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Overview
By day Felicity championed women’s rights, but by night she dreamed of romance. She was the secret author of a scandalous new novel—the tale of a lady “rake” and her passionate exploits. Yet one titled gentleman grew more and more intrigued with this headstrong young woman, and Felicity would soon learn that real life could be infinitely more interesting (and stranger) than fiction.
Praise for M. C. Beaton and her novels
“The best of the Regency writers.” —Kirkus Reviews
“A delightful tale . . . romance fans are in for a treat.” —Booklist
“Nicely atmospheric, most notable for its gentle humor and adventurous spirit.” —Publishers Weekly
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780795321894 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | RosettaBooks |
| Publication date: | 09/05/2019 |
| Series: | The Waverly Women Series , #3 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 186 |
| Sales rank: | 860,135 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
M. C. Beaton is the pen name of bestselling novelist Marion Chesney. She is a prolific writer of historical romances and small village mysteries. Born in Scotland, the author began her writing career as a fiction buyer for a Glasgow bookstore and has worked as a theater critic, newspaper reporter, and editor.The author has written under various names, most notably as M. C. Beaton for her Hamish Macbeth and Agatha Raisin series. She also has written under the names Sarah Chester, Helen Crampton, Ann Fairfax, Marion Gibbons, Jennie Tremaine, and Charlotte Ward.The author lived in the United States, but now splits her time between the Cotswolds, England and Paris, France.
M.C. Beaton is the pen name of bestselling novelist Marion Chesney. She is a prolific writer of historical romances and small village mysteries. Born in Scotland, the author began her writing career as a fiction buyer for a Glasgow bookstore and has worked as a theater critic, newspaper reporter, and editor.
The author has written under various names, most notably as M.C. Beaton for her Hamish Macbeth and Agatha Raisin series. She also has written under the names Sarah Chester, Helen Crampton, Ann Fairfax, Marion Gibbons, Jennie Tremaine, and Charlotte Ward.
The author lived in the United States, but now splits her time between the Cotswolds, England and Paris, France.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The large house in Hanover Square had a lost and abandoned look, as if no one lived there anymore. And yet servants could be seen going about their duties, and very occasionally a beautiful young lady would emerge and take the air accompanied by her maid.
The rooms seemed haunted by the voices of the bluestockings Mrs. Waverley had invited to her soirees. But Mrs. Waverley, that champion of rights for women, had betrayed her sex. She had married a colonel, now Baron Meldon, and had fled London. Society gossiped furiously after the announcement of the marriage and then forgot about her. They also forgot about her three adopted daughters, Fanny, Frederica, and Felicity. Fanny had married the Earl of Tredair; Frederica, Lord Harry Danger; and surely that third one had married as well.
But the third one, Felicity, was all alone. Mrs. Waverley had gone, leaving her the house and a treasure in jewelry, enough to keep Felicity in comfort until the end of her days. But Felicity was an independent lady. She had sold her first novel and was already hard at work on another. The servants were all women, Mrs. Waverley having never employed menservants, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Ricketts, was always at hand to accompany Felicity should she care to go out. Felicity had recovered from the blow of Mrs. Waverley's desertion of her, from the feeling of aching loss at being abandoned by her "sisters." But she had quarreled with Fanny and had tried to break up Frederica's marriage — sure Lord Harry did not mean to marry her — so they could hardly be expected to want to see her again.
In fact, she would have considered herself content had it not been for that ongoing nagging curiosity about her birth. Mrs. Waverley had adopted the three girls from an orphanage. Both Fanny and Frederica and their then suitors had tried to find out why Mrs. Waverley had chosen them, why they had initially been kept at an orphanage that demanded high fees from the relatives of the orphaned, yet in their case there did not seem to be any relatives, and why Mrs. Waverley turned faint every time she saw the Prince Regent: Each time the girls had come up against a blank wall.
Of the three girls, Felicity had been the one who had most rigidly followed Mrs. Waverley's training. Women were little better than slaves, and marriage was a way of selling themselves into bondage. But now that Felicity was independently wealthy and had a profession, she found her nights plagued by romantic dreams. The Season was beginning again. The air was full of excitement as if throbbing with all the hopes and dreams of the young misses arriving by the carriageload to look for husbands.
