magazines and journals and by giving public lectures and readings. They have a following long before we publish them.”

  Robert went to his desk and picked up his manuscript, bringing it over to where Cecil was still seated.

  “At least take a look at it… please. Perhaps if you like it enough, you might figure out a way to get around this absurd impediment.”

  Cecil sighed as he took the manuscript.

  “Very well, I will take a read of it… for the sake of our friendship.”

  Robert had taken the train to London and was in the palatial offices of Hancock and Puntley House Publishers two weeks after his meeting with Cecil at Balfour.

  Just yesterday he’d received a letter from Cecil.

  My Dearest Friend, Robert,

  I have had the opportunity to review your manuscript The Adventures of & etc. And I am very pleased to say that I find it to be a most extraordinary work, and am most anxious to discuss publishing possibilities with you at your earliest convenience.

  Drop by my office when you are next in London and we can explore several ideas I have as to how we might surmount your particular problem.

  Most Sincerely Yours,

  Sir Cecil Hancock OBE

  “Sir Cecil will see you now,” his secretary said as she stood and led Robert into his office.

  “My, that was a prompt response to my letter,” Sir Cecil said, as he stood up from his desk and came to greet Robert.

  “I did not want to waste any time. You know how anxious I am to see my book published and I wanted to hear your suggestions as to how we might get around my particular difficulty.”

  “Of course.” Cecil indicated a chair by his desk where Robert stood but did not sit down immediately. He was far too anxious to sit just yet.

  “So you are pleased with my literary effort?” Robert asked.

  “I am, indeed. Very fine. Gripping and touching. I think there is a real possibility for a best seller.”

  Robert beamed as he clutched his hat to his chest. “Then how might we do this—considering your previous reservations?”

  Cecil seemed not to want to sit while Robert was standing. He held out his hand indicating Robert should sit, which he finally did.

  “I have spoken to Puntley about your situation and we have come up with what might be a possible solution for you.”

  “I am eager to hear.”

  Cecil tapped a pencil on his desktop. “You know, historically, there was another fine gentleman like yourself who was in your exact same situation.”

  “Yes, and who might that be?”

  “The Seventeenth Earl of Oxford—Edward de Vere. It was said he was quite the scholar and well educated. He was well traveled, erudite, and widely read. It was known that he had a great interest in the theater and desperately wanted to write plays for Globe Theatre, but her Majesty Elizabeth absolutely forbid it, insisting it was inappropriate for a gentleman of his station. However, he was known at court under the name of Spear-shaker. And it has been widely speculated that he took on the name of Shakespeare and used that name to author what we know today as the Shakespeare plays and sonnets. There is no proof of this, but his situation should still stand as a model for your consideration.”

  “Yes, now that you mention it, I believe I have heard the same story.”

  “I do not know how amenable you might be to what I will propose, but I think it might be your best solution.”

  “And that would be?”

  “We have a number of lesser known authors on our books. Their works regularly sell, but not spectacularly. Our suggestion is that you approach several different authors that we will suggest and sound them out about being a surrogate author.”

  “I am not sure I understand.”

  “Find an author whose name you can publish your book under. They already have an audience and a following. And if your book is successful, they will benefit by having a new best seller, and you can get your work published and remain anonymous. Of course, you will need to make the arrangement worth their while.”

  “And how might that work?” Robert asked, interested but still a little skeptical.

  “Since you will be using their name, you will need to compensate them in some manner. My suggestion would be a generous percentage of the royalties you might make on the book’s sales.”

  “I would have no problem with that idea. Money is not a concern for me. I have found I really love being an author and I want to write and publish more. So, I am looking to form a long-term relationship with this individual.”

  “But there is one other consideration…” Cecil added.

  “Yes?”

  “I feel quite certain the author you choose would wish to continue with their writing as well. There would need to be some sort of arrangement for that.”

  “But what if our styles and content differ greatly?” Robert asked.

  “That is certainly a consideration,” Cecil said thoughtfully. “We would need to give that some thought and come up with a solution. But first, we need to know if you think this arrangement might work for you?”

  Robert stood and looked out Cecil’s o
ffice window at the street below with its hustle of carriages and bustle of pedestrians.

  “Yes, I believe it might.” He turned and addressed Cecil once again. “Have you communicated this idea to any of the authors you will be suggesting?”

  “We have not. Discretion seems to be the best strategy here if you wish to remain anonymous. Our thought was that you visit each candidate personally and make whatever arrangement you wish with the author you choose. It is imperative that your arrangement be as private as possible. Would you not agree?”

  Robert sighed. “It all seems quite ridiculous to me that I even need to do this, but if it must be, then discretion is certainly called for.”

  “Excellent,” Cecil said, rising from his desk. “I shall have a list of appropriate authors drawn up for you and will send it to you in the next couple of days.”

  “And once agreements are concluded then you will move forward with publishing my book?”

  “It will be our greatest pleasure. And I foresee a great success for all concerned.”

  Chapter 2

  Diana Browning was visiting her mother’s art gallery which was attached to the front and side of their cottage style house on the corner of two streets near central Cambridge. It was time for morning tea, and Diana usually took a break from the cramped little desk in her bedroom dormer window where she wrote each morning.

  Mother was at her easel working on another landscape of rural country England which sold so well to visitors of the university.