A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance)
Read A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance) Online
Authors: Cheryl Bolen
Tags: #Regency romance
Praise for
A Lady by Chance
Cheryl Bolen has done it again with another sparkling Regency romance. . .I highly recommend
it. –
Happily Ever After
Anna de Mouchet has the stuff of which Regency heroines are made – the right stuff, that
is! –
In Print
***
The Marquess of Haverstock is incensed when he learns the money he needed to buy crucial war information for the Foreign Office has been lost at cards to the illegitimate daughter of an English duke and French noblewoman. When the bewitchingly beautiful woman informs him the only way to reclaim the funds is to wed her, he has little choice but to agree.
Shunned by the ton, Anna de Mouchet agrees to a bizarre proposal that has her using her skill at cards to force the marquess – whom she’s been told is a traitor – to marry her. As his wife, she will be free to spy on him and prove her patriotism to England. But once she marries the handsome lord, she’s less sure of her loyalties. Especially when she feels her husband’s silken touch.
E-books available from award-winning author Cheryl Bolen
Regency Historical Romance:
The Brides of Bath Series
The Bride Wore Blue*
With His Ring*
A Fallen Woman*
To Take This Lord (
previously titled
An Improper Proposal)*
My Lord Wicked
Lady Sophia's Rescue
The Earl's Bargain
With His Lady's Assistance
Christmas at Farley Manor
A Duke Deceived*
A Lady by Chance*
Romantic Suspense:
Protecting Britannia (Texas Heroines in Peril)
Murder at Veranda House (Texas Heroines in Peril)
A Cry In The Night (Texas Heroines in Peril)
World War II Romance:
It Had to Be You
(Previously titled
Nisei
)
* Previously published in paperback
A Lady By Chance
Cheryl Bolen
Copyrighted 2011 by Cheryl Bolen
Table of Contents
Chapter 31
Prologue
London, 1808
Anna de Mouchet studied the deck spread face down in her hands. It was remarkable that no one ever noticed how the birds' eyes varied on the back of the cards. Narrow eyes were face cards. Cards of lower denominations featured regular eyes. And the birds on the aces had round eyes. Of course, the men who had played at her mother's tables would have been more engrossed in the beauty of the dealer than in the etchings on the cards that assured her mother's winnings. Anna flipped over a king and smiled as she heard her chamber door smoothly open.
"Mademoiselle!" the maid screeched as she lightly kicked shut the door behind her and nervously scurried into the room, balancing her young mistress's breakfast tray. "Your mama would be most furious were she to know you still play with her cards. She desires nothing but to make a fine lady of you,
cheri.
"
No one was closer to Anna's mother than Colette, who had accompanied Annette when she fled the Terror more than fifteen years ago. Had it been discovered Annette de Mouchet was a noblewoman, Colette could have lost her head.
"But I don't want to be a lady," the girl protested. "I don't want to go to that fancy school. Unlike Mama, I know I will be treated with no more civility at Miss Sloan's School for Young Ladies than we have received from our hostile neighbors here on Grosvenor Square."
"But your mama wants you to make friends with the daughters of the
ton
. After all, are you not one of them?"
Anna thrust out her chin and spoke through compressed lips. "I can never be one of them and well I know it."
Shortly after breakfast Anna was surprised to see a crested barouche in front of her house. The crest did not belong to any of her neighbors on Grosvenor Square, and her mother had not entertained noblemen since they moved here from Marylebone a year ago.
Anna walked to the morning room to see who was calling but found the doors closed and heard angry shouts from within.
"I will not have the illegitimate daughter of a French whore at school with my own daughters," an angry male voice said.
"My daughter has just as much right to be there as yours," Annette said defiantly. "Even more, for her father was more exalted than you, my lord."
Proud of her mother's fiery retort, Anna listened, fury pounding in her chest, as the man spoke.
"You schemed to get money that should have gone to Steffington's duchess, but you can never buy rank for your bastard."
Annette's voice quivered. "I took not a farthing from Steffington while he lived. Only his love. That is why I receive your rancor. Because of me, he would not bed your wife's sister. Now his money has come to his only child." Her voice cracked. "If it takes every shilling I own, our daughter will be a fine lady."
"Not by going to Miss Sloan's School for Young Ladies," he countered angrily. "I have a letter from the headmistress. She regrets to inform you there is no room for Anna de Mouchet."
The door suddenly flung open and a portly man in fine clothes swept past Anna without looking at her.
Anna scurried across the room to her Annette, who collapsed on a silken sofa, sobbing into her hands.
