An Unintended Engagement: Victorian Grand Tour, #6

By Lisa H. Catmull

Lord Arthur Yelverton hasn't forgotten the woman who refused his first proposal. He's no longer the eager young puppy who fell in love with every woman in London. He's devoted himself to his work as an ambassador in Paris.

When Lady Agatha arrives in Versailles with her friend, Mrs. Phillips, she hardly recognizes the man she once knew. He's the complete opposite of everything she expected. Mature, thoughtful, serious, and as handsome as ever.

But her refusal to reconsider him is just as ironclad as the resentment Isabella Phillips feels for Mr. Rushworth, who spurned her years ago.

Rushworth did not dare stand up to his father and marry the woman he loved, and Isabella has never forgiven him. Now she's widowed with a young child, burdened with the care of an estate, and she has no inclination to forgive the man who deemed her unworthy so long ago.

Is there room in the cramped hunting lodge for a second chance at romance? With a meddling Duchess busy at matchmaking, a Duke determined to help his hapless undersecretaries, a toddling baby, an oversized Great Dane and her litter of pups, and a whole host of misunderstandings, it could be a very, very long two weeks.

This second chance novel is a "sweet" historical romance, which means there are swoony kisses and plenty of yearning, but no spicy scenes. It has both enemies-to-lovers and friends-to-lovers vibes—and that's just between Lord Yelverton and Agatha, but Rushworth and Isabella have plenty of enemies-to-lovers vibes of their own. Despite their history—or because of it—you might cry as well as laugh, but there's a happily ever after with no cheating. This book can be enjoyed as a stand alone or as part of the Victorian Grand Tour series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa H. Catmull
• Release date: Aug 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223169857

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Lord Arthur Yelverton could only find one place to hide from the arriving carriages. The dense copse of linden trees to the side of the hunting lodge was too far away, so he arranged himself directly behind the Duke of Woodford and his other friend, Mr. Geoffrey Rushworth. The two men created a formidable wall behind which he could conceal himself.

What are you doing back there? Rushworth’s accusation rang out loudly across the green expanse of lawn.

Quiet, Yelverton hissed. He tugged on the bottom of his coat. Hunching over like this stretched the fabric too tight. His uncomfortably imprisoned shoulders threatened to finally break free at any moment.

Stand straight, Woodford grumbled. You look ridiculous.

I came here to hunt, not to be hunted, Yelverton retorted. "Octavia failed to mention that women would be invited to this house party." He tugged at his collar. He needed a new suit. A new life. A renewal of everything.

Rushworth grinned over his shoulder. Would you have come if she had?

No.

That’s why we didn’t tell you. The duke stepped aside and pulled Yelverton forward. Face your fears, man.

Yelverton wrestled out of Woodford’s grip. I’d gladly wrestle lions in a gladiator’s den, but entertain women for two weeks? He shook his head and glared at his friends. You knew about this?

Who do you think arranged their travel? Rushworth winked at him. We’ve planned a special surprise for you, since you’ve been working so hard.

Rushworth’s promise of a surprise heightened Yelverton’s sense of alarm. Those surprises were only enjoyable for Rushworth and never for him.

The duke straightened, and Yelverton resigned himself. He adopted the stiff, formal air he had learned to wear as an undersecretary to his friend, the current British ambassador to France.

Stand down, old man. It’s a house party, not an assassination attempt, Rushworth whispered behind the duke’s back.

I see enough similarities, Yelverton retorted. Hidden plots, secret alliances, and everything is likely to explode in the end.

Woodford motioned for them to be quiet.

Rushworth chuckled. The women are guests, not combatants.

Same thing. Yelverton tugged again at his coat. The sun was unbearably hot, and he wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He’d never gotten used to the heat in Paris, and he’d hoped for a respite here at the hamlet in Versailles. Not today.

The footmen scrambled forward to unlatch the carriage doors. A tiny foot protruded from the carriage followed by an enormous skirt, evidently supported by a crinoline hoop. The overly wide skirt shoved its way out of the doors, bouncing slightly, and finally, a petite woman emerged. She laughed loudly as she tripped and nearly fell on her way down the steps.

