Earl of Scarborough, page 12
Eyeing the other couples making their way to the chalked floor, she smiled widely. “Thank goodness, my grandfather believed that in addition to book-learning, I should also be accomplished at dancing. Although, why he never thought I should learn to play an instrument when most ladies do, I’ll never know.”
Her hand upon his arm, she permitted him to guide her into the throng. Her gown of sapphire blue and silver and Brussels lace swirled around her as her husband took her in his wonderfully strong arms. She could scarcely believe this magical Christmas ball was real. Or that she was actually married to this incredible man.
She must’ve spoken her thoughts aloud, or else Ansley read them, for he lowered his head and whispered, “It’s real, my love. It’s very real.”
“And it’s utterly wonderful, isn’t it?” Head tilted, she worked her gaze over his beloved features.
“It is indeed,” he agreed, love shining in his eyes. “I never thought I’d be grateful to the two ruffians who tried to rob me. If they hadn’t, a brave little country miss never would’ve rushed to my rescue and turned my troubled world to right.”
“And if the people of Cambridgeshire hadn’t held my American blood against me, I would never have journeyed to London and met you.” A soft smile curving her mouth, she said, “Every cloud does have a silver lining, doesn’t it?”
He drew her slightly nearer, those indigo eyes boring into hers with an unspoken promise of love and devotion and untold happiness. “Indeed, they do, my darling.”
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WICKED EARLS’ CLUB CHRISTMAS COLLECTION
“Tis the Season to be wicked...
Earl of Dryden by Tammy Andersen
Earl of Kent by Lauren Smith
Earl of Kinross by Meara Platt
Earl of Bergen by Anna St. Claire
Earl of Charm by Maggie Dallen
Earl of Woodcliffe by Aileen Fish
Earl of Edgemore by Amanda Mariel
Earl of Oakhurst by Madeline Martin
Earl of Darby by Aubrey Wynne
Earl of Scarborough by Collette Cameron
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author COLLETTE CAMERON® scribbles Scottish and Regency historicals featuring dashing rogues and scoundrels and the intrepid damsels who reform them. Blessed with an overactive and witty muse that won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she’s lived in Oregon her entire life, though she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. A self-confessed Cadbury chocoholic, you'll always find a dash of inspiration and a pinch of humor in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.
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Dearest Reader,
Thank you for reading EARL OF SCARBOROUGH!
Ansley was introduced in WHAT WOULD A DUKE DO? and I wanted him to have a unique heroine. She needed to be smart, funny, and a commoner. Willow took to her role with enthusiasm, and the two of them gave me quite a run for my money.
When I thought the story would go in one direction, one or the other of them, decided they weren’t going to cooperate. The next thing I knew, I had a whole new idea on the page. My characters really do not listen to me.
I had not heard of most of the parlor games I mentioned in the story and hope someday I have an opportunity to play them.
I’d like to mention one other small detail. I, in no way, mean to disparage the British by including prejudices against Willow’s American heritage. I simply wanted an unusual plot device that did have a degree of truth to it. However, I must also acknowledge that such intolerance was not limited to one group of people.
My works are fiction, and although I strive for historical accuracy, I do, at times, take artistic liberties when I believe it makes for a better story.
Please consider telling other readers why you enjoyed this book by reviewing it on Amazon. I truly adore hearing from my readers. You can contact me at my website below. I also have a fabulous VIP Reader Group on Facebook. If you’re a fan of my books and historical romance, I’d love to have you join me. That link is below as well.
Here’s wishing you many happy hours of reading, more happily-ever-afters than you can possibly enjoy in a lifetime, and abundant blessings to you and your loved ones.
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EARL OF DRYDEN
Chronicles of a Bluestocking
Wicked Earls’ Club, Book 12
by Tammy Andresen
“The life of the dead is placed in the memory of
the living.” ~Marcus Tullius Cicero
Miss Chloe Finch sat on the edge of the dance floor tapping her toe. She’d strategically placed herself somewhere between the potted fern and the shining marble statue of some long-ago valiant soldier. The candlelight shone on his alabaster finish, adding shadow under his cheekbones and ribcage. He looked quite dashing actually and the only company she had, despite the sea of people around her. Which was how she’d preferred to be at such events.
Her aunt, Lady Mildred Hartworth, engaged in conversation with several other matrons. They whispered behind their fans as people passed, casting judgment upon them with narrowed eyes and not-so-subtle words.
Chloe could only hope to stay hidden behind them so their sharp tongues did not turn on her. Inevitably, however, they always did.
“Did you see the garish bird figure perched in Lady Millicent’s hair? Dreadful. How does she expect to make a decent match looking like that?” Her aunt gave a loud sniff.
Chloe cringed, shrinking smaller into her chair. She hated these affairs. Her aunt was insistent that Chloe could make a good match if only she’d stop being such a ninny and attempt to be charming. Chloe had tried on numerous occasions to fit in, but she simply couldn’t. Plagued with an irrational shyness that she didn’t dare explain, she froze, unable to utter a syllable, every time a suitor came near. Or anyone she didn’t know for that matter. She couldn’t explain the why, she scarcely knew herself. She only could pinpoint the when; the dreadful plague began shortly after her mother’s death four years prior.
