Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7)
Page 1
Special Offer
Learn the origins of the Great Family!
The Great Family was not always a great family.
In October 1843, Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn all face problems, their hearts heavy with the challenges of life.
This is the origins story of the Scandalous Scions series—the first great family gathering, where traditions that will last a generation are born and Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn meld into a single, united family.
Find out how the couples of Scandalous Sirens learn that together, they are stronger.
This novelette has not been commercially released for sale. It is only available as a gift to readers of the series, who subscribe to Tracy’s Newsletter.
See the link at the back of this book, after you have enjoyed Season of Denial.
Table of Contents
Special Offer
About Season of Denial
Praise for the Scandalous Scions series
Title Page
The Great Families
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Special Offer
Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!
The next book in the Scandalous Scions series.
About the Author
Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey
Copyright Information
About Season of Denial
He’s a rake, she’s not quite a spinster. Life is interesting when they’re together, but…
When her twin sister, Bridget, betrays Lady Mairin’s trust by marrying a man within the Great Family, Mairin determines she will find a suitable husband elsewhere, no matter what.
Iefan Davies, the family rakehell, who has rejected both the family and society, introduces Mairin to the Duke of Gascony, then teaches her to woo the duke. Between seduction lessons, Iefan shows her the world beyond the ton.
Neither considers the other suitable marriage material, for Mairin has a duke in her sights, while Iefan has no intention of curtailing his bachelor ways, although life is certainly interesting when they’re together.
Season of Denial is the seventh book in the Scandalous Scions series, which brings together the members of three great families, to love and play under the gaze of the Victorian era’s moralistic, straight-laced society.
Reader Advisory: This story contains frank sex scenes and sexual language.
This story is part of the Scandalous Scions series:
0.5 Rose of Ebony
1.0 Soul of Sin
2.0 Valor of Love
3.0 Marriage of Lies
4.0 Mask of Nobility
5.0 Law of Attraction
6.0 Veil of Honor
7.0 Season of Denial
8.0 Rules of Engagement
…and more to come!
A Sexy Historical Romance
Praise for the Scandalous Scions series
If you are familiar with the previous series, I am sure you fell in love with the huge family like I did.
She is a go to author for me when I need a fix of historical romance.
Tracy Cooper-Posey takes us into the staid yet surprisingly bawdy Victorian Era where appearance is everything and secrets are held inside the family.
Thanks once again, Tracy Cooper-Posey, for giving us another great story and for giving me back my love of historical romances.
I love historical romances and this one filled all my likes, from a dashing, wonderful hero, a beautiful strong heroine, a love story to sigh over, side characters that are interesting, and funny, and move the story along.
I can't wait for the next in this wonderful new series.
I don't often give books five stars, but I really enjoyed the mystery that puzzled all of the characters in this story.
I found the entire extended family intriguing because they, the women in particular, are very aware and careful of what society will think, yet they often have made choices that are deemed semi- scandalous.
A wonderful story set in the Victorian era of such strict social conventions and yet the main characters are shimmering with latent sexual tension. What a fabulous juxtaposition!
Another great series is starting and it looks like it will be great just like all the other series by this author.
Wow, as soon as I started Tracy Cooper Posey’s first book in her new spin off I was hooked.
The Great Families
Elisa and Vaughn Wardell
Marquess of Fairleigh, Viscount Rothmere
1825 Raymond, Viscount Marblethorpe (stepson)
1839 William Vaughn Wardell
1839 John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes (fostered in 1846)
1842 Sarah Louise Wardell (D)
1843 Peter Lovell Wardell (January)
1844 Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell (adopted in 1848)
1844 Patricia Sharla Victoria Mayes (fostered in 1846)
1849 Blanche Brigitte Colombe Bonnay (adopted in 1851)
1853 Emma Jane Wardell (adopted at birth)
Natasha and Seth Williams
Earl of Innesford, Baron Harrow (Ire.)
1839 Lillian Mary Harrow
1840 Richard Cian Seth Williams
1841 Neil Vaughn Williams
1843 Daniel Rhys Williams (February)
1846 Bridget Bronte Williams & Mairin May Williams
1849 Annalies Grace Williams
Annalies and Rhys Davies
Princess Annalies Benedickta of Saxe-Weiden, of the royal house Saxe-Coburg-Weiden, Formerly of the Principality of Saxe-Weiden.
