The Lady’s Secret
The Lady’s Secret
By Joanna Chambers
London, 1810
Former actress Georgiana Knight always believed she and her brother were illegitimate—until they learn their parents were married, making them heirs to a great estate. To prove their claim, Georgy needs to find evidence of their union by infiltrating a
ton
house party as valet to Lord Nathaniel Harland. Though masquerading as a boy is a challenge, it pales in comparison to sharing such intimate quarters with the handsome, beguiling nobleman.
Nathan is also unsettled by Georgy’s presence. First intrigued by his unusual valet, he’s even more captivated when he discovers Georgy’s charade. The desire the marriage-shy earl feels for his enigmatic employee has him hoping for much more than a master-servant relationship…
But will Nathan still want Georgy when he learns who she truly is? Or will their future be destroyed by someone who would do anything to prevent Georgy from uncovering the truth?
93,000 words
Dear Reader,
What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.
We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella
Fatal Destiny
by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel,
Mercy,
can look forward to her follow-up story,
Redemption,
set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.
Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shots trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with
Double Shot.
In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.
Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors,
Liar’s Guide to True Love
by Wendy Chen and
Unscripted
by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.
Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
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For my husband, who has at last come to terms with me being constantly abstracted.
With special thanks to my critique partners: Carolyn Crane for her wonderful support, insightful comments, enthusiasm and smartness, and Jill Sorenson, who gave tough love and practically bankrupted herself sending me her comments by airmail.
And thanks, too, to all the many online romance readers and writers, too numerous to mention individually, who have spurred me on with my writing and enriched my life as a reader.
October 1810
The Camelot Theatre, London
“I don’t think we need it,” Max said. “The shipwreck takes place offstage.”
Georgy continued pulling at the voluminous dust sheets.
“Bring the light closer, will you?” she said. “I can hardly see.”
Max sighed. His cane tapped as he drew nearer and the faint light from his candle grew stronger.
“Aha!” Georgy exclaimed as she finally wrestled the sheets away. “Look, didn’t I say this would be perfect?”
It
was an eight-foot replica ship, tall-masted and intricately rigged. Just a prop, and quite useless on the high seas, but pretty for all that.
“I’ll paint a new backdrop,” Georgy went on. “We’ll use the mechanical waves and some lightning flashes. A musical thunderstorm. Can’t you just see it, Max?”
“I still don’t think we need it,” Max said, but he sounded less definite now.
“Of course we do. We need some thrills and spills. A little bit of a spectacular for the cheap seats. That’s why they come to the Camelot.”
“Maybe.”
“And it’ll barely cost anything to put together,” she added—her trump card.
There was a long pause before Max spoke again. “All right then, but it had better
not
cost much.”
She grinned at him, triumphant. “Do you want to see the costumes I’ve chosen so far?”
Max shook his head. He began walking towards the stairs and she followed him. “I need to speak with Lily. I have a feeling she’s going to be unhappy with me. She’ll be expecting to play Viola. She’s getting Olivia.”
“But why? She’d be wonderful as Viola!”
Max halted on the first stair and sent her a steady look. “Talented as Lily is, her posterior is simply too large to play a breeches role. Audiences will allow us certain liberties with the truth but I’m afraid that Lily’s bottom would be pushing them too far.”
Georgy grinned. “You’re not going to tell her that though, are you?”
Max gave a small smile. “Of course not. I’ll talk her round. I’ll tell her that only a truly great actress can show Olivia’s sorrow in what is essentially a comic play. By the time I’m finished with her she’ll be begging to play the part.”
They began climbing the stairs together, Max going slow. His hip must be paining him today. She kept well back, giving him plenty of space.
When they reached the ground floor, the daylight streaming through the windows made Max’s candle redundant. He blew it out.
“So who’s playing Viola?” Georgy asked.
“Funny you should ask,” Max said, turning to her with a smile. “I was wondering if you would consider taking the role.”
Georgy stared at him, stunned. In the face of her silence, he went on.
“You make a magnificent boy. When you played Dick Whittington in the pantomime—”
“I can’t believe you’d even ask me,” she interrupted.
Max frowned. “Georgy, it’s been two years.”
“I’m never going back on stage. I told you that and I meant it.”
The mere thought of it made her feel sick. Years of training and bit parts had led up to her one and only leading role. But when the whole show rode on her performance, she had discovered that her usual sickening nerves turned into a paralysing, wrenching fear that had her sweating and vomiting before every curtain.
“But you were wonderful,” Max said, looking genuinely puzzled.
She couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. She could still vividly remember it, those long moments of panic when the lines wouldn’t come, the stretching silence and heat of all those hundreds of people watching and waiting. Her mouth dry and her heart pounding as she fumbled in the dark corners of her mind for the words.
Never again.
“I’m sorry,” she said flatly. “I just can’t.”
Max stared at her for a long moment. “I thought that one day you might get over it,” he said at last. “You’re every bit the actress your mother was, you know. It’s such a shame you don’t have the same burning desire to get on stage.”
Georgy just shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed in me, Max—”
He waved her off. “No, I’m not disappointed. I don’t mind if you never set foot on the stage again and you more than earn your share of the profits here. Even if you didn’t, your mother left her share in the Camelot to you and Harry. I asked you because I want you to be happy and I thought you might
want
to tread the boards again.”
She shook her head. “Well, I don’t.” It came out rude and defensive and she flushed, feeling ashamed because she knew Max was only trying to help her. He gave a rueful smile.
“All right then. In that case it’ll have to be Bessie Hall for Viola.”
“Oh, not Bessie!” she retorted before she could stop herself.
“Unless you’re volunteering yourself, it will be Bessie.”
She sighed heavily. “Bessie, then. At least her bottom is smaller than Lily’s.”
Georgy spent the rest of the afternoon amongst the costumes stored in the cavernous storeroom under the Camelot. By the time she’d finished, she’d set aside a pile of things for repair and alteration.
As she marched back upstairs, she made a mental list of what else she needed to do for this production of
Twelfth Night
. Max would deal with casting, music and rehearsals. Georgy’s responsibility was the sets and the costumes—provided Max was happy with the cost.
When she’d first begun to work behind the scenes at the Camelot she’d been little more than an errand girl, trying to earn her and Harry’s share of the profits, since she’d proven to be so singularly useless on stage. But as time wore on, she discovered her hitherto unknown artistic side and put it to use making sets, scenery and costumes. Now she was happy with her behind-the-scenes role. And if she occasionally dreamed of a different life—one that didn’t revolve around the next performance, one that took place out in the real world—well, that was just sheer ingratitude. She always made sure to put those sorts of thoughts away.
When Georgy emerged from the storeroom, Lily was waiting for her, sitting on a box with her legs drawn up under her and her nose in a book. She looked up when Georgy opened the door, and put her volume to one side.
“Ah there you are, George.” Her winsome smile meant she was after something. “I’ve been waiting for you. I need you to put my hair up for me. Max is taking me out.”
“All right. Come through to one of the dressing rooms. Where are you off to?”
“Some awful soiree,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “I’m to charm some fat nabob with oodles of money. You know Max. Always looking for patrons.”
They walked in single file down the cluttered corridor. Backstage the walls were grubby and scenery cluttered every corner. This was the reality behind the red velvet curtains and gilt-painted mouldings.
The dressing room Georgy selected had a couple of ancient chairs, a rickety table and a chipped mirror. Lily settled herself in one of the chairs while Georgy dug around in a box on the table for hairpins.
“You used to like going to parties with Max,” she observed as she hunted.
“I still do. It’s just that I was going to have supper with Sir Nigel tonight.” Sir Nigel Agnew was Lily’s latest beau.
“You know, Georgy,” Lily went on, “you should get a Sir Nigel. You work too hard. You never have any fun.”
“I do have fun! Besides, I’m not looking for a Sir Nigel.” She began to plait Lily’s glossy tresses.
“But aren’t you ever lonely? I thought you liked Michael?”
Georgy had liked Michael McCall. He’d played the lead in a recent production and had kissed her at the impromptu celebration they’d had on the last night. She’d enjoyed his kisses—so why had she pushed him away?
“Michael wasn’t for me.” She shrugged, rolling the plait up to the back of Lily’s head and holding it there while she fumbled for a pin with her other hand.
“You’re going to end up a dried up old maid who’s never had a man, if you don’t watch out.”
“I’m not yet four and twenty!” Georgy protested.
“I had my first lover when I was nineteen,” Lily replied, adding “Ow!” when Georgy jabbed in the first pin.
Just then, the door opened. Georgy turned and looked over her shoulder. When she saw who stood there she threw the handful of pins down and ran to him.
“Harry!” Her brother pulled her into his rough embrace and swung her round, laughing.
“When did you get back?” she asked when he put her down. She stepped back, just to look at him, to see him better. Her twin. Tall and broad, fair and handsome.
“Hello, Harry,” Lily said flatly.
Harry turned a careless smile in her direction. “Lily. You look as lovely as always.” When she maintained a stony expression, he turned his attention back to Georgy. “I just got back. I came straight here.”
“And? Any joy?”
His eyes slid away from hers.
