A Tale of Two Eras: Georgian to Regency eBook Bundle

One Night in London

Lady Genevieve knew better than to sneak out of her father's London home in the middle of the night. Still, a friend in need came before reputation and sanctions, which her father would definitely impose should he ever find out about her escapades. Her mama would probably have a fit of the vapors and ask her long-suffering companion for smelling salts or her preferred much calming potion of laudanum.
Eve, whom she was known affectionately by her friends, used the ballroom doors that stepped out onto a large terrace overlooking their sizable gardens in the heart of Mayfair and tiptoed to the side of the house where she ran toward a gate that was hidden within a wall of ivy. Her voluptuous gown made working her way through the ivy difficult. She snagged a part of her dress on the gate and swallowed a curse. Why women had to wear such an absurd amount of material was a mystery she would never understand.
Male laughter and the sound of glass breaking seized her footsteps to a halt, and she waited in the ivy. Footsteps sounded on the pebbled road beyond, and then the undeniable voice of her brother, slurring his words of protest at having been sent home by his closest friend in the world, Beckett Green, Lord Tyndall, a vexing, teasing busy body of a man whom she had always secretly adored until he called her a carrot top and her infatuation came to an abrupt end.
How dare any gentleman, if he could call himself that, term a lady so. She had red hair, yes, and now, thanks to him, she went to great pains to hide it from society. No one would ever know.
Nor would she ever let Lord Tyndall know of her childhood crush. His head did not need to become any more significant than it already was. Not to mention, she did not want several widows who sauntered the ballrooms of the ton to come after her with pitchforks. Not that they would, in truth, go after her with such weapons, but Lord Tyndall was a well-sought-after gentleman. He was titled, handsome, and wealthy. A matchmaking mama's dreams, even her own.
But Lord Tyndall would never romantically look at her. He had often said over the years that she was too annoying and cloying and needed to go elsewhere and leave him and Martin alone to their manly business.
Not that she thought he had much men's business at sixteen, but ten years had passed since then, and he still looked upon her as if she were in pigtails and the annoying little flea who followed them around, begging to be included in their games.
But she did not need to be included any longer. She had two friends, the best of friends in the world, whom she would only ever need. Her brother could do what he liked these days, and it would be all the better if he stayed out of her way, for she had a husband to catch.
London's newest member. A gentleman from abroad, America, to be exact. He was handsome, rich, and the opposite of what she had to dance with these past three years. But she was determined not to endure a fourth season, hence why she was sneaking out with her friends to Lady Russel's ball, where Mr. Roger Venzellons was sure to be, and where she could continue her pursuit of him.
Rumor had it he enjoyed nothing more than the balls at Lady Russel's, and so that is where she and her friends were going, even if her parents forbade her and thought her in bed. What they did not know surely would not hurt. And Lady Russel's balls tended to be more demi-monde rather than haute ton...
Eve pushed back into the ivy just when the nuisance Lord Tyndall decided the side gate was where he was going to bring her brother through. Unless she dived into the nearby roses, there was little she could do but be caught and seen.
She strolled the garden bed, leaning down to smell one of the roses just as her brother and Lord Tyndall stumbled through the gate. "Genevieve, is that you, sister?" Her brother hiccuped and chuckled, and Eve fought not to roll her eyes. "Either I'm more foxed than I thought, or my sister is gardening at midnight."
"You're not hallucinating, Martin. Your sister is indeed in the garden," the deep, annoyed timbre of Lord Tyndall's voice set Eve's hackles to rise, and she lifted her chin, no longer willing to be chastised by a man who was beneath her. After all, she was the daughter of a duke, and he was nothing but an Earl. How dare he insinuate her being in the garden was anything other than her enjoying the roses at midnight? Plenty of ladies did so, she was sure, and she certainly would hold to that story and not let his lordship question her whereabouts. She owed nothing to him.
"Am I not allowed in my own yard, Lord Tyndall? Who are you to say anything about it?" she said, giving him her back and inspecting another rose that, at this time of night, she could not discern its color.
"Go in that direction, Martin, and you shall find the ballroom doors on the terrace. Find your room and sleep off your whisky," Lord Tyndall said, giving her brother a friendly push in the direction of the terrace. Thankfully, her brother did as he was asked and stumbled off until the terrace doors slammed closed, and her sibling was at least safe for one more night.
If Eve thought her interaction with the earl was over, she was sorely mistaken when an annoyed sigh sounded behind her. She rounded on him, hands on hips, and glared, even though she knew her face was in shadow due to the moon being behind her. "Why, may I ask, are you still here, Lord Tyndall? Should you not leave now that you've sorted my brother like an errant child." Eve couldn't help but speak to his high-handed lordship in a scathing tone. The man was maddening, and she had never quite gotten over the fact that at the tender age of fifteen, she had thrown herself at his head in a fit of expectation and hope and had been sorely rejected.
