His Majesty’s Hounds - Book 14
Sweet and Clean Regency Romance
Betting on a Lady’s Heart
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: 1925499987
ISBN-13: 978-1-925499-98-8
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.
Table of Contents
Betting on a Lady’s Heart
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About the Author
Here is your preview of Attracting the Spymaster
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
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 (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)
Chapter One
Gervaise Belmont, Viscount Woodridge, was a man who had once had it all, then almost lost it. And he was at risk of losing it all again.
He was young still, only twenty-four, and handsome, his jaw strong and square, his hair dark, with reddish glints amongst its strands. His eyes were the green of spring leaves in the sun, and his smile was warm and brought a dimple to both cheeks. Women loved him, and indeed, he enjoyed them likewise, although he had yet to find one he thought he could care for enough to marry. His father had been lucky enough to find love in two marriages, and with that example before him, he was loath to consider accepting less.
But there was one thing that drew Gervaise more than women. The races. Horses, frantic as they jockeyed for position, the men atop their backs looking as though they would fall underneath their steed at any moment, the large hooves breaking them into pieces.
Gervaise’s family had never lacked for money, unlike many titled families, but it had a way of finding its way out of his pocket and into the possession of others.
He gambled as easily as most men breathed. Cards, dice, any number of other passions, but the horses, that was the largest offender. He had, after his unpleasant adventures of the previous year, sworn off serious gambling – but that was a hard promise to keep.
The lure of the excitement was strong, and he struggled. Today, he had promised himself that he would enjoy the races, and only bet a tiny amount, just to reduce the craving for gambling.
He made his way to the bookmaker and smiled.
“Back again my Lord?” the man asked.
“Indeed. Although I’ll not be wagering large amounts today.”
The old man looked at him, his expression cynical, and laughed. He had wiry white hair and had to squint when he read anything, which had left him with an array of wrinkles around his eyes.
“Which race?” he asked.
Gervaise told him, the bookmaker quoted the odds, and Gervaise chose which horse to bet on, then passed a purse full of coins to the man.
The bookmaker took the bag and whistled.
“This would feed my family for years to come,” he remarked.
Gervaise hesitated a moment, his thoughts going back to the poor woodcutters who had saved his life a year past. They would have said the same.
It was hard to reconcile the way that money existed in his life, with the way it existed in the lives of the common people.
He shrugged the thoughts aside, and focussed on his purpose. He needed the thrill of the bet, of watching the race, to hold him through the next weeks and months of not gambling.
“Perhaps you should occasionally have a bet yourself – one win could change your life,” Gervaise said, smiling as he did so. The bookmaker laughed, and wrote up a slip for Gerv
aise to take with him.
“Not likely, my Lord, for one loss could send us to the poorhouse. I’m a father with children to feed, after all, so I’ll not be risking it – I’ll leave that to the likes of you, who can afford the losses,” the man nodded to Gervaise.
The man’s words brought Gervaise’s own father to mind, and he sighed as he turned away.
Gervaise’s father was Nicholas Belmont, the Earl of Amberhithe, a man who had been remarkably patient with his son, at a time when they both grieved the death of Gervaise’s mother.
During that terrible few years Gervaise had developed his love of gambling – it had seemed a harmless distraction from his grief, but it was a distraction that had cost him all of his funds, and nearly his life.
A wise investment after one big win had saved his funds, but had come almost too late for his life. He still walked with a slight limp today, as a result of his foolishness. He never wanted to be in such a desperate situation again.
Gervaise’s mind was keen and sharp, though the intricacies of good finance had been lost on him for most of his life.
He had, in recent times, been trying to remedy that, but the lure of gambling still drew him, even though he knew, now, that it would never be a wise activity, financially. Hence the visit to the racetrack today.
The place was called Green Hill, and indeed the backdrop of the track, the side opposite the stands, was a green hill, which rose upwards at a sharp angle before levelling out. The track was a rather wondrous place, where the human dregs of London mixed with the Lords that made up high society.
Men of high standing wore fine top hats which might cost many times more than the whole outfit of the man who stood next to them at the fence, cheering their respective horses on.
Gervaise was comfortable amongst the mixed crowd, having always got on well with those of lesser standing, coming from a family who appreciated their servants and farmers well. His experience of a year past had increased his appreciation for the innate humanity of people of all stations in life, for it had been a family of poor woodcutters who had saved his life.
It was his charm and his wit which drew people to him, man or woman, and he was glad of it, never having been a man for a solitary existence.
It began to rain as he stood at the edge of the stands, bracing himself against the fence. He had put a considerable part of the funds he’d brought on one horse, a grey beast which stood out among the black and bay colors of the other horses. The race began, the stallions throwing up mud as they ran.
Around Gervaise the crowd was deafening, as men and women alike supported their favoured horses loudly. The familiar excitement coursed through him, the sense of everything hanging on the thin thread of chance, and he felt his heart beat faster, the world around him suddenly seeming cast in sharp relief, every detail precise and vibrant.
The grey horse won, by a large margin, much to Gervaise's delight. His considerable winnings would certainly ensure that he did not need to dip into the funds he had invested, and he would be able to set a few affairs in order, without disappointing his father by depleting those investments. He hurried to collect his winnings.
But the little voice in the back of his mind whispered as he did so – ‘see, a good win – you could do that again, and again, and again….’.
