Fresh from the Caribbean, Mark Easton, the new Duke of
Roxburg, returns to London to secure a bride. It’s expected of his new station,
after all. Unfortunately, he knows just what will meet him once his presence in
Town is known. Sycophantic and cloying debutantes at every turn and matchmaking
mamas behind every potted palm. If only there was a way to know the true nature
of each girl beforehand. Then brilliance strikes! Masquerading as a lowly
dancing master before the season begins should give him a very clear picture of
London’s eligible ladies.
Bianca Valentine has never been under the illusion that any
decent man would look past her family’s secrets. So a life of independence is
her best shot for a happy future. If she can provide for herself, she won’t
have to be a burden on her aunt and uncle any longer. After an advertisement
for an accompanist at a dancing school catches her eye, Bianca finds herself
enjoying more freedom than she’s known, but it’s the new dancing master that
takes her breath away and inspires the most beautiful music she’s ever written.
Her music first enchanted him, but her smile and kindness
captured his heart. A masquerading duke and an accompanist is scandalous
enough, but will Bianca’s secrets be too much to overcome?
Her
Muse, His Grace
Copyright © 2016 Jane Charles
London - March, 1816
“Bloody
hell!” Mark Easton, the Duke of Roxburg, tossed the gossip rag onto the table
and lifted his tankard of ale. The Season hadn’t even begun and there was
already speculation as to whether he would return and do his duty and marry.
He
pulled his greatcoat tight and wondered if he would ever get warm again. The
damp air of London shot through him, right to his bones and he’d give anything
to be back in Barbados, on his sugar plantation or walking the beaches. Not
only was it warmer in the Caribbean, but the sun shined most of the time too.
And,
it didn’t stink.
“I’m
ready to board the next ship headed back to the Caribbean.” Lord Samuel Storm
rubbed his hands together. “I don’t think I’ll be warm until I get there.”
A
barmaid placed two more tankards in front of them, bending low enough for them
to see down her bodice. As tempting as it would be to find warmth between her
thighs, Mark didn’t have the luxury at the moment.
“Why
the bloody hell did we come back here?” he asked Samuel after the barmaid left
them be. The two had been living peacefully in Barbados until recently. Both
managing their separate sugar plantations and enjoying the freedom of being
wealthy bachelors on an island filled with beautiful women. Both had left accommodating
mistresses behind, breaking from them as they weren’t sure when they’d return,
but not before a proper send off and expensive baubles to remember them by.
“We
are here because you have a duty and didn’t want to face it alone,” Samuel
ground out. “Though, why you needed me is the question. Thorn is here and if
anyone can navigate society and remain free, it’s him.”
“We
heard Thorn married, remember?”
Samuel
frowned. “Won’t believe it until I hear it from the gentleman directly.”
“Yet,
you believe your brother, Benjamin married.”
Samuel
frowned. “From what I understand, he didn’t have much choice. Not with our
Great Uncle insisting on seeing as many of his grandchildren and great nieces
and nephews leg-shackled before he kicks up his toes.” He took a deep drink of
ale.
Mark
grinned. “Does this mean you will not
be calling on His Grace, the Duke of Danby?”
Sam
shot him a look that would kill a lesser man.
As
neither one of them wanted anyone to know they’d returned to London, they’d
taken rooms above this tavern. Nobody would ever dream that the new Duke of
Roxburg or Lord Samuel Storm, the brother to Marquess of Kenley, were living
along the waterfront, which suited their purposes perfectly.
But,
Mark couldn’t remain in hiding forever. He needed to put his plan into place.
One that would keep him from being hounded by matchmaking mamas and debutantes
alike.
“Maybe
I’ll take the pretty one back up to my room.” Sam nodded to the dark haired
barmaid. “Send for me when Thorn arrives.”
“I’ll not be able to pull you from bed if you
do.”
“If
he doesn’t show shortly, I’m going to find a way to keep warm,” Samuel warned.
“And those generous hips are sure to heat everything.”
Mark
ignored Sam. As much as he’d like the pleasure of tossing up the skirts of an
eager woman, he had more pressing matters to consider. He hadn’t been in London
for five years, but he assumed nothing had changed. What he needed was a wife
before the Season ever started, or at least, an idea of who he wanted to marry,
so he wouldn’t have to waste endless evenings at functions being fawned over.