Lord Tyndall had held her at bay with his hand on her forehead and laughed excessively in her face. She had never quite gotten over the embarrassment, and he damn well knew it. She could no longer remember why she had thought he was open to her advances. Perhaps he had smiled at her through dinner that evening or listened to her piano playing so eagerly. They had been having a lovely holiday at her parent's ducal estate in Kent, and Lord Tyndall was there. Like always, he was always there, never anywhere else. More was the pity. Especially when one, she in particular, had made such a fool of herself...
And here he was again, in her garden, chastising her. "A better question to be answered is why you're lurking in the gardens past midnight. I know from your brother that your parents were staying in with you this evening, which means you were also. So, would you care to enlighten me as to why you're outside smelling the roses quite literally?"
She narrowed her eyes, hating that even while Lord Tyndall was insinuating a situation that was none of his business, whether it was true or not, he still was one of the most handsome men in London, with his shoulder-length hair that always looked perfectly coifed. The soft curls seemed to sit on his ideally proportioned head perfectly and made many a lady, her included, ogle him from time to time. Not that she would ever admit to ogling him at all. Her infatuation had come and most definitely gone.
Mostly.
"I wanted to go for a walk, if you must know. Are you going to send me off to my room like a naughty child also?"
He watched her, silent and considering. Something in his dark gaze made her stomach clench. She swallowed and considered that perhaps he would indeed spank her like a child and send her on her way, and the idea was not without its merit or intrigue. Would she like it?
Eve shook her head and the absurd thought from her mind and remembered her annoyance with his lordship.
"No, of course not, but I will not leave until you're back iside and safe. We will discuss your nighly pursuits another time, but now, I shall not budge until you're indoors where you belong."
Eve knew there was no use arguing with him. He was as bossy as her brother and just as high-handed, and she needed to sneak out again, perhaps not this night, but another and soon, and she did not need him lurking about ensuring she did not. Eve turned on her heel and started back toward the terrace.
"Goodnight, Lady Genevieve," his deep baritone said from behind.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she fought not to physically react to his voice.
"Goodnight, Lord Tyndall," she returned in a much harsher, cutting tone that even her friends would be proud of, should they have heard it.

My Virtuous Duke

“Dee Dee, are you at home?” Arthur called from the foyer.
“In the library,” Deandra, or Dee Dee to her closest friends replied, standing up from behind her desk to meet one of her oldest friends she had not seen since last Season. Too long, since she always loved Arthur's company.
The Duke of Beaufort entered, his smile as warm and wide as hers, and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Oh, how I have missed you." He did not let her go until he had squeezed her, as was their usual greeting after such a long absence.
She chuckled and lifted her head to take in his magnificence, which she had always been fond of, even if never in a romantic light. Well, except for that one time when she was eighteen and enjoying her first Season in town.
“Come and sit," she said. "I shall have tea and cake delivered so we may catch up. I’m certain there is much to discuss now that you’re back in town and the Season has commenced. What took you so long to arrive? I was starting to think that you would never return.”
“Ah, well, as to that, I’ve been at a house party in Surrey, the one Lord Digby holds each year. I met a delightful young lady who’s having her coming-out this year. In fact, she should be in town by now, and if my belief is correct, I should have an invitation waiting for me on my desk for her ball tomorrow evening.”
“Well, that does sound promising,” she said, walking over to the mantel and pulling the bellpull. “So I gather from your conjecture that you fancy the young woman to be a potential bride for yourself. I was starting to wonder when you would marry. You are not getting any younger, after all, Arthur.”
She smiled when the duke scoffed and tried to appear offended, not that he ever fooled her. They had been friends far too long for any secrets to still be between them. “Not everyone marries their first Season like you, Dee Dee. But my uncle has started threatening me with castration if I do not secure the ducal line, and soon. He forever reminds me that his sons are married with boys who can take up the mantle if I'm not man enough to complete the job. Which even I’m loath to fail. My father, dearly departed as he is, would come back and haunt me if I did not secure the line.”
“That would be a shame, yes, especially when the Beaufort line has been strong for over four hundred years.” Deandra smiled at the memory of how proud his mama was of her only child and son. Not that she herself had been blessed with children, no matter how much she and Lord Coleridge had tried during their short marriage.
She shook the melancholy thoughts aside, knowing that while Arthur's ability to sire sons was not hindered by age, hers most certainly was. And at nine and twenty, the same age as Arthur, her time to become a mother had long slipped away. And she was not entirely sure she could carry a child, not after all the disappointments she endured, month after month, failing the one thing that could have given her happiness in the marriage.
“So,” Arthur said, slapping his knees as he sat beside her. “This is one of the reasons why I’m here today seeing my oldest and best friend.” He stared at her a moment, his gaze turning serious. “I need your help, Dee Dee.”