Isabella? Yelverton snorted. That’s a treat for you, my friend, not me. I couldn’t care less—

Another woman had appeared in the door of the carriage. A breath escaped Yelverton, and her name came out on a sigh. Agatha.

The duke and Rushworth snickered, and Agatha’s gaze flew to the waiting group of men. Could she hear them? Yelverton straightened even further and removed any trace of emotion from his face.

He hadn’t seen her in two years, and her beauty stole his breath away. She was thinner than when he’d last seen her, but her elegance and poise were still unsurpassed.

This wasn’t a treat. It was pure torture, even as her deep brown eyes rooted him to the spot. She regarded him slowly, up and down, then casually turned back to talk to someone over her shoulder.

The enemy strikes her first blow, he muttered to Rushworth.

His friend roared with laughter. She’ll kill you with her indifference.

Yelverton nodded his reluctant agreement. Agatha hadn’t even reacted to the sight of him. Even now, she hardly seemed to notice him, but he could not stop staring at her. His thoughts scattered like pebbles of sand washed out to sea. Waves of memories crashed on the shore of his mind. Dancing at balls. Talking in the moonlight. Carriage rides. A stolen kiss.

His reckless, ill-advised, doomed proposal.

The duke’s wife, Octavia, bounded down the carriage steps. Yelvie! Rushworth! I’m back from Paris and look who I’ve brought. She was small and petite, like Isabella, which only made Agatha’s statuesque height and dignity more obvious.

Octavia rushed over to her husband and embraced him. The other two women seemed enthralled with the hamlet and its picturesque surroundings, gazing around at the orchard and mustard yellow stucco buildings.

They seemed less than thrilled with the men in front of them. Isabella and Agatha both looked everywhere but at them.

You didn’t tell them we’d be here, did you? Yelverton said beneath his breath.

Octavia beamed at him. They’re here now, and we’ll all have to get along.

He fixed an artificial smile on his face, as he had learned to do, even though this was the exact opposite of the relaxing house party she had promised him. Rushworth patted his shoulder. Good man.

Yelverton’s grin was nearly a grimace, but he kept it plastered on his face. We will do whatever the duchess requires. You can always count on us, Octavia.

Anything, anytime, Rushworth said.

She dimpled a smile at them, and Yelverton resolved to try to suffer through the next two weeks for her sake, as well as Woodford’s. They were all the family he had right now, really, and he’d do anything for them. Even this.

The other women approached them. Agatha’s smile was as counterfeit as his own, and Isabella’s expression could only be described as wary.

The duke welcomed his first guest. Mrs. Isabella Phillips—

Bella, Rushworth interrupted. He grinned at her. You look as lovely as ever.

The petite woman pierced him with a glare. Geoffrey. She glanced back at the carriage. Agatha, could you ensure Thomas makes his way to the nursery?

Agatha inclined her head. Certainly.

Isabella turned her back on Rushworth and smiled at the others. Woodford, Octavia, Yelverton. Please excuse me. I have a sudden headache. She whirled around and marched toward the house.

Rushworth grimaced and shot Yelverton a look. Another win for the enemy.

Delighted as always, Woodford called after her retreating figure. He turned as a curly-haired boy jumped out of the carriage and into the arms of a waiting footman. Immediately squirming free, the young lad ran away as fast as his short legs could carry him. An exhausted woman called feebly after him, Master Phillips, you come back here.

Woodford gestured toward the boy, who collided with his legs. The young heir must be in need of exercise after that long carriage ride.

Thomas stared up at the duke, who towered over him. The young boy scuffed some pebbles in the courtyard, and dust and dirt covered the duke’s boots. A smudge adorned the child’s left cheek, as well, and Woodford bent down to brush off the dirt. Hello, young Mr. Phillips.

The boy kicked the pebbles gleefully again, and the duke chuckled.

There now, Thomas. Agatha laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. Would you like to meet your mama’s friends?

Rushworth snorted.

Hello, Mr. Rushworth.

