Historical Romance: Gaining The Gentleman A Duke's Game Regency Romance: Wardington Park, #3

By Eleanor Meyers

Fate has finally found her door...

 

Lady Christa Eatson has given up on the hope of love and marriage.

So instead, she'll have to find other ways to entertain herself...

 

Her entire world is turned upside down the day she agrees to help an old friend on a scavenger hunt for a hidden jewel through Mayfair.

But what seems like an innocent adventure quickly reveals itself to be a mystery full of murder, courtesans, and their carnal inclinations.

 

But nothing is more shocking than the man who comes to her aid…

 

Joseph Croftman – He has a dark past, but her childish crush for the man has never quite left her heart.

 

As one of London's wealthiest men, Joseph Croftman has the means to pick any wife he wishes, but the women of the Ton seem all alike. Selfish gossips wrapped silk skirts.

 

He's ready to settle down, but knows he'll never find a love match... that is until Lady Christa slowly begins to change his mind. 

 

When their paths cross, Joseph is intrigued to see a different Christa…

She is no longer an annoying little girl, but a woman with a mind just as enchanting as her form.

What starts out as chance to simply help find a piece of jewelry, quickly changes into a love that can last a lifetime. 

 

But can Christa truly trust this man with her heart?

And if she does, can they manage to survive the darkness that walks the streets of Mayfair?

 

The book is a full-length regency romance in the historical romance genre.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eleanor Meyers
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393710394

Eleanor Meyers

Eleanor Meyers is a hopeless romantic who believes that one should breathe and live on love. She is especially intrigued by the love tales of the Regency era due to the juxtaposition of tradition and love in a very stylistic fashion. At a young age, she is inspired by the works of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer.  There is a strong romantic appeal about that era and it is Eleanor’s desire that readers will take time to come away with her through her writings and immerse oneself in that time when love was so pure and intense. In Eleanor’s writings, there is a pragmatic display of human’s imperfections; hence characters who may be flawed in certain ways. In the midst of dealing with one’s imperfections, a couple found love, found hope in each other and in God. Eleanor incorporated messages of redemption, forgiveness and sometimes inner deliverances from the bondages that so held a character for so long. It is her belief that no matter how seemingly hopeless one’s situation might be, there will always be hope. They key is to wait and to believe and to hold on. So come away with her and be enthralled in the beautiful Regency era!

Book preview

prologue

*   *   *

Oakley, England

February 1826

He’d never accepted his place in the beau monde in life, but in death, Albion Kay III, the fifth Duke of Oakley, was being laid to rest like a king. There’d been no expense spared for the man everyone had loved and a small, parade-like memorial had gathered through the streets of the small town of Oakley. Every business had closed for the day, and every man in this boating town had come outside to watch their lordship taken toward the place where his corpse would rest.

Women, of course, were not allowed at the funeral, but all the men had come, no matter their rank or class . . . as if those things had ever mattered to Albion. He’d been tall and loud; most of Society had called him a madman. They’d said the same of his father. People had whispered that he was more Viking than gentleman, which was quite appropriate. There had been a twinkle in his handsome eyes that always looked ready to plunder. He’d been a good man, but also Martin Dawnton’s, the Duke of Wardington, friend. He was also his brother-in-law. Martin’s wife, Ellen, had had two brothers. Her youngest brother, Harcourt, and his wife had caught cholera and died a few years ago and now Albion III was joining his siblings. The last male of the Kay family stood closest to his father’s casket. Albion IV’s back was straight, his dark eyes fixed on the elaborately made box that held his father’s body. He was the new Duke of Oakley and with the way that the crowd looked at him with compassion, Wardington believed he’d do well.

The end of the sermon finally came, and everyone from the family proceeded toward the manor. To Wardington’s left was his son, Andrew, the Marquess of Clariant, and to his right was another of his sons, Lord Nathaniel. One was missing.

Is he here? Wardington asked the pair.

Nathaniel shook his head. His nose and cheeks had gone red from the cold and the blond curls at his nape blew in the wind, yet he held himself like a Dawnton, defying the chill in the air as he artfully pulled his coat closer to himself. No. I told you he wouldn’t come. Something flickered in his green eyes before he turned away. But Wardington caught the message. He was to blame for Mark’s absence.

He sighed. I would never throw a woman at him at his uncle’s funeral.