1835 Benjamin Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)
1842 Iefan William Davies
1843 Morgan Harrow Davies (October)
1843 Sadie Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)
1846 Bronwen Natasha Davies
1848 Alice Thomasina Davies (adopted at birth) (D)
1849 Catrin Elise Davies
And their children:
Natasha and Raymond Devlin
Viscount Marblethorpe
1857 Vaughn Elis Devlin (Raymond’s heir)
1861 Richard Seth Devlin
Lilly and Jasper Thomsett
1862 Seth Eckhard Thomsett (heir)
1863 Elise Marie & Anne Louise Thomsett
1864 George Jasper Thomsett (stillborn)
Sharla and Dane Balfour + Benjamin Hedley (Davies)
Duke of Wakefield
1867 Jennifer Jane Balfour & Benjamin Dane Balfour (heir)
1868 Alice Thomasina Balfour
Bronwen Natasha Davies and Archeduke Edvard Christoffer of Silkeborg
1870 Christina Clara Elisa Bronwen
John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes and Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell-Ryder
Baron Guestwick, heir to the Marquess of Laceby
1864 Jackson Vaughn Ryder
1866 Stuart Theodore Ryder
1869 Phillip Dane Mayes
William Vaughn Wardell & Bridget Bronte Williams
Viscount Rothmere, heir to the Marquess of Fairleigh
>
1869 Elizabeth Anne Wardell
Chapter One
Mayfair, London. April 1870.
Airy notes of a Strauss waltz filtered through the walls of the salon. The distant tinkle underlined the silence, which was as thick as the cigar smoke drifting above the heads of the four players like fingers of London fog.
Iefan put his cards face down, picked up his brandy and settled back in the comfortable chair, his expression bland. “Whenever you are ready, Westgate.”
Dinsby, the new Earl of Westgate, hissed and tugged at his waistcoat. “Damn it, man, let me think.”
Iefan suppressed his comment about Westgate’s capacity for clear thought and said instead, “You have been thinking since the butler delivered the third decanter. Come along. Play your hand.”
Louis, Duke of Gascony and Westgate’s partner, cleared his throat. His fashionable bowtie was still perfectly tied and his shirtfront immaculate. His back was still straight. No one would know he had been playing for four hours. “I have trouble counting English Sterling notes, although I do believe there is more than twenty pounds upon the table, no?” His Gallic features were as neutral as Iefan’s.
“Twenty-seven pounds, three shillings,” Iefan replied, without looking at the tidy pile of big notes sitting upon the center of the round table.
“A rather large sum,” Gascony pointed out.
“If you are losing your nerve, Westgate, you have only to say,” Iefan told the sweating man on his right.
Alexander Ramsey, Esquire, sitting opposite Iefan, caught his gaze and shook his head. It was important to Alex that the two of them win the hand. No one in the room nor, indeed, the entire building, knew Alex lived upon the proceeds of his whist playing.
Westgate huffed, his face turning red. “Are you calling me a coward, sir?”
“Not at all,” Iefan said, with a mental sigh. “Cowardice is a product of an over-active imagination, which in turn requires intelligence.”
Gascony’s eyes widened, while Westgate threw down his cards and spluttered with wounded dignity. “I take offense at that!”
Alex sighed and put down his hand, for Westgate’s cards laid face up, ruining the game.
“The truth offends you?” Iefan asked.
“Truth?” Westgate repeated, astonishment warring with his indignation. “Is this the excuse you will use to defend your remarkable run of luck, Davies?”
Iefan tossed his cards onto the linen, his frustration building. “You ask if I am cheating?”
Gascony slid his hand together and put the neat pile on the table, too. “You must admit, monsieur, that even the most skilled card players cannot win every single game the way you and M. Ramsey have done.”
Iefan sat back and laughed. “Luck!” He laughed again.
Westgate’s face grew a deep scarlet.
Alex smiled to himself as he separated the notes on the table and gave them back to their owners.
“There is no luck involved, Gascony,” Iefan said. “Even mediocre skill is enough to best a poor player and Westgate, here, is too simple to recognize just how weak his skills are.”
Gascony drew down his mouth in a purely French expression. “Strong words.”
Iefan threw out his hand toward Westgate. “He dithers because he needs the king of spades to complete his run. The king of spades was played by you, two rounds ago. He wonders if he might instead find himself with the ten of the suit, yet Alex held that card, or else he would not have picked up the nine.”
“You remember what cards I played?” Gascony enquired.
“I remember them all!” Iefan shot back. He pointed at Alex, who had begun the round. “Three of heart, six of clubs, seven of hearts.” He pointed at Westgate. “The ace, which was stupid. Seven of diamonds, also stupid.”
Westgate gasped.
Iefan finished the list of played cards, in the five rounds of this game, while Alex looked bored and Gascony’s brow lifted. When Iefan finished, he added, “Shall I tell you the cards played in the other six games?”
Silence, while another dance, a polka this time, punctuated by heavy feet and breathless laughter, filtered through the closed door.
“You…could name cards in all six games?” Gascony asked, sounding winded.
“I do not cheat,” Iefan said, his tone flat. He got to his feet and glanced at Westgate. “I have no need.”
