The Daring Debutantes Series, Boxed Set (Three Regency Romance Novellas)

By Jerrica Knight-Catania

Get all three of the Daring Debutantes Novellas in one collection!

The Robber Bride, Book 1...

When Victoria Barclay, privileged daughter of the Viscount Grantham, has a life-altering experience as a young girl, it sets the course for the rest of her life. She is determined to make a difference in the world, no matter the consequence, and becomes a highwayman—or woman, as it were—robbing the rich and donating her pilfered gains to the poor.

Life-long friend and neighbor, Phineas Dartwell, Earl of Leyburn, suspects his dear friend is up to no good. She’s become evasive, and even worse, he cares that she’s become evasive. When she refuses to confide in him, claiming it’s for his own good, he severs the friendship out of wounded pride and a wounded heart.

But when Victoria’s activities are brought to light in the eyes of the magistrate, Phineas must find a way to acquit his friend—and dare he hope, future wife?—of the charges.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Gypsy Bride, Book 2 --

Engaged to a reprehensible baron, Bianca Manning knows she must do something to escape her fate. She decides that a Romany camp is the last place her mad fiance would think to look for her.

The last thing Emilian Carrol needs is a spirited Englishwoman in his life, but he can't seem to say no when she begs to hide out in his tribe's camp. And maybe she's just the thing he needs to help heal his wounded heart.

Thomas Barclay, future Viscount Grantham, is bored to tears and looking for a distraction. When his old friend Baron Tisbury asks for help in tracking down his missing fiancee, Tom decides to make himself useful and goes in search of the wayward girl.

Caught between two worlds, Bianca must figure out which man holds the keys to her heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Stage Bride, Book 3...

Thomas Barclay has had a rough year, to say the least. After being jilted by the only woman he ever loved, he's sworn off love for good, along with any semblance of respectability, by attempting to drink away his sorrows. However, when his meddling sister sends him off to the country to pull himself together once and for all, he finds himself trapped with the most vexing and obstinate creature he's ever been forced to encounter.

Amelia Harding has more than overstayed her welcome at Ms. Denby's School for Girls. At the ripe age of eighteen, she's finally being forced to enter the marriage mart, which also means returning to her father--a prospect she refuses to even entertain. So she decides to run away to London to pursue a life on the stage. Unfortunately, her plans go awry and she finds herself in a carriage bound for the country in the company of a drunkard. A handsome drunkard, but a drunkard, nonetheless.

Now they both must decide if they will continue to let their pasts define them, or if they will start anew in each other’s arms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerrica Knight-Catania
• Release date: Sep 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301054770

Jerrica Knight-Catania

Jerrica Knight-Catania knew from an early age that she was destined for romance. She would spend hours as a young girl sitting in a chair by an open window, listening to the rain, and dreaming of the day Prince Charming would burst in and declare his undying love for her. But it wasn't until she was 28-years-old, tired of her life in the theater, that she turned her focus toward writing Regency Romance novels. All her dreaming paid off, and she now gets to relive those romantic scenes she'd dreamt up as a child as she commits them to paper. She lives in sunny Palm Beach with her real life Prince Charming, their Princess-in-training and their aristocat, Dr. Snuggle.

Book preview

The Robber Bride

Daring Debutantes, Book 1

Jerrica Knight-Catania

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the

author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to any event, locale or person,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Robber Bride

Copyright 2011 by Jerrica Knight-Catania

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

Cover design by Jerrica Knight-Catania

For my husband—

I wouldn’t know a thing about romance if it weren’t for you!

Acknowledgements

Because I dedicate all my books to my husband, I decided I should put in an acknowledgements page to say thank you to some important people who have been so instrumental in my writing and publishing journey. First and foremost, I must thank my amazing critique partners—you all know who you are, and you know I’d be lost without you! A huge thank you to my editors: Linda Uzelac, Didi Charney and Mindy Moore. I don’t know what I would do without your expert eyes and sage advice. And to my friends and family who have always been incredibly supportive of my writing career—your support means the world to me!

