A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6) Read online

  Elizabeth Johns

  Heather B. Moore

  Rebecca Connolly

  Copyright © 2017 Mirror Press

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Heather Justesen

  Edited by Jennie Stevens and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Rachael Anderson

  Cover Photo Credit: Richard Jenkins Photography

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  eISBN-10: 1-941145-90-6

  eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-90-6

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  Other Works by Rebecca Connolly

  About Rebecca Connolly

  Chapter One

  “This is my cousin, Emma Standrich,” Lady Jane Wetherby said for the hundredth time that evening.

  “Also known as the poor relation,” Emma muttered to herself in tandem with the greeting as she made a curtsy in her pale pink ball gown, second hand from Jane’s first Season and not the most flattering colour for Emma’s dark hair and fair complexion.

  A gentleman was bowing before her, and her breath caught in her throat as he actually stopped and looked down at her with a piercing stare. His eyes were the palest shade of grey, and his hair was a light shade of brown. He was wearing a red regimental tunic adorned with gold braid and white breeches covering his well-formed legs. He presented a picture of strength and command.

  “Will you honour me with a dance, Miss Standrich?”

  Emma stood speechless as the unexpected invitation caught her by surprise. Had he heard her and was now taking pity on her?

  A sly nudge in the foot from Jane brought her back to the present.

  “I would be delighted . . . sir.” She had forgotten his name!

  “Shelton,” the man repeated. He had a particular, penetrating look in his eye. “Is the first set spoken for?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Until then,” was all he said as he bowed and walked away.

  Emma was elated and mortified at the same time.

  “Rumour has it he has no fortune. ’Tis such a pity,” Jane said as she watched the soldier’s departure with obvious appreciation.

  “Is that Colonel Shelton?”

  “In the flesh. Mama will be the talk of the town for securing him at her ball.”

  Emma ignored everything past the affirmation of this being the very man of whom she had heard tell for years. She had hoped to find him, but she had not expected it so soon, nor at a ball—the very man she had come to London to see.

  His face was more handsome than she had imagined, despite the harsh countenance and thin purple scar running across his cheek.

  “Do not stare, Emma. It is gauche.”

  How could she not stare? This was the man her brother had served under and idolized before he died. His letters had been full of nothing but Shelton. Emma had to hold back a tear as she thought of her older brother, Christopher, for whom she had just put off her mourning clothes. He had been sent away early as Papa had many mouths to feed, and he had subsequently died too young—not long after Papa.

  “Come, Emma, the dancing is about to begin.”

  Emma felt her cousin seize her wrist, leading her towards the ballroom, and suddenly she wanted to escape. She did not belong here, and everyone would know it.

  “What if there are whispers?” Emma asked, trying to resist the summons.

  “No, Emma. You promised you would be here with me tonight.”

  “I do not belong in there, Jane.”

  “Your birth is as good as mine, if you please.” Jane held out her arm and linked it with Emma’s.

  “But my fortune is not.”

  “Then enjoy your time here and do not worry about having to see any of these people again.”

  Jane’s mother rushed up from behind them as the doors were closed and the music began to play.

  “You must find a husband this Season, Emma,” Aunt Tilda said quietly as they made their way from the entry hall to the ballroom. “But be warned, for there is only one thing a fortune hunter wants with a pretty face.”

  “My position as governess to Lady Malvern is already arranged, Aunt.”

  “That is easily mended with a letter.” Her aunt waved her hand dismissively. “You will never succeed as a governess. You will be sent home as soon as you arrive, once the mistress sees your face. I told your mother how it would be.”

  “I have little choice, Aunt. Without Father or Christopher to provide for us, I must have an income.”

  “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. I will find you a husband this Season, but stay away from him.” Aunt Tilda nodded her head towards the door that Colonel Shelton had walked through.

  “She has already consented to the opening quadrille with him,” Jane pointed out.

  Her aunt sighed. “I suppose you must dance with him then, but only once. Make it plain to him that you are uninterested, though I am not sure why he is singling out a young miss. It is not at all like him.”

  “Am I to be rude?” Emma asked.

  “No, no. Never be rude. You will not have learned the subtleties in the country, but do not elaborate when he asks you questions. Only answer as little as necessary. Do not encourage him with your eyes.”

  “I will do my best.” Emma endeavoured to sound reassuring.

  “I know you will, my dear.” Her aunt placed her hand on her arm. “If only things were not so desperate! Forgive me, I must attend to my guests now.” She opened her fan and flitted it before rushing away.

