Foxglove Hall: A Second Chances Regency Romance

By Belinda Bennett

She is a 'harlot'. He is a dashing Lord. Could they really be a couple?

High drama with plenty of lighter moments in a second chances Regency romance.

Foxglove Hall is a stand-alone novella set in England in 1817, the year the Prince Regent was attacked following discontent among those who had returned from the French Wars. While poverty is pressing on the nerves of the nation, the rich continue to live charmed lives.

At opulent Foxglove Hall, located in a leafy suburb of London, tragedy strikes before the heir to a shipping fortune, Lord Barrington, can formally break off his unwanted engagement to Miss Dorothea Stapleton. His head has been turned by a mysterious woman whom his mother, Lady Caroline, is convinced is a ‘harlot’.
A battle of wits ensues and threatens to turn into an all-out war when the object of Lord Barrington’s desire finds herself at the mercy of a stranger who is determined to break her.

Notes for readers: Foxglove Hall avoids the over-use of Regency dialogue to ensure a smooth read. It does reference events of the day, including (but not limited to) the impact of pollution following the industrialisation of manufacturing, the suspension of Habeas Corpus, and the importance of having tea correctly.

Foxglove Hall contains NO graphic sexual scenes and is, therefore, not a ‘bodice ripper’.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belinda Bennett
• Release date: Aug 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005699604

Belinda Bennett

Belinda Bennett started writing fiction at primary school. Always passionate about creative writing, her talents were diverted to journalism in her late teens after both her parents died.She was diagnosed with HER2+ inflammatory breast cancer on January 23, 2020. Currently undergoing chemotherapy and targeted therapies, she is hoping to undergo surgery later this year.A fierce supporter of the underdog, Belinda supports causes that help the homeless and those whose lives have been blighted by addiction.Belinda is a former journalist, newspaper editor and freelance copywriter. She lives by the sea on the Jurassic Coast in Dorset, England.

Book preview

PREFACE

Foxglove Hall is a stand-alone novella set in England in 1817, the year the Prince Regent was attacked following discontent among those who had returned from the French Wars. While poverty is pressing on the nerves of the nation, the rich continue to live charmed lives.

At opulent Foxglove Hall, located in a leafy suburb of London, tragedy strikes before the heir to a shipping fortune, Lord Barrington, can formally break off his unwanted engagement to Miss Dorothea Stapleton. His head has been turned by a mysterious woman whom his mother, Lady Caroline, is convinced is a ‘harlot’.

A battle of wits ensues and threatens to turn into an all-out war when the object of Lord Barrington’s desire finds herself at the mercy of a stranger who is determined to break her.

Notes: Foxglove Hall avoids the over-use of Regency dialogue to ensure a smooth read. It does reference events of the day, including (but not limited to) the impact of pollution following the industrialisation of manufacturing, the suspension of Habeas Corpus, and the importance of having tea correctly. Foxglove Hall contains NO graphic sexual scenes and is, therefore, not a ‘bodice ripper’.

CHAPTER 1

Reserved laughter punctuated by discreet whispers filled an opulent room as The Mighty Loftus attempted to pull a rabbit out of a silk top hat.

‘Abracadabra…’

His bawdy assistant, dressed in crimson and black, exuded a wanton charm that served to lure attention away from the trick.

The drawing room was unusually full for such a regular affair, so much so that Lady Caroline Barrington wished she had re-purposed the dining hall.

‘I rather think these little soirées have outgrown this corner of Foxglove Hall.’ She fluttered a fan towards rouged cheeks and sighed, turning to her companion, Miss Barbara Ludlow. ‘They used to be such small affairs. Now Friday evenings attract carriages from as far afield as Grosvenor Square.’

‘I do believe the baggage that accompanies your magic man could be the reason,’ Miss Ludlow whispered, flashing the assistant a disapproving glance.

Her gaze diverted to fixate on a startled-looking white rabbit, Lady Caroline responded with a muted snarl. ‘Yes, I must concede, we could all do with a change. Something more…more agreeable with the ladies. An afterpiece, perhaps. Opera would, surely, have wider appeal. No demireps to cloud the atmosphere and divert the considerations of the easily swayed, fickle gentry.’

‘Quite.’

An overly plump gentleman with unfashionable ginger sideburns jumped to his feet and rallied a rapturous, almost all-male round of applause. ‘Bravo! Bravo!’

Eyes rolled among the spirited ladies present. The more reserved, and socially conscious, either patted gloved hands out of politeness or pretended not to notice The Mighty Loftus had concluded his show, as he did every Friday, with the same, tired trick.

Appetites benevolently suppressed with angels on horseback, served earlier in the evening, butler Fitzwarren was expertly overseeing the copious distribution of port and rum. Footmen mingled silently among guests, carrying ornately cut crystal goblets on heirloom salvers.

‘Jolly good show.’ Lord Henry Cornelius felt obliged to compliment the hostess as he snatched his eighth glass of rum from a passing silver tray. He afforded Lady Caroline the courtesy of a nod and she returned the gesture with an expressionless stare. She watched him knock back a generous measure of her finest alcohol before discarding an empty glass on her prized card table. From there he made an unbecoming beeline for the assistant, already boxed in by fawning male admirers.

Remind yourself to take that man off the guest list, she told herself.

‘Amelia, my dear.’ The two-deep throng parted to give him ready access to the object of his desires.

Miss Ludlow noted the crest-fallen look, almost of despair, on his wife’s face as he clasped a hand partially concealed in black lace and bent to kiss it.

