Historical Romance: Tales of a Viscount A High Society Regency Romance: Heirs of High Society, #3

By Eleanor Meyers

Lady Rachel Lush has spent her Seasons as a wallflower.

 

After a tragedy leaves her brokenhearted, she sets a course for Spinsterhood.

Being alone means no one can hurt you.

 

But her mind begins to change when a man from her past returns… A soldier who can protect her.

 

Reuben Smith… or rather Lord Eastridge… may have earned his title while fighting for England, but at night, when he removes his mask, she sees the man beneath.

 

A bastard and former footman turned viscount.

Very few are able to ignore his common blood. 

 

However, Lady Rachel sees his soul.

 

She alone understands the pauper and the prince are one man.

And while he tries to distance himself at balls, the dangerous dark streets of London will force them together.

Protecting Rachel is something he knows he can do, but denying his growing feelings becomes just as tiring as pretending to fit into civilized Society. 

 

In the end, will Rachel be able to turn her pauper into a prince?

Or will Society force them to be forever apart?

 

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

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eleanor Meyers
• Release date: Oct 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393177616

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

*   *   *

October, 1795

London, England

It amazes me how a child can turn out so very similar to their parents without any influence whatsoever. That’s the power of blood. And sadly, while many of my children will inherit the very finest attributes of their parents, some may inherit the darker parts.

I’ve yet to glimpse a darkness in Reuben.

He’s ten, and already he’s decided the course for his life. He wishes to be a soldier, and I must admit that he’ll make a very fine protector. I’ve watched the way he stands guard for Alexandra, and takes care of Rose as though she were his very own. Even now, he sits with me in my study, his dark head bent, as he rocks the sickly infant to sleep. Whenever another child comes around, behaving wildly or being boisterous, all Reuben must do is give them a look, and they vanish.

That look is one I’ve seen the Duke of Yall give to another lord on more than one occasion. Father and son will take separate courses in life, but I’ve no doubt that Reuben will be just as much a leader of men, as the Duke of Yall.

But what stands out to me most, is the gentleness I glimpse in him. From whence did it come? His mother? How I’d have loved to meet the woman, God rest her soul.

Either way, I will nurture that gentleness as much as I can, and pray that when he grows up, he will nurture it in others.

For that is the true duty of my station. To give, and thus, create givers.

-From the Diary of Mary Elizabeth Best

* * *

February, 1817

Shall I introduce you to Lord Eastridge, my dear?

Rachel Lush looked into the Earl of Woodley’s knowing eyes and groaned. She’d been caught staring once again. The teasing that lit up his face took twenty years from his appearance. At forty-seven, he’d hardly aged in the last decade, both physically and mentally. Charles Lush enjoyed playing the dandy at times. He had the heart of a young man, full of laughter and good cheer, but was as sly as a fox when he wished to be.

She turned away. Playing with the high collar of her dress, she answered in a low voice, That won’t be necessary. The noise in the dining room drowned out their conversation even from the rest of the guests at their table. Laughter, music, and the clinking of silverware and champagne glasses rang out, as the ladies and gentlemen dined on the extravagant breakfast. Rose has already promised to do so, herself. The last thing she wanted was for her father to embarrass her, by introducing her to the man she’d been thinking about more and more, as time went on.

Besides, introductions weren’t actually necessary, since Rachel had known him before he’d become a lord, but that was long ago.

Woodley patted his daughter’s hand and bent his gray head toward hers. Today is Rose’s wedding. Surely, she’d be far too distracted to remember such things as promised introductions.

Rachel hoped not, and yet at the same time...

Was she truly ready to move on? It had been nearly six years since her fiancé, Lord Stacy’s, death. Many forgot she’d ever been engaged, and yet, Rachel hadn’t. She had been fifteen when she’d become engaged to Stacy, and sixteen when he’d died in a riding accident. And though seven years had passed since then, no man had ever interested Rachel.

Until last year, when Reuben Smith had returned to her life.

Once a footman in their home, he’d returned from war a colonel and a lord. 

Lady Rachel, one of the Anns called to her. Anna and Annie were a pair of sisters who looked like twins, but were in fact, not, though Rachel had no clue who was the eldest. They both had pale brown hair and striking blue eyes.

Anna, Rachel thought, leaned toward her.

Your dress, it’s quite becoming on you. It makes you very darling. Anna gave a snide smile. Why, you look all of twelve.

Rachel stiffened, as the blow hit her squarely in the heart.