She was not vain, but her looking glass told her she was beautiful. She had masses of chestnut hair, an elegant figure, a sweet face, and large hazel eyes. Fanny was still abroad, Frederica was also on the Continent, and there were occasionally reports in the papers of their happiness and beauty. Although Felicity did not yet know it, her determination to remain a spinster was already crumbling.
Yet still she often toyed with the idea of taking up the reforming process where the treacherous Mrs. Waverley had left off — at finding women who needed to be trained to educational independence. But women, thought Felicity bitterly, were all fickle. A man had only to smile on them and they forgot all their principles.
Mr. Harvey, the bookseller who was publishing Felicity's book, had cleverly spread gossip about it through society before publication. It was called The Love Match by a Lady of Quality. The heroine was a rake who broke men's hearts and left them weeping. Mr. Harvey was sure of its success.
So good was his promotion that by the end of the first day of publication every copy had sold out.
Felicity was sitting in her drawing room one day, admiring the handsome volume for the hundredth time, when Lady Artemis Verity was announced.
She put down the book and rose reluctantly to greet this unwelcome caller. Lady Artemis lived on the other side of Hanover Square and had recently returned from Italy. She was a dashing widow who had been engaged to a Mr. Fordyce but had broken the engagement and run away from him. Her fine eyes were snapping with curiosity as she came into the room.
"I could not believe my ears, dear Miss Waverley," she cried, "when I learned Mrs. Waverley had become married." Lady Artemis giggled. "So much for all her theorizing and prosing on about the independence of women. And Frederica! Now Lady Harry Danger, I believe. Tra la. You bluestockings seem to know how to snatch the best husbands from the marriage mart. So how do you go on? Never say you are living here alone."
"No," lied Felicity, although she did not know quite why she lied. "My aunt is chaperoning me. A Miss Callow."
"Indeed! I should like to make her acquaintance."
"She is very old and frail and is lying down at the moment."
"You must bring her to tea." Her eye fell on Felicity's book. "I see you have been reading The Love Match. A sad sham."
"How so?" demanded Felicity angrily.
"Oh, everyone is tut-tutting over it and saying what a monstrous rake the authoress must be herself, but, my dear, I could swear it was all the imaginings of a virgin."
"I found it highly convincing," said Felicity stiffly.
"Well, you would, would you not?" Lady Artemis laughed. "But to any woman of the world ... la, the ravings of an innocent. Men do not fall in love with such a philanderer. If she is still in prime condition, they get their lawyers to offer her a sum for her favors. If she is past it, then a shilling and a glass of rum is the usual fee."
"It is selling very well," pointed out Felicity.
"A novelty. But society will soon become wise to her, and her next book will be left on the shelves. I have not seen you about. Are you determined to keep to Mrs. Waverley's teachings and stay hidden from the world of men?"
"I have been busy of late," said Felicity. "But we shall no doubt meet soon."
"I look forward to meeting your aunt. Miss Callow, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Strange. I did not think you had any relatives ... er ... that you knew of."
"Well, I have," snapped Felicity.
She was still smoldering when Lady Artemis left. She picked up her book and scanned the pages. A blush mounted to her cheeks. Was it so naive? Was Lady Artemis being malicious? But, then, Lady Artemis could not know that she, Felicity, had written that book. Felicity bit her lip. Perhaps it was naive. How could she enlarge her experience? She could not attend balls and parties unchaperoned. She rang the bell.
Mrs. Ricketts, a tall, powerful woman, came in and stood with her hands folded.
"I have been thinking, Mrs. Ricketts," said Felicity, "that it is time I made my debut."
"You cannot do that on your own, miss," said Mrs. Ricketts. "Perhaps you had best advertise for some genteel lady to chaperon you."
"I don't want a stranger in my house interfering with my ways and my independence," said Felicity. "Why do not we dress you up finely, Mrs. Ricketts, and you can come with me?"
The housekeeper recoiled in horror. "I couldn't do it, miss, and that's a fact, me with my plain speech and plain ways. Me sit with them dowagers? Your social standing would be in ruins. Besides, you don't get no invitations, and you won't get none neither, not without some older lady to nurse the ground."
"Drat!" Felicity chewed her fingernails. "Never mind, Mrs. Ricketts, I shall hit on something."
