Miss Chloe's Campaign

By Fran Baker

Her grandfather hasn't a feather to fly with, her brother has resorted to moneylenders, and Lady Chloe Preston has resolved to save them all by marrying money.

She'll sell herself to the highest bidder, Chloe vows. And she'll expose "Lord Byrne" for the rogue she knows him to be. How dare he masquerade as the Earl of Greenaire Abbey! How dare he taunt her with her shameful secret! She'll marry Lord Newman in spite of his dragon-tongued mother.

Chloe has convinved her head that love isn't a requisite for marriage . . . but can she convince her heart?

This is the 6th book in The Misses Regency series by Fran Baker.

"If you're looking for exquisite Regency romance, look no further than Fran Baker" Julianne MacLean, USA Today bestselling author

About the Author: Fran Baker has authored 17 contemporary and historical novels and has edited one nonfiction title. Her books have appeared on several bestseller lists and have been translated into more than twenty languages. She invites readers to like her Facebook author page and to visit her websites at www.DelphiBooks.com and www.FranBaker.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delphi Books
• Release date: May 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780984601554

Fran Baker

Fran Baker is the author of seventeen bestselling novels and has edited one nonfiction book. She invites readers to visit her website at FranBaker.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Harrison!

Lord Fairchilde’s shout shattered the ominous silence that had seized Webster House since his estate manager had made a hasty exit. But he needn’t have raised his voice. Sensing the desolate mood that was emanating from behind the closed door of the study, the butler had taken his stand in the hallway where he waited upon events.

He hadn’t long to wait. Scarcely a quarter of an hour after he had ushered Mr. Major out into the dreary March rain, the study door flew open. Wearing a maroon morning coat and a thunderous scowl, Lord Fairchilde directed that his grandson and granddaughter along with the visiting Lady Millforte attend him in his study immediately.

I believe Lord Edward has gone out, Harrison replied in cool tones.

Gone out? Lord Fairchilde’s beetling white brows drew down as the dark eyes beneath looked accusingly at his longtime butler.

Yes, sir. I heard him not this half hour past instruct his groom to bring his curricle around.

The devil confound it! Where has that young pup gone at this hour?

Harrison’s countenance remained admirably composed. I regret that I cannot say, sir.

Cannot or will not? bridled Lord Fairchilde.

It wasn’t an unreasonable question. Harrison had known Viscount Edward Preston since he was an extremely mischievous toddler and had been caught out on more than one occasion covering up for his lordship.

The viscount did not see fit to inform me of his destination, sir, he answered equably.

Poppycock! Lord Fairchilde spat out. He’s attending a prizefight or a horse race or something of that sort. 

Harrison reiterated that he could not say, but admitted that he was hard put to imagine anything else that could have gotten his lordship out of bed before noon.

I want him sent to me immediately upon his return, the old lord ordered.

You can depend upon it, Harrison replied. In the meantime, I will inform the ladies’ abigails of your lordship’s instructions.

The summons found Lady Chloe Preston and her late father’s cousin, Lady Electra Millforte, in the breakfast parlor.

You may send word to Lord Fairchilde that Lady Chloe and I will join him on the instant we have finished our meal, Lady Millforte instructed her maid.

The order given, the plump widow began applying butter to a hot muffin. She had never liked being sent for like a schoolroom miss. And even though she was a guest in the baron’s house, having traveled from her small country estate in Sussex, she was there less as a poor relation than as a necessary personage whose services were required to chaperone Chloe in her second London season.

When her maid continued to hesitate timidly in the doorway, understandably reluctant to deliver what must seem a set-down to the old lord, Lady Millforte put her knife down and said sharply, Stop hovering, Martha, and do as you are told.

Yes, m’lady, the maid said, and hurried off to follow her ladyship’s order.

Chloe kept her hands clasped in her lap as she watched the older woman make short work of her lavishly-buttered muffin. She had hardly touched her own breakfast, having lost her appetite when, on her way down to breakfast, she had caught a glimpse of her grandfather’s estate manager departing the Grosvenor Square house. She knew that Mr. Major would not have traveled up from Hampshire, the weather and the roads being what they were, except under the most direful circumstances. Felicitous news could wait upon the weather or the mails. Redoubtable tidings more often could not.