‘Wonderful, as always. Truly, wonderful.’

‘You are too kind, Lord Cornelius. If it were not for the formidable talents of Loftus, I would not be here. It is he who is wonderful. I am merely a visual accompaniment. A distraction, if you like, in case the magic fails to materialise.’

She was always grateful for compliments, lapping them up like a dog desperate for water. If only they were more forthcoming from other quarters… Her prominent cheekbones, flaming red lips and chestnut hair, set off with long, fake curls, served only to draw out the piercing blue of her wide, oval eyes. She dreamed of attracting a marriage proposal but had, thus far, only warranted a contract to be a kept woman from a rich but aged Lord, whom she had serviced just twice before he was called to his dying wife’s bedside somewhere in the countryside ‘up North’. He was gone for six months before she received word that he would not be requiring her company again. Riddled with guilt and keen to ensure her discretion, he had sought to buy her eternal silence with a small townhouse in Chelsea and a modest annual income.

Friday night outings with Loftus were the only things to break the monotony of her solitude. She longed to hear the clip-clop sound of horses’ hooves as his carriage pulled up outside to collect her. This was the closest she could get to society, but it did not deter a burning ambition to one day be part of it. From humble beginnings, aspirations to lose the stench that lingered about commoner’ from filthy Cheapside loomed large. She wanted to be a Lady and, whatever it took, was determined to achieve her goal. The fact that she was within clawing distance served to further fuel her desire.

‘I can assure you, Amelia, the magic always materialises when you are here.’ Lord Cornelius wanted to gaze at her intently, to somehow appeal to her fascination. However, the conventions of social conduct prevented him from doing so, much to his frustration. Suddenly aware that his efforts to engage the affections of a showgirl were most unbecoming to a man of his status, particularly in the presence of his wife, he sought a distraction.

‘Ah, Lord Barrington…’ He clawed at the arm of a passing gentleman. ‘Your mother has surpassed herself tonight. Delightful show and the most wonderful company. Have you met Miss Amelia Lionheart?’

‘I can’t say that I have.’ The dark, broody-looking Lord straightened the front of his tailcoat and hesitated before enquiring, ‘Lionheart?’

Amelia bowed her head in a mark of respect, careful to conceal her delight at being introduced to the dashing heir of the all-imposing Foxglove Hall.

‘It does sound like a very strange name.’

He had seen her now; the most beautiful woman in the room. Someone he was certain he must have seen many times before but never really noticed.

‘It is a stage name, my Lord. Something Loftus conjured up out of thin air to add a touch of drama to my otherwise limited role in these affairs.’

‘I see…’

Cornelius’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘Silly me. I always assumed it was your real name. You never once sought to correct my error…’

Miss Ludlow observed the ‘baggage’ exchange a warm smile with Lord Barrington and immediately felt compelled to nudge his mother.

‘I rather think your decision to curtail our magic man’s appearances could not have come at a more opportune time.’

Lady Caroline raised a handkerchief to a gaping mouth in an obvious effort to conceal the sour look that had engulfed her face. Her heart missed a beat at the notion her son could entertain the likes of a magician’s assistant for so much as a second. This flirtation was not a good look. Not in the presence of the esteemed company.

‘Fitzwarren!’ She beckoned the butler with a wave of the lace-trimmed cotton square in her hand.

‘Yes, m’lady.’

She gestured him to come closer before whispering, ‘Make sure Loftus and his woman companion are told their services will no longer be required.’

Noting Lord Barrington’s company, Fitzwarren assured her, ‘Leave it to me.’

CHAPTER 2

Amelia watched from the comfort of a carriage as Loftus exchanged words with the Barringtons’ butler between two Roman-inspired columns. He appeared to slip something into his waistcoat pocket before tipping his hat. They spoke for a short while before Fitzwarren retreated to the shadows of the great hall. Loftus then descended Foxglove Hall’s impressive steps to reach the gravel drive.

‘Chelsea!’ he called out to a footman, slamming the carriage door shut behind him and taking a seat opposite his companion.

Soon the carriage would meander to the left of an enormous, ornate fountain and take a gentle turn to the left again where it would travel the length of an expansive avenue of trees. Its wheels would turn but a short distance before meeting a rutted dirt road. Like she did every Friday, Amelia imagined the brightness of candle-lit rooms that illuminated the vastness of the mansion slowly fade into dense obscurity.

He looked her up and down.

‘What?’ she demanded to know, his demeanour unsettling her nerves. ‘What are you thinking. Do you not approve of the dress I am wearing?’

Loftus pulled a small pouch from his pocket and loosened its drawstring. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out two sovereigns. ‘Take them’

‘I don’t want them. You know I’ve never done this for the money. I have an income.’

His hand lurched forward as the carriage hit a rugged dip in the road, forcing him to clench stubby fingers tightly around the coins.

‘You have a modest income, which may or may not dry up when your Lord departs this earth.’

‘But…’

He feels obliged to tell her, ‘Our services are no longer required. It would appear, Lady Barrington has tired of our shows. She has been very generous in her relinquishment. Please, take what I am offering you. Keep it tucked away. If you do not need it now, it may come in useful one day.’

A gasp escaped her voluptuous lips. ‘But why relinquish us? We have provided after-dinner entertainment at Foxglove Hall for the best part of a year. Every Friday, nine o’clock on the dot.’

She already felt the ache of loss, his words wrapping themselves around her heart like a boa constrictor before squeezing the life out of its prey. She was trying to tell herself she was deserving of a place in the Barringtons’ home. She