Read each story in our House Party
Read all the books in this first collection of our Regency House Party. They can be enjoyed in any order:
The Unwanted Suitor
Mistaken Identity
The Stable Master’s Daughter
An Unlikely Courtship
Tabitha’s Folly
Damen’s Secret
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An Unlikely Courtship
Regency House Party: Somerstone
Heidi Kimball
To the authors of Regency House Party—thank you for all of the help, encouragement, and late night laughs. I wouldn't be here without you.
Acknowledgments
So many people made this possible, but I especially want to thank Jen Geigle Johnson for her vision in bringing RHP to life and her unwavering dedication to seeing this project through to completion. And a huge thank you to Joanna Barker for her last-minute read throughs every time I pushed "publish."
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Chapter One of Mistaken Identity
1
One: The Torrent
Anthony yawned and stretched his legs, wishing carriages were built with men of his height in mind. Pulling up the window shade, he blinked against the incoming light. Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky, threatening rain. He massaged a sore spot in his neck and wished he had chosen to ride instead. If only he’d known the weather would hold. A quick sweep of the scenery told him they’d already begun the long approach toward Somerstone Manor.
Easing back in his seat, Anthony considered what awaited him upon arrival. The invitation from the Countess Du’Breven had come as somewhat of a surprise. Though he knew her quite well—she was his late mother’s cousin, after all—he’d always had the vague notion she disapproved of him.
As a young boy, he recalled being hit by her punitive fan more than once. And now that he was older, her hawkish eyes held a degree of censure when she saw the latest debutante on his arm. Which is why her invitation had caught him off guard. And so had the promise therein: My house party promises a selection of the season’s choicest morsels. I daresay even you will not be able to help yourself. As the carriage jostled along, Anthony almost laughed out loud, for he could imagine the countess saying those very words with a gleam in her eye.
Although, it begged the question: what, exactly, did she mean by it? Did she actually think she might tempt him to settle down and tie the knot? The thought was preposterous. Yet he sensed a challenge in her words, which he hadn’t been able to resist.
But more than that, the invitation was an opportunity for escape. Anthony had been dreading his return home at the close of the season. The urge to deck his father became overwhelming after five minutes of being in the man’s presence, and self-control had never been Anthony’s forte. He deserved a diversion, perhaps one with blue eyes.
Straightening his cravat as the carriage rolled to a stop, he tapped his foot impatiently. The door opened and he stepped down, glancing over at the footman.
The footman gave him a stiff nod. “Shall I get your bags, Lord Anthony?”
Anthony waved a dismissive hand. “That will be fine. Have them taken up to my rooms.” His gaze moved toward the stairs leading up to the house. On the top step stood a pretty girl with dark brown hair. She clasped her hands in front of her, wearing a serious expression.
She smiled when she saw him and dipped into a low curtsy. “You must be Lord Anthony. I am Miss Greystock, the Countess Du’Breven’s companion. If you’ll just follow me.”
Anthony bowed and gave her his most charming smile. “Gladly.”
She turned quickly, as if trying to hide the blush that crept up her cheeks. The sight was gratifying. This was precisely why he had come.
Anthony caught up to her with several long strides. “And how long have you served as the countess’s companion? I do not recall meeting you at the musicale she hosted in London, and that is surely something I would remember.”
Miss Greystock stiffened, her mouth pulling into a disapproving line. “No, I have only been with her this past month.”
Anthony knew at once he had overstepped. This one would require a more subtle approach. He would retreat a little, act every bit the gentleman. Sometimes these things required patience.
“I see. Am I the first to arrive then?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Several of the guests have already been shown to their rooms. Everyone is expected over the course of this afternoon. Tonight, introductions will be made and we will all dine together.”
Anthony held his hands behind his back. “Then would you be so good as to direct me toward the stables? I’d like to take a brief ride and stretch my legs, see if I can’t outride the rain.”
Miss Greystock inclined her head. “As you wish, Lord Anthony.”
Isabel sat forward, trying to get a good look out the carriage window. Dark gray clouds rolled across the sky in a threatening manner. She sighed in resignation.
“Any rain yet?” asked her sister, Anne, from the seat across from Isabel. She sat beside Father, who had his head back against the seat, having fallen asleep to the endless swaying of the carriage just after lunch. His leg rested on an elevated pillow to help with the pain of his gout.
“Not yet,” said Isabel, curling her hands into fists. If only they had departed from the inn on time. Though Anne would never knowingly displease her sister, she had taken a fair amount of time with her hair and dress this morning, anxious about meeting the other guests at the house party.