Annie giggled, lifting a hand to show her diamond bracelet, a gift from her fiancé, who was a duke’s son— a third son— but a blue-blooded man, nonetheless.

Darling. It was what Stacy had called her. His darling.

He’d liked her this way, innocent and gentle, and yet over the last year, such endearments had begun to irritate her. For the first time, she realized she didn’t want to be darling. She wanted to be...

She didn’t know what, but definitely not that. And she was a woman, not a twelve-year-old! She knew Anna was teasing. She knew she didn’t look that young, though on more than one occasion, someone had, in fact, thought her closer to sixteen than twenty-two.

She thought to mention to Anna how gracefully and  well she seemed to be aging, but then decided against it. She would not be pulled into the Ann games.

Anna asked, Did Lord Obenshire say where he was taking Lady Rose for their wedding trip? Her eyes were hopeful, but Rachel knew there to be no kindness in the look. Instead, she hoped that Obenshire would elect to keep his wife home, not wishing him to spend so much time alone with his new bride.

She glanced up to find the woman in question. Rose stood unashamedly close to her groom, an act that would not serve to ease her way into Society, but Rose didn’t care, for she’d married the man of her dreams, and that was all that mattered.

Rachel smiled at Ann. They’re heading to the Continent for two months. They’ll see Italy and Greece. Barely a servant will accompany them, Obenshire wishes to have her all to himself. And Rachel would miss her friend.

Oh. Anna frowned and leaned away, before turning to whisper to her sister.

She didn’t have to wonder why such people had been invited to the celebration. The Anns were the daughters of a marquess. But neither Rose nor Obenshire seemed to care what anyone thought.

The groom, Lord Obenshire, looked just as pleased as his wife, as he stood with his hand on her lower back, introducing Rose as his countess. Everyone who stood to be received offered her smiles, but Rachel took note that more than one woman turned away with obvious disapproval in their eyes.

Obenshire was an earl only by his father’s courtesy, but was actually set to one day take on a dukedom. Many families had hoped he would choose one of their daughters for wife, but all had been disappointed when he’d married Rose Smith, a woman who’d grown up in an orphanage.

A bastard, they whispered.

And it made little difference that her father was, in fact, the Marquess of Stonewhire, or that the marquess doted on the girl and had given her a handsome fortune. She’d been born outside his marriage, and thus, would never be good enough.

This was not to say all the blue-blooded families thought this way, but there were many who did, and in the last few weeks, a few had become very vocal about it.

Rose had not been the first illegitimate child to claim one of England’s most powerful titles. Rose’s sister Alexandra— who was not her sister by blood, but by a shared history, and who Rachel counted a friend as well— had also married well and was now a countess.

The ton feared a trend was being set. Lords and ladies alike feared what would happen if commoners thought to rise above their station. They’d even given themselves a name. The Blue Blood Coalition. The group stood firmly against the rise of paupers to prosperity.

Who would iron their clothes, or make their tea, if everyone married wealthy? And more importantly, who would their precious daughters marry if all the Beau Monde men claimed paupers?

Rachel laughed whenever such a conversation was started around her, because she, an earl’s daughter, had found herself thinking more and more about a man who’d once been nothing more than a servant.

Her gaze moved across the room from the Obenshire pair, to find the man who’d left her for a great many years, yet had never truly left her thoughts.

Reuben.

She smiled at just the thought of his name, and had to fight to hide her smile. It was such a silly thing that a man’s name could cause her to blush. What was coming over her? She watched, smiling, as he escorted Lady Davis away from the newly wedded couple and toward her seat. Lady Davis walked with the aid of a cane in one hand, and Reuben’s arm on the other.

Rachel gripped the sturdy table, and knew that Reuben’s arm was likely firmer than the wood. He was tall and toned and built like a fighter, with hands so large she wondered if his gloves were specially made to fit his long fingers. His physique had likely served him well in the military, and, combined with his intelligence, it was no wonder he’d become a Colonel in less than six years.

He’d returned home a hero. Everyone said he’d tracked Napoleon, found him, and brought him to justice. He’d been pinned with the Garter Star, a special commendation that made him one of His Majesty’s personal advisors, and finally was handed a title, by power of letters patent. Viscount of Eastridge. The title had fallen into disuse after the family’s lineage died, many years ago. Now, Reuben’s family would carry it, and more than one blue-blooded daughter wanted to be the one to carry that seed.

And not for the title alone.