The essence of those tidings, she had realized with a sickening sense of dread, had to do with finances—or rather the lack of them. She didn’t know much about her grandfather’s business dealings, but she knew without being told that her brother and she had been quite the drain upon his resources since their parents died in that long-ago carriage accident.

Edward had a streak of wildness in his character that had led him into a variety of predicaments, mostly monetary. With his propensity for laying wagers on everything from which frog could jump the farthest to how many times a particularly dithering young lady of the ton would giggle in the course of a half hour, it was not surprising that he frequently found himself in dun territory. Nor was it surprising that Lord Fairchilde was often in a choleric mood as a result of his grandson’s latest tangle.

And then there was Chloe’s dressmaker’s bill, which was known to be shockingly overdue. Recently Lady Jersey, attended by a bevy of ambitious mamas at Almack’s, had been overheard to remark that Lady Chloe had worn the same gown to two ton parties during the past month. True, the daunting patroness had been considerate enough to add that such a black-haired, gray-eyed beauty as Chloe Preston had less need of an extensive wardrobe than many of the season’s marriageable misses.

But the damage had been done. The news had traveled through all the London houses of the quality in a matter of days. Soon it was common knowledge that Lady Chloe Preston had no fortune. 

I expect we had better go without further delay, Cousin Electra, she said now. Grandfather’s mood these past few days is nothing to cavil at.

Lady Millforte gave her a speaking glance before helping herself to a piece of toasted bread which she slathered with pear marmalade. "I hardly need remind you, Chloe, that I do not find the necessary demands of London social life particularly soothing to my mood either. I cannot think how anyone can prefer it to country living."

She cast a pointed look at the half-eaten muffin on Chloe’s plate. Nor can I conceive what can be gained by putting Cook into a great taking because we have not eaten her meal.

I suppose you may be right, Chloe said even as she pushed her plate away. And, of course, it is generous above all things of you to come up to London again when I know how you could not wait to get back home after last season. She dimpled prettily. It was most disappointing, I expect, not to get me married off during my come-out year.

Fiddle! Lady Millforte waved her hand dismissively. You are just coming on twenty, still young to marry in my opinion. Although I am not sure that many women of the ton would agree with me. One imagines they feel that since a woman must marry in any case, the sooner the better. I daresay you will have to marry soon enough. Few of us are fortunate enough to be allowed to go our own way alone if we so choose.

Chloe’s eyes widened in surprise. Why, Cousin Electra, you sound almost as if you regret your own marriage, as if it was not happy.

Lady Millforte fixed her with a stare. "What is that to the purpose? A marriage must be suitable, but whether it is happy or not is of little consequence in the majority of unions with which I am acquainted. To say the truth, Lord Millforte and I were together for such a short time—just a little over a year, and that nearly twenty years ago—that I cannot remember if I felt happy. I was well enough satisfied, I expect, and since then the life of a country widow has come to suit me admirably. Of course, being a widow is more acceptable in the eyes of society than being one of those poor, piteous creatures who was never able to catch a husband."

"So you own I am not quite at my last prayers, Chloe said with a wry chuckle. Though what gentleman will have me without a fortune, I cannot imagine."

One who is not in need of any fortune other than his own, my dear, Lady Millforte replied with candor.

Neither woman referred to the two offers Chloe had turned down during her first London season, both of them from perfectly respectable young gentlemen who were looking to repair their fortunes.

Finished eating, Lady Millforte pressed a snowy napkin to her lips and said, Shall we join your grandfather now?

When they had been admitted to the study, the baron went immediately on the attack.

Are you ladies quite sure you can spare me this little time? he inquired in a gruff tone. His frown deepened as he took in his granddaughter’s pert nose, arching black brows, and dark-lashed gray eyes, all of which were enchantingly set off by a gold-colored morning dress of French merino.

Ignoring his creased brow, that young lady skirted around the desk and kissed his lined cheek. Of course, we can spare you as much time as you wish, Grandfather. Had we known your business was urgent we would not have stayed to finish our breakfast.

"Though what can be so urgent as to have to be discussed before breakfast, I cannot think," Lady Millforte said with a sniff as she sat down in a convenient chair and settled her skirts about her ample body.