Prologue

In the third month of her eighth year, Victoria Barclay climbed aboard her family carriage and took a seat opposite her mother. Mother sat with her gloved hands neatly folded in her lap, her expression unreadable. She was never one to display a great deal of emotion. Rather, her countenance always lingered somewhere between perturbed and content. Her blue velvet traveling gown stretched across the tufted seat and cascaded onto the floor.

Being so young, Victoria sought to emulate her mother, the Lady Grantham, and therefore mimicked her stance. She folded her hands in her lap, straightened her spine to the best of her ability and tried to set her features in a passive stare. It felt somewhat foreign, though. She wished to relax against the squabs, tuck her feet underneath her, and stare out the window at the passing scenery. Of course, that was never allowed. Mother and Father insisted that Victoria be shielded from the less savory aspects of London life, and therefore the shades were drawn tight anytime they traveled beyond the Marylebone borders.

But how bored she became sitting in that dim carriage with nothing to look at but Mother!

Stop your fidgeting, Victoria, her mother admonished.

Immediately, she clasped her hands together and stilled her feet. She had not even noticed that she'd begun to fidget, but sure as the king was mad, her fingers had crushed the velvet of her cloak and her feet swung in time to the horses' hooves.

Sorry, Mother, Victoria replied, making sure to keep her voice even.

Mother sighed and opened her reticule without another word. She pulled out a small piece of folded parchment and unfolded it carefully. As Mother read the missive to herself, Victoria took the opportunity to pull back the shade an inch or two, just enough to get a glimpse of what she considered the real London.

Though she had not been exposed to the sights of the real London, she knew that the London she lived in could not go by such a name. Victoria was quite aware that she lived a privileged life, though just how privileged she did not know until that very morning.

Pulling back the shade was the single most important moment of her entire life—it was the day she learned how the others lived. Dilapidated buildings lined the streets, which were muddy from last night’s rain. Livestock ran rampant amongst the people and carriages, and street urchins crowded the passersby, their hands outstretched, desperate for a ha’penny.

Victoria had never witnessed such a scene. This place seemed a million miles away from the refinement of Marylebone. Her London was quiet and clean. The paved streets were overrun with fine ladies and dandies and crested carriages, not mud and excrement.

Somehow she could not turn from the sight. Though it disturbed her to her core, she was helpless to turn away. And then something else happened as the carriage slowed in traffic—something so profound she would never forget it for as long as she lived. A young girl, of her approximate age, emerged from an alleyway. Her mousy brown hair was mussed and dangled limply around her face. Tears streaked her cheeks and her lip trembled, but she did her best to keep her chin high as her eyes locked with Victoria's.

She wondered why the girl cried so. Maybe she was hungry. It did not occur to Victoria until many years later that her crying may have had something to do with the man who emerged from the alley behind her.

Guilt stabbed Victoria in the heart, sharp and heavy, as she stared into the girl’s large, misty eyes. Deep down, she knew she had no reason to truly feel guilty. It was not her fault she'd been high-born or the other girl low-born, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. Why was she waited on hand and foot, given every imaginable luxury and sheltered from even the sight of such a life, while this girl must go hungry every night?

Victoria!

With a start, Victoria snapped the curtain shut and returned her hands to their position on her lap. Her heart fluttered at having been caught doing something her mother had forbidden.

I’m sorry, Mother, she offered, her voice barely above a whisper.

You have been instructed, young lady, to keep those curtains shut when we are traveling through the city. Look at me!

She raised her head and looked into her mother’s fiery blue gaze, and a sense of defiance she had never before felt came over her.

You are far too headstrong for your own good, Victoria, and I know not what to do with you anymore. Have you any idea what would happen if those degenerates realized who was traveling in this coach?

They are not degenerates, Victoria mumbled, knowing full well she would be punished for speaking out of turn.

I beg your pardon? came her mother’s icy tone.