He may have started life as a commoner, but there was absolutely nothing common about the man’s looks. Dark thick brows and lashes, golden skin, and a flash of perfect porcelain white teeth, whenever one managed to get him to smile. She couldn’t see his eyes at this distance, but she’d memorized them, long ago. They were a green so brilliant, it was as if God had mixed colors and proclaimed the dynamic hue would be used for nothing but the most vibrant summer fields and Reuben’s eyes. She’d never seen the color before, or since.

One should blink to avoid drying out their eyes, her father murmured.

Rachel closed her eyes and laughed. Then she shook her head. It was her own fault that Woodley now had the tools to tease her whenever he felt the need. She’d confessed her growing feelings for the man, much like she told him everything.

But more than anything, she knew her father was simply happy that Rachel was once again thinking of placing herself on the marriage market.

Rachel.

She looked up to find Rose staring down at her, her blue eyes wide with excitement. Blond curls slid down her cheek from her position, framing her pretty face. Come. It’s time.

Time? Rose hadn’t forgotten, then.

Rachel looked around and noticed more than a few eyes on them, which made sense, since Rose was the bride, and the day was about her. Such facts would not be missed by the wealth of gems she wore, or the jewels that made her dress glitter like the sun. Rachel had been with her when the dress had been created. Lord Stonewhire had spared no expense.

A glance around the room showed Obenshire speaking to a group of men, and drawing his own attention.

Good luck, her father whispered.

Rachel smiled at him and stood, but her heart fell to her stomach and made her uneasy. Perhaps her father had been right, and it would have been better for her to have allowed him to do the introductions. Reuben had been their footman at one point, anyway, and at times, they’d treated him like family.

You won’t need luck. Rose took her arm. You look quite adorable in that dress.

Adorable!

Rachel knew Rose was not trying to offend, but that didn’t stop her from feeling vexed. The blue gown with its high collar and puffed sleeves was one of her favorites, fitting her well, and making her look taller. She took the anger and let it wash away her fear, as they started in the opposite direction of Reuben.

Rose explained, We’ll circle the room, so that it won’t be too obvious who our destination is.

Rachel breathed easier, liking that idea very much. The two linked arms and nodded their heads to a few people who caught their eye.

I envy your relationship with your father, Rose said, as though her own father didn’t treasure her.

Rachel rubbed her arm, knowing what her friend meant. While Rose was very much adored by the man who’d given life to her, she had only come to know Stonewhire to be her father, for less than a year.

A letter that had been written by Rose’s caretaker had found its way to the papers, and exposed the truth. But while Rose hadn’t known who her father was, she had known Stonewhire. He’d been the one to secure Rose a position at one of his circulating libraries’ many locations, and had ensured she never went hungry while at the orphanage. He’d cared for her from afar, but only when the secret was revealed, was their bond truly formed.

Look at your father, Rachel said. He’s quite proud of you.

Rose looked to where her father flirted shamelessly with an older and very attractive widow, who seemed to be very much invested in whatever their conversation was about. Rose looked at Rachel. He can’t help himself. He’s far too attractive for his own good. Then she changed the subject. What are the guests saying about me? she asked, never worried for herself, but for her husband.

Rachel sighed. Oh, well, you and Obenshire are likely the most handsome couple in the room. They speculate if your sons will get your fair hair or his dark locks. And your dress... She paused for affect. It lights up the room and is very becoming for a future duchess. I say, it is something that will never be forgotten. Girls will be comparing their wedding gowns to yours for at least the next decade. It may be a good option to think of framing such a creation and placing it inside a museum.

Rose narrowed her eyes, though her mouth had split into a grin. "I didn’t ask what you were saying. I asked what ‘they’ were saying."

Rachel shrugged. Well, since I am partially a ‘they,’ I think my comments count. Rose didn’t need to think a moment on the ugliness of the ton. It was a happy day, and Rachel would only do that which would help brighten the occassion.

Rose laughed, and then sighed. Thank you. You are a wonderful friend. She whispered her next words, But you’d make a better sister.

Rachel’s heart stuttered in her chest. Reuben, like Alex, was Rose’s brother, and they, along with their other brothers, Nash and Christmas, had all grown up together at the Mary Elizabeth Best Home in Paddington, which was just north of Hyde Park, and east of Mayfair.

One of the young earls Rachel knew waved at her from across the room, and she smiled in reply.

Rose whispered in her ear, If you don’t marry my brother, you’ve many options.