“My help?” she stated, pointing to herself and forgetting for a moment they were the only two in the room. “Whatever do you need my assistance for? You’re a duke, and a wealthy one at that. I would be of little service to you.”
“Ah, but you see, that is where you’re wrong. You are part owner of one of the wealthiest gaming and gentlemen’s clubs in London, and a widow. And with that comes experience and information I think I shall find useful, especially since I have been locked away in Somerset for the past two years taking over the estate after my father’s death.”
Deandra frowned, unsure where this conversation was going or what he wanted from her. “What are you asking? You have me thinking all kinds of things, and none of them comforting.”
“Well, I thought it would be obvious. You know that I’m not like most men.”
That was very true. In fact, for several months many years ago, Deandra had thought Arthur had preferred the company of his own sex over the fairer one, but his interest soon turned toward the feminine side of society, and so she forgot about such thoughts. But now, what on heaven's door was he talking about?
“I think that the fact you’re not like most men is a blessing, not a sin, but please tell me what you’re after so I can say either yes or no to your request. You are being quite elusive.”
“If I’m being reticent, it’s only because I’m nervous to ask you. Some things regarding men ought to be kept an enigma, and I’m concerned that you will judge me.”
Maybe her past thoughts on his sexual preference were correct after all, and he was going to ask her how to help him overcome that to marry this debutante he’d met. “Arthur, say it now or leave. My patience is waning,” she said, throwing him a pointed stare.
“Very well, I shall ask what I need to and declare something I know you’ll find difficult to believe, but please do not laugh at me, for all I’m about to say is true.”
She schooled her features and nodded. “I promise not to laugh or judge.”
Arthur took a fortifying breath and met her gaze. “While I enjoy female company and have almost kissed a lady or two, not debutantes mind, I do not want to find myself hitched to someone who is not whom I want. I have never actually been with a woman. I’ve not the skills to seduce whom I would like as my bride, and that’s where you come in. My best friend and closest ally who would never do me ill or wrong, now would you, Dee Dee?”
She gaped at him, unsure she heard his words correctly. “Are you asking me to school you in the art of seduction and sex?”
His cheeks turned a bright pink, and Deandra had the answer to her question.
“I fear I shall disappoint whomever I marry, and since you’ve already been married and own a gaming hell where all sorts of trysts occur, you know the intimacies of the bedchamber." He paused. "And, well, we already love each other as friends. I thought, who better to ask than you?”
Deandra stared at him for several moments, the urge to laugh absent even after his absurd question. “Arthur, you’re a natural at whatever you do in life. I’m sure it’ll be the same when it comes to taking things further with your betrothed, whomever that ends up being. You do not need me to school you in such things, and when you mention schooling, do you mean we’re to sleep together? Have sex?”
His eyes widened, and he sat back in the chair, stunned. “Oh dear, no, I would never ask that of you. I merely need you to explain things to me and show me how things work without actually having to do any deeds together. As much as I wished I could have slept with women, and many of them, to this day, I have not. It never seemed honorable, if you understand. To follow through on such an act was tainted and wasteful when it was not with the right woman.”
A little piece of her heart melted at his explanation. She reached out and clasped his hand. “I think you having not ejaculated yourself around London is commendable, Arthur.”
“Oh dear Lord, Dee Dee. That is a visual I do not wish to imagine.”
She chuckled, having thought the imagery quite hilarious herself. “So many men, my husband included, thought it a hoot to squirt all over London, and with some of my friends, no less, even though they think I do not know their treachery. That you have not only makes you more darling in my eyes than you were before, and so yes, I shall help you. Owning the gaming hell, one does see many things others do not, and as a widow, I think I can help you become a master of your art, so whomever you marry will be well pleased.”
“You’re a sweetheart, and I thank you. Now, what shall you teach me first? I must know as much as I can and as soon as possible. Lady Mabel’s coming out ball is tomorrow evening. If I’m to be a leading candidate for her hand, I must be suave and seductive, without being unnerving.”
“I think first I must watch you at the ball, see how you perform without my infusion so I know where your skills may be lacking and where I can help most. So tomorrow night, we shall attend the Ryder ball, and I shall observe. But truly, Arthur, I do not think you’ll need my help. You ought to give yourself more credit for being such a gentleman and coming to a marriage without having rutted half of London. One never wants to marry a man and be fearful of catching syphilis or some such ailment. A fear I, too, held after marrying Lord Coleridge.”
“You did?” he stated, surprised.
She threw him a dubious look. “Do not play dumb with me, even you know what kind of man I married. Now, off you go. I have work to do, and I shall see you at the ball tomorrow evening.”
He leaned over and bussed her cheek. “Thank you, Dee Dee. You are the best person I know.”
She smiled and watched him go. “As are you,” she whispered into the empty room as she heard the front door shut.