by Anne Gracie
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Epilogue
Historical Note
“Treat yourself to some super reads from a most talented writer.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Praise for Anne Gracie’s novels
To Catch a Bride
“Anne Gracie at her best, with a dark and irresistible hero, a rare and winsome heroine, and a ravishing romance. Catch a copy now! One of the best historical romances I’ve read in ages.”
—Mary Jo Putney, New York Times bestselling author
“Swiftly moving . . . Appealing and unconventional . . . Will captivate readers.”
—Romantic Times
“[An] action-rich, emotionally compelling story . . . It is sure to entice readers.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“There is so much I liked about this one, it’s hard to find a place to start.”
—All About Romance
“It was loveable and laugh-out-loud, full of heart and of memorable and interesting characters.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
“A fascinating twist on the girl-in-disguise plot . . . With its wildly romantic last chapter, this novel is a great antidote to the end of the summer.”
—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
“One of the difficulties of reviewing a favorite author is running out of superlatives. An Anne Gracie novel is guaranteed to have heart and soul, passion, action, and sprinkles of humor and fun.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A fabulous historical.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
Praise for
His Captive Lady
“With tenderness, compassion, and a deep understanding of the era, Gracie touches readers on many levels with her remarkable characters and intense exploration of their deepest human needs. Gracie is a great storyteller.”
—Romantic Times
“Once again, author Anne Gracie has proven what an exceptionally gifted author is all about . . . She gives life to unforgettable characters and brings her readers along for the ride in what has proven to be an exciting, fun, and heart-felt emotional journey. Absolutely one of the best romances I’ve read this year!”
—CK 2S Kwips and Kritiques
“Anne Gracie has created a deeply emotional, at times heart-wrenching, journey for these two people who must learn to trust one another with their deepest feelings and darkest fears.”
—Romance Novel TV
“Anne Gracie at her best, and her best is very good. She has a lyrical writing style reminiscent of Mary Balogh, and the talent to bring readers vibrant characters, potent plots, and sizzling sensuality . . . YUM!”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“A winner . . . A charming, witty, and magical romance . . . Anne Gracie is a treasure.”
—Fresh Fiction
Praise for
The Stolen Princess
“Gracie begins the Devil Riders series with a fast-paced and enticing tale . . . Captures both the inherent tension of the story and the era with her hallmark charm and graceful prose.”
—Romantic Times (4 stars)
“Anne Gracie’s talent is as consistent as it is huge. I highly recommend The Stolen Princess and look forward to the rest of the series.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Anne Gracie always delivers a charming, feel-good story with enchanting characters. I love all of Ms. Gracie’s stories and The Stolen Princess is no exception. It stole my heart, as it will yours.”
—Fresh Fiction
More praise for Anne Gracie and her novels
“If you haven’t already discovered the romances of Anne Gracie, search for them. You’ll be so glad you did. She’s a treasure.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A powerfully emotional, steal-your-heart story . . . This magical romance not only warms your heart, it raises your temperature, too. Brava!”
—Romantic Times (Top Pick, 4½ stars)
“Have you ever found an author who makes you happy? Puts a smile on your face as soon as you enter her story world? Anne Gracie has done that for me ever since I read Gallant Waif and through every book thereafter.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“One of the best romances I have read in a long time . . . The Perfect Waltz is the book to share with a friend who has never read a romance novel—consider adding it to your conversion kit.”
—All About Romance
“One of those books that needs to be read from beginning to end in one sitting. Honestly, I couldn’t put it down!”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“Romance at its best . . . I was captivated by this story . . . Rush out and pick up this book—you won’t be disappointed.”
—Romance Junkies
Berkley Sensation Titles by Anne Gracie
THE PERFECT RAKE
THE PERFECT WALTZ
THE PERFECT STRANGER
THE PERFECT KISS
THE STOLEN PRINCESS
HIS CAPTIVE LADY
TO CATCH A BRIDE
THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / October 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Anne Gracie.
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BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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There are so many people to thank: at Berkley, my editor, Wendy McCurdy, for her patience; Judy York and George Long for the beautiful cover; and the Berkley copyediting team. Thanks too to my writing friends, Barbara S., Linda B., Kelly, and Trish, my Maytone friends for always being there, and Dave for disease and injuries, as usual.
In memory of my parents,
Jack and Betty Dunn,
who loved for a lifetime,
taught children,
and kept bees.
Prologue
Bath, England 1819
“Find you a suitable wife?” The Honorable Nash Renfrew’s aunt stared at him through her lorgnette. Maude, Lady Gosforth, enjoyed using her lorgnette. It magnified her gimlet eye horribly and usually made the recipient of the stare squirm.
Nash never squirmed. “If you would be so good, Aunt Maude.”
She sniffed. “From all I’ve heard, you have no difficulty finding women. Even in St. Petersburg.”
Nash didn’t blink an eyelid. How the deuce had she learned of his activities in St. Petersburg when her principal residence was in Bath? But her contacts were legendary. It was why he’d asked for her help.
He said coolly, “It’s not the same.”
His aunt snorted. “No, it’s not. And you also want me to arrange a ball for four weeks’ time? A ball—at the beginning of the season?”
“If it’s not too fatiguing a task, dear Aunt.”
“Fatiguing? Of course it is! I’m too old to give parties anymore!” she said with an attempt to look feeble.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Maude. I didn’t realize. You’re in such blooming looks, you see . . . Never mind, I’ll hire someone—”
“Hire someone? You’ll do no such thing. Events organized by hirelings”—she spoke the word with loathing—“cannot be anything but vulgar. I will try, somehow, to find the energy to arrange something—and to find you a suitable gel—but I warn you, Nash, with such short notice and at the beginning of the season with all the invitations already gone out, it will be the paltriest, most insipid affair.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Nash had no fear it would be anything but magnificent. He added casually, “Can I prevail on you to send an invitation to the Czar of Russia’s aunt, the Grand Duchess Anna Petrovna Romanova.”