Agatha had greeted his friend first, and Yelverton knew why. She was simply responding to Rushworth’s incredulous stare. Calling him a friend of Isabella’s was more than generous. It would have been like calling Napoleon a friend of the king’s while they were at war.

It was ludicrous.

It’s just Rushworth between old friends. He smiled easily at her and winked, then tagged Thomas on the boy’s shoulder. You’re it. He ran slowly away. Please don’t catch me, or the duke will lock me in his dungeon.

Thomas’s eyes lit up. Dungeon?

No! Rushworth yelled, dancing just out of the young boy’s reach. But I bet you can’t catch me anyway.

Thomas blew a raspberry, then ran after Rushworth. Can too!

Woodford chuckled. Lady Agatha. Welcome to our little farm here at the hamlet. Since everyone else seems to have vanished, I’ll ask my stalwart undersecretary to show you around the estate, and Rushworth will take Thomas to the nursery.

And with that, the duke pivoted on his heel and escorted his wife inside, leaving Lord Yelverton alone with the only woman who had ever broken his heart.

Yelverton tugged at his collar and wiped his brow again. His alarm had turned to sheer panic. Alone with Agatha. He might as well surrender now.

CHAPTER 2

Agatha stole a glance at Arthur Yelverton. Two years. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left for the embassy in Paris.

The hamlet is extensive. Arthur offered her his arm. Muscles rippled beneath the taut fabric of his coat.

He’d changed a lot since he’d left England.

Agatha reluctantly slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow, and they started off together. Do you give many tours? She hoped to keep this one as short as possible.

Arthur nodded. This isn’t the first time Woodford has abandoned me with— He cut himself off and shot her a guilty look. He cleared his throat.

Agatha looked at him curiously. Has Octavia been matchmaking? I’m surprised she hasn’t had any success. Arthur’s shoulders had broadened, while his face had grown trim and lean.

His neck flushed red. He stared down the sunbaked trail, then glanced over at her and rubbed one hand on the back of his neck. It’s the French diplomats throwing their daughters at me, and our visiting countrymen with their families, and…

Agatha laughed. Well, I do not require the extensive tour. A simple explanation will suffice. Very simple. She knew that sheepish look of his, and it only made him more attractive. I will try not to throw myself at you.

The red on his neck deepened. Watch out for the dips in the path. The young girls usually twist an ankle and lean on me the rest of the way.

Agatha lifted her skirt just enough to show him the tip of her traveling boots. Thanks for the warning. You should be safe from any scheming today. She dropped her skirt.

Arthur relaxed beside her. They crossed an arched stone bridge, and he guided her toward the beginning of a circular path. A river warbled beneath them, and weeds grew in tufts between brilliant wildflowers. In that case, if I am truly safe, we might risk a visit to the farmhouse and start there.

Start? How long would this take? The farmhouse is enough for one day.

Arthur’s steps faltered. I understand.

Oh dear. He’d always seen right through her.

I’m not trying to avoid you. I’m simply tired. It was a small lie, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. "I’m so tired I might stumble, twist my ankle, and have to cling to you the rest of the way back to the lodge."

A perfunctory smile flashed across his face, and he nodded stiffly. He resumed his narration. Yes. Right. Marie Antoinette built this rustic farm for her children over a hundred years ago. It fell out of use, and it’s been restored. Now it’s used mostly for hunting parties, but some parts of the farm still function, like the dairy and orchard… His overly formal voice droned on in an obvious attempt to cover the awkwardness between them.

Agatha’s heart fell. This was another reason she avoided him so earnestly. He was far too aware of her emotions. He understood her too well, and she would only cause him more pain.

She wasn’t flirting or teasing him. Her paltry efforts to cheer him were merely an attempt to hide her desire to escape him, and he obviously knew it. She would never allow herself to lean on his shoulder, let alone pretend to be injured merely for that reason.

Why couldn’t he be flattered like most men? But no, Arthur had no conceit or self-importance.

At least he wasn’t puppy-eyed in love with her this time. That was a relief. She never could resist him when he looked at her like that. She preferred this formal distance between them.

