Historical Romance: To Love A Lord of London A Duke's Game Regency Romance: Wardington Park, #1

By Eleanor Meyers

What do a rakish lord, an embittered Marquess, and the most powerful Earl in London have in common?

They will all fall madly in love with three heiresses, finding that happily ever after does exist… 

 

HER FIRST SEASON AND HER FIRST KISS …

 

Amy Ott is about to encounter her first season.

Knowing nothing about the workings of corsets and country dances, she's looking for any help she can find... even when it comes from the most unlikely source…

 

London's infamous rogue—an older Duke. The Duke of Wardington.

 

This catches the attention from the most rakish Lord in all of London.

Lord Nathaniel Dawnton knows what he wants.

 

Amy Ott.

 

When Nathaniel's pursuits meet the walls of Amy's strength, the young lord is ready to jump those walls blindly...  even at the expense of reaching something he has been avoiding— his innermost fear. True love.

 

But once Amy's dark secrets are out, will the fall have been worth it?

 

CAN LOVE FORGIVE ALL THINGS?

 

Miss Catherine Croftman is done with the Marquess of Clariant!

After the publically broken engagement of the century, she has her sights set on finding someone new...

 

Herself.

 

Andrew Dawnton is the Marquess of Clariant, the future Duke of Wardington, and he is madly in love with Catherine…

He made her a promise of marriage in their youth, but Catherine's betrayal prevents the marquess from wanting anything to do with her afterward.

He's haunted by a past that includes death and outrage, and trusting Catherine again would be a fool's move.

 

Is Catherine truly ready to move on?

Will Andrew learn to forgive and keep his word?

 

CAN ONE EVER TRULY LOVE HER ENEMY?

 

The night that William, The Earl of Cartridge, was struck over the head changed him forever…

He's been knocked out by a beautiful thief and plans to seek justice for this crime.

 

Jane Croftman's family is wealthy beyond reason, but the land gentry's daughter is willing to do whatever it takes to protect those she loves... even if that means stealing from members of high society or knocking out an earl.

 

Anything for peace.

 

When William's revenge turns into hot kisses and help, Jane tries to refuse them both.

 

Will William find the key to Jane's freedom before it's too late?

Will Jane learn to trust William with her life and possibly even her heart?

 

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

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eleanor Meyers
• Release date: Jan 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393812517

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

chapter 1

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London, 1823

Bedfordshire, England

Amy Ott tapped her fingers against the porcelain cup in her hand and sat perfectly still. Across from her, sitting just as still, was Jane Croftman. The girl’s smile didn’t reach her dark brown eyes, but it was obvious she was trying to be pleasant . . . unlike Jane’s older sister.

Catherine Croftman, a beauty with the same dark eyes and hair as Jane’s, parted her lips with a tiny laugh. I’m sure you’ll have better luck at this year’s season than I had at last year’s . . . After all, who could resist your dowry?

Amy watched her cousin, Christa Eaton, stiffen next to her, and Amy fought the smile that threatened to bloom. To make sure no one saw the joy on her face, she brought her tea up to her mouth and pretended to drink the lukewarm liquid. The compliment had not been a compliment at all, rather an insult to Christa’s beauty. Amy watched as Jane did the same. The two girls had twinkles in their eyes, glad that Christa had been put down—because after all, she’d started it.

Christa Eaton, the daughter of the Duke of Hensman, was rich, pretty, and the meanest person Amy had ever met. Amy hated that they were related, especially at this moment. Christa had forced Amy to accompany her on a walk to Anglebrook so that Christa could introduce her to her friends. It was obvious now that Christa used the word friend very loosely.

The friends she spoke of were Miss Catherine and Jane Croftman, daughters of wealthy landed gentry. They actually had more money than Christa’s father, the Duke of Hensman; however, to many of their privileged peers, like Christa, that did not matter. Money or not, the Croftman girls, along with their elder brother, struggled in society and Christa had made it her business to ensure that they knew it.

Which brought Amy’s mind back to the matter at hand. Catherine’s insult had only come after Christa had commented on Catherine’s failed seasons. She’d had two so far, and would be entering her third this spring.

Christa cleared her throat and looked out the window at the far end of the yellow stateroom. Anglebrook Manor was something to behold, and the girl lucky enough to marry Joseph Croftman, Catherine and Jane’s brother, would gain it all—yet another reason Christa was here. The cool weather is heavenly outside. Are your father and brother hunting this morning? It was her way of asking if Joseph was around.

Catherine narrowed her eyes, and once again, Amy didn’t blame her. It seemed hypocritical that Christa would put down the sisters of the man whom she wished to marry. I haven’t the slightest idea, Christa. However, you’re more than welcome to take a stroll through our woods. If Joseph does have a rifle in his hand, you’re sure to encounter him one way or another. By a stray bullet perhaps.