"Mama, please don't be upset," Anna soothed, leaning so close to her lovely mother she could smell her rose water. She gently hooked an arm around her. "I will be much happier here with you, and not with daughters of that horrid man. Pray, who was he?"
Sniffing, her mother gazed toward the doorway and spoke softly. "That was the Marquess of Haverstock."
Chapter 1
London, 1813
The Marquess of Haverstock dismissed his butler and firmly closed the doors of his library himself before showing his friend to a comfortable club chair near the fireplace and pouring two glasses of port. He settled in a broad chair before the fire where the smell of burning wood was strongest. "Our necessity for utmost secrecy cannot be stressed enough," Haverstock said in a voice much lower than his usual commanding style. "I have to be particularly cautious in this house filled with wretched females."
Ralph "Morgie" Morgan took a rather large swig of port. "Don't know how you tolerate it, my good man. Five sisters." Morgie shuddered as if the port had been poisoned.
"There are only four left, now that I've married off Mary."
"Oh, jolly good. Only four," Morgie said good naturedly.
Now the marquess shuddered. By the time he had provided four more dowries, he would not be able to afford to get married himself. Not that he wanted to, but still he cursed his father for leaving them so lean of pocket.
As if reading his friend's mind, Morgie said, "You really aren't bound to provide hefty dowries for the gels. Got to leave something for yourself."
"Then I'd be no better than my father."
Morgie swallowed and cast a glance at the painting of the marquess' brooding father over the fireplace. He loosened his cravat. Even from the grave, the former marquess could render one uncomfortable. Diverting his gaze from the intimidating portrait, he said, "I say, you'd have pots of money if you'd spend more time on your own affairs and less at the Foreign Office."
"Duty to one's country must take precedence over personal gratification. Which recalls me to the matter you and I need to discuss."
"Ah, yes." Morgie glanced at the door, then lowered his voice. "Came straight away to inform you the loan has been approved. Thank the bloody good Lord my father approved it before his recent demise. Otherwise, I'd have the devil to pay to get a shilling before his estate is settled." He looked pleased with himself when he announced, "I'll have the money in the morning."
The marquess's eyes brightened. "Excellent."
"Excellent for you. And even for England, but bloody bad for me. Since we could not disclose the clandestine nature of the loan, I had to say the whole bloody fifty-thousand pounds was to pay off my gaming debts. I feel like an utter baboon."
"Come now, Morgie. Your heavy gaming is a matter of public knowledge in London."
Morgie took another drink. "Never lose more than I can afford."
"That may be, given that every member of your family has more money than a nabob. And it is my good fortune that my closest friend is a member of the renowned Morgan banking scions."
Haverstock quietly studied his friend as Morgie slightly loosened his expertly tied cravat. Morgie, as Haverstock had referred to Ralph Morgan since their days at Eton, might not possess the keenest intellect, but he displayed impeccable taste. Perfectly tailored clothing – with extra padding over his slim shoulders – set his figure off to distinction, and his dark brown hair always appeared portrait perfect in the most fashionable, understated style. In addition to his exemplary physical appearance, Morgie's manners were above reproach. Because of his vast wealth, he was accepted everywhere despite that several members of the
ton
, including Haverstock's deceased father, quietly snubbed Morgie because of his Jewish lineage.
"If you get the money in the morning, we should be able to leave for France the following day," Haverstock said, fingering the cut crystal glass from which he had yet to drink. He did not share his friend's excessive fondness for liquor. "It's imperative we're in France by the twentieth."
Morgie nodded, patting his chest. "Had my tailor make a special coat lined with several inside pockets to hold a large portion of the money."
Haverstock sat up straight, his black eyes flashing with anger. "You didn't tell the man you'd be carrying large sums of money?"
"Course not, Haverstock. What do you take me for? I'm not a bloody idiot. Told the tailor I'd be traveling and had to carry documents, snuffboxes and hordes of medicinals."
Haverstock relaxed his large frame and smiled. "It's just that except for a select few who work with me at the Foreign Office, no one is to know we will be traveling with the money."
"And none of them know either your destination or the recipient of the cash. Correct?"
"Only me. And only because I speak French as a native. I've received excellent information from our French official in the past, and I completely trust his validity."
"How can you trust a man who sells his own country's secrets?"
Haverstock steepled his hands in thought. "It's because he's a patriot he wants to thwart Napoleon. Too many Frenchmen have spilled blood for Boney."
"Right he is about that Corsican monster, but does this Frenchman have no conscience about his information leading to the slaughter of more French?"