Andrew grunted, which seemed like an attempt to cover what would have been an inappropriate laugh. Come now, Father. I could hear you now. ‘With all this death, we must focus on life, and what better a life than with a wife and children?’

Wardington quickly looked away. He was right. Even now, he’d have tried to arrange Mark in a marriage. It was all he thought about and not for his own benefit, but because he wished all his sons happy. He smiled at the two on either side of him. Married with their own children, they were happy. You both fought against love in the beginning, but look at you now.

The two men looked at him. So different, but with the same Dawnton features. Blond hair, green eyes, and a bone structure that made women swoon.

Nathaniel asked with a chuckle, How many times must we thank you for our good fortune?

Until I am satisfied.

Andrew rolled his eyes. Only Mark’s marriage will bring that. I’ve a mind to help you in your scheme if only to get you off my hide.

Good, it’s about time you took your coming duke responsibilities seriously.

Andrew’s eyes widened. You’re not ill, are you?

Wardington laughed. No, I simply mean that as duke, the care for your family’s success is important.

Nathaniel sighed. I do not envy Albion.

They all looked toward the new duke with worry. While Albion’s father had only one heir, his uncle, Harcourt, had four. All women. All unmarried.

Nathaniel was closest to his cousin, because of his uncle’s extensive collection of old literature and plays. He’d even brought his wife, Amy, up a few times in the past, which she’d really enjoyed. Later that year, the two were planning a trip to see more culture and art. Albion won’t let anyone know it, but he’s on the verge of going mad with those girls.

He’ll have to reenter Society, Wardington said. It’s the only way.

Andrew shivered, but not from the cold. I don’t think the world is ready for them. The Kay family was not . . . traditional.

No, they were not. And Mark took after his mother’s side more than Wardington’s. His habit of being found without his shoes or misplacing his cravats showed his disregard for the rules of decency. And then there were his fixations on things that most people cared little for. Mark had chosen science. His uncles? Harcourt had collected the teeth of sea predators while Albion’s father had lived for anything from the middle ages. He collected armor and weapons. Oakley even hosted an annual medieval tournament that some of the peerage enjoyed attending. There was jousting, archery, and hammer throwing. Albion IV had competed last year, winning at almost everything. Wardington had had a grand time.

They finally entered the house, and the heat broke through Wardington’s coat and suit, warming him to the very bone. The three men were shown to the sitting room, where Albion’s females sat. Four brunette heads turned their way, and Wardington was once again amazed at how much they looked like their aunt. They all had her eyes. Large and brown with a slight tilt on the sides. But their hair, unlike Ellen’s solid brown waves, was a mixture of browns and golds.

They stood when Wardington and his sons entered.

Madelene, the eldest, curtseyed before coming over and giving them hugs. Uncle. Cousins.

Her younger sisters, Margarete, Maria, and Marianne followed suit. There were sad smiles on their faces as if they were lost. Their leader, a man who’d stepped in to be their father after their own had died, was now also dead.

Madelene said, We’re so glad you could come.

Wardington gave her a smile. Out of all of them, he was closest to her. She’d stepped up and become lady of the house and mother to her younger sisters. She was also a great beauty, and he’d heard that many a wealthy man had asked for her hand and found themselves denied. He wondered what she was waiting for. If you need anything, you need only ask.

Madelene smiled. I’m glad you say so, because—

Uncle, a voice called from behind.

Wardington turned to see Albion in the doorway.

May I have a word? Then he headed down the hallway, not waiting for Wardington’s reply, already comfortable with ruling in his dukedom. It was the sort of move Wardington pulled when he wished his request not be denied. You couldn't say no to a man who was already gone.

I’ll be but a moment, he told Madelene before leaving the room. He found Albion in the study, standing over his father’s oversized desk. And he looked just like the man. Tall, bulky, and with a long, dark beard. The beard would have to go.

I’ll get to the point, Albion said. I know my grandfather is rolling in his grave at these words, but I need your help to enter the Kay family back into Society once more. I’ve spoken to Nathaniel and understand you’ve the most authority when it comes to the ton.

Wardington crossed his arms. Well, I wouldn’t say that. Though actually, he would. Everyone owed him something. It was how he kept most people in line. But, he never wished to come off too proud. Though, I do know some people who could help. One woman came to mind immediately. The dowager, Abigail, but he banished the thought before he could go wild with it. Her blonde hair. Those shimmering blue eyes. He cleared his throat. Anything you need.

Excellent. Then Albion walked over and held out a stack of papers. But I will owe you nothing. You will take these, and we will be even.