~~~~~
Miss Clarisse Weston groaned as her stepmother Helena threw open the curtains, allowing the bright light of morning into her bedchamber.
“Surely it is not yet time to get up,” Clarisse said as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“It is indeed,” Helena said sharply, her eyes narrowing at her stepdaughter. “Your father may allow you to sleep half the day away, but now that I am here, you shall not.”
Clarisse’s father was Arthur Weston, heir to the Weston fortune, which had been made throughout the years by her father’s, and before him his father’s, astute business dealings.
Her mother had died giving birth to her, leaving her an only child. Other women came and went in her father’s life, but only for short moments.
It had seemed that it would just be Clarisse and her father, as close as two peas in a pod, at least until she married, which she supposed she eventually would.
And then Helena had come into their lives, her features soft and pretty, her frame lithe and slim.
She was far younger than Arthur, but significantly older than Clarisse. She had captured Arthur’s heart, though she had done little to endear herself to Clarisse. The younger woman was sure that her new stepmother was more attracted to her father’s money than she was to his person – but she knew that her father would not believe that, he was far too enamoured of Helena.
Clarisse rolled out of bed and Helena left her. Abby, her maid, hurried in and helped her to dress. When she made her way downstairs shortly after, she found her father in the breakfast room, smoking a cigar as he perused a newspaper, his breakfast on the plate before him.
“Father,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
He folded his paper and set it aside as he smiled. When she said nothing more, he shook his head a little.
“I thought you would chastise me for having a cigar so early in the morning”
He was barrel chested and strong, with dark hair, a bushy greying moustache, and grey eyes.
His daughter was slim, with delicate pale skin, and soft brown hair. Her eyes were hazel, and took on more green when she was outside, or by the window. She took a seat opposite her father. They often ate together in the breakfast room, and Helena rarely, if ever, joined them, preferring to take her morning meal in her own rooms.
“I would normally, but I understand why you might need such a soothing vice, of late.”
Her father shook his head and held his hand up.
“If this is to be another attack on my wife…”
“No, nothing of the sort.”
She was eighteen years old, and she had to admit that her father had spoiled her. Whatever she had wanted he had provided for her, but her nature was such that she had never abused her father's willingness to shower her with gifts. They had survived together in what she had thought was utter bliss. The fact that he had married Helena suggested that he had not been of the same opinion. That thought hurt. It was not as though her father had begun treating her differently since he had married, it was simply that Helena seemed determined to overstep her bounds.
An eighteen-year-old girl who had done without a mother did not suddenly need one, in Clarisse’s opinion. Helena felt differently. She seemed intent on providing rules and structure, where none was needed, or at least wanted.
“When will you and Helena have your own children?”
“Do not start that,” her father chuckled as he extinguished his cigar and pulled his plate before him. “I am too old.”
“Helena is not.” Clarisse’s tone was tart.
She always reminded her father that his new wife was rather apart from him in age.
“I wonder if, just once, you would not tease me,” Arthur said with a barking laugh.
“Perhaps, but if so, it will not be today.”
Clarisse grinned, and they ate in silence, until her father pushed his plate away, finished and, looked at Clarisse, meeting her eyes squarely.
“I know that you do not like her. I know you would never speak so plainly, but I know it.”
Clarisse sighed, and opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to honestly refute her father’s words, so closed her mouth again and waited for him to say more.
“Though you never met your mother, I know that there must be some sort of… loyalty you feel towards her. Believe me, I do understand - it’s that same loyalty that I carried which kept me from marrying again for so long.”
Clarisse nodded. Her father was right of course, as he so often was. Though she hadn’t known her mother, she had still been her mother, and her father moving on, even after eighteen years, seemed like a betrayal to her, though she knew that most men re
married far sooner.
Helena had, from the start, irritated Clarisse, and the idea of letting her into Clarisse’s good graces and confidence had felt as if it would also be a betrayal. So she had built a wall up between her and the older woman, unwilling to allow any kind of friendly interaction.
Her stepmother’s irritating attitudes had made that somewhat simpler to do, as well.
“I loved your mother,” Mr Weston went on. “She was a light so bright in my already bright life that she made it seem that much duller when she was out of it. I’m a blessed man. My family made a name for itself long before I had to do any real work. I’ve simply steered the ship enough to keep it away from crashing into the rocks near the shore, and reaped the reward. I met your mother, a beautiful woman who blessed me with you, who somehow filled me with even more love than she did. Losing your mother was the worst thing that ever happened to me, I have no doubt that you will believe that.”
He paused a moment, watching her, then went on.
“Even though all around me told me that I should remarry, that I should get myself a son who could inherit the business, for so very long, I simply couldn’t bear the thought. Until Helena.”
Clarisse felt hot tears sting her eyes, and she dabbed at them with the corner of her napkin. She thought of her mother often, and had through the years, having to settle upon an imaginary representation of the woman she had never actually known. In her mind her mother had been kind and loving and full of life. Her father had spoken of her often, and she had built up her image of the woman from that. And then she had been replaced. It hadn’t been sudden, it had taken a long time, but still, it felt as though her mother had lost her place in her father’s heart. No matter how many times he assured her that had not happened.
“Helena woke me up this morning, again,” Clarisse said, when her father had fallen quiet, apparently considering his explanation of his marriage over.
“How horrid,” her father remarked dryly.
“She makes me tighten my stays. I can barely breathe.”
Betting on a Lady's Heart: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 14) Page 1