How to Avoid the Marriage Mart Read online

  Nicholas dropped to the floor. “Move over,” he whispered to Charlotte.

  He attempted to squeeze himself into the confined space and she gave him a look as if she wanted to kill him. But at least she wriggled farther back, giving him a bit more room to maneuvre. He edged himself as far into the underside of the desk as he could, his knees tucked up to his chin. He had been amused by Charlotte’s ungainly appearance, but his was even more absurd.

  Charlotte was about to speak, but he put his finger to his lips to indicate silence and pointed toward the door. He was so close the action almost resulted in their arms becoming entangled. This was most certainly not where he had expected to spend the first evening of this weekend party, crammed under a desk with Charlotte FitzRoy while they hid from the dowager duchess and two relentless debutantes. If he’d known the evening was going to become this entertaining, he would have shown more enthusiasm about attending the party.

  Author Note

  Charlotte FitzRoy and Nicholas Richmond first appeared in Beguiling the Duke, where they were already fighting their attraction for each other. Now, in How to Avoid the Marriage Mart, they have their own story.

  Charlotte is a feisty, opinionated young woman. She is typical of the type of woman who emerged in Victorian England sometimes disparagingly referred to as the New Woman. They were independent, educated and determined to change society and improve the lives of women.

  Charlotte’s plan to change the world does not include falling in love with a notorious rake, but sometimes the best-laid plans can go decidedly wrong.

  I enjoyed writing Charlotte and Nicholas’s story and hope you enjoy reading it. I love hearing from readers and can be contacted through my website at www.evashepherd.com.

  EVA SHEPHERD

  How to Avoid the Marriage Mart

  After graduating with degrees in history and political science, Eva Shepherd worked in journalism and as an advertising copywriter. She began writing historical romances because it combined her love of a happy ending with her passion for history. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, but spends her days immersed in the world of late Victorian England. You can follow her on evashepherd.com and Facebook.com/evashepherdromancewriter.

  Books by Eva Shepherd

  Harlequin Historical

  Breaking the Marriage Rules

  Beguiling the Duke

  Awakening the Duchess

  Aspirations of a Lady’s Maid

  How to Avoid the Marriage Mart

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  To my good friend Maya,

  thank you for your support,

  encouragement and

  excellent advice.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A Marquis in Want of a Wife by Louise Allen

  Chapter One

  Somerset, England—1893

  It was just a kiss. Just one kiss. It had meant nothing to Lady Charlotte FitzRoy—or at least it should have meant nothing to her. After all, she was sure it would have meant less than nothing to Nicholas Richmond, the Duke of Kingsford. Charlotte doubted he would even remember what had happened between them five years and one month ago.

  She glared at him across the drawing room. Leaning nonchalantly against the marble fireplace, his legs crossed at the ankle, his arm resting on the mantelpiece behind him, he was surrounded by a gaggle of simpering debutantes and was quite obviously thoroughly enjoying himself.

  She looked him up and down with disdain, taking in those long, muscular legs, clearly delineated under the fabric of his black trousers, his slim waist and wide shoulders encased in his formal swallow-tailed evening jacket, and sniffed her disapproval.

  How Charlotte could ever have been attracted to such a reprobate she would never know. Apart from his good looks and masculine physique the man had nothing to recommend him. Now that she was no longer a foolish girl of eighteen attending her first Season she could see him for what he really was. She was now far too mature to be dazzled by his charm or his handsome appearance.

  Unlike those other young women, she would not be batting her eyelids at him and acting the coquette. Instead, she would treat him with the contempt he deserved. She added what she hoped was a disapproving sneer to her already disdainful expression. She expected him to look away, to turn his full attention back to the prattling pack of women gazing up at him with adoring eyes. Instead, he continued to look in her direction.

  Why on earth was he doing that? It must be because she was the only unmarried woman in the room who wasn’t vying for his attentions. The man’s conceit knew no bounds.

  No, that was unfair. Nicholas had many faults, but he wasn’t conceited, nor was he vain, although he had plenty of reasons to be.

  As a naive eighteen-year-old she had waxed lyrical in her diary when describing his good looks. Blue eyes the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day, or sapphires sparkling in the candlelight, were among her absurdly poetic descriptions. And his hair—hadn’t she described his tousled blond hair as being the colour of a wheat field moving in a gentle breeze, or the spring sun shining in a cloudless blue sky? And how she had loved the contrast between his blond hair and his dark brown eyebrows and eyelashes. She had even gone as far as to say they gave his face the look of a romantic poet, or a dashing hero from a mythical tale of dragons and damsels in distress.

  And as for his lips, what ridiculous imagery had she used when describing them?