Victoria sat up straighter and met Mother’s gaze full on. They are not degenerates.

And what, pray tell, has brought you to such a conclusion? In your moment of staring out the window, did you find some redeeming quality to the dregs? To the thieves and whores who walk these filthy streets?

Victoria started at her mother's bluntness. Though she’d overheard the word spoken before by men in her father’s study, she had certainly never heard a lady refer to another woman in such a way.

There were children. Many of them. One of them was my age.

With an exasperated sigh, Mother said, Future thieves and whores. Now, come away from the window and do not ever speak back to me in that manner again or I will leave you at the mercy of your father.

Mother always believed that leaving her at Father’s mercy was the worst threat she could offer. What she did not know was that he didn’t care. Her mother’s temper indicated that she was far more likely to inflict more pain—either physical or emotional—than her indifferent father.

As they rode on, headed for their country estate, Victoria’s mind churned with thoughts of the little girl in the alley. Who she was, where did she come from and what was her life like? When she fell asleep, she dreamt about her. And by the time they reached the family seat in Derbyshire, she had determined that something in the balance was wrong—drastically wrong. Though she was young and virtually powerless, Victoria vowed in that moment she would one day make a difference.

One

Victoria stood at the edge of the ballroom, her gaze intent on the gaggle of silly debutantes who stood just a few feet away. Or, more specifically, on the one girl who clearly did not belong in their clique, but so desperately wanted to be accepted.

Victoria turned away. Thank heavens she didn’t have to pretend anymore. After five seasons and no husband, she was officially on the shelf, which meant she could do almost anything she damn well pleased. Like use words like damn, if only in her mind. Such words certainly never even crossed the minds of those pinheaded girls, she was certain.

She scanned the ballroom, looking for more suitable company, when she spotted just the person she didn’t want to see. Her oldest and dearest friend sauntered into the ballroom, and Victoria could have sworn the entire party gave an audible and synchronized gasp of delight. Phineas Dartwell, the third Earl of Leyburn, might have made a startling impression on her had she not known him since birth. As it was, he was a good friend, but sometimes, a damned nuisance. Finny was more like a brother to her than . . . well, than her own brother, Thomas. He was next in line for the viscountcy, but until their father met his demise (which probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon), Thomas was doing the same thing Victoria was doing: whatever he damn well pleased. And what pleased him was traveling. The last time Victoria had seen Thomas was two years earlier as he climbed aboard a carriage bound for Dover. His last letter came months ago and indicated he was sweltering on a friend’s plantation in Jamaica.

Needless to say, Thomas had shirked his brotherly duties years ago when Victoria made it perfectly clear she did not need a hovering brother at social events because she had no interest in marriage.

I’m here because Mother forces me to be, she’d said to him. But you needn’t worry, Tom, you won’t find me roped into some dandy’s scheme to get me alone on the balcony. Not that Victoria ever considered herself the type of woman that men might lure onto the balcony for an illicit tryst, but her dowry was the kind that would prompt a desperate man to try to compromise her.

After much arguing with Mother and Father, Tom had finally gotten his way, along with the money he needed to set sail. As soon as he was gone, Finny had stepped in and taken over as her older brother. He showed up everywhere Victoria was, no matter how well she kept her social calendar a secret.

It drove her mad.

How on earth did you know I’d be here? she asked once he was within earshot.

A great magician never reveals his secrets. He gave her the grin that had irked her since they were children—the one he’d used when he’d put a snake in her bonnet while she wasn’t looking. Victoria had known he was up to something, she just didn’t know what. Until she’d put her bonnet back on, of course.

Secrets. Hah! It’s hardly a secret that you can charm the curls right out of my mother’s hair. Or soften up Father with your expensive brandy. Which one was it this time? No— she held up her hand, —if I know, I’ll just get angry with my parents, and I’d rather stay angry with you.

Come now, Vickie. My company’s not all that bad, is it?

Worse. I was just leaving, anyhow, so I’m afraid you’re a bit too late to save me from the fortune hunters.

