A Marriage Made in Mayfair

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Marriage Made in Mayfair

Copyright © 2012 by Tamara Gill

ISBN: 978-1-61333-319-8

Cover art by LFD Designs

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

Look for us online at:

www.decadentpublishing.com

Decadent Publishing Recent Releases

Dark Secrets by Desiree Holt

Rebirth by Rebecca Royce

A Scent of Longing by Cara Bristol

Virgin Territory by Cari Quinn

Embraced by Rebecca Royce

Once Her Man Always Her Man by Heather Long

Rendezvous at Midnight by Lynne Connolly

Senator Mine by Kerry Adrienne

Ravished Before Sunrise by Lia Davis

Dead or Alive by L.J. Garland

Whipped Puppy by L.C. Dean

A Marriage Made in Mayfair

By

Tamara Gill

~Dedication~

For the hero in my life, Brad

My little rakes in the making, Lord Samuel and Lord Harrison

and my heroine for all time, Lady Lily

I love you.

And to my wonderful critique partner and friend

Joanna Lloyd

Thank you
.

Chapter One

“Are you sure you want to do this, Suzanna?” asked Henry, as he watched her preparations from the doorway.

“Of course. I’m sure. Lord Danning may have frightened me off last season, but he’ll not do it again.” She shifted her head away from her brother as her French maid Celeste pinned a curl to dangle alluringly over her ear.

Henry pushed himself away from the doorframe and strolled over to where she sat in front of her dressing table. He held out his hand and pulled Suzanna to her feet, twirling her slowly as he admired her. “Well, you’ll certainly turn heads at the ball. Celeste has worked miracles. I hardly recognize my clumsy, unfashionable little sister.”

Suzanna glanced at her reflection—nothing about this sophisticated woman staring back at her resembled the humiliated, heartbroken debutante who ran, not only from a ballroom, but also from the country. Gone were the orange locks that had hung with no life about her shoulders and the eyebrows that were forever in need of plucking. Even the little mole above her lip looked delicate and not at all unattractive, as some matrons had once pointed out.

Oh yes, she would draw attention tonight, but if truth be told, there was only one head she really wanted to turn.

“You like this new look, Mademoiselle March?” asked Celeste.

Her eyes sparkled with expectation. “I do.” She laughed. “Oh, Celeste, thank you so very much. You have outdone yourself.”

And Royce Durnham, Viscount Danning, could grovel at her silk slippers for all she cared. A grin quirked her lips over the thought of seeing one of London’s most powerful men clasping her skirts, tears welling in his eyes begging for forgiveness. It would only serve him right, especially after the atrocious set-down bestowed on her last year at her coming out.

Celeste clucked in admonishment. “My profession is so much easier when one has so beautiful a canvas with which to work. I only make improvement with what is before me.”

“Too true,” Henry stated, kissing his sister’s cheek.

Suzanna laughed. Perhaps they were right. For it was
she
who stared back with green eyes so large they seemed to pale the freckles across her nose to insignificance. “I can only hope my deportment has also improved. I was such a calamity last season.”

“Was your first season,
oui
?”

“Yes.” Suzanna walked over to the window and looked out onto the grounds of her father’s London townhouse. “Father having made his money in trade ensured my lack of popularity. I was certainly not fit for some of the mamas of the
ton
.” She shrugged away the stinging memory of their rejection. The worst had come from the lofty Lord Danning, a rich, powerful aristocrat, tall with an athletic frame that bespoke of hours in the saddle. He was a gentleman who always dressed in immaculate attire that fitted his body like a glove, but without the airs of a dandy.

Even the memory of a strong jaw and dark-blue eyes made her belly clench with longing. He was the embodiment of everything one looked for in a husband—until he opened his mouth and spoke.

“Your father was knighted, mademoiselle. Surely, the English aristocracy would not slight your family’s humble beginnings. Everyone must start somewhere.
No
?”

“You are right, Celeste, yet perhaps if it had been a more distant relation than my father who made our fortune, the
ton
may have been more favourable toward me. No matter my obscene dowry, they did not welcome me as warmly as some of the other girls.”

Henry growled his disapproval. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Suzanna, before my temper is unleashed on the
ton’s
ideals. Aunt Agnes will be down soon to accompany us, so do not delay.” He marched from the room.

“I’ll be down shortly.” Suzanna sat at her desk and picked up her quill, idly rolling it between her fingers. She was glad she had thought to write to Victoria. Her dearest and best friend would ensure she arrived tonight at the Danning’s ball in the company of friends.

“I’ll wear the light green silk tonight, Celeste,” she said, placing the quill onto the desk. “And Mary,” she said to her second maid who fluttered about, tidying the room. “Could you bring my supper up to my bedchamber straightaway? I don’t have much time to get ready.”

Her maid curtsied and departed. Celeste pulled her gown from the armoire. “There is a small wrinkle, mademoiselle. I will take it downstairs and quickly press it. Your hair and lips, I will repair when you have finished the supper.
Oui
?”

