The Duke of Paris: Tales from the Grand Tour, #1

By Merry Farmer

It all begins with one hot night in Paris…

The Honorable Miss Dorothy McGovern is in dire straits. Along with her brother, Damien, as children of the youngest son of a huge, aristocratic family, she has only her connections to her name, and what little money she inherited is running out. In a last-ditch effort to save themselves from ruin, she and Damien have joined the rest of the McGovern cousins on a grand tour. First stop, Paris.

Lord Marshall Stone, the brand-new Duke of Reith, has fled to Paris to visit his disgraced brother and to drown his grief over his father's death in parties and female company. His reputation is going downhill fast, and he has no wish to save it. He even goes so far as to seduce who he thinks is the pretty companion of one of his friend. Except, the woman he seduces turns out to be his friend's cousin and a noblewoman in her own right. One he can't stop thinking about or wanting.

To make matters worse, a mysterious figure begins sending threats that could destroy both Marshall and Dorothy and put the entire McGovern family in danger. The unlikely lovers must work together to figure out who is blackmailing them and to save the entire family from social ruin.

TALES FROM THE GRAND TOUR is a steamy, light-hearted Victorian series, set in the 1890s, that follows the wild, unconventional, often scandalous McGovern cousins as they make their way through Europe and beyond.

PLEASE BE ADVISED – Steam Level: Five-Alarm Fire with a few F-bombs. Don't say you weren't warned. 

Tales from the Grand Tour:

THE DUKE OF PARIS

RENDEZVOUS IN PARIS

LAST CHANCE FOR PARIS

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merry Farmer
• Release date: Jan 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393048848

Merry Farmer

Merry Farmer is an award-winning novelist who lives in suburban Philadelphia with her cats, Torpedo, her grumpy old man, and Justine, her hyperactive new baby. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn't have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always have something to write about. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

Paris, France – Spring, 1890

It was doubtful that the Seine River had ever seen as much noise, fashion, and fuss as when the boat carrying the McGovern cousins sailed through the center of Paris. People passing on the riverwalk stopped to stare at them as they sailed past, gaping in astonishment at the bobbing collection of parasols and feathers as the ladies dashed up and down the length of the upper deck, giggling with each other and pointing out the sights, like the newly-completed Tour Eiffel , the stretching palace-turned-museum that was the Louvre, and the majestic cathedral of Notre Dame. Parisian women paused to admire the fine forms of the English noblemen, standing tall and proud in the sunlight. Any of them who kept track of the English nobility would have known that the tall, broad-shouldered man standing near the prow of the pleasure craft was the newly-minted Duke of Addlebury, and that among his siblings and cousins with him there was a marquess, three earls, four viscounts, and a handful of barons.

There were also, as it happened, a scattering of lesser cousins without titles or fortunes.

I’m beginning to think this was a foolish idea, Dorothy McGovern whispered to her brother and twin, Damien, as they observed the rest of their cousins from the back of the boat. Asher was kindness itself offering to finance our tour, but even though we are closely related to everyone here, I feel like we stick out like sore thumbs.

She glanced up the length of the boat to where Asher, the new duke and head of their family, stood laughing with his brother Andrew as they watched their loud and irreverent clan. Asher wore a broad smile, and the way the breeze from the river tousled his hair, Dorothy was certain every single lady for miles around would be drawn to him like a beacon. He was devilishly handsome, kind, jovial, and, since inheriting the title six months earlier, one of the most eligible men on the continent. But what outsiders couldn’t know, what half of their family probably didn’t know either, was that Asher was in mourning for his dearly-loved father. Dorothy suspected he’d organized the extensive grand tour of Europe and beyond and invited the writhing mass of their clan as a way to avoid his grief and have fun before returning to England to take on the mantel of responsibility. She knew how he felt, in a way. She had responsibilities of her own that she wasn’t looking forward to.

We don’t stick out as much as we could, Damien told her, resting a hand on the small of her back and standing close enough to borrow the shade thrown by her parasol. Something tells me we aren’t the only McGoverns who have secretly fallen on hard times.

He nodded to the side, where the quieter cluster of their cousins sat, watching the others. Damien had a point. Dorothy had been beside herself with worry that her day dress was three years out of fashion and worn to the point of appearing shabby. She practically looked like a guttersnipe compared to her far more glamorous cousin Evangeline or her widowed cousin Roselyn, who had inherited a small fortune from her late husband. There were over a dozen McGovern ladies alone, and Dorothy was distressed to admit that most of them looked a thousand times richer than she and Damien were. One or two of their cousins, Miss Heather Winslow and her twin, Sage, were dressed modestly, but Dorothy couldn’t tell if that was a fashion choice or a necessity. It certainly wasn’t a choice for her and Damien. In fact, they blended in a little too well with the servants and companions who had drifted to the back of the boat for the length of the journey.

If only Papa had more of a share in the inheritance, Dorothy sighed, leaning against the back rail of the upper deck. She instantly felt guilty for her complaint. Not that he wasn’t the very best of men, of course, she rushed on. But we wouldn’t be in this predicament if he’d been able to earn or inherit just a bit more.