It’s never too late for that.

Victoria followed Finny’s gaze to another damned nuisance striding their way. Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone? She had far more important things she needed to get to now that she’d made her appearance here.

Miss Barclay, I wondered if I might claim you for a waltz later on this evening? Albert Higgenbottom stared at her with his eager, beady eyes.

How kind of you to think of me, Mr. Higgenbottom, but I’m afraid my dance card is full. Perhaps next time.

Dejected, Mr. Higgenbottom turned away with a slight nod and moved on to the next wallflower.

Let me see it. Finny stretched out his hand beside her.

Not on your life.

Vickie, Albert is one of the few men not after you for your money. You should at least give him a chance.

I told you already, I was just getting ready to leave.

Then I’ll escort you home.

Victoria wasn’t about to let Finny escort her home. Her prey had already left and she’d never be able to catch him if she went home first.

Fine. I’ll meet you in the front hall. First, I need to visit the ladies’ retiring room.

***

Victoria left Finny in the entrance hall waiting for his carriage while she headed in the direction of the retiring room. However, she walked right past that door and made a beeline for the ballroom. She entered at the far end and then slipped out the open doors to the terrace. She felt horrible about leaving Finny without an explanation, but what on earth would she say? Sorry, Finny, but I have to go rob the Duke of Culver. Somehow, she didn’t think that would go over very well.

With a quick glance to her right, then her left, she took off down the stairs that led to the garden. She wove her way through the shrubs and flowers, and eventually found the side gate to the street. She put her fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. It wasn’t her most ladylike maneuver, but it was the only way to get her driver’s attention—her driver who was a fervent supporter of her work. Within the span of thirty seconds, her carriage stood before her.

That was fast, she remarked to Gil as he jumped from the seat to help her inside.

I saw your old friend, Lord Leyburn, entering the party. I thought you might attempt a different escape route.

Well done, Gil. Always keeping your eyes open. I’ll have to make sure Father gives you a raise.

Gil smiled and bobbed his head. Thanks, miss. ‘Tis my pleasure to serve.

With that, he shut the carriage door, leaving Victoria in total darkness. But she didn’t need any light. She’d done this nearly a hundred times now. Her dress had been altered to unbutton down the side rather than the back, and her corset strings were loose enough she could untie them herself and slip the contraption over her head. Beside her on the seat sat her uniform: black trousers, shirt, boots, hat, and, of course, a black mask. It took her only a couple of minutes to outfit herself for her next job, and when she was ready, she opened the small window that allowed her to communicate with Gil.

Where are we? she asked.

Almost to the Great North Road, miss. Shall I?

Go right ahead.

At her word, Gil slapped the reins and sent the horses into a full gallop. They had to make up for lost ground, and they certainly wouldn’t do it if they remained at an acceptable speed. Thankfully, the late hour allowed them the pace they required.

Victoria kept her face at the little window so she would know when they approached her victim.

Coach up ahead, miss. I think it’s the one.

Victoria removed her opera glasses from her reticule and peered through the window. It was the one.

Slow down. It’s him.

Gil slowed the carriage so they were going only just faster than the carriage ahead. As he’d done a hundred times before, he passed the slow-moving conveyance, moved in front of it, and then came to a complete stop. They waited. Only moments passed before the other coachman called out to ask what the hold up was.

Apologies, sir! Gil called back. I fear I may have a broken axel. Might I solicit your help?

Victoria waited in silence while Gil took care of the coachman. Then she calmly dismounted and made her way to the other carriage. It really had become too easy. Why didn’t other highwaymen—real highwaymen—operate in this way? There would have been a lot less men hanging from Newgate if they did.

Her victim, Lord Culver, stuck his head out the carriage door just as Victoria approached. What the devil is going on, John? he yelled.

Of course, John couldn’t answer, being otherwise engaged at the moment, so Victoria decided to indulge him.