  Fire erupted on her face at the memory of what she had written about his lips. She had dedicated multiple pages of her diary to how desperate she was to feel the touch of those full, sensual lips on her own. Then, when the opportunity had arisen, she had all but thrown herself at him. And he had rejected her. She forced herself not to look away from him in shame, despite the humiliation that was engulfing her like a raging inferno. She just had to remember she was no longer that foolish, fanciful girl and Nicholas Richmond now meant nothing to her. She had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.

  ‘Why on earth have you turned that unbecoming shade of beetroot?’

  Charlotte groaned inwardly. While she had been wallowing in the agony of her past, she hadn’t noticed that her mother had sidled up to her.

  ‘The room is a bit warm and stuffy, that’s all, Mother.’ She turned her gaze from Nicholas to the older woman, who bore that familiar disapproving look of flared nostrils and pinched lips.

  ‘Well, you look like a peasant girl who has spent all day working in the fields. You’ll never get a husband looking like that. And can’t you at least try to smile? You’re at a party, for goodness’ sake, not a funeral.’

  Charlotte was unable to suppress a sigh of exasperation. It was her mother’s fault she was here at all. She did her best to avoid balls and other social occasions during the Season and she most certa
inly never attended shooting parties. Yet here she was, at the Marquess of Boswick’s Somerset estate, having to endure a weekend of complete boredom, while the other guests entertained themselves during the day by slaughtering as many pheasants and partridges as they could.

  Once the Season was over, the shooting and fox-hunting parties that had started on the twelfth of August, some weeks ago now—known as the Glorious Twelfth—gave all those debutantes who hadn’t made a conquest during the Season a second chance at finding a husband. If they weren’t pretty enough, charming enough, rich enough, or with a high enough status to attract a beau during the Season, they could try to impress a future husband with their riding and shooting skills. And then there were the endless card evenings, musical evenings and dinner parties they could attend, all designed for the men to enjoy themselves while the leftover girls attempted to shine.

  At twenty-three Charlotte was almost officially on the shelf and that was exactly where she wanted to be. She had more important things to do than search for a husband and had no interest in becoming a married woman, effectively giving up her independence and becoming little more than a man’s possession. She released another exasperated sigh, looked over at Nicholas, then back at her mother.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Mother, I am not here to find a husband? The only reason I let you drag me to this pointless event was so that I could try to get the Marquess of Boswick to act as patron for the charity hospital I’m raising funds for.’

  Charlotte had also been hoping that the Prince of Wales would be in attendance. The Marquess was part of the Prince’s set, a group commonly known as the fast set because of their gambling, parties and other disreputable activities. But one good quality the Prince did possess, he could be philanthropic towards any charity he believed deserved support. Unfortunately, the Prince was reported to be shooting deer up in Scotland, so she would have to make do with the very wealthy Marquess of Boswick.

  Her mother flicked her fan in Charlotte’s direction. ‘Oh, pish posh, you and those pointless social causes will be the death of me. No one ever found a suitable husband by indulging in so-called worthy causes. Indulging in a nice little charity can be attractive in a woman, it shows she cares, but you take it too far and get too involved. And why you want to actually mix with those people in the London slums I’ll never know.’ She shuddered slightly, then took Charlotte’s arm. ‘But let’s not talk about that now. Let’s go for a walk outside so those unflattering red cheeks can calm down. It will also give us a chance to discuss our strategy.’

  Charlotte was reluctant to go anywhere with her mother and certainly had no interest in listening to her latest husband-hunting plans, but it was that or remain in the drawing room, watching Nicholas and his coterie of flirtatious young debs all fighting for his attention. So, she let her smiling mother lead her across the room, through the crowd of men dressed in formal black evening wear and elegant women in an array of colourful silk and satin evening gowns, talking politely in small groups.

  A liveried footman in purple and gold opened the doors and as they stepped out on to the balcony the cool air stung Charlotte’s burning cheeks, the nip in the air signalling a frost was on the way. The September day had been warm and sunny, but the evening air suggested it wouldn’t be long before they were in the grip of winter.

  The French doors closed behind them and the sound of voices died, along with her mother’s smile. She was all business now as she pulled two pieces of paper out of her beaded reticule, along with her pince-nez spectacles.

  ‘I’ve made a list of all the eligible men here this weekend and placed them in order of acceptability.’ She looked at Charlotte over the top of her spectacles to make sure she was listening, then looked down at the paper clutched in her bejewelled hands. ‘And I’ve made another list of those who you’ve got the most chance with. Hopefully, the fact that you’re the sister of a duke from a prestigious family with a long and noble history will help with some of the men with lower titles or no title at all, even if...you know.’ That familiar pinched look returned to her mother’s face. ‘Even if our fortune is not quite what it was. So, you might want to start with them.’

  Charlotte would have once been surprised by her mother’s determination and calculated approach to marriage, but not any more. She’d endured the agony of five Seasons and each Season her mother had become worse, until she now approached husband-hunting like a military campaign she was determined to win despite the overwhelming odds stacked against her.