Lord Fairchilde shot her a dark look and, motioning Chloe to another chair, began to pace back and forth across the Turkish carpet behind his desk. I suppose it is too much to expect that either of you knows where Edward is?

Do you mean he has risen from his bed and gone out already? Chloe felt a sense of indefinable alarm at her grandfather’s grim demeanor. What has he done to put you in such a fret?

I am not in a fret, miss! fretted Lord Fairchilde, coming from behind the desk to pace in front of the fireplace. But I would like to know where I might locate that rattle-pate when a family crisis arises. I cannot conceive how such a cork-brained pup can be my grandson. He stopped pacing long enough to glare at Lady Millforte. Takes after his father’s side of the family, I daresay.

Unless I mistake the matter, retorted that indignant lady, his mother’s side of the family boasts a few crack-skulls of its own.

Family crisis, Grandfather? Chloe intervened, perceiving that, for once, the baron was not in a pucker over something her brother had done. Indeed, she realized that her earlier sense of apprehension had been spot on. This has to do with what Mr. Major told you, doesn’t it? Oh, I knew it had to be something very grave to bring him up from the country.

Lord Fairchilde stopped pacing again and returned to the desk to draw the unpaid dressmaker’s bill from the drawer. Shaking it at Lady Millforte, he inquired, By all that’s wonderful, madam, what are you preparing the girl for—the Prince Regent’s court? I know the royal dukes are in search of wives, but I hardly think Chloe is under consideration.

I certainly hope I am not! Chloe exclaimed. "They are all so very old. She got to her feet to peer at the bill her grandfather held. Gracious! That does seem an exorbitant amount."

Lady Millforte met his lordship’s angry stare with a stubborn one of her own. Surely, sir, you cannot expect the girl to go into society in such unadorned gowns as she was used to wearing in the country. A dottier notion I never heard! Such a blot on one’s reputation could never be overcome.

I daresay she is right, Chloe said in a conciliatory tone.

"Furthermore, Lady Millforte continued in high dudgeon, Chloe’s wardrobe is quite sparse compared to most of the young ladies with whom she must constantly be compared. A girl with no fortune must needs present a respectable appearance or there is no hope at all of her being offered for. Not that I care a fig for that, but I collect you do, Lord Fairchilde, else why have we come up for the season at all?" Having made her case, Lady Millforte fell silent, seemingly prepared to wait as long as necessary for Lord Fairchilde’s acquiescence in the matter.

To both the ladies’ surprise, the baron neither agreed nor disagreed with the widow’s assessment of the situation. Instead, he seated himself behind the desk and, laying aside the dressmaker’s bill, assumed an expression that in anyone less proud-spirited might have been described as dejected.

Well, that is neither here nor there, he said with a wave of his hand. I must insist that there be no more dressmaker bills. It may even be necessary to dispose of this house and return to Hampshire before the season is over.

Lady Millforte looked taken aback by his statement. Oh, that is putting it a little too strong, sir.

He turned glowering eyes upon her. I assure you, madam, I do not have much choice in the matter. Mr. Major has informed me that the failure of our last two corn crops has left me in possession of hardly a farthing to bless myself with. I see no other solution than to sell this house as it is not entailed while the Hampshire estate is.

Then that is just what we shall do, Chloe said in her usual impulsive manner. I care little for society, Grandfather, and would be quite happy to pass the remainder of my days in Hampshire.

This announcement caused the other two to look with some amazement at the girl, for until that moment she had given every appearance of enjoying herself immensely in London.

Where, I daresay, you intend marrying the stableboy or one of the innkeeper’s want-witted sons! Lady Millforte reproached her. But it will not do. She glanced at Lord Fairchilde now, directing her appeal to him. Surely you, sir, can see that. If I may put it bluntly—

When have you ever put an opinion any other way? he groused.

I shall let that pass since I intend making no apologies for speaking my mind, she snapped. It is as plain as a pikestaff that your granddaughter is your most valuable asset in the present circumstances—provided she remains in London.

The baron’s eyes narrowed consideringly as he pondered that last remark, and he fell into an abstracted silence for a moment. Then he stirred and said, Dashed if you aren’t right for once, madam!

Not that these things can be rushed, Lord Fairchilde. Lady Millforte appeared to be having second thoughts about his ready acceptance of her suggestion. If it should fall out that Chloe does not make a suitable match this season, why I collect there will be another corn crop before next year. She is, after all, not yet twenty.