Wrapping her arms about her waist, her forearm pricked with pain, so she loosened her grip, rubbing the tender flesh. She consoled herself that her affliction was getting better. She’d even made a few friends. Lovely girls, who like herself, were outcasts, each for her own reason. Penny and Annabelle both had irresponsible parents while Caroline had been caught with a known rake. But that didn’t bother Chloe. She thought them delightful.
And they thought her smart and fun rather than simple or daft. She’d been passed over by suitor after suitor when she’d been struck mute in their presence. Who could blame them?
Of course, there were also the men who took advantage of her silence, she blamed them plenty but there was little she could do to stop them. Her aunt most definitely blamed Chloe for their deeds.
“Chloe looks darling this evening,” Lady Mayfair said as she leaned over to her aunt and Chloe’s eyes widened.
No no no, she chanted in her head. Don’t talk about me please.
“What does it matter? Until the girl will stop being so stubborn and apply herself to seeking a match, I may as well be dressing up a doll.” Her aunt gave a loud huff to match her words. “One would think she’d show some appreciation for my efforts by actually trying. Since the moment I took her in, she’s been nothing but a willful, errant, troublesome girl. Exactly like her mother.”
Even crossed as her arms were, in a display of protection, her fists clenched. She was trying to be what her aunt wanted. Always had. Tears pricked at her eyes. Did her aunt think she enjoyed being so socially awkward?
“Such a pretty girl too. What a shame,” Lady Mayfair said, despite only being a foot away, as though she spoke in a foreign language and Chloe wouldn’t even understand the words.
Her aunt knew very well that Chloe understood everything and yet she persisted. “That’s not the half of it. She isn’t dumb or mute. She’s just trying to disobey me. I’m sure of it.”
Chloe opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. Who was she kidding? She’d never argue with these women. Instead she turned to the statue. He was tall and strong and for just a moment, she pretended he was real though she knew very well he wasn’t. “Would you save me, kind sir, from the dastardly tongues of wicked old women?”
“Chloe,” her Aunt Mildred gasped, turning back to her. “Of all the things to finally utter in public.”
But then, something even stranger happened. The statue answered. “Why yes, I will.”
The Earl of Dryden, or Fin, as a few close friends called him, stood next to an abomination of a statue, doing his best to avoid Lady Angela Stark. Hiding was probably the more accurate word. She was one of this year’s fresh-faced debutantes, dressed in frilly white lace ruffles and her hair in tight curls. Her high-pitched laugh sounded with every sentence she uttered and cut him to the bone.
Didn’t she know most ladies of marriageable age were frightened near to death at the very sight of him? Not just because of his dark and often menacing looks, but because of the rumors that swirled about him. The girl clearly had no sense.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He wasn’t looking for a wife. Though he understood the merits of having one. Actually, his barrister liked to remind him regularly that matrimony would do a great deal to boost Fin’s public perception and business. The man had practically bullied him into attendance tonight. And, as an earl, he’d eventually need an heir. But as a man with real darkness in his soul, the thought of marrying a woman like Lady Angela was laughable.
Angela walked by and he ducked behind the beast of marble, glad for its hulking size. He’d tried everything he could think of to rid himself of the girl, but she had one characteristic in spades…tenacity.
He peeked around the other side of the marble monstrosity and caught sight of a lovely woman sitting just in front of him. Her honey-blonde hair was piled high on her head, but loose strands fell all about her face, highlighting her delicate features. At least they appeared delicate in profile. Full, dusky-pink lips trembled as she listened attentively, though no one appeared to be talking to her.
Then he realized the women just in front of her were talking, not to her, but about her. Words like such a shame were bandied about as her fists clenched against her sides, her chin hardening as she notched it up.
She straightened her back and opened her mouth. Interested, he bent forward waiting to hear what she would say. Would her voice be sultry or sweet? Was she intelligent or full of air like Lady Angela?
Instead of talking to the matrons, however, she slumped back down and looked at the statue. “Would you save me, kind sir, from the dastardly tongues of wicked old women?”
Sultry and saucy too. Her voice and her words raced along his skin like a touch. Her voice, like red velvet, could turn a man inside out.
“Chloe.” One of the old women turned, looking stunned. “Of all the things to finally utter in public.”
Finally utter in public? Chloe? Bloody hellfire he’d run himself smack into Miss Chloe Finch. Miss Finch was known to be a mute. Even the men in his secret club had discussed her over brandy and cigars. And they did not utter the names of many respectable ladies. At least not when they were together at the club.
Men claimed her dumb, daft, bereft of a mind. Many a lord had referred to her as a beautiful little puppet. They said she went mad after her mother’s death. Some even joked that she’d make the ideal wife if not for the possibility of passing such an affliction onto their children.
This woman was neither mute, nor dumb. Perhaps she never used her voice because it had magical powers. It was a possibility. He was fairly certain her mezzo rasp had just cast a spell on him. Which explained why he uttered the most ridiculous words of his life. “Why yes, I will.”
Cameron, Collette, Earl of Scarborough
