An Evening at Almack's Read online

  Timeless Regency Collection

  An Evening at Almack’s

  Sally Britton

  Elizabeth Johns

  Sarah M. Eden

  Copyright © 2019 Mirror Press

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Cora Johnson

  Edited by Jennie Stevens, Kelsey Down, and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Rachael Anderson

  Cover Photo Credit: Period Images

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  An Evening at Almack’s is a Timeless Romance Anthology® book

  Timeless Romance Anthology® is a registered trademark of Mirror Press, LLC

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  An Evening at Almack's (Timeless Regency Collection, #12)

  Timeless Regency Collections:

  Table of Contents

  The Heart’s Choice | by Sally Britton

  Chapter One | March 1814

  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

  Check out the next romance by Sally Britton:

  My Unfair Lady | By Elizabeth Johns

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Check out the next romance by Elizabeth Johns:

  Six Wishes | By Sarah M. Eden

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Check out the next romance by Sarah M. Eden:

  More Timeless Regency Collections:

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  Timeless Regency Collections:

  Autumn Masquerade

  A Midwinter Ball

  Spring in Hyde Park

  Summer House Party

  A Country Christmas

  A Season in London

  A Holiday in Bath

  A Night in Grosvenor Square

  Road to Gretna Green

  Wedding Wagers

  An Evening at Almack’s

  A Week in Brighton

  Table of Contents

  The Heart’s Choice by Sally Britton

  More romances by Sally Britton

  About Sally Britton

  My Unfair Lady by Elizabeth Johns

  More romances by Elizabeth Johns

  About Elizabeth Johns

  Six Wishes by Sarah M. Eden

  More romances by Sarah M. Eden

  About Sarah M. Eden

  The Heart’s Choice

  by Sally Britton

  Chapter One

  March 1814

  “Do stop dawdling, Matilda.”

  One would think, given her sister’s tone, that Mattie was a delinquent child rather than the elder of the two and quite firmly the more responsible sister.

  “Stopping to greet our neighbors, especially those of respectable age and rank, is not dawdling,” Mattie corrected, attempting to keep up with her younger sister.

  “It is when we have better things to do.” Beatrice sniffed but finally slowed her rather unladylike stride. “And when the person you stop to speak to is that horrid Lady Fenlock. You know she delights in spreading rumors about me.”

  Rumors that were, Mattie knew, very well founded. Beatrice had something of a reputation for being a flirt.

  “She is also someone we need if we hope to be invited anywhere this Season.” Mattie looked at her younger sister from the corner of her eye, studying the artful way Beatrice’s sun-gold hair escaped her bonnet in playful ringlets. Her sister truly was as lovely as Aphrodite and a contrast to Mattie in almost every way.

  Mattie was older by four years, and at age twenty-six she didn’t mind being considered on the shelf. Her hair was darker, her eyes muddier, and her complexion not so faultlessly pale as her sister’s. Beatrice was tall and willowy, Mattie of an average height and shape. Beatrice could command a room with ease, and Mattie much preferred being an observer on the edges of most parties.

  “As long as we have vouchers, we will do well enough,” Beatrice argued. “We do not need old, gossipy geese to beg us invitations, Matilda. We are attractive young ladies, daughters of nobility.” She narrowed her eyes. “Our family has commanded respect for generations.” Beatrice tilted her nose into the air and walked at a faster clip again.

  It took a firm hold on her tongue to keep Mattie from replying to that remark. Managing her family’s estate was far easier than managing Beatrice. The Granthorne barony had meant something for nearly a hundred years, but Mattie knew that in a single generation it could crumble like the ruins of their ancestors’ castle. And should people discover their father’s ailment, Beatrice would not even be completely to blame.

  Mattie’s steps on the walk slowed as she considered her father’s condition, one for which his doctor could give them no cure. Her heart ached at the thought of losing the man who had been her hero all her life. Her sister didn’t seem to notice when Mattie fell behind.

  If Mattie could persuade Beatrice to focus long enough to marry her off, she just might salvage the family name, her father’s dignity, and her mother’s pride. Beatrice must stop being so stubborn about everything to do with marriage. Many of her worthier callers had disappeared after the previous year. Her sister, at twenty-two, didn’t command the devotees she had at eighteen and nineteen. But there was one man who might do.

  Mr. Arthur Redhurst, a gentleman of means if not in possession of a title, would make a fine husband for Miss Beatrice Rayment, younger daughter of the sixth Baron Granthorne. They would do well together. Both mothers—and Mattie—thought so.

  While Mattie had been thinking, Beatrice walked ahead of her by nearly twenty yards, but Mattie refused to run to catch up. They were on the street of their townhouse, after all, and she could at least see her sister well enough to stop any real trouble from happening. Or so she thought, until she saw a gentleman had stopped on the walk, doffing his hat to speak with Beatrice.