Westgate growled.
Iefan didn’t waited for the portly man to struggle to his feet. He pushed his money back to Alex and stepped out into the bright, busy hallway between the salon and the ballroom. When he heard Westgate lumbering after him, he quickened his pace and looked for an escape route.
If he couldn’t dodge Westgate, who was an imbecile, then he deserved everything the newly minted Earl handed out.
THE HUMILIATION WAS TOO great to remain in the ballroom. Mairin picked up the front of her pale blue satin gown and hurried through the back entrance. She tore the dance card from her wrist and squeezed it in her gloved hand as she moved through the rooms and halls blindly. Her heart beat far too hard for a woman who had not danced but once this night.
Windows ahead showed a brightly lit conservatory on the other side. The cool air under the glass and the freshness of green growing things would help her recover. With a touch of relief, Mairin pushed the door open and moved into the glassed-in garden. Palms and greenery edged the brick path she used to move deeper into the shrubbery. If this was a typical conservatory, there would be a chair or bench somewhere in the middle where one could repose and take in the garden.
True to form, the path widened and a bench presented itself. It was empty, which was remarkable, although the supper hour was drawing near and everyone lingered in the ballroom, waiting for the announcement of the meal.
Mairin settled on the bench, automatically arranging the folds of her ballgown. She barely noticed the sky-blue satin which had so pleased her when she bought it. She shoved the folded and bent dancing card into her pocket and felt the soft folds of paper already there.
With a sigh, Mairin pulled out the much-read letter and smoothed it open once more.
Dearest sister:
I barely know where to begin. I suppose I must impart the greatest of my news. I am a mother…
There was no need to read the remainder of the letter. Mairin knew it by heart. Bridget had born a daughter and gushed over the wonder of babies. On every page of the three tightly written sheets, her obsession over her husband, Will, spoke from among the descriptions of domestic bliss. Will, who was family and the last man she should have considered.
Mairin’s eyes ached and the lines of script blurred.
How could she? Why? The questions made her throat tighten, too.
Hurried footsteps on the brick path made Mairin lift her head, her heart sinking even farther. She had no wish to see anyone. She had thought herself safe from interruption here.
Perhaps she should have risked the scorn of the ton and returned home despite the early hour.
The tall, lean man with thick black curls who pushed through the last of the big tropical leaves and palm fronds wasn’t a stranger, although she had not seen him in a long time.
Iefan Davies, the absentee heir of the Davies family and an honorary cousin, looked as though he was in a great hurry. His black eyes met hers and his jaw worked.
From closer to the door of the conservatory came the sound of male voices, one of them strident.
Iefan glanced over his shoulder, then raised his finger to his lips. He stepped off the path and moved behind the thick copse of ferns and palms.
The other two men appeared only a few moments later. One of them was the red-faced Earl of Westgate, who appeared to be doing the muttering. His mouth worked, and his hands were fisted.
The other man was a stranger, although his clothing and appointments said he was a lord. He did not seem to be as upset as Westgate.
“Lady Mairin,” Westgate said, hurrying up to her. “I’m looking
for your blighted cousin. Davies. Did he come this way?”
“Which Davies cousin do you refer to, Lord Westgate?” she asked coolly. Westgate had once spent a summer letting her think he was interested in her, only to marry Violet Brigham-Jones the next Christmas. The gossips said the new couple were unhappy and Mairin might have felt satisfaction over their unhappiness, except that little pleased her anymore. “Benjamin or Morgan?” she added, for she had spotted Ben earlier in the evening, although she wasn’t certain if Morgan was here or not.
“Iefan,” Westgate said heavily, as if she strained his patience. He mispronounced Iefan’s name as so many did, as “eye-fan” instead of the Welsh pronunciation of “ei-ven”.
“Iefan?” she repeated, saying it properly. “Why, I do believe I saw him rush down the corridor in front of the conservatory, as I came in. He looked as though he was in a great hurry. Is he trying to avoid you, Lord Westgate?”
Westgate whirled to look back toward the windows of the conservatory which looked into the house proper. “That way?” he said, his tone one of disbelief. “I swore I saw him enter here.”
“Are you accusing me of being untruthful?” Mairin asked, injecting even more chill into her tone.
Westgate glared at her.
“No, he is not, and he apologizes,” the other man said, gripping Westgate’s sleeve. “Come along, Dinsby,” he added, tugging. “Let’s find the champagne, hmm?”
Westgate stood indecisively, his mouth working.
The other man turned him and shepherded him down the path. He looked back at her and bent his head. “I apologize for interrupting your peace, my lady.” Then he pushed Westgate into returning the way they had come.
As soon as they had disappeared, Iefan emerged. He smiled, his eyes dancing, as he came toward her. “Lady Mairin, you are my savior.”