Perhaps you should ask that question of someone who is more knowledgeable of the situation, Victoria suggested, pitching her voice low to sound more like a young man.

Who are you? His voice trembled.

Who I am is not nearly as important as what I want. Victoria cocked her pistol and pointed it at the fat man’s head. Your money or your life.

There was a pause as the cowardly man did what she assumed most men did in this situation: pissed his trousers.

Please, sir, I’ve nothing on me.

Liar. Victoria stepped an inch closer.

Please, don’t shoot. I’ve a family, and . . . and . . .

Your money, Victoria said slowly, lifting a brow, or your life.

It was no surprise when the man finally produced a purse filled with coin enough to feed a family of five for several months.

Ah, I see you’ve found something, she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. I should shoot you anyway, just for lying to me. The man whimpered, and Victoria took pity on him before he did more than piss his pants. But I shall spare your life . . . this time. You will remain in your carriage for five minutes after I depart, is that understood?

Yes, sir.

Victoria cocked her head sideways. You’re lying again, my lord.

I swear! I won’t move a muscle for five minutes.

With that, Victoria turned abruptly and walked briskly back to the carriage. Gil was already sitting back on his box, and John was sufficiently tied up on the side of the road. Even after five minutes, Culver wouldn’t be able to follow them for a good while. Gil’s knots were masterful and took the average man a half hour to figure out. Such was the benefit of having a sailor’s son for a driver.

The unmarked conveyance lurched and set into motion at a more modest pace this time. Racing along at top speed would draw unwanted attention now. They went back in the direction from which they had come, towards Victoria’s home in the Marylebone district. Her parents would surely be asleep by now, which suited her just fine. That way she wouldn’t have to change back into her gown—it was a bit trickier than getting out of it. Besides, she needed to head to bed herself. She had a very important appointment in the morning.

Two

Phineas Dartwell couldn’t believe he’d been duped. Again. Damn Victoria! He was only trying to look out for her, so why did she constantly run from him? If he didn’t know better, he would think she was hiding something.

As it was, he’d known Vickie since she was in nappies. It would be awfully difficult for her to keep anything from him. He might even say he knew her better than he knew himself. These little stunts Vickie pulled were simply her way of rebelling against a horrifically strict upbringing. But one day she would find herself in real trouble. She might have thought it harmless enough to go home alone from a ball late at night, but one never knew what dangers lurked around the corners between Mayfair and Marylebone. It was the rich people that were preyed upon, and one could never be too careful.

Therefore, despite understanding Victoria’s need to rebel every once in a while, he was incredibly irked by her behavior. Foolish girl. There was nothing he could do about it now, though. She’d gone off on her own and was probably tucked soundly in her bed by now. Fin wouldn’t mind being tucked in his own bed, either. He only came to these blasted things for her, anyhow. If she wasn’t around, there was no reason for him to stay. Now that he’d ascertained that she was no longer here, he could get the hell out.

Leaving already?

Damn. He’d been so close.

Lady Beecham, he said as he turned and offered a bow. I trust you’re well.

I want you to finish the painting, Leyburn. Clearly, they were going to skip over pleasantries.

Lady Beecham, he whispered in an effort to remain discreet, with all due respect, I cannot finish the painting.

I paid you to do a job, and I want it done.

I refunded your money, if you remember correctly, and I have told you I don’t do those kinds of paintings. You’ll have to look elsewhere.

But I want you to do it.

Blast, this woman was persistent, but Fin would not be bested by her. The last thing he wanted to do was portray this woman—this married woman—without any clothes on. The problem was that she’d convinced him to start with her head, and once he’d finished, she insisted he paint the rest of her nude. He’d never fall for that one again. Good night, my lady. Best of luck in your search.

Fin left the brazen woman standing dumbfounded in the foyer. He was sure there weren’t many who had the gall to speak to her in such a way. Her husband held a fair amount of power, after all. However, Fin was sure Lord Beecham wouldn’t be hearing about this particular offense against his wife.

