The Marrying Season
Read The Marrying Season Online
Authors: Candace Camp
Tags: #Romance, #Regency, #General, #Historical, #Fiction
NEW YORK TIMES
BESTSELLING AUTHOR CANDACE CAMP
delivers pure delight with the previous novels in her acclaimed Legend of St. Dwynwen trilogy
A SUMMER SEDUCTION
and
A WINTER SCANDAL
“A sweet small-town tale in a Regency trilogy. . . . Readers will enjoy the Austen-esque details of village life.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“A sure crowd-pleaser. . . . A neat mystery, a dollop of danger, and, of course, a steamy love story.”
—
Booklist
“Sexy and sweet! Candace Camp delivers another beautifully written story with just the right touch of mystery and a generous helping of a scandalous romance. . . . The perfect read for historical romance fans.”
—
Coffee Time Romance
“A charming, sometimes suspenseful tale of romance.”
—
Romance Reviews Today
Read on for more rave reviews!
Be sure to read Candace Camp’s dazzling Willowmere novels. . . . Critics adore this breathtaking Regency trilogy of the unforgettable Bascombe sisters!
AN AFFAIR WITHOUT END
“[A] delightful romantic mystery. . . . Cunning intrigue. With clever and witty banter, sharp attention to detail, and utterly likable characters, Camp is at the top of her game.”
—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“Sprightly dialogue . . . [and] a simmering sensuality that adds just enough spice to this fast-paced, well-rendered love story.”
—
RT Book Reviews
(4
1
/
2
stars)
A GENTLEMAN ALWAYS REMEMBERS
“An intensely passionate and sexually charged romance. . . . A well-crafted, delightful read.”
—
Romantic Times
(4 stars)
“A delightful romp set in the Regency period. Ms. Camp has a way with truly likable characters who become like friends. The action pops . . . and the relationships are strong.”
—
Romance Junkies
“Where the Bascombe sisters go, things are never dull. Candace Camp delivers another witty, heartwarming, and fast-paced novel.”
—
A Romance Review
A LADY NEVER TELLS
“This steamy romp . . . will entertain readers.”
—Publishers Weekly
“With a bit of mayhem, humor, misunderstandings, and enough sensuality to please any reader, this consummate storyteller writes a well-crafted and enchanting tale.”
—
Romantic Times
(4
1
/
2
stars)
“Superbly written and well paced,
A Lady Never Tells
thoroughly entertains as it follows the escapades of the Bascombe ‘bouquet’ of Marigold, Rose, Camellia, and Lily in the endeavor to make their way in upper-crust London Society.”
—
Romance Reviews Today
“
A Lady Never Tells
carries an allure that captures the reader’s attention. Ms. Camp brings a refreshing voice to the romance genre. The touch of elegance mingled with the downright honesty of the main characters takes your breath away. . . . One of those rare finds you don’t want to put down.”
—
Winter Haven News Chief
“Filled with humor and charm. . . . Camp keeps
A Lady Never Tells
from becoming a clichéd romp with her fine writing.”
—
A Romance Review
(4 roses)
Thank you for downloading this Pocket Books eBook.
Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
One
G
enevieve Stafford watched, smiling, as
her brother led his new bride onto the floor for their first dance. “I’ve never seen Alec look so happy.”
Her grandmother let out a small, ladylike snort. “One would think Alec could have waited a few months at least. A hasty marriage is always cause for gossip, and when it is to a nobody, people are bound to talk.”
“People would talk no matter who Alec married or how long they waited,” Genevieve reminded her.
“I suppose it is inevitable when one is the Earl of Rawdon. Still, there’s no need poking a beehive with a stick. I had hoped Rawdon would choose a more appropriate bride, given the scandal his first engagement provoked.”
“One can hardly blame Alec for Lady Jocelyn’s behavior.” Genevieve quickly came to her brother’s defense.
“ ’Tis a logical consequence of Alec’s considering only how a woman looks, instead of her birth or family or character.”
“Alec does love beauty,” Genevieve admitted. “But there is more to Damaris than that.”
The countess cast her a sideways glance. “Taking up the cudgels for Alec’s wife now, too? As I remember, you wanted him to marry Damaris no more than I did.”
Genevieve felt a flush rising in her cheeks under her grandmother’s scrutiny. The countess had a way of making her feel as if she were five years old with a stain on her skirt. “I did not want him to be hurt again. I feared Damaris was an adventuress who would leave him once she’d gotten what she wanted. He would have been devastated.” Her grandmother would never know how close Alec had come to that state when he thought Damaris
had
left him. The countess had been carefully shielded from the tumultuous events at Castle Cleyre. Genevieve went on carefully, “I—I came to see that I had been wrong about her. The important thing is, Damaris adores Alec, and he loves her.”