Damien hummed in agreement, then shrugged, taking a turn at holding the parasol. Such is the lot of the eighth, and final, child, he said, then turned to Dorothy with a wry grin. At least he didn’t follow the path of Heather and Sage’s father to become a man of the cloth.

Perish the thought, Dorothy said with mock solemnity that quickly dissolved into laughter.

Unfortunately for them, Heather and Sage glanced their way at the outburst, their beautiful faces pinching into question. Dorothy’s cheeks heated, and she hoped they hadn’t heard her. When they turned back to their own conversation, she was fairly certain her snide comment hadn’t done any damage.

At least until the woman standing nearest to them, Cousin Roselyn’s companion, Miss Solange Lafarge, said, There is nothing wrong with a life in the church, in her impeccable French accent.

No, no, of course not, Dorothy rushed to cover her blunder. She admired Solange to bits, in spite of the fact that she was simply a lady’s companion. By all accounts, Solange had been born and raised in Côte d'Ivoire and had come to England to make a better life for herself. Please forgive me for being catty.

Solange’s expression softened into a smile. You are forgiven. I myself find it hard to be kind all of the time in the face of such…. She let her words fade, ending the sentence with a nod toward the front of the boat instead.

At first, Dorothy thought she was singling out one of her particularly scintillating cousins, but, in fact, her gaze fell on the one member of their party who truly did stick out like a sore thumb, Miss Wendine Sewett.

Sit up straight, Miss Sewett instructed a group of their female cousins with the highest rank and brightest prospects in society. Ladies of your caliber do not behave like heathens.

Yes, Wendine Sewett, Evangeline told her.

Of course, Wendine Sewett, their cousin Hattie echoed.

And why must you constantly refer to me that way. Miss Sewett will do, Miss Sewett went on.

We are only trying to be proper, Wendine Sewett, Evangeline said.

Quite right, Miss McGovern, Hattie echoed.

Miss Sewett huffed an irritated breath. You cannot address the sister of the duke as ‘miss’, she snapped.

Of course not, Lady Hattie, Evangeline pretended to scold.

And it is entirely inappropriate to refer to the daughter of a viscount as ‘lady’, Miss Sewett went on, seemingly close to an attack of the vapors. She is the Honorable Miss Hattie McGovern, and you are Lady Evangeline McGovern. Honestly, if you cannot get it right, you shouldn’t be speaking at all.

Of course not, Wendine Sewett, Evangeline said with mock seriousness.

You are absolutely right, Wendine Sewett, Hattie agreed. You are always absolutely right, and we are mere fools for even attempting to speak when such a wise and august person might be in our midst.

We will heretofore not say a word, Evangeline said.

She and Hattie nodded to each other, then pressed their mouths tightly shut.

Honestly, Miss Sewett huffed, shaking her head. I was hired as your chaperone and guide. This sort of behavior is beneath you. What would your late father think of your willful disobedience?

She glanced at Evangeline and Hattie as though looking for an answer. Evangeline and Hattie, in turn, kept their silence, pointing to their closed mouths.

Miss Sewett screwed up her face, looking as sour as she usually did. Ridiculous, she hissed before moving on to torment other cousins.

At the back of the boat, Dorothy and Damien burst into giggles.

I suppose we shouldn’t laugh, Dorothy said, still feeling guilty from her earlier comments.

We very well should laugh, Damien countered her. Wendine Sewett is a pill. She never has anything nice to say about anyone, but she is convinced her opinion matters more than the queen’s. Belligerence like that deserves what it gets.

Do you think she has any idea how much we talk about her behind the scenes, as it were? Dorothy asked, her mouth quirking up in a smirk.

None at all, Damien laughed. Though I doubt she would change her behavior if she knew that the lot of us are well aware of her sour attitude and have made a joke of it.

I don’t know why Asher hired her as our chaperone, Dorothy sighed, taking the handle of her parasol from Damien to give his arm a rest.

We have to have a chaperone, Damien said with a shrug. If in name only. Otherwise, the lot of us would probably be daily fodder for every scandal sheet in Europe.

Sometimes I think that is exactly what Asher had in mind for this trip, Dorothy laughed.

It wouldn’t take much for me to end up in the scandal sheets, that’s for certain, Damien said, his mirth dampening a bit. One wayward look at a particularly well-formed gentleman and they’ll drag me to the pillory on charges of gross indecency.

Dorothy’s heart pinched for her brother and she scooted close enough to him to rest her head on his shoulder. My darling, she sighed, warmed with affection as he slipped his arm around her waist. Surely, it cannot be as bad as all that. She lifted her head to look him in the eye.

Damien let out a humorless laugh. Believe me, Doro. Society is always looking for ways to expose and punish anyone who doesn’t fit in. And I haven’t fit in since the day I realized my motivations for wanting to swim naked in the local pond with the other boys were not Christian.

Dorothy’s cheeks heated. She’d known about Damien’s differences almost as long as he had. A tiny part of her wondered if perhaps she should disapprove. But Damien was practically the only family she