The lorgnette dropped. “The Czar of Russia’s aunt?”
“She’ll arrive in London a few days before the ball. She knows nobody in London and has requested my assistance. She won’t mind a small affair.” The grand duchess was as gregarious as his aunt and adored a grand fuss.
“A grand duchess?” Aunt Maude sat up, her eyes sparkling with ambition. She achieved a weary sigh. “How you do run me ragged, boy.”
“I know.” He assumed a penitent expression. With a Russian grand duchess, this ball would be the event of the season and his aunt knew it.
Nash had applied for leave to return to England for two reasons: to take possession of an inheritance, and to find a wife. The ambassador, knowing how difficult the elderly grand duchess could be, had granted leave on condition that Nash dance attendance on the old lady in London.
Nash, the ambassador said, had a way with autocratic and difficult old ladies. It came, Nash informed him, from a lifetime of dealing with eccentric and autocratic aunts and great-aunts. One of whom was currently peering beadily at him through her lorgnette.
“So on top of balls and grand duchesses, you expect me to conjure up a wife out of thin air?”
“Not just any wife. The right sort of wife. I wish to make an excellent marriage.”
One well-plucked brow rose. “Naturally, you are a Renfrew, after all. It is what we do. But what, pray, is your definition of an excellent marriage?”
Nash had given the matter a great deal of thought.
Apart from birth, breeding, education, and intelligence, his bride needed to be not just well born, but well connected. She should have some understanding of politics but be dispassionate about “causes.” She should be well trained in the management of large social occasions and have a certain degree of charm. Above all, she should be discreet, refrain from gossip, and be tolerant of other people’s eccentricities.
As for children, he had no need of heirs and no interest in children. If his wife wanted one, he supposed he wouldn’t mind.
“And I suppose you expect this paragon to be beautiful and an heiress, as well,” Aunt Maude said caustically when he finished.
Nash gave her his most brilliant smile. “That would be delightful, best of aunts.”
She softened visibly. “Pshaw! Younger sons!” Then she’d eyed him thoughtfully, with the gimlet look that all her nephews were familiar with. “Not interested in marrying for love, then?”
Nash raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Marry for love?”
“Your brothers did and they’re both very happy.”
“Gabriel and Harry weren’t raised at Alverleigh with the daily example of my parents’ great love before them,” Nash pointed out. “If they had, they’d be bachelors still, like Marcus and myself.”
“Gabriel and Harry were raised by your spinster great-aunt on whose pantheon of life men ranked below dogs and horses, and slightly above cockroaches,” his aunt pointed out affably. “She did, of course, revere Renfrew blood, which balanced things slightly.”
Nash shrugged. “My point is, they’ve never seen how destructive love matches can be. My marriage will be a carefully planned alliance based on shared ambitions, not on the murky byways of passion.”
She snorted again. “A bloodless arrangement.”
“That will suit me perfectly.”
“But to go through life without love or passion—”
“Passion?” Nash cut her off. “According to both my parents, theirs was the passion of a lifetime. And when they weren’t ripping each other—and our family—apart with their jealous quarrels, they were circling each other like randy dogs.” Nash repressed a shudder. “I would rather dwell in . . . in the middle of an ice field than live like that.”
“You’re wrong, dear boy, but I won’t try to change your mind. You have the legendary hard head of the Renfrew male, after all. I’ll find you your paragon, but don’t blame me if you expire of boredom after six months.”
He shrugged indifferently. “Marriage isn’t meant to be entertaining.”
She viewed him with dismay. “But, dear boy, it is. Marriage should be a continuous adventure.”
“My work gives me all the adventure I want. But in your terms, perhaps what I want is a bad marriage.”
Aunt Maude shuddered. “Never joke about such things,” she ordered him. “Never!”
One
The horseman appeared on the ridge, a dark silhouette etched against a seething bank of leaden silver clouds. He remained motionless for a second or two, surveying the scene below, then he commenced the descent of the hill in a slow, controlled canter. As he moved, lightning rippled across the sky in a sheet.
“How very apocalyptic,” Maddy Woodford commented from the front stoop of her cottage. “Whoever he is, he knows how to make an entrance.”
Lizzie Brown followed her gaze. “Gentleman,” she pronounced, buttoning her coat.
Maddy laughed. “How can you tell? Farmers and merchants can ride fine horses, too. Do you know him?”
&nb
sp; Lizzie grinned and shook her head. “Never seen him before, but he’s cutting across country, in’t he? And it’s private land.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Only a gentleman would do that. Us ordinary folks don’t take trespassing lightly. People get transported for less.”
“I suppose.”
“Bound for Fonthill or Whitethorn Manor, I reckon.” Lizzie added with a grin, “Mebbe he’ll pass right by you. You could stand in his way, miss. A gentleman would have to stop. You never know, you might catch yourself a fine, rich husband.”
Maddy snorted. “With my luck he’d be the sort who’d ride straight over me without even looking, and there I’d be—”
“In a right pile of muck!” Lizzie finished, and both girls laughed. “No, he’d stop, for sure, specially with you looking so pretty with your hair all fancy.” Lizzie gave Maddy’s hair a critical look. “I did a good job on that, I reckon.”
Maddy put a hand to her newly coiffed hair. Lizzie was using her to practice. “You did a beautiful job, Lizzie. You’ll make a wonderful lady’s maid.”