“Pfft. Love.” The countess waved away the notion. “Alec has a regrettable tendency toward poetic notions.” She frowned at the thought of this shortcoming in her grandson. “At least you are not given to such nonsense.”
“No, of course not.” Genevieve was unaware of the little sigh she uttered.
“Ah, Felicity!” Real pleasure in her voice at last, the countess turned away to greet her old friend Lady Hornbaugh. “I wondered where you had gotten to.”
“Thought I’d slipped off for a nap, eh?” Lady Hornbaugh trumpeted. “I considered it, I’ll tell you that. Nothing like a vicar’s sermon to cure insomnia, I always say. Hallo, Genevieve.”
“Lady Hornbaugh.” Genevieve greeted her grandmother’s friend with polite deference, though inside she groaned. Whenever Lady Hornbaugh—with a voice that could be heard across any ballroom and of an outspoken bent—was around, Genevieve lived in dread of what she might say.
“You drew a nice number of guests,” Lady Hornbaugh went on, nodding and surveying the room. “Who is that with Sir Myles?”
Genevieve glanced over. Sir Myles Thorwood was making his bow to two women standing beside a well-dressed blond man. Good humor shone from Myles’s dark-lashed, golden-brown eyes, almost the same shade as his sun-kissed, light brown hair. His full, expressive mouth was, as usual, curved up in a merry grin. He was impeccably dressed, his broad-shouldered form showing to best advantage in the formal black attire. He was not as handsome as some—Lord Morecombe, for instance, who had the looks of a Lucifer—but it was generally agreed that Sir Myles Thorwood was possessed of an indefinable, irresistible, and apparently unending supply of charm.
“Flirting, as always.” Genevieve frowned. She was, she knew, one of the few people in the
ton
who was not beguiled by Sir Myles. The man had been one of her brother’s closest friends for years, but Genevieve and Myles rarely met that they did not find something upon which they disagreed.
“That is the Earl of Dursbury. Excellent family, of course. Never a whiff of scandal.”
“So that’s the new earl. Knew his father, of course—and
a dull dog he was.” Lady Hornbaugh raised her lorgnette and stared unabashedly. “Then the beauty beside him is his stepmother?”
“Yes. Dreadful woman.” Lady Rawdon sniffed.
Genevieve studied the attractive woman now chatting with Sir Myles. Lady Dursbury’s lustrous, dark hair was done up in an intricate arrangement of curls; her eyes were large and a soft, doelike brown. Diamonds winked in her earlobes, matched by the pendant around her throat. She wore a round gown of deep plum silk, her full, white bosom swelling above the lace-edged neckline. Genevieve could not help but contrast the woman’s curvaceous figure to her own tall, narrow frame.
“The old earl died a year ago, as I recall, so she’ll be out of her year of mourning. She’s been stuck out in the country since she married Dursbury, and now, I’ll wager, she intends to make a come-out of her own. Who’s the young chit with them?”
“Miss Halford,” Lady Rawdon said. “She was old Dursbury’s ward. Lived with them since her father died a few years ago. It’s said her ladyship is very fond of her.”
“Harry Halford’s daughter? I warrant Lady Dursbury is fond of her, then.” Lady Hornbaugh let out one of her boisterous laughs. “Girl’s worth a fortune. Shouldn’t wonder if Dursbury
has a mind to marry her.”
Genevieve’s grandmother shrugged. “She’s a plain little thing. And I’ve never heard that Dursbury was cash-strapped.”
“No. Still, never bad to have more. Mayhap Sir Myles has a mind toward the heiress, as well,” Lady Hornbaugh speculated.
“Myles?” Genevieve repeated, startled, then laughed. “Myles is not the marrying sort.”
“He is a dreadful flirt, of course,” her grandmother agreed. “I have seen him break many a foolish young girl’s heart.”
“You malign the young man,” protested Lady Hornbaugh, who obviously had a soft spot for Sir Myles. “He’s not at all unkind. Quite the opposite, I’d say.”
“I did not say it was his fault. I don’t suppose Sir Myles can help it if silly girls melt at his smile or think his compliments mean undying devotion. Thank goodness Genevieve had too much sense to pay attention to his blandishments.”
“Sir Myles never flirted with me,” Genevieve pointed out. “He was too loyal a friend to Alec. Not, of course, that I wanted him to.”
“Still, no matter how much he enjoys his bachelor state, Sir Myles must marry one day,” the countess remarked. “He has that whole brood of sisters, no brother to follow him or produce an heir. But I cannot imagine he would be interested in so plain a chit as Miss Halford. The widow would be more his style.”