But Chloe had no such qualms. Quickly grasping her importance in the matter at hand, she fell in with her grandfather, for she could see that the notion had eased some of the worry lines in his forehead.

Well, then, there is an end to our troubles, she declared. I shall marry a rich husband before the season is out.

Famous! Lord Fairchilde beamed at his granddaughter. Sensible girl. Takes after my side of the family.

The two of you are running ahead a great deal too fast, Lady Millforte cautioned. I only meant to suggest that Chloe has a right to a life in society—not that she should be sold forthwith to the highest bidder!

But, of course, I shall be, Chloe argued, not the least dampened by her cousin’s cynical rejoinder. Isn’t that the purpose of a girl’s come-out? She is put on display so that the gentlemen of the ton may look her over and decide if she is worth an offer—very like the cattle at Tattersall’s.

Lord Fairchilde gave a disconcerted little cough at this, but did not disagree.

You see, Grandfather, she continued, hardly faltering, you need not cudgel your brain over the matter of money any longer. Only explain to the dressmaker and the tailor and our other creditors that payment will be forthcoming within a short time.

Lord Fairchilde settled back in his chair, a faint expression of worry overshadowed by the bloom of hope on his face.

Lady Millforte fixed the baron with a baleful stare. This is outside of enough, sir! Only conceive what you are doing, encouraging that child to throw herself at the first wealthy gentleman who shows an interest in her, regardless of how well they shall go on together.

How came you to be so missish, madam? he rejoined, clearly stung by her criticism. What else is the season for? Oh, I will own we generally put it more delicately. But Chloe is right, you know. It is little more than an auction, only of young ladies rather than horseflesh.

Lady Millforte threw up her hands in a gesture of dismay.

Now if I may be excused, Chloe said, her mind awhirl as she made for the door. I must go and decide which of my gowns would be best to wear to the Linwoods’ ball tomorrow night. It seems I must start my campaign without delay.

Chapter 2

Chloe was abovestairs with her maid, looking over her ball gowns, when voices below told her that her brother had returned. She flung a pretty pink gown across her bed, saying, "This one will be just the thing, Sylvie. I seem to remember that one of the flounces needs mending, but you are so very good with the needle that poses no problem. I haven’t worn it since early last season, so perhaps no one will remember it.

Sylvie surveyed the gown with an expert eye. An added bit of lace here and there would make it look different.

Wonderful idea. Chloe glanced toward the door. I will leave it in your capable hands. But now I must hurry down and speak to Eddie before he goes in to Grandfather. She left the bedchamber in a flurry of gold-colored skirts.

Descending the stairs, she saw her brother handing his caped driving coat and beaver to Harrison. Lord Edward Preston was a slender, dashingly handsome young man with curly hair of the same inky color as his sister’s and eyes tending more toward blue than hers. Although he was a year older than she, Chloe’s bosom harbored a strong maternal feeling toward him. This was, no doubt, the result of Lord Edward’s being sickly as a young child while she had always been the image of robust health. She used to sit beside his sickbed, telling stories and playing games to keep him pacified so that he would not overexert himself, which was his wont, and bring on more symptoms.

Eddie, she said in a low but urgent voice as she reached the front hall. I must speak to you before you see Grandfather. Does he know of your arrival as yet?

Harrison turned from the ebony wardrobe where he had placed the viscount’s coat and beaver. I was about to announce him, Lady Chloe.

No, wait— She cast a worried glance toward the closed study door.

I do not think that Lord Fairchilde will wish to be kept waiting any longer, Harrison warned her. I do not care for a rake-down, either.

If anyone receives a rake-down, she replied, I daresay it will not be you.

Well, look here, Chloe, the viscount said, looking very grim for such a usually carefree gentleman. Might as well brave the old lion in his den. Get it over with, whatever it is.

Not until I speak with you, Chloe insisted and, laying hold of the sleeve of her brother’s tailored kerseymere coat, pulled him toward the green salon. Harrison, she added, casting the butler an imploring look, I am sure you will know what to say to Grandfather if he emerges before Eddie and I have finished our talk.

Harrison looked as if he might disagree, but then he straightened his shoulders