“Not as such. I have another lead though.”
“Another lead,” she repeated. “I thought this was going to be your last try.”
He sighed noisily and sank down onto the other chair, shoulders slumping. “Please don’t start nagging at me, George.”
Her gaze travelled over him. He was dusty and rumpled from his travels and he looked weary, with dark circles under eyes.
“All right,” she relented. “Tell me about it.”
“I assume we’re talking about the secret dukedom?” Lily asked, her tone very dry.
Georgy sent her a warning look. Other than Max, Lily was the only person who knew the truth about Harry and Georgy’s birth. Unlike Max, who was an incurable romantic at heart, Lily thought their noble background was something best forgotten. She was forever telling Georgy that it was time Harry gave up on his fantasy of aristocratic privilege and dealt with his responsibilities. By which she meant Georgy, of course, completely ignoring the fact that Georgy was perfectly capable of looking after herself.
“It’s not a dukedom, it’s an earldom,” Harry replied irritably.
Lily shrugged whilst examining her face in the cracked mirror. “It scarcely matters what it is when you don’t actually have it.”
“Shut up, Lily,” Georgy said, turning back to her brother. “Go on.”
“There’s not much to tell,” he said, rallying a little at her encouraging tone. “But it’s a definite lead. I managed to track down Father’s old groom, Hopkins—do you remember him? He wouldn’t say anything at first but after a few ales in the village inn, I loosened his tongue. And he confirmed that Mama and Papa’s wedding took place somewhere in Yorkshire.”
Having delivered this revelation, Harry folded his arms and smiled, apparently well-pleased.
“Yorkshire? That’s it? Your lead is that they got married in
Yorkshire?
” she said.
Harry smiled more widely and nodded.
“
Somewhere
in Yorkshire, the biggest county in England?”
He caught her meaning then and his eyes flashed with temper. “All right, it’s not exactly a pinpoint location, but it’s a starting point. And how long can it possibly take me to check every parish register in the county?”
Georgy gave a strangled cry. “I don’t know…weeks? Months? There must be scores and scores of towns and villages in Yorkshire, and you can’t visit more than two or maybe three in a day.”
Harry stood up so quickly his chair clattered to the floor. “Every time I come back it’s like this! I’ve been away in Sussex for a fortnight, riding so much I’ve got bloody saddle sores. Sleeping in the lowest inns and even barns when I get the chance to save a few coins, while all you have to do is fuss over costumes and hair. It’s not fun, you know!”
“
Fuss?
I’m working my fingers to the bone every day so that we have money for you to gallivant around the countryside like Don Quixote!”
“Oh, don’t make out like you’re some martyr,” Harry cried. “You don’t
have
to work.”
“Of course I do! As if I’d let Max do all the work and then take our share of the profits without a by-your-leave. Don’t you think
I’d
like to be the one riding off into the distance once in a while, Harry? Don’t you think
I’d
like a spot of adventure for a change?”
“Adventure?” He sneered. “You? You can’t even get up on stage without vomiting!”
For several long moments, she just stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Harry groaned, passing a hand wearily over his face. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t mean it.”
“Of course you do,” she said quietly. “And you’re absolutely right.” She turned away and started tidying up the hairpins that were scattered over the table.
“George…” Harry began, but Lily interrupted him.
“You know, there’s something I don’t understand about all this,” she said. “Why is it you’re so sure you’ll find evidence that your parents were married in the parish register?”
“Because that’s where marriages are registered,” Harry said with exaggerated patience.
Lily shook her head. “No. Think this through.” She turned her seat around away from the mirror so that they were all facing one another. “Correct me if I’m wrong: when your father told your grandfather he wanted to marry your mother, he was told he’d be cut off if he did the deed. Yes?”
Harry nodded.
“So they married in secret and no one knew, until your father was dying.”
“That’s right,” Harry said. “That’s when he begged my grandfather to take care of us.”
“And the old man settled a sum of money on you two—in exchange for your mama keeping quiet.”
“Hush money,” Harry said bitterly. “We’ve never touched it. We never will.”
“Exactly. The old man was prepared to pay up to keep it quiet. He didn’t want anyone to find out about his actress daughter-in-law or her children, did he?”
“It wasn’t Mama’s fault,” Harry said, scowling at Lily. “She thought she was doing the best thing for us. After all, she couldn’t have known I’d actually inherit.”
“But the old man was smart enough to realise it was a possibility. Hence his wanting to hush it all up, yes?”
Harry shrugged. “I suppose.”
“So would he have stopped at just securing an agreement to secrecy from your mother? Wouldn’t he have tracked down the parish register? Just as you’ve been trying to?”