Amy choked on her tea.

Christa gasped.

Jane stood. Amy, why don’t you and I go out for some fresh air? Her smile was genuine now but had nothing to do with the thought of air. She struggled not to laugh.

Amy stood. Wonderful idea, Jane. She turned to Christa, If you’ll excuse me.

Christa didn’t even look away from Catherine as she waved Amy away.

The two ladies left the yellow room and fell into a fit of giggles as they rushed down the hall. Servants with bedding and other linens in their hands skirted around the girls as they moved toward their destination.

And where are you two heading off to?

The voice belonged to Levi Smith, the Duke of Hensman’s assistant. The young man was handsome. Blond with pale-blue eyes. Though everyone agreed he took life much too seriously, rarely smiling.

Jane said, Mr. Smith. I didn’t know you were here.

He turned his head to Jane, I’m here to see your brother about a business matter.

Of course, Amy said with a smile.

He cocked his head to her as well. Then he looked at Jane, I hope you’re keeping Miss Ott out of trouble?

Jane blew out a breath. Her brown eyes twinkled like stars. What’s a day without a little fun?

Levi’s frown deepened, Just don’t have Miss Ott embarrass her uncle.

I won’t, Amy promised.

He stared at her, and Amy saw his glimpse of concern.

Amy said again, We’ll be fine.

See that you are. And then he left.

As the girls walked through the foyer, Jane sighed, You’d think he were Hensman’s own son the way he goes on and on about the man. Like you could do something to ruin the rake’s reputation any more than it already is.

Amy smiled to herself. Jane was just as bold in her thoughts as her sister.

Outside, it was a moment before either girl could catch her breath.

Jane’s dark eyes turned to Amy as they moved through the grass. The air was brisk, and their boots made a cracking sound against the frozen grass. Amy could see Jane’s breath as she spoke, I’m very glad not to be Christa at the moment.

Amy grinned as she wrapped her coat tighter around her neck. I was thinking the same thing earlier in the room. Christa had it coming.

Jane shook her head as she looked off into the distance. I don’t know why people continue to challenge Catherine. She’s the tongue of a viper.

Amy had never heard truer words. Amy had never in her life encountered a woman with a sharper tongue than Catherine. She smiled at Jane, thinking how much she liked the girl. She’d only known the Croftmans for two weeks, but she counted Jane as a friend and hoped Jane saw her the same way. Your sister is beautiful. Why isn’t she married? Amy had never been to a season before and feared that if a leggy beauty like Catherine could fail with all her money behind her, than the ward of the duke surely had no chance.

Jane’s dark eyes looked at Amy before turning away. You mean besides her insistence on being the last to speak? She shook her head. Catherine doesn’t believe any man in London is good enough for her, titled or not. She really is more intelligent than every man who’s asked for her hand.

Amy thought about that as they wandered further from the house.

Jane continued, But don’t worry about Catherine. She’ll be twenty-five next year, and then she’s sure to marry.

Amy was confused. Why do you say so?

Jane smiled with knowing eyes, You’ll find out soon enough.

Amy stared at Jane, wanting to ask more questions, but decided not to push. She really did enjoy Jane’s company. They were the same age, twenty, and Amy could truly use a companion during her first season. She wasn’t built for this world. Amy was from the city, but not from the West End. It was only because of her mother’s death last year that Amy had been thrust into her current situation.

Up ahead, men on horseback headed their way. There were five riders. From the great distance, she didn’t recognize any of them.

Amy asked, Who are they?

Jane was watching the riders as well. She narrowed her eyes before nodding her head, as if in agreement with herself. Yes, there is my brother, your uncle . . . and I believe the other three men are the Duke of Wardington and two of his sons.

Amy’s eyes went wide as she turned to Jane, Why would the Duke of Wardington be here?

Jane replied, Why, they’re our neighbors . . . your neighbors as well, since you live with the Eatons. Did nobody tell you this?

No one had told her anything, but she’d heard stories about the Duke of Wardington . . . and his three sons, the Dawntons. Rouges, all of them. Being from the less fortunate part of London, Amy heard better gossip than what was printed in the papers that the upper-class read. She knew people from gaming halls, taverns, and the like. She knew people—women, who told elaborate, and dare she say, risqué, stories about the Dawnton brothers.

The men came to a halt as they noticed the women.

Jane gave a small bow to them all, Duke Hensman, Duke Wardington, my lords, Joseph. She’d announced them in line of their titles.

