The Holiday of a Marquess

By Linda Rae Sande

One last will and testament. Four cooked books. A pinch of holiday magic. Is this a recipe for a happily-ever-after?
Estranged from her son, the new Earl of Montaine, widowed countess Elaine is spending Christmastide at the Soho Club. She's determined to learn her late husband's secrets from his last will and testament, sure he was hiding something from her. Some of the language is confusing, though, the legalese foreign to her.

When widower Edward, Marquess of Delton, discovers his man of business has been embezzling, he escapes to the Soho Club with the marquessate's ledgers, determined to learn how much damage has been done. During breakfast, a fellow peer's recommendation has Edward seeking Elaine's help. In exchange for a review of his ledgers, he'll read and interpret the will.

Over the course of a single day and night, the Soho Club will cast its spell on these two lonely souls as they share their secrets, learn new ones, and allow the magic of the season to create one of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Rae Sande
• Release date: May 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781946271624

Linda Rae Sande

A self-described nerd and lover of science, Linda Rae spent many years as a published technical writer specializing in 3D graphics workstations, software and 3D animation (her movie credits include SHREK and SHREK 2). An interest in genealogy led to years of research on the Regency era and a desire to write fiction based in that time.A fan of action-adventure movies, she can frequently be found at the local cinema. Although she no longer has any tropical fish, she does follow the San Jose Sharks. She makes her home in Cody, Wyoming. For more information about her books, go to her website: www.lindaraesande.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A WIDOW’S THOUGHTS ON A CLUB

December 21, 1816, Soho Club, London

Barely aware of the light snow that was falling beyond the dining room windows of the Soho Club, Elaine Mary Ludlow Denberg, Countess of Montaine, dipped a newly sharpened quill into an ink pot and began to write.

Dear Adeline,

Your insistence that I remain in London for Christmastide did not fall on deaf ears. Your gift of the calling card has also been put to good use, as I write to you from the most elegant dining room of the Soho Club.

Here, Elaine paused. Had anyone but Adeline Carlington, Marchioness of Morganfield, told her of the existence of the Soho Club, Elaine might not have believed them. From the few people she had seen since arriving the night before, carrying only a valise followed by a footman charged with her trunk, she had thought the exclusive club might be for women only. Even the person who seemed to be in charge of the club was a woman.

Mrs. Skarsgard had welcomed her with a warm smile, given a quick glance at the card she carried, and then asked, Pink, blue, green or yellow?

Not about to ask Mrs. Skarsgard what she meant—she’d had quite enough of answering queries that day—Elaine simply said, Pink.

Handing her a key, Mrs. Skarsgard said, It’s quite private and preferred by our long-time female members. End of the hall, last door on the right. She had motioned with a hand in the general direction of the room before dipping a curtsy and returning to her desk.

Elaine remembered regarding the key as if it might explode. But a moment later, she was using it to unlock a door. When she opened that door, well, she tittered.

Pink, as it turned out, referred to the color of the room’s decor. It was awash in pink. The silk-covered walls, the velvet drapes and counterpane, and even the Turkish carpet were all variations of the color pink.

She ignored the footman’s curious expression as he placed her trunk atop a deep chest of drawers. He bowed and was about to take his leave when she remembered she should give him a coin.

I cannot accept it, my lady, but I thank you for the consideration, the rather tall young man said when he saw she was attempting to open her reticule. He bowed again and shut the door behind him.

Her opinion of the Soho Club having risen yet another notch, Elaine turned and caught her reflection in a dressing table mirror near the window. The pink walls were obviously good for her complexion, for she looked younger than she felt. She was almost giddy now that she could be alone.

Amusement had been hard to come by that day, or any day for the past nine months. The death of a husband was probably hard on every woman. For her, it had been a combination of relief and grief, sadness and shock.

Now that her oldest son and the heir to the Montaine earldom, Graham, had finally taken up residence in the Montaine mansion in Park Lane—he’d had a bachelor quarters of his own in The Albany until the month prior—she thought it best she vacate the premises for a few days. He was nearly thirty years old, and although he hadn’t yet taken a wife, Graham announced he was on the verge of courting. He had informed her with his next few words that he did not wish to hear any of her recommendations for eligible young females—not that she had any—nor did he intend to accompany her to any of the winter time entertainments.

As if she could attend them.

She was still in half-mourning, and she would probably continue to wear her lavender gowns for another few months. Still, the hurt she had felt at hearing her son’s rebuke was still raw.

Reminded of the conversation that had her instructing her lady’s maid to pack a trunk, Elaine struggled to hold back the tears. She took some solace in knowing her younger son, Gabriel, would never say such things. Besides, he looked forward to taking a wife, and she was sure he already had a viscount’s daughter in mind for the position.

Elaine shook her head, determined to return her attention to the letter.

I was quite surprised and rather pleased to discover my room is pink. As I am still wearing lavender every day, I have felt as if I have been surrounded by it these past few months; I find the pink a refreshing change. I admit to feeling as if I was a young girl when I climbed into bed last night. Oh, and what a comfortable bed it is, with the softest of mattresses and linens so fine, I felt as if I was a guest of the queen.

Pausing to read what she had written, Elaine’s thoughts returned to the day before. To her first impressions of the Soho Club. The incident with the footman wasn’t the only notable occurrence. There had been a maid who knocked on her door as she was preparing for bed. A maid who carried a tray upon which sat a steaming cup of chocolate.

I’m very sorry to disturb you, my lady, but would you like a cup of chocolate?

Elaine remembered blinking. Had she fallen asleep? Was it already morning? But the maid jerked her head in the direction of the office and said, Mrs. Skarsgard thought you might wish it after your day of travel.

Well, bless Mrs. Skarsgard. Elaine had only traveled from Park Lane, but it had been a trying day. Do give her my thanks, Elaine said as she took the cup from the tray. And thank you, as well.

She remembered holding the cup between her hands, allowing the warmth to penetrate her cold fingers before she drank it in only a few gulps.

After that, sleep had come easily. Waking earlier than usual, she had thought first to do her correspondence. It’s what she would have done at Montaine House. But a quick glance at her trunk reminded her she hadn’t brought along a lap desk, nor stationery and ink.

Once again, she was impressed by the staff of the Soho Club, for when she had emerged from her room that morning, the scents of frying bacon and coffee leading the way to the chair in which she currently sat, she asked the footman who waited on her if there was a stationery shop nearby.

What do you require, my lady?

I wish to write a letter, she had replied, and then watched in wonder as the footman disappeared for only a moment and then returned with a sheet of fine parchment, a sharpened quill, and an ink pot.

If you need more paper, you need only ask, the footman said as he delivered her breakfast.

So, my dearest Adeline, having begun my day with a most wonderful pot of chocolate and the accoutrements to write this letter, I find I am without suitable words to thank you

Reviews for The Holiday of a Marquess

[Charlotte de Beer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The lovely way in which older lovers are shown to still discover joy and passion