He
hated all the bowing, scraping and flattery all because he was titled. As if he
deserved it when he hadn’t done anything spectacular except just being born to
the right parents.
The
door of the tavern opened and Mark looked up. Finally!
David
Thorn stepped inside and glanced around, then smiled when he spotted Mark and
Samuel at their corner table.
Thorn
took a seat, leaned back and grinned at him. The barmaid appeared almost
instantly, her bodice barely containing her assets, which she practically
shoved in Thorn’s face.
“Bring
a pitcher and another mug, would you, dear?” Thorn smiled up at the young
woman.
She
fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a wink before sauntering off to do his
bidding.
Some
things never changed no matter how long Mark had been gone. Women were still
drawn to Thorn like a moth to a flame.
“Where’s
Chetwey and Delaney?” Mark asked.
“Still
rusticating with their wives. They’ll be along eventually, I’m sure. Chetwey’s
little witch is not too keen on being absent during the spring plantings for a
second year in a row.”
The
barmaid returned, leaning over Thorn, her breasts practically pressed against
his face as she placed the pitcher and
mug on the table.
Thorn
turned his head and muttered a thank you. Disappointed in not getting a
reaction, or an offer, the woman slouched away.
“What
do these people have against bathing?” He poured the dark ale into his mug and
sat back.
“So,
it is true,” Sam laughed. “You married. The David Thorn I know would never turn
his face away from such a bountiful display.”
“Happily
leg-shackled, I assure you.” He grinned.
Mark
could only stare at Thorn. “Did you just call Chetwey’s wife a witch?” Did the
gentleman know Thorn thought this? He couldn’t imagine Thorn surviving such a
comment, not that Mark knew the woman, but one did not call his friend’s wife a
witch, not if one wished to keep the friendship.
Thorn
blinked up at him and alarm flashed in his eyes before he laughed. “I mean it
with utmost respect and affection. Brighid is a healer of sorts, concocting all
kinds of medicines from her herbs and plants.” He grinned. “It’s quite
endearing, by the way.”
“Does
Chetwey still have spells from the malaria? I brought cinchona bark since I
doubt it is easy to come by in these parts.”
“He
has, and Brighid has been able to help him through. I’m sure she’ll appreciate
having the bark.” He took a drink of his ale. “Right now Chetwey is cozy at his
estate with his wife and Delaney’s at his with Laura, though I hope they can
bring themselves to London.” He frowned, “Anna would appreciate having their
wives about this Season as she’s never participated in one herself.” Then he
shrugged and took another drink. “Though, I suspect her cousins will be here as
well.”
Mark
didn’t really care if Thorn’s wife was comfortable or not. He had more pressing
matters.
“Anna
was living with her uncle and two cousins when I met her. The oldest cousin,
Lila Southward, married Lord Quentin Post. The younger, Matilda, married Sidney
Garrick”
“Bloody
hell,” Samuel exclaimed. “First Delany, Chetwey, Bradenham and Wolverly were
caught in the parson’s trap. Now You, Post and Garrick have as well!” He took a
deep drink. “It’s not safe in this country.”
Thorn
only laughed. “It’s well worth being caught, if it’s by the right woman.” He
took a drink and leaned back in the wooden chair. “When did you get in? I’ve
been watching the house to see if you’d show.”
“You
and all of London,” Mark grumbled.
Thorn
laughed and poured ale into the mug.
“They
are going to hound me, aren’t they?” Mark asked.
“Think
rather highly of yourself, do you?”
Mark
glared at him. “Not me! The bloody title. That, and I won’t be thirty until
this summer, have all my teeth, not suffering from gout, and am bloody rich.
Just a couple of those is enough to draw the attention. The combination is
lethal to any bachelor.”
“Well,
there isn’t much you can do. I suggest you enjoy it.” Thorn grinned and raised
his mug in a toast.
“Yes,
there is,” Mark answered, much more serious than Thorn was finding the
situation. “I intend to find my wife before the Season begins.”
Thorn
arched an eyebrow in humor. “Exactly how are you going to accomplish that?”
Mark
tossed the newssheet on the table. “What do you know of the Mirabelle School of
Dance?”
***
Bianca
Valentine stared out the window of the carriage as it entered London. She
hadn’t been here since she was a child. Not that she remembered living in Seven
Dials, which was far different than the Mayfair home her brother-in-law owned.
