Secrets of a Summer Night, 1

Prologue

London, 1841

Although Annabelle Peyton had been warned all her life never to take money from strangers, she made an exception one day …and quickly discovered why she should have heeded her mother’s advice.

 It was one of her brother Jeremy’s rare holidays from school, and as was their habit, he and Annabelle had gone to see the latest panorama show in Leicester Square. It had taken two weeks of household economy to save the money necessary to pay for the tickets. As the only surviving offspring of the Peyton family, Annabelle and her younger brother had always been unusually close despite the ten - year difference in their ages. Childhood illnesses had taken the two infants who had been born after Annabelle, neither of them having lived to see their first birthday.

 “Annabelle,” Jeremy said as he returned from the panorama ticket stand, “do you have any more money?”

Secrets of a Summer Night, Sinopsis

 

Keadaan keluarganya yang miskin meski berdarah bangsawan membuat Annabelle Peyton dihadapkan pada dilema terbesar dalam hidupnya: menjadi wanita simpanan pria bangsawan yang sudah menikah, atau menikah dengan rakyat biasa dan menanggalkan status kebangsawanannya. Bersama ketiga temannya, Annabelle menyusun rencana untuk memikat Lord Kendall yang lajang lagi kaya. Sialnya, rencana mereka sedikit terhambat karena kehadiran Simon Hunt, anak tukang daging yang kini sukses menapaki tangga sosial dengan menjadi salah satu orang terkaya di Inggris. Sekuat tenaga Annabelle berusaha menampik Simon dan berkonsentrasi pada usahanya menjadi Lady Kendall. Hingga pada suatu malam musim panas, Annabelle menyerah pada godaan yang ditawarkan Simon dan menyadari tak ada tempat lain yang pas baginya selain di sisi Simon.

Secrets of a Summer Night, 1

A Rogue by Any Other Name #7

Dear M—

I’ve just seen you off, and I came inside straightaway to write.

I haven’t anything to say, really, nothing that every other person in Surrey hasn’t already said. It seems silly to say, “I am sorry,” doesn’t it? Of course, everyone is sorry. It’s horrible, what’s happened.

I am not only sorry for your loss, however; I am sorry that we were not able to talk when you were home. I am sorry that I could not attend the funeral . . . it’s a stupid rule, and I wish I had been born a male so I could have been there (I plan to have a chat with Vicar Compton regarding that idiocy). I am sorry I could not be—more of a friend.

I am here now, on the page, where girls are allowed. Please write when you have time. Or inclination.

Your friend—P

Needham Manor, April 1816

No reply

 

Surely there had never been a longer carriage ride than this—four interminable, deathly silent hours from Surrey to London. Penelope would rather have been trapped in a mail coach with Olivia and a collection of ladies’ magazines.

A Rogue by Any Other Name #6

Dear M—

may think that since you’ve returned to school, I’ve been in a constant state of  ennui  (note the use of French), but you would be entirely wrong. The excitement is nearly overwhelming.

The bull got loose from Lord Langford’s pasture two nights ago, and he (the bull, not the viscount) had a fine time knocking down fences and making the acquaintance of the cattle in the area until he was captured this morning, by Mr. Bullworth. I wager you wish you were home, don’t you?

Always—P

Needham Manor, September 1815

 

* * *

 

Dear P—

I believed you until the bit about Bullworth capturing his namesake. Now, I’m convinced you’re merely attempting to lure me home with your extravagant tales of attempted animal husbandry.

Though, I would be lying if I told you it wasn’t working. I wish I’d been there to see the look on Langford’s face. And the smile on yours.

—M

post script—I am happy to see that your governess is teaching you something. Très bon.

Eton College, September 1815

 

Dawn had barely broken when Bourne paused outside the room where he had left Penelope the night before, the cold and his thoughts joining forces to keep him from rest.

He’d paced the house, haunted by the memories of the empty rooms, waiting for the sun to rise on the day when he would see Falconwell restored to its right and proper owner.

Tender Rebel #5

 

“Well, m’dear, do you believe me now?” Frances whispered, coming up behind Roslynn, who stood in a circle of admirers, none of whom had left her alone since she arrived at this ball, the third such affair in as many days.

The question was innocent enough, if anyone had heard, but no one had. Though the eyes of the gentlemen present returned continuously to Roslynn in her teal satin gown, their attention was momentarily engaged by a friendly argument about some race that was supposed to take place tomorrow. She had started the argument, which seemed the thing to do since it broke up the previous argument about who was to dance with her next. She was quite tired of dancing, especially with Lord Bradley, who must have the biggest feet this side of the Scottish border.

Fortunately, or unfortunately in Roslynn’s case, she didn’t need to ask Frances to explain her question. Frances had asked it once too often in the last days, quite thrilled that she had been right about Roslynn’s reception by the ton and Roslynn had been wrong. She was rubbing it in good, taking Roslynn’s success personally, as if it were her own.

Tender Rebel #4

 

“Well, youngun? What boring bit of nonsense have you to impart? Will it do?” Anthony leaned casually against the doorjamb, watching Jeremy survey his new room with obvious delight.