Hensman, who was Amy’s uncle, looked down at his niece, though he’d never needed to be on horseback to do it effectively. From the seat of his mare, he looked every bit the duke that he was. Dark eyes and gray hair, he was just as rakish as the Dawntons—the only difference was he was married—and didn’t care. He turned to the other man and did the introductions. Wardington, I’d like you to meet my niece, Miss Amy Ott. Miss Ott, this is the Duke of Wardington and his sons, the Marquess of Clariant, and Lord Mark Dawnton. He’d skipped over introducing Joseph, as Amy already knew Jane’s brother.

Amy curtsied, though she wasn’t sure if that was what she was supposed to do. Hello, she whispered under her breath, hoping that no one heard her. What could she say in the face of such wealth and aristocracy? They sat on their mounts as though they themselves were the Prince Regent, and she could easily see both women and men mistaking them for kings. They were all very handsome men, even Duke Wardington himself, who had to be in his late forties at least. Though he had a full head of gray hair, his green eyes were reflected in both his sons. His sons had blond locks that resembled golden twin halos, but it was the darkness in their green eyes that made it clear they were not angels in the least.

The men all nodded their heads at Amy and welcomed her to Bedfordshire.

Duke Wardington stared at her. Finally, he asked, Have we met before?

Amy kept her face from giving away her anxiety. No, she whispered.

Her uncle cut in, I wouldn’t think you’d have. Amy’s mother chose not to run in our circles.

Wardington nodded, but his dark eyes remained on Amy.

The Marquess of Clariant asked Jane, Let me guess, Lady Christa is visiting with your sister again? His voice was deep and smooth, yet cold, like fresh ice.

Jane smiled. Indeed, she is, my lord. And my sister is well. I’ll tell Catherine you asked after her.

The Marquess grunted. You’ll do no such thing. I didn’t ask after her.

Jane curtsied again, but a smile was on her face. My apologies, my lord, I was mistaken.

He made an incoherent sound before looking away, dismissing both women. Amy had gotten hints of a story between the Marquess of Clariant and Jane’s sister and found herself increasingly interested since moving to the country.

Another rider began to come up behind the men. He was riding hard, his golden curls blowing in the cold air. As he came closer, it was obvious that rider and horse were in sync with each other. He looked graceful as he headed their way then slowed the black mare down before coming to a stop by the other two men who held the same features. He was the middle brother. His smile instantly brightened the morning, even though he wasn’t looking at Amy at all. His cheeks were red from the ride, causing his green eyes to look more alive than ever. And then he looked at her. His eyes were like summer in the midst of winter. Hello, he spoke and when it reached Amy’s ears, she swore she felt its caress like a warm, midnight velvet. Where his brothers seemed cold, he was not.

Amy simply stared. Her hands went behind her back, her fingers touching the small cross that hung from a tiny bracelet hidden by her gloves.

Her uncle introduced him, Lord Nathaniel Dawnton. This is Miss Amy Ott, my niece. She’ll be staying with me.

Nathaniel. Amy’s eyes went wide. Of course that was who he was. Beside the duke, no Dawnton was more infamous than Nathaniel Dawnton. They’d called him the London Lover because once you fell for him, you were ruined for any other man.

The green-eyed lord spoke again, I’m sure you’re looking forward to the season, Miss Ott.

Andrew, Marquess of Clariant, interrupted thus saving Amy from answering, There’s nothing more wearisome and repetitious than the season. How anyone looks forward to it is beyond me.

Nathaniel’s playful smile didn’t waiver, ‘I didn’t say it was likely—I only say it is true.’

"Lovers’ Vow." Amy spoke without thinking.

Nathaniel’s head whipped around to stare at her, much like everyone else.

Amy never wanted to be sucked into the earth more than she did at the moment.

Nathaniel’s smile brightened, You know an Elizabeth Inchbald quote when you hear one? His interest was plain.

Amy’s mouth opened and closed a few times before saying, I—I’ve read the play a few times. She’d worked behind sets at a poor theatre on the East End of London, though she’d never admit such a thing in public.

Andrew asked, Why does that name ring a bell?

Nathaniel offered the information, "Our dear Jane Austen had it featured in her book, Mansfield Park."

Everyone seemed to nod at that. There was a title that everyone had heard, as it was more popular.

Amy sighed, no longer feeling like the target for their attention . . . until Nathaniel called her out again.

"I forget. What year did Lovers’ Vow come out?" he asked, though it was obvious that he knew the answer to his own question. What he really wanted to know was how much Amy truly knew about the play.

Amy cleared her throat. Twice. "Well, as one of August von Kotzebue’s Das Kind der Liebe adaptations, it was written in 1798. It actually ran for forty-two nights in Covent Garden that year. She looked away. It was the most successful play that season . . . I hear."