Wardington stared down at the stack of papers. What are they?

Something you wish to have. Albion’s dark eyes were so certain of that fact that Wardington was almost ready to agree blindly.

His gaze moved to the papers again. The name Ellen jumped out of the writing. And so did Mark. Something clicked in his mind. Wardington reached for it, but Albion pulled it away at the last second.

We are even.

Wardington narrowed his eyes, then he shook his head. Albion, I’m your uncle. I’d do anything for you . . . But there are five of you who must reenter Society. That’s heavy work . . . I will count that stack as one of you—

At least the four girls—

No, as their duke, you too must reenter. I’ll count the stack for two of you.

Albion narrowed his eyes. Three.

Three. Wardington held out his hand.

Albion smiled and gave him the papers. Done. I’ll owe you two.

Wardington was hardly listening as he read through the papers. Yes! Yes! His mind was racing with possibilities. He glanced up. Reentering this year would be too soon.  We—

Albion shook his head. Not now. My cousins know nothing about the rules. We need time to prepare. We’ll need a governess. Next year is better.

Yes, Wardington agreed, his blood pumping with excitement. Next year. Everything would happen next year.

*   *   *

chapter 1

*   *   *

London

June 1826

Lady Christa Eaton bounced little Lord Byron upon her knee, believing she’d never seen a more precious child in her life. Her own smile grew as her nephew began to grin up at her, his pale-blue eyes widening as he began to speak in his made up language. She ran her fingers through his soft, midnight strands. Only nine months old and her brother Levi’s son had efficiently and effortlessly stolen Christa’s heart. She couldn’t get enough of him, and her stomach rolled at the thought of never having her own child.

She was getting up in age. Twenty-five. Thanks to her travels of the Continent a few years ago, she missed her marriage years in order to get away from her home life . . . but in the end, the sacrifice had all been worth it. She’d found herself once she’d left the finery of London and the shallow life it offered those who could afford it. Away from the city and its customs, the well-to-do Christa had found peace. And a new direction. She wasn’t getting married.

My lady.

Looking up, she saw her butler. Yes?

Lady June Haywood is here to see you.

June? Her heart jumped as the nursemaid came to take Byron from her arms. What could June want with her? Years ago, the two girls had been best friends, but ever since Christa’s return, she’d found herself outside her old circle of friends. It had been a cruel circle, whose only purpose had been to flirt with young men and put other young women down. Christa had been its leader once, but upon her return to England, she’d found that June had taken her place as head of their friends. Christa had been glad to be done with them. She no longer had anything in common with the women and had even received her own painful licks from their sharp tongues. But Christa had ended that quickly, using her own quick wit to put them back in their place. She may have changed, but that didn’t make her weak or a target for their games.

Leaving the nursery, she went down the long hall and couldn’t help but gaze out of the dozens of windows as she passed. Fine carriages created traffic on Grosvenor Street, while men and women walked merrily throughout the gray day. London was such a dreary place. She missed the sunrises in Greece and the sunsets in Italy. She missed the warmth of the afternoons, but most of all she missed the quiet.

Upon the other wall that had been painted a soft yellow were pictures of all the men of her lineage. The dukes of Hensman that went back seven generations. She paused at the last portrait, commissioned just two years ago. Her brother, Levi Eaton, stared at her from the painting. He was a handsome man with pale eyes and black hair like herself. But what truly made him beautiful was his heart. Never before had a Duke of Hensman been so kind in nature . . . but then, Levi was no ordinary duke.

Leaving the hall, she came into the sitting room to find June looking into a floral vase by the window. Whatever could she be looking for?

Lady Christa, the butler announced before retreating.

June turned around and smiled brightly. Christa! Her arms went wide as she approached, her feet quickly eating up the Venetian rug between them.

Christa let herself be wrapped in June’s hug and found herself more confused than ever. Hello, she managed to get out, using the little air that was left in her lungs.

June pulled away, still smiling genuinely at her. You look gorgeous. She was a very pretty girl. Honey-blonde hair and stunningly blue eyes. The women were the same age and around the same height. They’d been best friends since before Christa could remember and having June smile at her admittedly set Christa’s heart pounding. She missed their times together . . . before they’d both truly lost their way.

Hello, June, she said as she gestured for the woman to take a seat.

Oh, Christa. I’ve missed you. She took Christa’s hands in her own.