She’d only been about two when Vicar Grant saved her and her nine siblings from
a life of poverty, thievery, work houses and quite possibly prostitution, once
she was older. She shivered, just thinking how different, and horrible, her
life could have turned out if not for him. She may call him uncle, but in her
heart, Uncle Osborn was her father, and Aunt Mary, was her mother. Bianca had
no memories of the woman who actually gave birth to her, even though that woman
raised her the first two years of her life. Or, at least she was alive the
first two years, but Bianca suspected it was Demetrius and Benedick, her oldest
brothers, who really took care of her.
She
rarely saw her brothers after they went off to school and then settled into
their professions in London, but now that she would be living in London for the
Season, she might be able to visit with them more often. Something she was very
much looking forward to.
But
first, she needed to find a position. Her sister, Rosalind, Lady Felding,
insisted on Bianca and their two sisters, Isabella and Perdita, coming to
London for the Season. All three had agreed, but none of them intended on being
involved in Society. They simply did not belong, even if their sister was a
marchioness.
While
she’d enjoyed the kindness of her sister, the real reason Bianca was in London
was to find work. At five and twenty, she could not continue to live off the
charity of Uncle Osborn and Aunt Mary. They were getting on in years and it was
time she supported herself. Bianca hated the idea of being a burden any more
than she already had been. They’d already given her so much. Much more than she
could ever possibly repay. Nor did she wish to become a burden to her older
brothers once her aunt and uncle passed. As a female, she had but two options
available to keep that from happening: Marry or work, and since she could never
consider marriage, it was time to find a position.
Lord
Felding might have been able to overlook her family’s background when he
married Rosalind, but most gentlemen would not feel the same. Not that Bianca
would ever dream of setting her sights on a lord. But even a respectable man of
trade would have misgivings about marrying the bastard of a whore.
“You
are just going to love it here,” Rosalind said from beside her. “I thought I’d
hate it when Noah insisted I attend the Season after we married, but that
wasn’t the case.”
Felding
could probably put Rosalind in a tent in the middle of the desert and call it
home and her sister would be quite happy. All she really required was to be
with her husband. Bianca wasn’t so hopeful that she’d love London as much as
her sister. But, as long as she found a position, it really didn’t matter where
she lived.
“I
can’t wait to introduce you to some of my friends.”
Bianca,
Isabella and Perdita stiffened and looked over at their sister. Surely she
wasn’t expecting her to go about with the ladies
her sister now called friends. Did she forget who they were? Where they’d
come from?
“We’ve
decided to host a ball at the beginning of the Season and we must get you
properly outfitted.”
Bianca
glanced at Felding, her brother-in-law. He just shook his head and smiled
before glancing back out the window.
“I
don’t think it’s right or proper that I attend functions.” Bianca refocused on
her sister. “Isabella and I are to keep you company while Felding attends
Parliament, or whatever else he does, while Perdita watches over Henry.” Henry
was a year old, but Rosalind couldn’t bring herself to leave her son in the
country. Bianca also didn’t dare tell her sister the real reason for coming to
London. Well, at least not until she had found employment.
“Of
course you will.” Rosalind smiled.
“It’s
not right that we go into society, you know that as well as we do,” Isabella
argued.
Rosalind
arched an eyebrow. “Then I should not be there either.”
“That’s
different. You’re married to Felding now,” Perdita reminded her. “It gives you
respectability. We cannot claim the same.”
Rosalind
turned and grabbed Bianca’s hand. “You mustn’t think that.” Then glanced at her
other two sisters. “None of you. You’ll meet all manner of gentlemen in London.
You might very well fall in love.”
She
couldn’t believe what her sister was saying. If they were to have had the same
conversation a few years ago, they would have agreed to remain spinsters and
not dream of love or marriage. It was why Rosalind became a nursery maid in the
first place, and ended up taking care of Felding’s sister’s children. Rosalind
had changed so much since marrying Felding. But, just because Rosalind found a
lord to love her, despite the circumstances of her birth, did not mean the same
would happen for Bianca or their sisters. “If any man wished to marry me, he’d
need to know the truth of my birth first. That should send him running so I
don’t wish to put myself in a position to be humiliated.”
“A
man of character would not care,” Felding nearly growled.
Did
he believe she just insulted him? That was not the case. “Few gentlemen are of
your character, Lord Felding, so I will not hold out hope that I might meet one
of them.”