A painting that was calling to him this evening, though—one inspired by his dear friend’s attempt at freedom. Victoria had asked him to paint her ages ago, but he’d been putting it off for some time. But that defiant look in her eyes from earlier tonight was burned into his brain. He couldn’t think of a better subject at the moment.

He left the party and headed for home, where his easel and paints and a stubborn young woman awaited him.

***

Victoria pushed through the door to the dilapidated hospital that sat nestled in the slums on the south side of London. If her mother knew she was here, she’d collapse in an apoplectic fit. As it was, Lady Grantham believed her daughter to be visiting the sick and elderly Lady Hartswell in Cavendish Square.

Ha! Sick was an interesting term to apply to Lady Hartswell. The woman was barely fifty years old, and the only sick thing about her was her mind. Never had Victoria met such a martyr. Her woe-is-me personality was pathetic. If she spent five minutes in this place, she’d realize what true suffering was. But someone like Lady Hartswell wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.

Sarah? she called out as she hung her coat and hat on the hooks in the entryway.

In here, miss!

Victoria followed Sarah’s voice to the end of the corridor. You’ll never believe how much— She broke off when she took in the scene before her.

Sarah pulled a white sheet over a body that lay on a rustic wooden table. Victoria had come upon this scene too many times, and it made her sick all over again.

Mr. Cole, replied Sarah to Victoria’s unspoken question. There was nothin’ to be done.

Victoria shook her head. Of course not. Consumption claims all its victims, eventually. I just wish I could have said goodbye. Poor man. Does he have any family?

None that we know of, miss.

Possessions?

Just the clothes on his back.

I will see to a proper burial. Send for the undertaker, won’t you?

Sarah left to do Victoria’s bidding while Victoria made her way to the dead man’s side. She lifted the sheet just enough to see his pale face and wide eyes, frozen in terror.

I’m so sorry, Mr. Cole. You didn’t deserve to die this way. With a silent prayer commending his poor soul to God, Victoria shut the man’s eyes, replaced the shroud and then left to find Sarah.

I sent for the undertaker, miss, she said as Victoria joined her in the next room.

Thank you, Sarah. She turned to a woman lying on the cot in the corner of the small room. How are you today, Nancy?

Better, Miss Vickie, came the woman’s raspy reply. I’m sure I’ll be barkin’ orders at my no-good husband again in no time. She tried to laugh, but it proved too much and she dissolved into a fit of coughing.

I’m sure you will, Nancy. And I’ve secured the funds to pay for your medicine.

Oh, miss! Another donor? Sarah exclaimed.

Yes, but he—or she—prefers to remain anonymous.

Don’t know why all these donors wish to remain anonymous. If I were doing good, I’d want everyone to know it.

Well, Sarah, not everyone is as modest as you, Victoria replied with a wink.

They don’t mind flautin’ their wealth with clothes and parties, but when it comes to makin’ real contributions, they don’t want anyone to know. Ain’t modesty, miss, it’s embarrassment.

Well, let’s not spend all day making judgments on the character of anonymous donors. Victoria wanted desperately to change the subject. It would be too easy to get caught up in the conversation and say something to incriminate herself. Not that Sarah would rat her out, but Sarah did like to talk, and accidents did happen. Victoria couldn’t take the risk.

Here, she said, handing over the purse full of coin that she’d pilfered the night before, take this to Mr. Porter. Did you make a list of what we need?

I did, miss. This should be more than enough.

Sarah left for the apothecary and Victoria set to visiting the patients in their little hospital. She’d discovered this place years ago on one of her many ventures into this part of town. The run-down building with its makeshift sign had caught her attention. A hospital was somewhere she could really do a lot of good, she’d thought. So she had introduced herself to Sarah and volunteered to help raise funds for medicines and supplies. Of course, Sarah and the others had been more than grateful to accept her assistance. Ever since then, Vickie had been robbing the rich and giving to the hospital, as well as others who found themselves down on their luck.