  Narrowing her eyes, Mattie maintained her even speed and tried to determine who the man was. He was tall and dark haired, and his words carried to her clearly in the air, in a voice as unexpected as it was familiar.

  “Miss Beatrice, good afternoon. It is a pleasure to see you after so long.”

  I
t cannot be. Mattie’s heart lightened, a feeling suspiciously like hope stealing into her heart. But that was ridiculous. Seeing an old acquaintance, even if it was him, ought not cause such sensations.

  Beatrice curtsied, and Mattie slowed her step, only a few feet away now, waiting for her sister to identify the gentleman.

  “Good afternoon,” Beatrice said as she returned to her full height. “Pardon me, but how do you know my name? I do not believe we have met.”

  Beatrice raised a hand to her cheek, batting her eyelashes in her most coquettish manner. Mattie ground her teeth together. No. Beatrice must not be allowed to toy with this man’s feelings, innocent flirtation or not.

  “Oh, we’ve met, Miss Beatrice. In fact, I’ve known you for years. You do not know me?” He spoke with a lilt to his voice Mattie had always found rather charming. What on earth was he doing here, on their street? And how could Beatrice not recognize the man who had grown up practically on their doorstep?

  Beatrice shook her head, tilting her head coyly. “Sir, I would remember meeting someone such as you. I never forget a handsome gentleman, and it is really too bad of you to pretend to know me. We must be properly introduced, or there will be gossip.”

  As one of their near neighbors was peering out her front window in that instant, Mattie knew there was a great deal of truth in that statement.

  Mattie stepped forward, between her sister and the gentleman. “Oliver, how lovely to see you again.” She curtsied, keeping her eyes on the nephew of their steward. “Forgive me. It is Mr. Bolton now we have all grown.”

  Oliver had come to live with his uncle after the deaths of his parents many years ago, thus forming an acquaintance with the Rayment sisters out of a polite sort of necessity. He’d been a sad, kind lad then, but he had matured into a handsome man. With him standing before her for the first time in years, grown into his new role of gentleman, Mattie decided he’d aged excessively well.

  Beatrice, her eyes wide and lips parted in surprise, seemed to be thinking much the same.

  “Oliver Bolton? The steward’s nephew?” The younger woman gasped. “I hardly recognize you.”

  Although he’d matured, all his former features remained much the same. If her sister didn’t recognize the man, it was likely because she’d never paid him much attention in the first place. Oliver’s slight frown seemed to indicate he might think the same.

  Luckily Mattie had years of practice when it came to smoothing over her sister’s manner. “It is very good to see you, Mr. Bolton. I had no idea you were in London. It’s going on five years since you went away from us.” Mattie kept her smile merely polite, though her words were said with kindness. “How are you settling into your new life? I understand your estate in Lincolnshire takes up a great deal of your time.”

  The man’s dark-green eyes glanced from her to Beatrice, but they settled more firmly on Mattie again when Beatrice continued to gape at him. “Westerwind did not take to me as quickly as I wished, but presently the lands and farms are doing well. Have you spoken to my uncle?”

  Mattie was the only member of the family who had spoken to the steward in quite some time, and he was forever telling her of his nephew’s successes.

  “He is very proud of you, Mr. Bolton,” she answered. “Of course he mentions you from time to time. It is good that you have such a source as Mr. Hapsbury to guide you. Our family would be quite lost without him.”

  Mattie chanced a glance in her sister’s direction to see if Beatrice had composed herself yet. The speculative gleam in Beatrice’s eyes made Mattie’s stomach clench. Mattie knew that look. She’d seen it all her life, from the time Beatrice was a child and discovered a toy she coveted.

  “Beatrice, darling,” she said, hoping her tone was warning enough for her sister that this was not a man whose affections were a plaything. “We ought to return home and see if Lady Sefton has replied to our request for vouchers.” Mattie had received hints from the patroness that they would be permitted to enter the upper ballroom, where they had been denied the previous year for reasons unknown to any but the patronesses themselves.

  “Yes, of course.” Beatrice adjusted the reticule on her wrist but looked up at Oliver through her eyelashes in a manner that rather reminded Mattie of a puppy begging for scraps. Unfortunately, the men of London seemed inclined to like puppies. “Will you be applying for vouchers to Almack’s, Mr. Bolton?” Beatrice asked.

  Mattie nearly panicked but tried to remain composed. Oliver’s smile diminished.