“Perhaps the storm will pass,” suggested Anne.
Isabel forced a smile. “Perhaps.” It would not, but she could not just say so.
Anne clasped her hands in her lap. “I wonder how many of the other guests have already arrived. Do you think this dress is appropriate for introductions?”
“Yes, of course. You look lovely,” said Isabel, still frowning as she looked out the window. Her words were an understatement, for Anne was stunning. Her golden blonde hair hung in perfect ringlets, framing her flawless skin. Long, dark lashes covered sparkling blue eyes. It was the type of beauty that made men walking with their wives stop and stare, to say nothing of gentlemen who were still single.
Anne sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve prattled on, but just think of it, Isabel. Perhaps I’ll meet my future husband at this house party.”
“There will, no doubt, be a wide array of gentlemen who might catch your eye.” Anne had spoken of little else since they had begun their jo
urney. As much as Isabel loved her sister, she knew what lay in store for her. Anne would fall deeply in love at least three or four times over the next several weeks, and Isabel would be stuck with the unenviable position of trying to talk her out of it.
Isabel had only agreed to attend this house party because of her father, for he was a long-time friend of the Countess Du’Breven. When the invitation had arrived, he had expressed such enthusiasm. And he so rarely insisted on anything these days, she would have felt positively beastly saying no.
It was a good opportunity for them, and Isabel did want Anne to make a suitable match. Perhaps while Anne was distracted, Isabel could talk to Father about the matter of their dowries. She had only to catch him in the right moment.
Just then several large raindrops spattered on the roof of the carriage, distracting Isabel from her thoughts. They fell slowly at first, little veins of water shivering down the windowpanes. The frequency increased, and soon the rainfall grew to a deafening roar.
Her father awoke, looking confused. “What is it, my dears?”
Anne set a hand over his. “It’s just the rain, Father. Nothing to fret about.”
Isabel wanted to disagree, but held her tongue. In a torrent like this, the roads would quickly become impassable. There was nowhere to stop between here and Somerstone Manor. They had passed the last village several miles back.
The rain pounded so hard that Isabel clenched her teeth. Just then, a large jolt knocked the carriage forward, almost unseating her, before stopping completely.
Isabel righted herself and reached out to steady her father, who groaned in pain, adjusting his leg.
“Oh dear, what do you think it was?” asked Anne, her eyes darting around.
“Something must have happened to one of the wheels. Perhaps it got stuck in the mud,” said Isabel with her usual practicality. She peered out the window, trying to see what had happened. Several minutes went by; to her surprise, the coachman didn’t come to check on them.
The rain continued to fall, the sound covering any noise outside the carriage. Anne bit her lip, as she always did when she was nervous, and kept her arm around Father.
“We should have departed earlier, that’s all there is to it,” he murmured.
Isabel rapped on the roof of the carriage several times with no response. Finally, she stood and made her way to the door.
“What are you doing?” asked Anne.
“Well, someone needs to see what is going on. We cannot sit here all day.” Grabbing the umbrella she had set in the carriage for just such an occasion, she released the latch on the door and swung it open. The front of her skirts were soaked in an instant, but she knew there was nothing for it. She jumped down, the mud squishing around her boots. By the time she opened the umbrella and raised it over her head, her travelling dress was all but ruined.
Isabel slogged through the mud up toward the front of the carriage. The horses whinnied nervously. The umbrella did little good, since the rain was coming down at a slant, and her gloves soon became wet and slippery. She looked around for a moment, still unable to locate the coachman. A moan sounded from the other side of the carriage. Isabel worked her way around the horses and found the coachman lying in the mud. “My leg,” he cried. “I think it’s broken.”
“Oh,” she whispered, seeing his leg bent beneath him at an awkward angle. The poor man grimaced, but there was little she could do for him. She hadn’t the strength to lift him, and she could hardly ask Anne or her father. “How far is Somerstone Manor from here?” she yelled over the rain.
The coachman breathed heavily through his teeth. “About three-quarters of a mile up the road, miss.”
A breath escaped Isabel, though it could not be heard over the rain. “I don’t dare move you, but I’ll be back as quick as I can with help.” The man nodded, almost delirious from pain. Isabel pinched her lips together and glanced at the umbrella. It would do her little good, but at least she could keep the rain off this man as he suffered. She set the umbrella over him, sticking the handle down in the mud so it wouldn’t move.
“Thank you,” the man croaked.
Isabel trudged back to the carriage, opening the door only a fraction. “The coachman is injured. I will walk ahead and bring back help. Do not, under any condition, leave this carriage.”