  Emma and Jane watched her move toward Lady Crofton with her arms stretched forward in welcome.

  “Mother is right, you know,” Jane said. “You will not succeed as a governess.”

  “I can and I will because I have to,” Emma replied, infusing her voice with fierce determination.

  “You mistake me, Emma. It is not your abilities we speak of but the wandering eyes and hands of men. It is a known fact.”

  Emma shuddered. “Nevertheless, I cannot refuse two hundred pounds per annum when my mother and siblings will go hungry,” she explained.

  “Oh, that certainly means the master is horrid—or the children are—if they offered you such a sum! Here comes my first partner,” Jane said. “Do not fret. We shall find you a husband!”

  Emma blew out a frustrated breath. Things were not so simple as finding a husband.

  “Ominous
words, to be sure,” a deep voice said from behind her.

  Emma started.

  “I apologise. That was badly done. I came to claim my dance and overheard,” Colonel Shelton said as he held out his hand.

  Emma did not know how to respond to such ill manners, so she inclined her head in a cool nod.

  He let out a harsh laugh. “I am to be punished for my uncouth ways, no doubt.”

  He led her to the dance floor, and they took their places across from one another in the set. Emma kept hoping the floor would open up and swallow her, or someone would yell “fire” to save her from this predicament. She was out of her depth conversationally, in age, and experience. She knew none of those deceptive arts her aunt had referred to. In her country village, they spoke plainly. But she dared not alienate this man as she desperately wanted to ask him about her brother—how his last days had been and whether he had been happy? Had he been brave? Had he ever spoken of her? Why had he been killed? She had to muster some courage.

  The quadrille progressed with relative smoothness and she was thankful her feet had recalled the steps while her mind had been elsewhere.

  “Very well,” he said, after a stretch of painful silence, “I believe I can recall from my youth how to carry on an insipid conversation. I must say, however, I expected more from a sister of Christopher Standrich.”

  She shot him an angry look.

  “Excellent. I am glad to know there is warm life in there.”

  “You amuse yourself in insulting me, sir.”

  “I do nothing of the sort,” he retorted.

  The movements of the set then separated them, and she was left to ponder his reasons for dancing with her.

  He spoke first when they came back together. “Has my reputation already been so polluted to your innocent ears?”

  “I may have heard some things, yes.”

  “I see. May I presume this is your first Season in London?”

  “I am visiting my aunt before journeying north to a new position.” Why had she said that to him?

  He showed no signs of hearing her. “And how is the family in Devon?”

  “They were in good health when I left them, thank you.”

  The movements of the dance saved her from furthering the uncomfortable conversation until they were reunited at the end.

  “I trust your aunt will warn you against me, Miss Standrich. There is likely some truth in rumours. I would like to say, however, you will always find a friend in me. Do remember that.”

  “Thank you,” she said awkwardly as he walked her back to her aunt.

  “Miss Standrich? Your brother . . .” He paused, perhaps to compose himself. “There was no finer man nor officer than he.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she nodded as he bowed swiftly and walked away.

  “That was rather abrupt. What did he say?” Jane asked quietly. From nowhere, it seemed, she had appeared beside her.

  “I do not wish to speak of it now. Please take me somewhere away from here before I make a scene.”

  “Before you make more of a scene,” her cousin corrected. “The entire ballroom was attentive to your every move and gesture. It will be the mystery discussed at every morning visit on the morrow,” Jane said, as she whisked her cousin through the servants’ door to a private room, away from prying eyes and ears.

  “I beg your pardon, Cousin? Why would anyone care about the poor relation?”

  “Because no one knows who you are, and Shelton neither attends society events, nor dances with anyone. It is quite delicious. I mean, it would be, if it were not my cousin involved,” Jane clarified quickly.

  Emma sighed as she walked toward the ivory silk settee and sat down. “A further instance of London sophistication I do not own.”

  Jane patted her cousin’s arm. “I must return to my next partner. Do not stay in here too long, because now every man will be vying for a dance with you.”

  Emma shook her head and wiped her eyes as her cousin left the room. Her emotions were in turmoil. She truly had no idea of Shelton’s reputation other than the idol-worship stories her brother had told. Her stomach was in a flutter when she was near the colonel. He exuded masculinity, strength, and danger. She would have to quiz her aunt and cousin for information later. She needed to know. She could not stay away from this man until she had found out more about Christopher and why there were suspicions surrounding his death.

  Emma took a deep breath and checked her face in the glass. She was relieved to find her eyes were not red and her cheeks were not splotched. She returned to the ballroom feeling more composed. It was indeed as her cousin had said. Her hand was requested for dances for the remainder of the evening.