“Hell’s bells, Uncle Tony, I—”

“Stop right there.” Anthony put on his most unnerving scowl for the lad’s benefit. “You can uncle my brothers to death if you like, but a simple Tony will do here, thank you.”

Jeremy smiled widely, not at all intimidated. “It’s great, 

Tony, it really is. The room, the house, you. I can’t thank you en—”

“Then don’t, please,” Anthony cut in quickly. “And before you go on with this bloody hero worship, be apprised I’m going to thoroughly debauch you, dear boy. Serve your father right for entrusting you in my care.”

Tender Rebel #3

“But I don’t understand, Ros,” Lady Frances leaned forward to say. “Why would you want to tie yourself to a man when you don’t have to? I mean, if you were already in love, that’d be different. But you’re talking about marrying someone you haven’t even met yet.”

“Frances, if I hadn’t promised, do you really think I’d do it?” Roslynn asked.

“Well, I should certainly hope not—but who’s to know if you don’t keep the promise? I mean, your grandfather’s dead and—” Frances broke off at the look on her friend’s face. “Forget I said that.”

“I will.”

The Secret #2

 

She was waiting on her doorstep.

Lady Judith had been given advance warning, of course. Two days before, her cousin Lucas had spotted the four Scottish warriors just a stone’s throw away from the border crossing near Horton Ridge. Lucas hadn’t been there by chance, he had been diligently following his aunt Millicent’s instructions, and after nearly a month of twiddling his thumbs and daydreaming the early summer evenings away, he’d spotted the Scots. He’d been so surprised to see the full-blooded Highlanders, he almost forgot what he was supposed to do next. Memory quickly returned, however, and he rode at a dust-choking pace all the way to Lady Judith’s remote holding to tell her she’d best prepare herself for the visitors.

There hadn’t been much for Judith to do to ready herself. Since the day word had reached her through the intricate gossip vine that Frances Catherine was expecting, she’d had most of her baggage packed and all of her friend’s gifts wrapped in pretty pink lace ribbons.

Tender Rebel #2

“And you wondered who his tailor is?” the Honorable William Fairfax snickered aside to his young friend. “Told you his tailor had nothing to do with it, didn’t I? You want to turn yourself out in a reasonable facsimile, best take up the gloves. He’s been at it for more’n a dozen years, so I hear.”

William’s young friend, Cully, flinched at the sound of leather connecting with solid flesh again, but squinted his eyes open this time. He had closed them tight a few minutes ago when the first dribble of blood had appeared from an abused nose. He shuddered now, for that same abused nose was gushing blood, and so was the swollen mouth below it, and so was a split brow above it.

The Secret #1

Scotland, 1200

Iain Maitland was a mean son of a bitch when he was riled.

He was riled now. The black mood came over him the minute his brother Patrick told him about the promise he’d given his sweet wife, Frances Catherine.

If Patrick had wanted to surprise his brother, he’d certainly accomplished that goal. His explanation had rendered Iain speechless.

The condition didn’t last long. Anger quickly took over. In truth, the ridiculous promise his brother had given his wife wasn’t nearly as infuriating to Iain as the fact that Patrick had called the council together to render their official opinion on the matter. Iain would have stopped his brother from involving the elders in what he considered to be a private, family matter, but he’d been away from the holding at the time, hunting down the Maclean bastards who’d waylaid three unseasoned Maitland warriors, and when he’d returned home, weary but victorious, the deed had already been done.

A Rogue by Any Other Name #5

 

She woke in the dim light of the fire with an unbearably cold nose and an unbearably warm everything else.

Disoriented, she blinked several times, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings before the glowing embers in the fireplace and the rose-colored walls brought clarity.

She was lying on her back in the nest of blankets she had arranged before she’d fallen asleep, and she was covered with a large and warm one that smelled wonderful. She buried her frigid nose in the fabric and inhaled deeply, trying to place the smell—a blend of bergamot and tobacco flower.

A Rogue by Any Other Name #4

 

Penelope reached out and took hold of the whiskey, snatching it from Michael’s hand and considering, for a fleeting moment, drinking deep, for surely there was no better time than this to begin a life of drink.

“I will not marry you!”

“I’m afraid it’s done.”

Indignation flared. “It is most certainly not done!” She clutched the bottle to her chest and began to push past him toward the door. When he did not move, she stopped, a hairsbreadth away, her cloak brushing against him. She stared directly into his serious, hazel gaze, refusing to bend to his ridiculous will. “Step aside, Lord Bourne. I am returning home. You are a madman.”

A Rogue by Any Other Name, #3

Dear M—

A gift! How extravagant. School is certainly turning you into a fine man; last year, you gave me a half-eaten piece of gingerbread. I shall be very excited to see what you’ve planned.

I suppose this means I shall have to find a gift for you as well.

Soonest—P

Needham Manor, November 1813

 

* * *

Dear P—

That was excellent gingerbread. I should have known that you wouldn’t appreciate my generosity in the slightest. Whatever happened to the thought and how well it counts?

It will be good to be home. I’ve missed Surrey. And you, Sixpence (though it pains me to admit it).

—M

Eton College, November 1813

Flee!