True, but Rachel’s heart was set.

Rose suddenly came to a stop. Reuben!

Rachel lifted her gaze, until she met Reuben’s. His smile was genuine. She struggled to breathe as she stared up into the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Reuben had such hard masculine beauty, that comparing him to Stacy’s rather boyish looks didn’t seem fair. She had no clue what her own face was doing, but prayed she didn’t embarrass herself.

This was it. After six years of war and one year of Rachel avoiding him out of pure fear, they were to meet again at last. She was no longer that little girl he’d known. She was twenty-two. He was thirty-two. Sure, there was quite a division in age, but that made little difference to most of Society. He was a lord. She was a lady, and for the first time in a very long time, her blood rushed with one sensation after another.

Rose went on. Reuben, I’d like you to meet—

I know exactly who she is, Rose. Reuben’s smile grew, and he took Rachel’s hand without her offering it, engulfing her small one in his own. His lips didn’t touch her hand, but his breath warmed her through the fabric. Little Rachel, he said, using the name he’d once called her. You’ve grown into quite a pretty young lady.

Rachel smiled so wide that her face slightly ached, but there was nothing she could do about it. She’d lost all control of her body since the moment she met his eyes. That green gaze held the power to command soldiers, the attention of kings, and her very breath.

She felt ready to faint, or burst from the inside out. It felt like a million butterflies had broken out underneath her skin and she would fly to the sky. Yes, fainting sound very pleasant at the moment, so long as Reuben was there to catch her.

Had there ever been a man with a more pleasant smile? He wore a black jacket, and she wondered if he knew what it did to his hair. His locks were black, but in just the right light, they could appear blue, and gleam like a clear country night’s sky. He styled it without bounce or wave, sweeping it back and away from his forehead. That would have made him look quite severe, were it not for his smile.

Earthy golden skin, field-green eyes, and midnight hair. Had God used every brilliant color in creation on this man? It was as though she’d never seen a man before, even though she’d been surrounded by them for years.

Compared to Reuben, there were few other gentlemen who could compete with his virility.

Rose nudged her arm. Once. Twice. Rachel looked at her in confusion. Her friend was smiling, but it was tight, and her eyes flickered to her brother.

Rachel was still confused... and slightly irritated that her friend would distract her. Couldn’t she tell that Rachel and Reuben were having a moment of complete oneness?

How is your father? Reuben asked, his smile fading, but still just as beautiful. It likely didn’t matter what he did, he would always remain perfect.

Rachel, Rose whispered. How is your father?

Why was Rose repeating her brother?

Oh, dear! He’d asked her a question.

Rachel laughed. He’s fine. He’s right over there. She pointed to her father, who waved at her. She waved in reply, and then turned to Reuben. Come say hello. She grabbed his arm. Really, she’d wanted desperately to grab his arm, and now she’d found the opportunity.

She squeezed the tight muscles underneath her fingers and had to hold back a groan. His arm felt splendid. Heavy and strong. He should have joined the navy. He’d have made a fine anchor. He was so solid.

Rose backed away. I better go see to my other guests. Then she left. She was such a good friend.

Rachel started forward, and Reuben walked at her side.

He chuckled.

She looked at him. What?

He shook his head. I was just remembering when you were a little girl. You often took me where you wished for me to go, without asking if I wished to join you.

She froze, and her skin went cold. Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Did you not wish to...?

He smiled slowly at her, which had the effect of making Rachel’s head feel funny, as though she’d drank too much wine on an empty stomach. I wish to see your father. It has been some time since I’ve said hello.

She nodded but didn’t move, not quite ready to share him, and needing her heart to slow down so she could think.

Lady Rachel, he called gently, yet at such a deep pitch, it dominated her senses.

She looked up at him. Yes, Reuben? I mean... you’re a lord now. I should call you Lord Eastridge.

He shook his head. Reuben is fine. We share a history, after all.

Rachel couldn’t think of many lords who would lend such a privilege so easily. They often liked people remembering the authority they could wield at any given moment. Lord Eastridge, she decided. You’ve more than earned it. More than any titled man she knew.

Her comment surprised him. You think so?

She frowned. Doesn’t everyone? You helped win a war.

As did many others, he countered. The thought of death quickly reminded her of Stacy, but she pushed that aside and focused on the living man before her.

That he would belittle himself, and his achievements, angered her. You were willing to die for the realm. There are not many in here who would do the same.

He would not be persuaded. "Yet, there were many with me who were