She tried to think of a way to shorten the tour. You must have some fascinating tidbits you save to surprise guests during your tours.

Arthur drew a deep breath. I should have known you wouldn’t care about the minutiae. It wasn’t an irritated tone. It was resigned or almost fond.

She smiled. I never have had your eye for detail. Tell me, what secrets does the hamlet hold?

Arthur tugged at his waistcoat with his free hand. It barely fit across his chest. He glanced at her. The river turns the wheel on the millhouse, but there is no mill wheel to grind grain inside.

She stared across the lake toward the stone and stucco structure. A portion of the river had been diverted to form a trough in front of the building. It’s all a façade?

The farm was only built for play. A break from the formal palace in Versailles. A grin tugged at one side of Arthur’s mouth, softening his countenance. Although I should doubt the men who dug the river canal handful by handful called it fun.

Arthur’s eyes twinkled. She’d forgotten the golden specks in his green eyes. This could grow dangerous if she wasn’t careful. Where was the farmhouse? She needed this tour to end quickly.

The path curved around the lake. The lake and the river themselves were created for the hamlet. More artifice. He smiled ironically.

She smiled back politely. She could not allow herself to be pulled in by his charm. And the farmhouse? Is that the building ahead?

Arthur’s steady hand guided her. They turned off the path, and he led her through a field of lavender toward a mustard yellow stucco building. A stone railing wound around one side and curved up to a second story. Azure blue pots with crimson flowers dotted the walkway and porch. A wooden bench rested invitingly in the shade beneath a vine-covered trellis.

Arthur waved toward the bench. May I get you something cool to drink?

Agatha adjusted her skirts as she settled onto the bench. She hardly knew. It had been so long since anyone had noticed that she needed anything.

You must be parched in this heat. Arthur considered her. Would you care for a cup of cider? You never were much of a wine drinker.

She laughed. No, I wasn’t. I’m not. That is, I still don’t care much for wine. The afternoon sun had beat down on them, but Arthur’s steady presence beside her didn’t help. She pressed a hand to her cheeks and a searing heat radiated through her silk gloves. Why had she left her parasol at the hunting lodge? That was the only explanation for the blush creeping up her neck.

Why was he staring? What had he asked? Cider. Yes. Cider would be lovely.

He grinned and disappeared inside the farmhouse. Agatha drew a deep breath of relief. Alone at last. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until Arthur and his twinkling hazel eyes had left. His company brought back too many unwelcome memories. His sudden proposal. Having to reject him. His pain and her own heartbreak. Begging her father to release her from her other engagement.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. Seeing Arthur was so much harder than she’d thought it would be.

He returned with a cool glass of fresh-pressed apple cider, and the liquid slid down her throat. It cooled the heat of the afternoon sun, but Arthur stood silent beside the bench, and the momentary relief vanished. The way he hovered nearby made it hard to relax. Won’t you sit, too?

Arthur wedged himself onto the seat. There was barely enough room for them both on the bench. How would she survive two weeks with him? Papa had always been quite clear that he would not condone a match with Arthur.

Thank you for the drink and the tour of the hamlet. I’m ready to return to the hunting lodge. I’m sure Isabella will need help with Thomas. He was a handful on the journey.

Arthur leaned his head against the building behind them and closed his eyes. She brought a nurse, didn’t she?

Agatha exhaled. Her nurse doesn’t have any idea how to handle him. I’ve had to help.

I’m sure Isabella can manage her own son. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

Even his legs hardly fit into his suit anymore. An overwhelming feeling of attraction swept over Agatha.

Arthur rested his arms casually behind his head. You said you were tired. It’s shady here.

She had said she was tired. He was being ridiculously thoughtful, as usual, retrieving a cool glass of cider that tasted exactly like an apple. He’d also found the closest place to sit in the shade and provided a place to rest. It made her want to gather her skirts and run as far away from him as she could.

No one had cared about how she felt or what she needed for the last four years. She’d taken care of her ill sister to the point of exhaustion. And no one ever noticed how weary I was.