Christa laughed, thinking she must somehow be dreaming. But I’ve been back for two years; once you realized I would not bend to your will, you said I looked like a cow.

June blinked. A baby calf, she corrected.

Christa giggled. They’re the same thing.

But, they’re not! June shouted. Calves can be quite . . . enchanting in their own way.

Christa shook her head. If she wanted an apology, she knew not to go to June for one. Why are you here? When June reeled back, she realized she’d said it much harsher than she’d planned. I mean . . . it’s been years since you’ve come to call.

June’s gaze slid away. I simply wish to . . . renew our friendship.

Oh, how Christa wanted that more than ever. She hadn’t realized just how desperate she’d been for June’s friendship until this moment. We’ve said some pretty nasty things to one another. Things that would make the front page in the gossip column.

I know, but all that is done away with.

And Mary? Christa asked, mentioning a member of their group of friends.

June sighed. Mary is with child.

She married?

No.

Christa gasped.

June rolled her eyes. And trust me, this was not an immaculate conception, my dear. It was a stable boy.

Christa’s hand was on her chest, her heart going out to Mary. Her family must be furious.

Indeed, and because of Mary’s inability to keep her discretions to herself, Georgiana and Louise are forbidden from associating with her. . . or me.

You? Christa asked. Why you?

June shrugged. How am I ever to know? 

A thought niggled at Christa. Whose stable boy was it?

June peeped at her. Oh, you do know me well.

She did. How could she ever have forgotten, even for a moment, who June truly was? It was your stable boy, wasn’t it? Christa asked. You’re only here because every one of your old friends have been forbidden from being seen with you so that their names are not soiled in connection to your stable boy.

A stable boy who has been fired.

I’m all you have left. The thought stung. June didn’t want her because she missed her. She wanted her because she had no other options. Christa took her hands back and stood just as the maid brought in tea. That won’t be necessary. June is leaving.

Oh, Christa. Please don’t.

The maid stood still, poised over the small table in the room, obviously unsure of what to do.

Take away the tea.

Christa. June said her name as almost a plea.

She turned around and saw the anguish in June’s eyes. Tears were building. The woman truly had no one.

Please, she whispered.

Everything in Christa told her to throw the girl out. It would serve her right. It would be well deserved for her to go throughout the rest her life without a shoulder to lean on. That dark part of Christa almost jumped with glee at the prospect. But then she washed the selfish impulse away. She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t right. June needed a friend . . . and perhaps, their friendship could also make June a better person. Was she up for the challenge?

Leave the tray.

Yes, my lady, the maid quickly said before dropping the tray and making a hasty retreat. No doubt, she wanted to leave before Christa could change her mind again.

Turning toward her guest, Christa poured the tea and added milk and sugar, just how June liked it before taking up her own.

The room was silent as the girls sipped their warm drinks. June’s hands were trembling. She’d truly feared Christa throwing her out and the thought that Christa had almost abandoned her made her feel worse.

After a moment, June asked, So, how was your time on the Continent?

Christa eyes became dreamy; she loved talking about her journey. It was wonderful. My aunt took me to Italy, Greece, Ireland—

Spain? June asked over her cup.

Christa brightened even more. We spent more time in Spain than anywhere else. It’s gorgeous there, June. It’s colorful and . . . alive.

Did you learn Spanish? June asked as she put her cup away.

Christa shrugged. Enough to get by. She took another long sip, the tea coating her throat, warming her.

Her old friend smiled wickedly as she bit into a piece of cake. Meet any men? A Spanish duke perhaps?

Christa laughed. Maybe one or two.

June gasped. You have to tell me everything.

There isn’t much to tell. Not even a kiss . . . not that they didn’t try. She looked off longingly. I danced with a few at a ball, amazed by their dark beauty, but more so their accent. Spanish is such a romantic language.

Could you read it if you saw it?

Christa thought upon that for a moment. Besides the Spanish she’d learned as a child, her aunt had given her extensive lessons in the language. I suppose so.

June smiled. Excellent. Wiping her gloved hands, she quickly dug into her pockets and handed Christa a folded letter. Would you be a dear and read this to me?

Christa took the missive and unfolded it. It only took a moment for her to realize that it was a love letter . . . a very private one. She blushed as she read the words to herself. There was no way she would read this aloud. The sender’s and receiver's names were scratched out, which seemed wise if one wanted to keep their privacy. But Christa could tell that the letter was from a man to his secret female