A Prince for Aunt Hetty

by Kimberly Truesdale

“You are a gift, Hetty Masters.” He kissed her again and then wrapped her in an embrace.

  “If I recall, that afternoon I read a number of stories featuring handsome princes and noble quests.”

  Hetty felt the rumble of laughter in his chest. “I believe that was probably the gist of it.”

  “I always thought I was waiting for a prince.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And I think I might have found one.”

  They stood in the darkness of midnight together and laughed.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  HETTY HAD LEARNED to block out the hustle and bustle of the world outside of Rupert's busy London studio. She sat now absorbed in the latest novel making its way through all the hands of the ladies in town. It was a salacious thing and she was thoroughly enjoying it. Every now and again she would read a passage aloud just to appreciate the ridiculous prose.

  Rupert sat a few feet away, dabbing at a canvas with his brush. It had become their afternoon routine now that he was back from his trip to Scotland with King George. Rupert's part had been successful, executed with aplomb, though the King was being ridiculed in the papers for the spectacle he had made of the whole thing.

  Still, between that and the exhibition of his art, Rupert's name and reputation were growing every day. He already had a list of people waiting for him to paint their portraits.

  He was working on one now.

  “Harriet?”

  “Hmm?” She didn't look up from her book.

  “It's finished.”

  Harriet looked at him and smiled. He smiled back. They both understood. Hetty stepped toward him and examined the work.

  “Hmm... I'm not sure...” she began.

  “Oh, hush,” he scolded, and grabbed her around the waist. He tucked his head under her arm and squeezed her tight. “I finally got you just right.”

  They both looked at the portrait in front of them. It was the one he had started all those months ago before he had even really known her.

  “Hetty?”

  “Yes, Rupert?” She placed her hand on his head, running the soft, short graying hairs through her fingers.

  “Marry me.”

  Hetty paused. Marriage would change her whole life. People would talk. They might laugh. They might say she did it for the connections. But she knew the truth. And Rupert knew the truth.

  And so she gave the only answer she could.

  “Of course.”

  THE END

  Historical Note

  The history nerd in me is terribly excited that I got to use real people and history in this book. Of course, I used them freely in line with my story and did not necessarily always stick to the historical record. All changes are my own. So here are some fun things to know:

  Serjeant-Painter was a real job in the King's court and did the things that I described Rupert Henderson doing. The last known record of a Serjeant-Painter being employed by the court is from 1782, but that doesn't mean the job no longer existed. After all, the King still needed his carriages gilded!

  Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769-1830) was a reputed genius who was drafted at an early age to be the King's Painter, a job he remained in for most of his life. He attended the Royal Academy of Arts, which is where I have him meeting and befriending Rupert Henderson. He was reportedly a bon vivant, but I have slightly exaggerated his frivolity for my own purposes.

  Dulwich Picture Gallery is just as I described it here. The main gallery building was opened to students in the Royal Academy of Arts in 1815 and opened to the public in 1817, just a few years before A Prince for Aunt Hetty is set. At the time, the gallery housed one of the largest collections of European art. The building itself was one of the first to employ mostly natural lighting to display the art and quickly became the model for many other exhibition spaces. Fun note: The gallery still operates and there is really a portrait of a woman named Lucy Ebberton at the gallery!

  King George's visit to Scotland – In August of 1822, King George became the first monarch in nearly 200 years to visit Scotland. For the occasion, he enlisted the popular writer Sir Walter Scott and a coterie of other artists. Though I have invented Rupert Henderson and his role in the planning, I am sure there were many like him who ensured that the King was received in Scotland with all splendor.

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, all my thanks to the readers who have supported and encouraged me to keep writing. You are the reason I sit my butt in a chair everyday and I cannot wait to hear what you have to say about Hetty!

  And to my beta readers, whose keen eyes and open hearts inspire me to write the best stories I can. Jessica Grey, Emma Barry, and Devon Roll, you all are my rock stars.

  Thanks especially to Jessica Grey, whose stories and texts inspired me to keep pounding away at the keyboard. And who long ago suggested someone write a story with a dude named Barry Dungworth. Told you I'd use it one day.

  And, as always, to my family, especially my Mom, who is always there to make me laugh and to give me a hug when I need it.

  About the Author

  Kimberly Truesdale is a writing and literature teacher who has a line from The Great Gatsby tattooed on her arm and has worn out at least five copies of Anne of Green Gables. Kimberly's first novel, My Dear Sophy, told the story of how the Admiral and Mrs. Croft from Jane Austen’s Persuasion first meet. Her second novel, The Wrong Woman, kicked off the Unexpected Love series of sweet historical romances.

  Follow Kim on Twitter @playsthetart or Facebook at Kimberly Truesdale or email AuthorKimberlyTruesdale@gmail.com. Please let her know what you think of the book!

  Excerpt from The Wrong Woman

  If you enjoyed A Prince for Aunt Hetty, be sure to check out The Wrong Woman, the first book in the Unexpected Love series of sweet Regency romances. Read an excerpt from the first chapter:

  Chapter One

  MILES SHEPHERD SIGHED heavily to the three men standing near him. “I've got the devil of a headache tonight.”