“Be careful,” warned her Father. “I wish I could go.”
“Nonsense, not in your condition.”
Anne shook her head. “Oh, Isabel, you’re soaking.”
The observation was not appreciated. Isabel shut the carriage with a great deal of force, turning to face the rain. She went to the front of the carriage and unharnessed the horses. Better for them to run off than become spooked and drag the carriage along without a driver.
Trying to get her bearings, she turned to face the road. Through the curtain of rain, Isabel could just make out Somerstone Manor. Although she considered herself a fine walker, each step required a tremendous amount of effort as she struggled through the endless mud. Her dress, heavy with water, felt as though it weighed a ton.
A loud whinny made Isabel whirl in surprise, turning to find herself directly in the path of a galloping horse. She took an unsteady step backward to avoid being trampled, and the rider pulled up at the last moment. The horse’s hooves landed with a sucking sound, spraying mud all over her person.
The rider dismounted, keeping ahold of the reins. “What on earth are you doing out in this sort of weather, and without an umbrella?” He tipped his hat up, as if to take a better look at her.
Soaked by the torrent of rain and now spattered in mud, Isabel’s nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She cleared her throat, trying for composure. “I might ask if you have a habit of nearly running over women caught in rainstorms, instead of stopping to help.”
The man inclined his head and removed his hat with a flourish, as if it were a sunny day. He was tall with unruly light brown hair; his face perfectly chiseled. His warm brown eyes looked her over from head to foot in an overly familiar manner.
All of a sudden Isabel was all too aware that her dress was sticking to her in an unseemly manner and her hair was hanging down around her ears like a wet mop. The man gave an exaggerated bow. “By all means, let me be of service.” He raised his brows in an almost invitational way. “I’ve been told by more than one woman that my assistance is always appreciated.”
That the man would waste time flirting as they both stood in the rain was infuriating. Isabel had seen far too many of his type fawning over her sister. “My father and sister are stranded in a carriage, and our coachman has been severely injured. I highly doubt you are the man this situation requires.” With all of the hauteur she could manage, she turned on her heel and strode through the mud, in search of someone who could actually be of use.
2
Two: An Insufferable Flirt
Anthony stared slack-jawed as the woman tromped away, her boots making a sucking sound in the mud. He couldn’t help but notice the perfect form of her figure, accentuated by her sodden dress. “Wait,” he shouted, trying to be heard over the rain. “Let me help!” He jogged up alongside her, pulling his horse along behind him.
The rain had eased a little, but water continued to stream down her face in a manner Anthony found quite alluring. She kept walking, her mouth pulled into a grim line. “I assure you I am a seasoned walker. Your assistance is not required.”
Desperate, he laid a hand on her arm.
“Unhand me at once,” she demanded, practically elbowing him as she wrenched out of his grasp.
Anthony stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You may not want my help, but now you have it. Somerstone Manor is still half a mile away and walking in this”—he gestured to the ubiquitous mud—“is madness. We can take my horse.”
The woman looked up the road and then glanced back at the horse. She swallowed with a great deal of force and finally nodded. “Fine.”
He pulled on the horse’s rein
s and mounted then reached out a hand, easily pulling her up. The more difficult part was arranging her soaking skirts in a way that allowed her to sit without falling off. When he tried to help, she shoved his hand away. “I can manage,” she said coldly.
Once all was situated, he urged the horse forward. She sat sidesaddle, practically in his lap. Anthony smiled at his good fortune, despite the rain that continued to fall. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, his mouth just inches away from her ear, “whom do I have the pleasure of rescuing?”
“Rescuing?” she scoffed. “One could hardly call it that since I was already going for help.”
They reached the long driveway, and his horse moved more quickly on the gravel. “Ah, yes, of course,” said Anthony, his voice tinged with irony. “We are merely occupying the same horse by coincidence.”
Her brow furrowed. “No doubt it was only the guilt from your ungentlemanly behavior that motivated your assistance. I have yet to hear an apology for you nearly trampling me.”
Anthony bristled at her accusations. “Apology? Why should I apologize when you were the one walking down the middle of the road? And why were you traipsing around in a rainstorm in the first place? If your situation is so dire, why didn’t your father go for help?”
“My father is not in good health, not that you have the good manners to ask. I have seen your kind before, and it was clear to me in a moment that you are an insufferable flirt who cannot put aside your provocative behavior, even when a serious situation requires it.” Her expression conveyed all sorts of disapproval.
An Unlikely Courtship (Regency House Party: Somerstone Book 2) Page 1