Authors: Miranda Davis
His lordship experienced the alchemy of paternal instinct, during which a man’s perfectly reasonable, well-founded dread effervesced explosively into wordless, boundless, near debilitating joy.
“Oh, Bess, I thought I couldn’t love you more,” His lordship croaked out. “And I am wrong again.”
He lifted her high in the air. For minutes, he cried up at her. She braced herself on his big shoulders and laughed down at him as if he were out of his wits. In fact, the host of happy emotions overwhelming his overworked heart left him completely dumbstruck.
The world was once again a blur for the poor, bedazzled baron. He fixed his watering eyes on his glowing wife. Finally, he understood she had illuminated his life from the moment she first emerged from the shadows of The Sundew’s stable. She had dispelled the gloom.
Though Clun spun her round and round, it felt as though he circled her, as he had all along. For every moth must dizzy himself in just this way, as he flutters with joyous abandon around his irresistible flame.
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The Baron’s Betrothal
,
please post your review online.
Next…
W
ar hero Lord Burton Seelye returns to England a proud, bored second son with no peacetime prospects.
If not for an irresistible wager, Lord Seelye would’ve happily stropped his wit on the Incomparable “Ice Maiden.” Instead, he must tame the sharp-tongued shrew enough for her to make a match in her fourth Season.
Lady Jane Babcock has better things to do than rescue Lord Seelye from his life of cynical superficiality. She must somehow save a
tamed bear from a horrible end. But to do that, she must find in Lord Seelye, the man who once stood up for the underdog, no matter how messy or inconvenient.
After the Historical Notes, etc., an excerpt follows from:
His Lordship’s Last Wager:
A Regency Romance Between Bitter Enemies
By Miranda Davis
Historical Notes and Corrections for Curious Readers
About Locations:
The London square, country estate and Welsh castle in this story are either entirely fictitious or based on the history of London, architecture of actual country estates and castles that I’ve ‘designed’ in a more appropriate location for the story. The Graces and Greyfriars Abbey were built from the ground up in my imagination. Whereas Carreg Castle was inspired by the ruin of Colunwy Castle in the actual village of Clun. Colunwy Castle not being where I wanted it and a pile of stones, I sited the fictitious de Sayre ancestral castle ten miles away and built it with glorious Powys Castle in mind, adding an aviary styled after Regency-period conservatories for fun. Similarly, Damogan Square does not exist in London but is plausible, given the history of a similar square developed as depicted in the story. I referred to
The Regency Country House
by John Martin Robinson, for a sense of the interiors in a grand country estate to bring The Graces to life and furnish it properly.
About Mr. John Soane and his townhouses:
Over decades, the architect reconfigured first No. 12, then No. 13 and 14 Lincoln’s Inn Fields as his home, office and galleries for his burgeoning collections of antiquities, art and books. The ‘right sort’ were in fact welcome to the private residence to view his collection as depicted. John Soane was knighted in 1831, many years after this story takes place, which is why he is Mr. John Soane here. In 1833, by Act of Parliament, Sir John Soane was allowed to bequeath his home and collection to the nation as a museum. He died in 1837.
Modern-day trustees of his museum published an invaluable catalog, “A New Description of Sir John Soane’s Museum, (5th rev. ed. 1981). Thanks to this source, and its exhaustive summary of the collection, engraved depictions, photographic images as well as a meticulous chronology of the buildings’ renovations and the timing of his acquisitions, I have attempted to describe faithfully the state and extent of his holdings and the crowded manner of display in London at the time of this story.
If you’ve ever been to the museum
―
a quirky favorite of mine in London
―
you still get a sense of the light and space as Soane intended it. It became far more ‘stuffed to the rafters’ with antiquities after the period in this story. Seti’s huge stone sarcophagus came later, for example.
It’s a small museum. Still, I wouldn’t want to dust it.