To her surprise, she had another caller that day, the famous actress Caroline James. Caroline had entered the Waverley household the year before in the guise of Lord Harry Danger's sister, Lord Harry having employed her to befriend Frederica and so further his suit. Caroline had, furthermore, been engaged to be married to Colonel James Bridie, now Baron Meldon, he who had run off with Mrs. Waverley. The famous actress was a handsome woman and had conceived an admiration for the strong-willed Felicity.
"I put off coming to see you," said Caroline, "for actresses are not at all respectable, but a rumor reached me that you had been left alone, and I was anxious to reassure myself the world went well with you."
"Yes," said Felicity. "I am truly independent now. Mrs. Waverley left me this house and all the jewelry."
"Then you are indeed fortunate," said Caroline. The Waverley jewels were famous.
Felicity looked uneasily at her book, then said impulsively, "I wish to confide in you, Miss James. Have you read The Love Match?"
"Not yet," said Caroline, "but all London is talking about it."
"I wrote it," said Felicity, coloring slightly.
"How clever of you!" exclaimed Caroline.
"I felt until today it was indeed clever of me," said Felicity. "But a certain Lady Artemis called on me. She is a widow and very mondaine. She does not know I wrote it, of course, but she sneered and said it was obviously written by a virgin, that it was naive. The heroine in my book is a rake, or rakess, if there is such a thing. I wish to enlarge my horizons and go about in society. I told Lady Artemis I was chaperoned by an aunt, a Miss Callow, but Miss Callow does not exist."
"Then you must advertise for someone to take you about," said Caroline, unconsciously echoing Mrs. Ricketts.
"I don't want that," said Felicity fiercely. "I do not want to be under anyone's thumb again. Could you, my dear Miss James, not pretend to be Miss Callow?"
Caroline shook her head. "I have too many performances, too many rehearsals."
Felicity fell silent, and Caroline's blue eyes watched her sympathetically.
"Could you not," said Felicity, raising her eyes, "make me up to look like an elderly lady?"
"I could. But someone so young as yourself would not stand close scrutiny. What is your plan?"
"Oh, Miss James, if you could make me up to look like a dowager, I could entertain the ladies of the ton to prepare my own debut."
Caroline looked amused. "But when you are invited to a ball or party, you will be expected to arrive with this Miss Callow. You cannot split yourself in half."
"I shall worry about that when the time comes," said Felicity. "Please say you will do this for me."
Caroline hesitated, looking at the glowing, pleading face turned to her own. "You could come with me to the theater," she said, "and we could try something."
Felicity clapped her hands with delight. "Now!" she said. "Let's go now!"
The Marquess of Darkwater was strolling across Hanover Square when he saw Miss Felicity Waverley emerge with Miss Caroline James.
"What is that minx up to now?" he mused, watching as both ladies climbed into a carriage and drove off.
For the marquess not only knew who Felicity was but that she was the authoress of The Love Match. He had been present at the bookseller's when Felicity had first presented her manuscript and, unknown to her, had followed her home to find out who she was.
The marquess looked like one of the villains in Felicity's book. He was tall and tanned, with a broad-shouldered athlete's body. He had thick raven-black hair and piercing gray eyes. All Felicity's villains were handsome. The hero was plain-featured to show the readers that beauty of soul was more attractive to the rakish heroine in the long run than mere good looks. The marquess had returned from the West Indies the year before, where he owned sugar plantations. He was in his thirties and had been married to a delicate lady who had only survived the climate of the West Indies a few months before falling sick and dying. He had had some vague hope of finding a new wife in London, someone strong and brave enough to travel back with him to the plantations. But so far he had not met anyone to excite his interest ... except, perhaps, Felicity Waverley, whom he considered highly unmarriageable in view of her spicy book. Unlike Lady Artemis, the marquess thought Felicity had a great deal of experience that no young lady should have in order to write such a shocking book, not knowing that the more purple passages of Felicity's prose had been culled from Greek and Roman classics.
He had hoped to meet Felicity at some society function, but it appeared Miss Waverley did not go out.
He went on his way but had only gone a few yards when he was hailed by one of his friends, Lord Freddy Knox. "Are you coming to our ball?"