  Chapter Two

  Emma arose the next day and followed a pleasant floral aroma all the way to the morning room. The scene that greeted her, of flower arrangements covering every available surface, astounded her. She knew Jane was a desirable catch on the marriage mart, but she was still astonished to see such adoration. Emma bent over to smell some yellow roses, and her gaze stopped on a card addressed to Miss Standrich.

  “For me?”

  She tentatively reached out, took the card, and opened it.

  To the belle of the ball

  Yours, etc,

  Bragg

  “There must be some mistake,” she mused aloud.

  Lord Bragg, she remembered then, was the handsome older gentleman she had danced the Cotillion with. As she stood admiring the yellow roses, the butler entered with another delivery.

  “Good morning, Jensen.”

  “Good morning, Miss Standrich. You certainly made an impression last evening. I do not know if the house can hold many more flowers. I think you may have more than Lady Jane. There are so many, my lady has requested some be moved from the drawing room into here to make room for callers. She is expecting a house full.”

  “More than Lady Jane?” Emma said to herself in confusion. She looked around, and sure enough, there were several addressed to her from those gentlemen with whom she had danced. She walked in a daze to the drawing room and found a similar sight greeting her.

  “Good morning, my dear,” her aunt said pleasantly.

  “Good morning, Aunt.”

  “Oh, Emma,” she declared at once, “you cannot wear your country work clothes today! Do go and change into the sprigged muslin!”

  “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

  “This is a special occasion! You shall have many callers from last night, and you must make your best impression. It is not unheard of to be proposed to after two or three encounters,” Aunt Tilda explained.

  Emma fancied her simple country dress; it was her favourite, and she rather thought she looked nice in it.

  “Do not look at me as though I drowned your kitten,” her aunt chided. “You do not understand what this means!” Aunt Tilda held out her arms and spun around amongst the flowers.

  Emma stared at her aunt and shook her head.

  “It means you will find a husband! I have no doubts about Jane, with her figure and fortune, but I did not realise it would be so simple to match you. Now do go and change before the visitors start arriving. I will send Smitty to help you dress.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Emma said, bobbing a dutiful curtsy.

  Emma walked back to her room with a sinking feeling in her stomach. What could this be about? She was no fool. Her face may be passably pretty, but she was virtually penniless. Was it simply because Shelton had danced with her? She had heard tell of such things in letters from her cousin. London ways were strange. However, she did not wish to be the latest curiosity. She removed from her bandbox the last note she had received from Christopher and fingered it gingerly before opening it and reading again the lines which most disturbed her.

  I am to deliver an urgent missive to F tomorrow for S. Take heart, S believes this will be over soon and I may return home.

  But Christopher had been found dead the next day—apparently shot
from his horse—with little explanation as to why he had died outside of battle.

  She hoped she would be able to find answers and some measure of understanding during her short time in London. Once she removed to Durham, she had little hope of discovering anything about that fateful last day of his life.

  Aunt Tilda may be opposed to Colonel Shelton, but Emma must find a way to speak to him.

  Smitty helped her dress, and her stomach gave a twinge of nerves at the thought of seeing the colonel again. Her aunt thought of marriage, but Emma knew none of the gentlemen would want to wed her when she had nothing to offer in exchange. There was no place for romance where she was going, and she would stay mindful of it. Just a few short years ago, her daydreams had been filled with handsome suitors, a Season, and her future family. How quickly things changed.

  The maid spent more time tending to Emma for the prospective visitors than she had spent altogether when readying herself for the ball, and she had to admit she did look much more elegant and smart in the new dress her aunt had given her. She felt more confident blending in with the current fashion, though she hated to think what the fine sprigged muslin with a beautiful floral pattern had cost. The maid finished tying the knot on the matching blue ribbons in her hair and declared her ready to receive callers.

  Emma rushed back downstairs in the hopes of finding out more about Shelton’s reputation from Jane. But when she arrived, there were already a few guests, including Jane’s hopeful beau, the Viscount Lofton, and two of his cronies, who were also soldiers. She paused as she heard voices.

  “I was surprised to see Shelton show his face at your ball last night.”

  “Indeed, it was quite the triumph,” Aunt Tilda said.

  “Perhaps, but I would caution your niece, since he seems to have singled her out,” Lofton remarked as he stroked his whiskers.

  Aunt Tilda raised a condescending eyebrow. “I think there can be little harm in dancing one set at a ball, Lofton.”