Nathaniel’s smile grew.

Hensman turned to Wardington, Why, I think we were there that year, were we not? Covent Garden is one of London’s best theatres. When was that? Thirty odd years ago?

Twenty-five, came the answer from Lord Mark Dawnton. It was the first thing he’d said since greeting Amy. Once the answer was out, he said no more, looking off into the distance. It was obvious that though he followed the conversation, his mind was elsewhere.

Amy turned to look at Duke Wardington, only to find him staring at her with narrowed eyes. It wasn’t a cruel look, rather one of pure curiosity. The duke eventually said, Yes, I do believe we were. Then he turned to Hensman, You didn’t tell us you had a niece. You’ll have to introduce her at the dinner this week.

The dinner he spoke of would be the last official gathering of the families in Bedfordshire before everyone went to London for parliament.

Amy looked to find Nathaniel staring at her again and for the life of her couldn’t understand why. She was no beauty. She was plain in every way. She had plain brown hair and eyes a dull shade of brown. Her face and body were completely forgettable. What was worse, she had no title and no money, though her uncle had promised her a dowry. Still, she was no one, but the way Nathaniel’s green eyes regarded her, Amy was almost ready to believe differently. What else was a girl to do underneath such admiration?

*   *   *

chapter 2

*   *   *

Lord Nathaniel Dawnton heard the knocking and glanced around his stateroom, which at the moment looked like a ship had sailed through it. Furniture was toppled over, and the evidence of his party lay everywhere. The room was a wreck.

The knocking sounded again, hurting his head. There was also mumbling going on behind his position on the couch. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as his brother, Mark, paced the floor, paper in one hand, a pencil in the other. He was shirtless, barefoot, and going on and on about some integral theorem. Nathaniel cringed just thinking about it. The knock sounded again, and Nathaniel asked Mark, Where are the servants?

For a moment, it seemed like Mark hadn’t heard him, and then somewhere in his rambling, he said, Intoxicated.

Splendid.

The knock sounded again.

Nathaniel got up, pushing the dead weight of the body next to him away, and left the room. In the vestibule, he checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked worse than his stateroom. He ran a hand through his blond hair before turning to the door. Yanking it open, he was ready to scream at the person on the other side before he noticed who it was. He straightened, Father.

Duke Wardington looked his son over and gave him a look of disdain. Well, aren’t you going to let me in?

Nathaniel opened the door further, and with a sweep of his hand, he allowed his father entrance.

The duke had barely made it over the threshold before asking, Where is your butler?

Nathaniel laughed, Indisposed of at the moment. Sorry you missed the party.

Wardington narrowed his eyes, I’ve never partied with my own sons. Though he was sure that since the Dawnton name had been attached to the affair, then it had surely been notable. Still, there were some things that a father never did; namely to encourage his sons to partake in the same wicked vices that he himself had adopted since their mother’s passing. Certainly, Martin may not have been the best role model for his sons, but the Duke of Wardington drew the line somewhere. All men had to.

His middle son, Nathaniel, gave a slow blink of his eyes before releasing a breath, To what do I owe this early morning visit?

Wardington frowned, It’s noon.

A dark blond brow arched its way up Nathaniel’s face. Noon? He looked at the clock over one of his many fireplaces before chuckling. He grinned as he turned back to his father. So, it is.

The duke shook his head, Are your brothers here?

In response, mumbling from the hallway broke their speech. Both men turned to watch as Mark walked slowly past the entryway, still uttering his mathematical nonsense. He looked like a caveman with his blond hair hanging a bit too far past his ears. Shirtless, and with only a pair of wrinkled breeches for clothes, Martin sure that Mark was the smartest man in Bedfordshire. He’d graduated at the top of his class at Cambridge. A father couldn’t be more proud. Though, it really was time for his hair to be cut. Mark.

Mark tore his eyes from the paper in his hand. Father. There was no emotion in his speech. Neither warmth or coolness. Everything Mark said was simply fact and nothing more.

Go see Mr. Dudley today, and be well groomed for this afternoon.

Mark nodded, paused, and then nodded again before turning away.

Wardington turned back to Nathaniel to find that his son had managed not only to move himself across the room to settle in a chair, but had also proceeded to fall asleep. Nathaniel.

Hm. A single, green eye opened.

Where’s Andrew?

With a yawn and a stretch, he said, Somewhere around here. Then he grinned, I wouldn’t go looking for him if I were you.

Wardington shook his head.

Reviews for Historical Romance

[Samantha Gutierrez · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Sweet and simple collection of novellas. I do wish they were stand alone books though.