She supposed there was probably a better way of going about raising funds for the poor, but people were much more willing to part with their money when there was a gun pointed at their heads. Never mind that the gun wasn’t loaded.

Somewhere along the way, though, the hospital had become more than simply a place she donated money to. She’d learned from Sarah how to care for certain ailments, and she’d started to form relationships with the patients. Aside from the fact that they were all sick and in need of comfort, they were also profoundly human in a way that was unfamiliar to Victoria. They spoke plainly and laughed openly. Their goals in life did not amount to the acquisitions of more money or higher social statuses—they amounted to being happy, providing for their families or simply being able to pay for their next meal. Though Victoria could never be one of them, she could learn from them.

Sarah returned a short time later from the apothecary, and Victoria helped to administer medicine to the patients. By the time they were done, the undertaker had arrived to retrieve Mr. Cole’s body. They quickly discussed fees and then the man was on his way again, Mr. Cole in tow.

Well, Sarah, I must be on my way before Mother becomes suspicious. I’ll be back on Wednesday.

Yes, miss. Thank you, miss. Sarah smiled wide, her gratitude clear on her face. Wednesday it is.

There was a rather high-profile gathering on Tuesday evening, and Victoria knew exactly which pompous ass she would rob that night.

***

You have paint all over your fingers.

Fin stared back at Victoria, wondering how that answered his question. I don’t see why that should have any bearing on whether or not you take a walk with me.

It doesn’t, she replied. I was simply observing. And now I will answer your question. Yes.

She pulled her pelisse and parasol from the hook in the hallway. She really was a queer girl. Pretty as hell, but queer. Lord help the man who took her on as wife. If she ever married, of course. It really wasn’t looking all that likely for her. She was twenty-four and incredibly headstrong—not the most appealing characteristics for a gentleman of the ton. Victoria was good and shelved, and something told Fin she liked it that way. Queer indeed.

Once they were out on the street, Fin ventured conversation. Tell me, Vickie, did you suffer temporary amnesia last night?

She turned to look at him, but then immediately faced forward again. Oh, goodness, you’re not going to be cross about that, are you? I had to tell Gil that you were taking me home, but then I figured, why make you go out of your way—

I live next door, Vickie.

Even so, she said.

Fin rolled his eyes. I’m not an idiot, Vickie, I know what you’re doing.

There was a beat of silence, and then, I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.

Victoria, your parents love you, you know that—

Actually, I don’t. But go on. I’m curious to see where this is leading.

Fin sighed and started over. All right, your parents probably love you—really deep down—and all they want is for you to be happy—

Funny, I just don’t see it that way.

Vick—

No! She held up her hand in protest. If this is what you want to talk about, then I’m going home. You may be able to charm my parents and bring out the best in them, but you don’t know them. Not the real them, anyhow. And why are you bringing this up? What does this have to do with last night?

It has to do with you needing to exercise your independence, which is why you left alone last night.

I wasn’t alone, I had Gil.

Fin gritted his teeth. What an obstinate little—

Is the lecture over now? she asked.

For now.

Good. Now, what have you been working on?

What makes you think I’ve been working on anything? He didn’t care to share the subject of his most current work—not after their discussion. As a matter of fact, he might just toss the whole bloody thing out the window just to spite her.

I’m not an idiot, either, Fin. Your hands are covered in paint.

It’s nothing important, really, he said evasively. Just another boring still life.

They walked in silence for a few blocks, and Fin was grateful that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not that it ever had been. Victoria was practically his closest friend. It was just that silences with most other women were uncomfortable. They always seemed nervous and desperate to fill the silence. But not Vickie. No, she was more than happy to keep her thoughts to herself.

Suddenly, that idea annoyed Fin. What the devil was she thinking about? Would she tell him if he asked? A penny for your thoughts? he ventured.

What? Oh, they aren’t worth that much, she replied with a nervous laugh.

How uncharacteristic of her. Care to share them, anyway?