Corsets or stays:
Elizabeth is relatively young and wears the shorter, lighter corset or stays of the period. More matronly women, however wore longer, structured shaping garments. There seems to be an assumption nowadays that the term “corset” and longer shaping garments gave way to stays in this period due to the looser, higher waisted classic-style gowns in vogue.
Not so.
In an 1811 guide on lady-like behavior, dress and comportment titled
The Mirror of Graces
, A Lady of Distinction repeatedly refers to “corsets or stays” as synonymous terms to describe garments both short and flexible as well as something longer, structured
and more constricting. These long stays or corsets were intended to shape fleshier figures into the slim, pleasing shape that looser, high waisted dresses of muslin flattered. In other words, the term ‘corset’ survived as did a longer shaping garment, though long stays were not designed to create a wasp waist of the previous century but rather to slim the hips.
This Regency author does not like long stays or corsets but it’s clear from her writing, the “long stays or corsets” were not only common but over the hip in length and very firming. There was even a long, shaping garment called ‘pregnant stays’ for expectant mothers. (Yikes.)
Disdaining long versions, this Lady proves the popularity of these garments: “A vile taste in the contriver, and as stupid an approval by a large majority of women, have brought this monstrous distortion into a kind of fashion; and in consequence we see, in eight women out of ten, the hips squeezed into a circumference little more than the waist; and the bosom shoved up to the chin, making a sort of fleshy shelf, disgusting to the beholders, and certainly more incommodious to the bearer.” (Pg. 96. See
The Mirror
’s chapter “On the Peculiarities of Dress” for more details and hilarious discussion of underthings generally.)
Lord Percy no more, my apologies George.
I realized in reviewing noble titles that I had to strip Lord Percy, as he was originally known in
The Duke’s Tattoo
, of his courtesy title. As the second son of a viscount, he has no courtesy title. I have revised Book One to reflect this (but if you’ve already read it, it’s too late). In this, Book Two of the series, he is now properly identified as the Hon. George Percy or Mr. Percy. I’ll make it up to him in Book Four, sort of.
Lord Seelye’s father was the Marquis of Exmoor, not Earl.
For much the same reason, i.e. my confusion,
Seelye’s father’s is a marquis because second sons
are
entitled to a courtesy title. I only mentioned his father once in
The Duke’s Tattoo,
and I have corrected this error but I wish to make a clean breast of it. Hence he remains Lord Seelye while facing all the travails of wrangling Lady Jane Babcock and her tamed bear in Book Three. Frankly, the man deserves a medal for all he puts up with but that, too, is another story.
About the Author
M
iranda Davis has loved Regency romances since Mr. Darcy won Elizabeth Bennett’s heart. (Not that Miranda is 200 years old.) Miranda’s mother must take responsibility for her daughter’s love of Georgette Heyer.
At various points, she earned degrees from Smith College and Harvard University and worked at everything from scooping ice cream to big-time advertising. When she’s not busy with family along the Old Santa Fe Trail, she’s happily dreaming of Regency England or reading about it. Or knitting. Or working on the next story slowly but surely.
Another important individual contributes to her efforts when not distracting her with spitty toys or by taking her for walks in the fresh air. Though he doesn’t read (that the author knows of), her hulking, brown, part-gargoyle dog continues to provide inspiration, serving always as an example of loyalty and love. The author feels blessed every day this dog is in her life.
Acknowledgements
F
irst, I am grateful to everyone who took a chance on
The Duke’s Tattoo
, a self-published first novel. In particular, let’s have a moment of silence for early US and overseas readers who read my original, imperfectly copyedited version. Your reviews educated me, encouraged me and inspired me to revise it and to make it a better story, I hope.
Second, several generous UK/US/overseas readers have read
The Baron’s Betrothal
in final draft stages to give me their opinion and help me correct Americanisms and other thumb-in-the-eye mistakes
before
publishing. (What a concept.) Thank you so much Jill MacKenzie in Australia and Karen Zachary in DC for your valuable time and invaluable insights. And to Carol Sissons in Essex, UK, who sacrificed countless, useful brain cells to help me copyedit this, there is not space enough to express my appreciation for your intelligence, wit and generosity. My deepest sympathy for your
loss of gray matter.