  ‘I’ve also made notes on each man’s areas of interest, so you’ll have something to talk about, and I’ve written out a few conversation openers for you.’ She shook her head, her face the epitome of a disappointed mother. ‘For someone who reads as much as you do I would have thought you’d be able to find something to talk about other than the plight of the poor, or why women should have the vote or any of that other nonsense you insist on spouting. But as you can’t, I’m sure you’ll appreciate my assistance in this area.’

  Charlotte sighed loudly, which her mother ignored by flicking the paper, then commenced reading out the list of supposedly suitable men that even someone as inept as Charlotte might have a chance of winning. Charlotte only heard the first name on the list, a widowed baron who was old enough to be her grandfather. Instead of listening, she did what she often did when her mother was lecturing her: she let her mind drift off.

  Her mother’s voice fading into the background, she looked out at the topiaries in the formal garden, which were bathed in the lights coming from the countless sash windows at the back of the Marquess’s extensive country home. The grounds surrounding the house were magnificent and rivalled any in the country, including those at Charlotte’s home, Knightsbrook.

  He was an immensely wealthy man and would hopefully give generously towards the charity hospital. But his wealth paled in comparison to that of Nicholas Richmond. Nicholas was one of the wealthiest men in the country. When his father died, he had inherited the title of Duke of Kingsford, along with the vast family estate in Cornwall, and homes and other estates throughout the country. It was no wonder that so many women were after him. He was undeniably an excellent catch for any aspiring young lady. But Charlotte had never been interested in his title or his wealth. She drew in a strained breath. And he had made it quite clear he wasn’t interested in her.

  Her mother was looking at her expectantly and Charlotte realised she had stopped talking. ‘Thank you, Mother,’ she said, trying to keep the facetious note out of her voice. ‘I’ll remember all your excellent advice.’

  Her mother raised her eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest by Charlotte’s acquiescence. ‘Right, now to the list of the men who are most eligible, but also the most in demand. If you get a chance to talk to one of them, then you must do everything you can to impress them, but the competition is going to be tough. There are some desperate young women here this weekend and even more desperate mothers.’

  And you’re the most desperate of them all, Charlotte wanted to add. Instead her gaze returned to the garden, to the fountain sending plumes of water high into the evening air and the statues standing guard along the winding walkways. Once again, she was determined to ignore every foolish word her mother uttered.

  ‘Nicholas Richmond, the Duke of Kingsford,’ her mother read out. Charlotte’s attention immediately snapped back to her mother, her stomach clenching, her heart doing the seemingly impossible and skipping a beat.

  Her mother paused and glanced up at Charlotte. ‘I didn’t expect him to be here this weekend, but I’ve added him to the list and put him at the top as he’s by far the most eligible man present. But that also means there will be some fierce competition for him and some of the young women present only came out this Season, so I’m afraid he’s a bit out of your reach, really.’

  She tilted her head in question. ‘Charlotte, dear, you’ve gone bright red again. You can’t
blame it on the stuffy room this time. You don’t harbour ambitions in the Duke’s direction, do you?’

  Charlotte refused to answer. She would not be discussing Nicholas or any other man with her mother.

  ‘Oh, my dear, I think you’ve missed your chance there.’ Her mother placed her hand gently on Charlotte’s arm. ‘You should have tried to capture him during your first Season, before his older brother’s unfortunate passing. Now that he’s inherited the title, he can have his pick of any unmarried woman he wants. I’ll do my best to help, but all the other mothers at this shooting party will also be making a concerted attempt to secure him for their daughters.’

  She removed her hand from Charlotte’s arm and tapped her forefinger against her chin. ‘I suppose I do have the advantage of being friends with his mother, so I can try to exert some influence there. It won’t be easy, but there’s no harm in trying.’

  Charlotte drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, fighting to keep calm and to still her now furiously pounding heart. ‘I do not need your help, Mother,’ she stated slowly and emphatically. ‘Do not talk to his mother and do not talk to him.’

  Turning to look back at the garden, she hoped that would be the last word on the subject of Nicholas, but, knowing her mother as she did, she knew it would not be.

  ‘If you insist, I’ll leave it all to you to gain his attention, but when you do make your play, remember to ask him about his time in Europe. And make sure you let him do all the talking. You have an unfortunate habit of talking too much and being too quick to give your own views. It’s much better if you let the man do the talking. All you have to do is look interested in everything he says, smile, laugh at his jokes and try not to sound too clever. And for goodness’ sake, do not mention that charity hospital or any of your other silly social causes. You don’t want to bore the man rigid. But we’re still going to need to think about what we’ll do when... I mean, in case you fail to attract the attentions of the Duke of Kingsford.’