"Of course." The marquess smiled. Lord Freddy had recently become married at the great age of nineteen to an heiress one year younger. The ball was to be the couple's first social engagement since their marriage. "Good," said Lord Freddy. "I do hope it will be a success. Cassandra can barely sleep a wink with nerves." Cassandra was his new wife, whose looks did not live up to her name, as she was small and plump and fair and vague, forever losing things and forgetting things. "Any fair charmer we can ask for you?" demanded Lord Freddy.
"No," began the marquess, and then his eye fell on the Waverley house. "Well, there might be."
"Only name her," cried Lord Freddy.
"Miss Felicity Waverley. She lives over there."
"I thought they were all married."
"No, I believe Miss Felicity is still unwed."
"There was a story going about," said Lord Freddy awkwardly, "that the three girls were foundlings and bastards adopted by Mrs. Waverley."
"And yet such lack of parentage did not stop either Tredair or Danger from marrying," pointed out the marquess.
"True. If you want her, you shall have her. But this Miss Felicity might think it odd to receive a card at this late date. The ball's on Friday, and this is Monday."
"Try," said the marquess.
"Oh, very well, although I don't think my Cassandra will like it."
* * *
Felicity sat in Caroline's dressing room. "I will need to try to effect this transformation myself," said Caroline, "for no one else must be in on the secret. Now, let me see. I think a rather nasty birthmark might answer."
"Why?" demanded Felicity. "I want to be a sweet white-haired old lady who will be doted on by the dowagers."
"Because if you have a disfiguring mark on your face, then people will not look too closely. Before I even begin on your appearance, you must learn to move and walk like an old lady."
The day wore on as Felicity went through "rehearsal" after "rehearsal" until she began to feel very weak and old indeed. Caroline then drew out wigs and makeup and white wax and got to work.
"You must always sit in a bad light," she said at last. "I have finished. You can look now."
She held up a branch of candles, and Felicity looked in the mirror.
A white-haired old lady stared back. A purple birthmark disfigured her left cheek, and white wax wrinkles crisscrossed her brow. The huge wig shadowed her face. "Never be seen without gloves," said Caroline, "or your hands will give you away. Do not sit too near the fire, or your wrinkles will melt. Now you will need to have all that taken off and then learn to put everything on yourself. It is a good thing Monday is the one night I do not have a performance."
"Surely you don't perform on Sunday."
"I rehearse. But don't tell anyone or they will close down the theater!"
At long last, Caroline pronounced herself satisfied. Then she said, "Before you embark on this mad scheme, I trust you are only going into society to observe. You may feel Mrs. Waverley betrayed you, but her principles were sound. It is a good thing for a woman to have her independence. It was you yourself who convinced me I should not marry."
"And you are happy?"
"Yes, I am very happy. My success is secure; I am thrifty; I shall have enough money to keep me comfortably in my old age."
Felicity looked again in the mirror. "This birthmark is quite repulsive," she said.
"It will serve its purpose," said Caroline. "Wear some of those famous Waverley jewels. All will look at those rather than at your face."
"I hate those jewels," said Felicity fiercely. "Mrs. Waverley enjoyed forcing us to wear them to excite the envy of the ton. I used to feel like some pasha's favorite. Fanny and Frederica must have hated them as well, for they left theirs behind. But if you think it will serve the purpose, I shall wear something dazzling."
Felicity returned home late, feeling weary. Mrs. Ricketts handed her a letter she said had been delivered that evening by hand. When she opened it, Felicity found a heavily embossed invitation card and a letter from Lady Freddy Knox. In it, Lady Freddy apologized for the lateness of the invitation, saying it had been dropped down the back of her desk by mistake.
"My first ball this Season," said Felicity with satisfaction. "I shall pen an acceptance."
"You cannot go, miss," pointed out Mrs. Ricketts. "You don't have a chaperon."
"I have now," said Felicity cheerfully, and told the appalled housekeeper of her plan.
In vain did Mrs. Ricketts argue and protest. Felicity was determined to go. She would accept for herself and her "aunt"; she would arrive alone and, on reaching the ballroom, say that her aunt was right behind her. She would make her entrance with a crowd of other people.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Love Match"
by .
Copyright © 1989 Marion Chesney.
Excerpted by permission of RosettaBooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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