She thought for a moment before replying. No. At least, not until you tell me what you’re really working on.

You’re too smart for your own good, you know?

Her self-satisfied smile made Fin want to laugh. I know.

***

Your mother wishes to see you, miss.

Victoria looked up to find Davis, their stalwart butler, standing over her. She immediately moved her hand to cover the letter she’d been writing, hopeful that the ink had dried sufficiently already.

Tell her I’ll be along momentarily. I’m just finishing up here. Davis shifted his feet and cleared his throat. Victoria turned to him again. What is it, Davis?

It’s just that . . . milady said not to allow you to make any excuses. She wants to see you—now.

You may tell milady that I am four-and-twenty, and I will come when I am good and ready. Victoria’s temper bubbled. She knew she should try and control it, but she couldn’t. How dare she? I’m not a child anymore, Davis. She can’t insist that I drop everything simply because she wants to see me. Part of me wants to take even longer than I need finishing this letter just to spite her. She held up a hand to Davis, who stood there quietly, listening to her rant. Yes, I know I’m being childish, but she treats me like a child! What does she expect?

She stopped and stared up at him, not really waiting for a response. He wasn’t one to offer up opinions. But then he did speak, much to Victoria’s surprise.

I’m sorry, miss, he said, a pained look crossing his features. In this instance, I think it is best you go to your mother.

Victoria felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. How humbling to be told what to do by ones servant. However, she was too dumbfounded to say anything but, All right, as she vacated her chair and walked numbly to her mother’s chambers.

Three

Well, well, well, isn’t this surprising?

Fin startled and his brush flew across Victoria’s face—in the painting, of course. He whirled around to scold the intruder, but his frustration turned to joy when he saw who stood in the doorway to his studio.

Tom! he shouted as he crossed the room to his old friend. I thought you were still in Jamaica. When did you arrive home?

They shook hands and then Tom sloughed off to the sofa. He landed on it sideways, in a reclined position. Just this morning, he said. Finally. It’s a bloody long trip from Jamaica, you know?

No, but I can imagine, said Fin. Have you seen Victoria? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled you’re home.

This piqued Tom’s interest. Why’s that?

She can’t stand to have me looking after her. She likes when I’m her friend, but not her guardian. I’m certain she’ll be happy to have you back in that role.

Tom chuckled and leaned back further to stare up at the ceiling. I don’t have any intentions of following my sister around. She’s too damned headstrong. I don’t know why you even bothered.

Headstrong and secretive and deceptive . . . yes, I’m quite aware of Victoria’s shortcomings. Fin moved back to his painting of her and stared into the eyes he’d painted just a half hour earlier. They were still wet and glossy, as if filled with tears.

Apparently you don’t find the shortcomings to be with her looks, though.

Fin turned to his old friend. I’m not painting her because I find her attractive. I’m painting her so I can yell at the painting instead of her when she drives me to madness.

Tom erupted into laughter. In that case, perhaps you should paint one for me as well.

***

You wished to see me, mother? Victoria crossed the threshold into her mother’s favorite room. Victoria didn’t understand why she favored it so much. It was quite manly, with dark woods and fabrics, and it abutted to the next house—Fin’s house—so it got very little sunlight.

Victoria preferred the front drawing room, which looked out onto the street. It was sunnier and far more interesting than this dungeon.

Sit down, Lady Grantham instructed. Once Victoria had done as she bade, her mother finally looked up at her with a serene smile on her face. Your brother has returned from Jamaica.

Victoria’s eyes widened with her surprise, but she wasn’t quite sure what to say to the news. Of course, she was happy her brother had returned safely from abroad, but . . . well, part of her wished he hadn’t returned at all. At least, not yet, anyway.

I know, this comes as quite a shock, her mother continued, not bothering to wait for a reaction from her daughter. "We really thought he’d be there forever. His letters indicated he

Reviews for The Daring Debutantes Series, Boxed Set (Three Regency Romance Novellas)

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

All three books were great love stories to keep anyone happy