Thank you, too, Thyra Dane in Denmark, a writer with whom I started up a correspondence via amazon review comments, for reading an early, early draft of this and for our wide-ranging discussion about it and HRs. BTW, Thyra will be publishing a series of brilliant, well-researched historical romances involving shield maidens (think gorgeous, kick-your-ass-capable women with significant leadership roles in medieval Norse society) and big, brawny Viking men (sigh).
Third, thank you for purchasing Book Two. Your support may make the third book possible.
If you enjoyed
The Baron’s Betrothal
, let me and the world know. I’m always thrilled someone liked my work to some degree and I appreciate positive reviews (and constructive criticism) as well as personal emails.
If you didn’t, in addition to the usual outlets, you may reproach me directly at:
[email protected]
.
From Book Three of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse series
His Lordship’s Last Wager:
A Regency Romance between Bitter Enemies
Prologue
Somerset, September 1804
“Go home, Pest!” barked George Babcock, Earl of Chapin and the fifth Duke of Bath’s heir apparent. He addressed the scrawny, tow-headed blonde trailing behind his hunting party. “We won’t have you tagging along.” To his friend Lord Burton Seelye, he moaned, “Sisters! And she’s the worst of the lot. Filthy little urchin’s like glue.”
Lady Jane stood well behind the young men, crestfallen at her brother’s scornful words of rebuke. She wore a hopelessly dirty dress and mud-crusted half boots. Her blonde curls were tangled by her headlong pursuit of her brothers and their friends as they went off to shoot partridge.
“Oh, George, don’t be such a dry stick,” drawled Seelye, the handsomest of her brother’s friends and the second son of their nearest neighbor, the Marquis of Exmoor.
26
“She’ll only get in the way, Burtie,” George snorted impatiently.
“Oh, let her come. We’ll need all hands to carry home our braces of birds,” Seelye boasted.
“Huzzah!” The others cheered.
The Earl of Chapin scowled eloquently.
“Mustn’t let your envy interfere with our sport, George,” Seelye added. “We all know she’s a better shot than you.”
“Is not,” he retorted.
“Am too,” the little lady piped up on her own behalf. “Even father says so.”
“If she gets herself blown to bits, it’s on your head, Burton, you hear me?” George fumed.
Seelye grinned and held out a hand to help the littlest Babcock over a tree limb fallen across the path to the fields.
“Now after all that, Jane, you really mustn’t get yourself shot. You will mind me, yes? And stay behind us at all times.”
She frowned up at him. “But I want to shoot, too.”
Seelye looked at her, noted the mulish set of her mouth and her cornflower blue eyes beginning to swim in moisture. “No waterworks, Jane. Never works on me, you know that.”
Jane stiffened, straightened and sniffed. “I am not crying. My shoes are wet and pinching.”
“I see. Well, that does hurt,” he replied. “Right. You will remain behind us when you’re not shooting beside me. But you may only use my gun and
I
will load it for you. Absolutely no whining about how many shots you get either. We must let George save face, understood?”
“Rubbish,” George spat and strode off to join the others.
Jane nodded, never taking her huge, blue eyes off him. “Thank you, Lord Seelye,” she whispered and executed a credible curtsey.
“You are most welcome, Lady Jane.” And he made an extravagant bow over the ragged cuticles of her grubby fingers. “I predict you’ll either grow up to be a hellion of biblical proportions or a heartbreaking beauty.”
“Or both,” she said with a lopsided grin.
“Well, and why not?” Seelye smiled down at her.
“But I promise not to break your heart.”
“I am reassured.” And off they walked hand in hand to catch up to the rest.
* * *
Lady Jane Babcock, youngest daughter of the Duke of Bath, fell madly in love with Lord Burton Seelye on the 17
th
of September, 1804. On that day, she vowed to marry him and no other.
She was ten years old and he was 18.