The
carriage rolled to a stop and Bianca looked out the window, and up at the four
story townhouse. Her home for the next four months.
After
being escorted into the house, Rosalind led Bianca and her sisters into the
parlor to take tea while they waited for their belongings to be brought in and
unpacked. It was odd having servants do so much for her and Bianca wasn’t sure
if it was something she could become accustomed to. At home, each of the
children did their part at the vicarage: preparing meals, tending the garden,
cleaning the house, doing the laundry and anything that was required. The only
staff employed was a housekeeper who also cooked for them. The task was too
large for one woman and the girls learned at an early age how to prepare meals
for the family. If she were at home, she would probably be helping prepare
luncheon right now. Instead, she was taking tea with her sisters while a
servant unpacked their trunks.
“The
first thing we must do is visit a modiste.”
“It
is lovely how your husband likes to keep you in fine dresses.” Perdita smiled.
“I can’t wait to see how you look when turned out for a ball.”
None
of them had beautiful gowns growing up, nor did they need them. Bianca had
always been happy with her serviceable wardrobe and one nice Sunday dress.
“It’s
for you too,” Rosalind insisted.
“We
don’t have the funds,” Isabella reminded her.
“That
is not a concern,” she dismissed her sister’s comment away with a wave of her
hand. “Felding has offered and I’m not about to turn him down. Penelope and
Patience shall be arriving in a few days and we shall all go shopping
together.” Penelope and Patience were two of Felding’s younger sisters. Neither
had married much to his irritation.
“What
did I offer?” Felding asked as he came through the door, carrying newssheets.
“To
help outfit Bianca, Isabella and Perdita for the Season.”
Felding
smiled and nodded. “I’m happy to do so.” He took a seat beside his wife while
she poured him a cup of tea.
“It
is not necessary, Felding,” Bianca insisted. She already owed her aunt and
uncle so much. She did not wish to owe her brother-in-law as well. Besides, it
was a waste when she had no intention of wearing the fine dresses.
“My
wife would like the three of you to participate in the Season. It would make
her happy.” He turned and smiled lovingly at Rosalind. “And, as her happiness
is my only concern, you shall be dressed for all imaginable occasions.”
Since
Bianca couldn’t argue with Felding under his own roof, she fully intended to
argue with her sister later. If that didn’t work, she’d simply refuse to be
fitted. That should put a halt to all of Rosalind’s plans.
“Is
there anything interesting in the newssheets?” Rosalind asked.
“I
haven’t begun to read them yet.” He took the top newssheet and put the rest on
the table. “Enjoy, ladies, I’m sure there is something about fashion, or
perhaps gossip, that you will find of interest.”
None
of them had ever enjoyed gossip. She and her sisters were of the opinion that
if they didn’t gossip about others, hopefully others would not gossip about
them. Heaven knew they had enough secrets that they didn’t want discovered.
Even if they were lying about who their actual parents were, at least the four
oldest, Demetrius, Benedick, Orland and Mercutio, had comfort in the knowledge
that Mother had been married to their father. It was after he was killed that
their mother had to find another means to support her young family and gained
five illegitimate children in the process. It didn’t matter that they only shared
a mother because Bianca loved each of her siblings equally and with all of her
heart.
“Well,
that’s interesting?” Felding said before taking a sip of his tea.
“What?”
Rosalind asked her husband with interest.
“A
school chum, who I haven’t seen in years, has inherited.” Felding paused and
looked up. “I had forgotten that his uncle died last summer and his cousin a
few months ago. Mark wasn’t ever to have gained the title.”
“I
thought it was the women who were interested in the gossip?” Rosalind teased.
Felding
lowered the newssheet just enough to see his eyes, which he narrowed on his
wife.
“Which
title would that be?” Rosalind asked.
“The
Duke of Roxburg.”
Bianca
choked on her tea. Felding had a friend that was a duke and just called him by
his first name. Her brother-in-law had loftier connections than she ever
imagined. And, all the more reason she must find a position. Felding certainly
would never consider introducing her to a duke, would he? That would be beyond
the pale.
Instead of saying anything,
however, Bianca picked up one of the newssheets. She skipped over fashion and
other titillating tales and went right to the advertisements. She was beginning
to become discouraged until she read the last newssheet and her heart began to
pound when she found a position that was perfect for her.
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