  “But the delights of last evening were worth it, were they not?” Michael Tremain asked and raised his eyebrows at his companions. All three grinned.

  Miles had spent the previous evening, as he spent most of his evenings, in the club gambling with the friends who stood around him now. But last night they had outdone themselves with the amount of liquor consumed. And all day Miles had paid for it.

  Miles Shepherd, Michael Tremain, Lawrence Blume, and John Riley were a formidable quartet at the card table. At school together over a decade ago, they'd developed their card-playing skills instead of studying. They'd fleeced nearly every bright young man who had come to school.

  Now they spent their time doing the same thing to gullible young men like Thomas Davenport, who they'd played last night. He'd thought he could beat them. Stupid child, Miles had thought to himself. He'd almost felt sorry for the boy. But he could not deny that they had thoroughly enjoyed the spoils. It was a wonder any of them were standing at all at the moment.

  At the reminder of his overindulgence, Miles began listing a little to the side. The swirling bodies on the dance floor in front of him were a bit disorienting, and the colors started to blur in front of his face. He blinked a few times to clear his head, but it didn't help. It was not often he overdid it with the wine, but he'd been enjoying himself too much to quit. Miles blinked again and shifted his gaze back to the stationary men next to him.

  “All right there, Revere?” Tremain laughed and patted his friend's shoulder.

  “Of course,” Miles grumbled.

  “You looked a little unsteady there for a moment, chap.”

  Tremain was a tall, thin man who'd made it his mission in life to enjoy every sensual delight society offered. Wine and women had so far turned out to be his favorite indulgences. A year ago, though, he'd shocked his friends by declaring his engagement. He'd wooed and wed a pretty young woman in her first season. Miles had thought marriage might slow his friend down a bit in his other purs
uits, but the constant rush of town delights hadn't stopped. Tremain frequently acted as if he weren't even married. And Mrs. Tremain had shown herself happy to act the same way. Miles did not understand their marriage at all, but he had long ago left the whole thing alone.

  “What about the red head in the corner?” Riley asked a little too loudly, piercing through Miles' head.

  Blume laughed. “You don't want that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Haven't you learned anything is the past decade, man?” Tremain chided.

  “What?” Riley was confused.

  “The way she's waving that fan around,” Miles enlightened his friend.

  “The fan?” The man seemed lost.

  “It's trouble, Riley. A woman that eloquent with her fan has been practicing hard to catch herself a husband.” Blume waved his hand in imitation of the girl's fan and winked suggestively at Riley. The other men chuckled.

  “Well, would it be so bad to have a woman who knows what she wants?” Riley asked, drawing a groan from the others.

  “How have you remained so innocent after all these years?” Tremain exclaimed.

  “If you are looking for a happy marriage, my friend, steer clear of a woman with too much interest in getting her own way.” Blume was unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of his voice. His friends fell silent for a moment, unsure what to say.

  Lawrence Blume had followed in Tremain's footsteps and gotten himself married about six months ago. His vast inheritance more than made up for his squat stature and square face. At least one woman had decided she didn't mind it. Mrs. Blume was at home on the country estate at the moment. In a moment of drunken confession a few nights ago, Blume admitted to his friends that his wife despised him and wanted him only to do his duty to produce legitimate heirs and leave her at peace in the country.

  Poor Blume, Miles thought. He hadn't expected to love his wife, of course. None of the four friends expected that. But Miles imagined that it must have been a rude shock to find out that his wife had not one ounce of love for him.

  Finally, Riley's eye lit on another woman.

  “On the dance floor. The dark-haired beauty dancing with Brandon.” The men contemplated her.

  “Quite a beauty,” Tremain agreed. Miles noticed a gleam in his eye that spoke more than his words. He might have to watch Tremain around this girl, especially if Riley took a fancy to marrying her.

  They'd come tonight in spite of their pounding heads in order for Riley to survey the new crop of young women. And for Tremain to survey the eligible married women who might be game for what he called “a unique arrangement.” Tremain claimed that the short two months that made up the Little Season were the best time for such things. The society matrons forced to stay in London while their husbands attended Parliament found ways, both acceptable and not quite so, to stave off their boredom.

  “Nice figure,” Miles observed half-heartedly. The girl was pretty, but she didn't spark his interest in any significant way. None of the women he had seen tonight appealed much to him.

  Not that it matters what attracts me, Miles thought. Though he'd not yet told his friends, unwilling to endure their constant ridicule for the next two months, Miles had also determined to find a wife soon. Ever since Mama had discovered that Tremain and Blume had married, she'd been pressuring Miles to settle down. After all, Mama had reminded him, he was over thirty now. It was expected that he would take a wife and start a family. And then her most damning words: You are the heir and must produce a son. It's what your father would have wanted.

  It was expected of him. It was his duty. It was what his father would have wanted. Ever since his brother's accident eleven years ago, Miles had been powerless in the face of those arguments. He'd been determined to do just what everyone expected of him. It was easier than making his own decisions.

  “Revere?” Blume was addressing him.

  “What?”