Suzanna smiled. “Thank you. I must admit to being a little excited about going. It has been months since I was in London, and the ball is supposed to be the event of the season.”

“And you, mademoiselle, will be the most beautiful of all!”

Suzanna chuckled as the door closed behind her servant. The most beautiful; well, perhaps this once. Maybe if she acted with all the decorum and manners hammered into her over the last few months, a man might magically fall at her feet with an offer of marriage. At one and twenty, marriage was certainly what one ought to think on. Just not with Lord Danning. Not any more, at least.

Hateful cad
.

Chapter Two

“Lord Danning, allow me to explain once more. The cost of running your thoroughbred breeding programme, the living expenses on your estates here in England and Italy, along with your excessive lifestyle, are leaving you very short on funds.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you such unwelcome news, but the extreme way of life you and your brother—whom you fund—live, has finally taken a toll. You have three months at most to settle the debts of your family, or I’m afraid you are facing debtors’ prison.”

Royce swore and slumped back in his chair. He glanced up at the harsh, no-nonsense visage of his solicitor, Mr. Andrews, and cringed. He had expected this meeting would not be to his liking. But such news as his ruination was not quite what he’d imagined.

“Can I not sell off more of my estate?”

“What remains of the property is entailed for future generations. You have already sold off what you could. Furnishings, material objects will only buy you weeks at the most. Of course, any
family
pieces must remain with the estate.” Mr. Andrews paused. “Perhaps you could sell off the hunters and some equipages, my lord? Or the property in Rome?”

Royce halted the drumming of his fingers against the table. “You mock me, sir? Broke I may be, but I’m still a lord with friends in high places. These same friends who would be willing to cease using your services should I tell them you have lost your senses. Sell off my carriages and horseflesh. Whoever heard of such a preposterous idea?”

“Apologies, my lord. But again, I must speak frankly. As your financial counsellor, I must advise closing down the London home, or better yet, renting it out for the season and returning to your country estate.”

“What?” Royce asked, his voice as hard as steel.

“For months, my lord, I cautioned you, warned you this would occur, and yet you ignored me. You must rein in the excessive expenditures your family can no longer afford. Your name is an asset in the
ton
; use it, and procure a rich wife. My apologies for speaking out of turn.”

“You think you’re the only one who is displeased? I’m a Danning, proud of my lineage, and the blood of the great men that flows through my veins. A family line handed down unblemished from father to son. And now, I, the current viscount, protector of my family, could lose it all.”

Royce stood and strode over to the decanter of brandy. His hands shook as he poured the fiery liquid. The burning sting of the drink warmed his belly, yet his body remained cold.

“What do I do?” The life he lived could not be over. To lose one’s station in life was beyond imagining. He could not be...poor! The thought of debtor’s prison, where lice and fleas were as common as a cell mate, sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine.

“Marry an heiress. And be quick about it, mind.”

Royce placed his second glass of brandy upon the sideboard and frowned. “I had not thought of such a possibility.” His solicitor threw him a skeptical look. “Well, of course I’ve thought of marriage, just not marriage to a wealthy woman. We Dannings have always been comfortable with our financial position; marrying for money has never been a priority for me.” Royce paused in thought. “Certainly it would allow the family to continue to live on as before.” His solicitor made a choking sound, his plump chin meeting his chest in disapproval. “You wish to say something further, Mr. Andrews.”

“Your family cannot continue spending, my lord. The income you procure from your estate is not enough to cover your expenditures with your horses, let alone season after season of spending as if money is no object. Your investment income from the East India Company has yet to arrive and may not for many months. You make no money, my lord. Certainly not enough to keep you in the current lifestyle you lead. Your brother especially cannot continue with his life as it is now. He exceeds his monthly income tenfold, which you pay whenever a debtor knocks on your door.”

Mr. Andrews cleared his throat and met his gaze squarely. “If you wish to secure the well-being of your future children, limitations must be put in place and adhered to.”

Royce bowed his head. The old solicitor was right. His brother would have to be brought to heel, and along with it his own expenditures. “Right, then. I’m sure I can bring order to the family’s troubles...and my brother,” he said, as a plan started to form. “Well, I’d best be preparing for the ball.”

“A ball, my lord? Excuse me for speaking out again, but you cannot possibly afford to throw a ball. If I may make another suggestion—best you procure an Almack’s voucher, and make an appearance at the patroness’s expense,” Mr. Andrews said, bending down to place his papers into his leather carry bag.

“Mr. Andrews, you are well aware I throw the ball of the season every year. One no one would miss. Why, have you not noticed my staff bustling about, busy with the preparations?” Royce strode toward the door. “I’m sure, though my new financial situation is not yet known, there will be many a young filly entering my door, eager to marry a viscount. I shall simply favour only those of sufficient wealth.”

“Sounds like a marriage made in heaven, my lord.”