  “I am afraid not, Miss Beatrice. But I do hope you enjoy yourself at the balls. If you will excuse me, Miss Rayment, Miss Beatrice.” He bowed and replaced his hat with an air of gravity. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Good day, Mr. Bolton,” Mattie said, giving Beatrice no time to ask more questions. She took her sister’s arm and tugged her down the walkway, fixing her eyes on their front door.

  Hopefully that would be the last they would see of Oliver Bolton. But a strange premonition made her think that wish was in vain. Oliver had always been a well-mannered boy, and he would likely come to the house to call on their father. Even a gesture as well meant as that could be disastrous.

  “I wonder if Mr. Redhurst has sent you flowers today,” Mattie said, as cheerily as possible, in an effort to divert her sister.

  “He sends flowers nearly every day,” Beatrice responded, boredom coloring her words.

  This will never do. Mattie took in a deep breath and launched into speaking with excitement about Almack’s, Mr. Redhurst, and the last few months of the Season. If Beatrice became distracted by Oliver Bolton before being properly engaged, it may well ruin her standing in Mr. Redhurst’s eyes. Before their return to the country, she must see her sister safely married. The family depended upon it.

  Chapter Two

  “Tell me again: why must I attend this party with you?” Oliver asked his friend for the second time in as many days. “I am not certain this is the correct place for me to begin my foray into London society.”

  “It is the perfect way to begin, Bolton. An intimate card party, only the most well-connected guests in attendance, will give you the right sort of introductions.” Robert Dunwilde, heir to an earldom, grinned across the coach from Oliver. “And it’s a little late to bow out now, isn’t it?” he asked as their carriage arrived at the house of the party in question.

  Oliver folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands beneath them. If he didn’t force his hands still, he knew he’d fiddle with his cravat, a nervous habit his recently acquired valet despaired over on nearly a daily basis.

  “They will think me an upstart.”

  Dunwilde waved away Oliver’s concerns. “It is the perfect place to find elegant young ladies to keep you company. You worry too much. Enjoy yourself a little.”

  It was easy for Dunwilde to say. The man was heir to a fortune, a title, and a standing in society Oliver could never hope to obtain. Oliver Bolton, on the other hand, was the son of a deceased merchant and the nephew of a steward, had never gone away to school, and bore the new gilt of a country gentleman.

  Oliver followed his friend through an entry hall, relinquishing his hat and greatcoat to a waiting footman. He tried to meet the servant’s eye, wondering if this man in his livery could guess how similar their lives had been but five years before.

  The servant accepted Oliver’s things, bowed, and departed without a word.

  Dunwilde had vanished, and the other guests were making their way up the main staircase to the first floor, where they would play cards and drink as though nothing in the world could ever trouble them. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to draw courage from the empty air around him.

  The large upstairs parlor he entered was full of tables, laughter, and no sign of Dunwilde. Oliver looked from one side of the room to the other, desperately seeking someone he might know, but—

  The warm glow of honey-colored hair attracted his eye, and he took in the young woman with sur
prise.

  It couldn’t be. Twice in the same day.

  Perhaps the fabled Fates of the ancient world were smiling upon him after all. Miss Beatrice stood near a window, looking out over the party with her bewitching blue eyes. Years before, at seventeen, she had danced across his romantic daydreams. She’d been a delightful child, four years his junior, an enchanting youth with an easy laugh, and then she’d burst into womanhood and stolen his fancy.

  Five years ago, she’d been beyond his reach. But now, seeing her twice in one day, he wondered if such might no longer be true.

  She met his eyes from across the room, and it was as though a challenge had been issued.

  Without further thought, he went to her. He wound his way through the tables, taking notice of nothing else. Her lashes dropped as he drew nearer.

  “Good evening, Miss Beatrice.” He held his breath, waiting, watching her closely. She returned his bow with the slightest dip of a curtsy.

  “Mr. Bolton, what a pleasant surprise. I hope you are not offended by my lack of recognition this afternoon.” She studied his face a moment, her eyebrows furrowing in a most adorable manner.

  Initially, that had disappointed Oliver. But he chose to view it as a compliment. He stood taller and tugged at his sleeves.

  “Oh, I suppose I have grown rather dashing.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and a coy smile appeared. “I absolutely agree with you. You are quite changed for the better.”

  “Mr. Bolton,” a voice said at his elbow, startling him. He turned, looking down into the solemn eyes of another woman from his past. It would be easy to resent Matilda’s sudden appearance, given the manner in which she’d led Beatrice away earlier that afternoon.

  “It is wonderful to see you again,” she said, her words and look at odds with each other. She certainly didn’t appear delighted to see him.

  Matilda turned away before he could respond, addressing her sister. “I understand Mr. Redhurst will not be attending tonight. He sent a note that his sister is unwell.”