  “Refreshment?”

  “No, thanks. I'll stay here and observe.”

  “Let us know if any irresistible women appear while we're gone,” Tremain grinned at him. Miles smiled back. He never thought too hard about Tremain's actions, knowing they would not quite sit well. But the man's constant good humor and joy in life were hard for Miles to resist. Some evenings Miles had fun only because Tremain teased him into it.

  “Enjoy your punch,” Miles answered.

  As Tremain and Blume moved away, Riley drew up his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath.

  “I don't care what you all say, I like the look of that red head. I'm going to dance with her.”

  Miles watched as his friend marched off. He chuckled when he saw Riley reach up to make sure his hair was in order. The man had always been extremely vain about that part of his appearance. His hair was blonde but looked almost white and gave him an otherworldly air. He kept it a touch too long just so he could draw attention to himself by brushing away the lock that constantly fell over his face. Miles shook his head and sighed.

  “Does something concern you, Lord Revere?” A seductive voice drifted up beside him.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Tremain. I was shaking my head at Riley because he is determined to do something we told him not to do.” Miles looked down at the petite woman next to him. Tremain had certainly chosen a beauty. Blue eyes stared up at him in a look of feigned innocence. Innocent was definitely not the first word anyone associated with her.

  “And what is it that you told him not to do?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “We warned him against the red-haired woman in the corner.”

  Mrs. Tremain's eyes flickered to the place he'd indicated. “Wise counsel. Miss Dalhousie has no fortune to speak of.”

  “You know her?”

  Mrs. Tremain smiled and Miles noticed her even, white teeth. “I know of her, but have not met her myself. Someone mentioned to me that she has an older brother here in town. I may make his acquaintance soon.” Her eyes flashed with amusement. It did not take an educated man to figure out what exactly she meant.

  Her innocent looks and frankness about intimate matters disconcerted him

  “Of course,” her voice grew deeper, “I could always be persuaded to leave off of that particular pursuit...” She let the words hang in the air between them. Miles knew what she intended. It was the not the first time she'd made him a proposition.

  A few months ago, toward the end of the Season, Miles had found himself alone in a carriage with her. Tremain had disappeared somewhere earlier in the evening and she'd asked Miles to escort her home. Though he'd known he was on dangerous ground, she'd had him trapped. His duty as a gentleman meant he could not refuse.

  The carriage had barely started away from the door before she'd been on his lap pressing her lips to his.

  Miles was no stranger to female attention, but seducing his friend's wife – no matter what her reputation – was too much. He'd pushed her away immediately and firmly requested that she stay on her side of the carriage for the rest of the journey.

  Miles had known, of course, that neither Tremain nor his wife were faithful. It had almost been part of their marriage vows. And she was a very attractive woman. But still, he could not imagine carrying on under his friend's nose.

  Perhaps his view of marriage had been spoiled by his parents. They had made no secret of their affection for each other. Indeed, Miles had found many occasions in life to be embarrassed of their obvious attraction and attention to each other. They were constantly sharing significant looks and touching hands. His father had brought her hand-picked flowers at least once a week for as long as the children could remember. And once a day, their mother had sent one of them to their father's study with a little note. One time, a young Miles had looked to see what was written. It had only said, “Until tonight, my love.” Miles could never forget his father's smile when he read her notes.

  Mama had been inconsolable for a long while when his father had died five years ago. Miles could still see her melanch
oly now and again, though she hid it well. He'd taken up the habit of picking flowers for her, just as their father had done.

  Miles knew he would never find that kind of love. Nor did he believe that he deserved to find that kind of affection. Not after the life he'd had. Not after his brother's accident...

  “Lord Revere? You have grown quite silent. I do hope that means you are considering my offer?”

  “Actually, Mrs. Tremain, I was contemplating marriage.” He looked at her boldly, hoping his attitude would finally end her desire for him.

  Her laugh came from deep within her throat. “Silly man. Why have marriage when you can have me?”

  As he wracked his brain for an appropriate reply to put her off this mania, his thoughts were interrupted by a pretty laugh from the direction of the chaperone's corner.

  “Who on earth is that?” Mrs. Tremain asked.

  “I don't know,” Miles eagerly searched the corner of the room. That laugh had been a delightful and refreshing sound. Especially when trying to escape from the seductive laughter of Mrs. Tremain.

  Finally he saw spotted her: a blond-haired young woman not over twenty years. The girl wore a becoming dress of a white fabric that seemed to move even when she was standing still. Her smile lit her face and all around her. Even some of the other chaperones had joined in with whatever joke she had made. Miles smiled too.

  “A smile, Lord Revere? At a chit like that?” There was venom in her voice.

  “Yes, Mrs. Tremain. I have a mind to introduce myself to that 'chit.' She seems like pleasant company.” Miles was pleased to see her eyes flare at the implied insult.

  “Very well,” sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Enjoy yourself.” She stood, waiting for him to leave.

  Miles looked back at the corner where the young woman was still laughing. She had an innocence and gaiety that appealed to him. He would find out who she was and beg an introduction. Perhaps this Little Season would not disappoint him after all.