Five minutes in France, and Arthur was already worried about her. He sensed her bone-deep fatigue. Sitting on a narrow bench with his hip pressed against hers and his broad chest beside her—this was not relaxing.

The scent of lavender from the field mingled with the scent of his shaving soap. They both wafted on the afternoon breeze, cooling her and unsettling her at the same time.

I really must return to the lodge.

Arthur groaned and opened his eyes. You take on too much, Aggie. You do too much for other people.

Her eyes widened at the use of her old nickname. It was far too familiar.

A thickness choked her throat at his concern.

He straightened on the bench. I’m sorry, Lady Agatha. Old habits. I forgot myself. He stood and rubbed the back of his neck. Two years as a diplomat, and I still speak without thinking. He smiled sheepishly, and her heart melted.

That was the look she’d been trying to avoid.

She ran her fingers around the rim of her glass. No matter.

He offered her his hand. If you insist on returning…

Thank you. Agatha allowed him to help her up. He took their cups and disappeared inside the farmhouse.

She pressed her palms to her face. Sitting in the shade with Arthur Yelverton had made her cheeks warmer, not cooler.

The farmhouse door slammed, and she dropped her hands.

Ready? Arthur offered her an arm.

Agatha pretended not to notice and walked on her own beside him. Tufts of grass hid dips in the uneven and dusty trail.

Even so, this was safer.

The short respite in the shade had been welcome, and she didn’t want to seem rude, but she couldn’t afford to let down her guard again. It must seem strange to rush back to the lodge so quickly, but I would like to greet the others.

Arthur stumbled on the trail and righted himself. There are more?

Agatha glanced at him. You didn’t think Isabella and I were the only house guests? Octavia always has much grander plans than that.

He groaned. Yes, she does. How many?

Agatha smiled. Only four.

Arthur swallowed. He swatted at a fly, or perhaps it was the idea of more house guests. Four married couples?

She couldn’t help but laugh at the hopeful tone in his voice. Really, Arthur, you know Octavia better than that. Four more friends of hers who are also unmarried. They stopped at the embassy and were only a few minutes behind us. There’s a second carriage arriving any moment, and it’s full.

CHAPTER 3

They had barely reached the turn to the stone bridge when Woodford’s voice boomed, Keep walking! We’re going to the dairy.

Agatha sighed. Her cheeks were still flushed, but not unattractively.

Yelverton glanced over his shoulder. A knot of people followed them on the path. It’s not much further past the farmhouse.

Why would she…I beg your pardon.

Yelverton’s gaze flew to her.

Agatha bit her lip. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.

Yelverton hid a smile. I agree with your sentiment. Why would anyone want to walk in this heat after a long ride in a stuffy carriage?

Agatha laughed. Precisely.

Something warmed in his chest. She was as free and guileless as ever. Yelverton grinned and shrugged. I cannot fathom the workings of Octavia’s mind. I never have.

Then why did you propose to her? Agatha clapped a hand over her mouth.

Yelverton bellowed a laugh. I’m not the only one who still blurts out the first thing on his mind.

Agatha uncovered her mouth. Still?

Yelverton scanned the field ahead. Blast. He’d gotten himself in trouble again. He cleared his throat and tried one of his best negotiation tactics. An even trade. Quid pro quo. I’ll forget your indiscreet question if you’ll forget my thoughtless remark.

Agatha lifted her skirt and picked her way around a hole in the path. The dairy building drew closer. Its half-timber woodwork set it apart from the other stone and stucco structures.

She glanced over, and Yelverton pointed at an enormous arch with two stone spheres on top. The arch is the only one in the hamlet. It serves no function. The white and yellow stones alternate to form a nearly ten-foot-high arch that is purely ornamental, like so much else here. It is merely an illusion, an entrance to nowhere.

Agatha stared expectantly at him. The path widened beneath the arch, and a vast gravel courtyard filled the space between several buildings. A stone wishing well stood in the middle of the clearing. Moss grew everywhere across the top of its wooden roof, and a rope and bucket hung from a great wooden wheel.

The dairy, Yelverton said unnecessarily. Agatha could certainly discern their location by the smell