The Scandalous Widow: A French Revolution Romance, #4

By Bree Verity

Adventure, intrigue and romance combine in this sparkling tale of espionage and rescue set in the Regency era.

Young widow Lady Juliet Hampshire jumps at the chance to be involved in an espionage mission into France – she will do anything to avoid having to think about her dwindling finances and the necessity of catching a wealthy husband. It is just a shame that her traveling companion is to be the stuffy, snobby Lord Alistair Chisholm. But there is more to the wounded Lord Chisholm than Juliet can see. 
Alistair has been chasing redemption for years, ever since he accidentally killed his older brother in a drunken brawl. Now the heir to his father's Marquessate, he should be staying at home, finding a wife and siring children, but he can't rest until he atones for his grievous sin. And as an experienced spy, he can't understand why the untried, scandalous Lady Hampshire is involved in his mission.
Thrown together and required to work closely, they quickly realize their first impressions of each other are mistaken, and passion flares between them, with both of them assuring the other the liaison will cease when they return to London. 
But when first one and then the other falls in love, can they overcome injury, familiar strangers, capture and the deepest of betrayal in order to claim their happily ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bardic Books
• Release date: Jul 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648980506

Bree Verity

Bree grew up on a diet of old movies, tea, crumpets and family values, musicals, dancing and singing. It’s no wonder she writes books – it’s a wonder she ever thought she might do anything else! Bree’s muses include her incredibly long-suffering partner (who has to put up with her talking through highly unlikely and probably incredibly boring strands of storyline), and two rescue dogs (who are amazed by her talent. No seriously. You can see it in their eyes.) She is Australian born and bred but prefers the city to the rurals. Shopping and coffee instead of snakes and kangaroos, please. Bree absolutely adores hearing from her readers, and can be contacted via her website.

Book preview

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

About Bree Verity

Have You Read Them All?

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 Briony Vreedenburgh

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ISBN-13: 978-0-6481517-8-4

Print format

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher

Dedication

To all of the readers who love a good scandal,

This one’s for you.

About Bree Verity

BREE VERITY GREW UP on a diet of tea and crumpets, good manners, traditional roles, dancing, sweet romance, epic fantasy and high adventure. It's no wonder she has ended up tripping through life writing stories.

She lives in Perth Western Australia with her teenage son, her long-suffering, patient and wonderful partner, and her two doggy writing buddies, Millie and Boofie. She keeps it very quiet from them that she is equally a cat person.

She has a bad habit of binge-watching shows she likes leaving her in a constant TV drought, reading historical and time travel books, hanging out with her local community theatre, and sleeping in.

Bree loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted on Facebook or at her website www.breeverity.com where you can also sign up for her monthly newsletter.

Have You Read Them All?

Chapter One

DECEMBER 1798

London

With an unladylike growl, Juliet, Duchess of Hampshire, balled up the missive she had been reading and flung it into the fire. The temper that matched her dark red hair burned at full force. She strode to the side of the room and tugged with much violence on the bell pull.

Yes, your Grace? her butler, Anderson, asked, appearing as if by magic.

Fresh tea, Anderson. She couldn’t bring herself to say any more than the minimum of words. Otherwise, she might spew her fury all over the poor, unsuspecting Anderson.

Certainly, your Grace. I’ll have one of the maids fetch some for you.

He whisked away, and Juliet was left with her own feelings, which were settling into fury and despair. Her high tempers never lasted for long.

She was certain that Lord Debenham had been brought up to the mark - indeed, his declarations of love seemed to be as genuine as any Juliet had received. She had been expecting a declaration of marriage. Instead, she had received a courteous letter advising her that he was going to visit his friends in Derbyshire and that she should not expect to see him in three months.

Three months! It might as well be three years.

Juliet slumped into an upholstered wing chair. She hated to do this - the degrading dance to win herself a husband she didn’t even want. But the state of her finances had been made clear to her the last time she spoke to her man of business - without a further source of income, she would be penniless within the year.

How she despised being a Duchess now that Bernard was gone! Until his death, Juliet had been able to treat the whole Duchess thing as a lark - an add-on benefit that she received when she married the only man she had ever loved. Despite what the scandal sheets implied, she had loved him with her whole heart and soul.

And despite what the scandal sheets implied, she was not swinging from lover to lover now that he was dead. It had been five years since his death, and she had only had one lover. They had both been beaten down with worries and had come together to gain whatever comfort they could from each other, companions in their suffering. Still, when Jean de Lacey had told her he had found himself a wife, she was shocked at her reaction, which had been almost murderous jealousy toward his unknown fiancée. Of course, Jean had known nothing about that, but from then on, Juliet had kept herself to herself, light and flirtatious on the outside, but contained and boxed internally.

A rap on the door interrupted her reflections. Come, she said, and a housemaid silently brought in a silver tray with a steaming teapot on it, removing the previous set just as silently and bobbing a curtsy as she left. Juliet sighed, finding herself alone in the room again.

This was what she hated - the silence. When Bernard was alive, there was a constant stream of friends visiting and the house was always filled with laughter and rambunctious behavior. Her rough edges had been accepted by his friends and her company welcomed.

She poured a cup of tea and took a revivifying sip. That was what she needed. She had to pull herself out of the slump Lord Debenham’s letter had thrown her into and start the search afresh.

Of course, at this time of year, there were not many people still in town, most people having gone to house parties or to their own estates to escape the miserable London weather. The ones remaining were hardly to be considered - social pariahs, or those with pockets to let.

Still, she thought, isn’t that what she herself was? She hadn’t received a single invitation for a winter getaway, not even from those she had offered the broadest of hints to. Her reputation, sullied more and more with each dreaded edition of The Tattler, precluded her from the guest lists of all but the most broad-minded of hostesses. And even though her friends, few though they might be, continued to pronounce her innocence, their voices were lost in the cacophony of those who judged her guilty on account of her lowly beginnings, grasping ways and, of course, her beauty.

Another sip of tea reminded her again that she needed to concentrate. Who was there that she might be able to latch on to? Her brow lowered as she considered her options. Justin Sloane was still in town, only his brother, the Marquess of Healey would send her packing the moment she showed any interest. Viscount Partridge, maybe? But his father held his purse strings still, and Juliet had no desire to marry a man she didn’t love and then also be forced into penury. No, there had to be a better solution. There had to be!

Just as she was about to let herself fall into despair, Anderson slipped into the room.

What is it, Anderson? she asked.

There is a Mr. Wickham here to see you, your Grace.

I’m not certain I am acquainted with a Mr. Wickham. Find out what he wants won’t you?

He wishes to speak to you on a matter of national importance, your Grace.

Anderson delivered the message impassively, his face and voice showing no emotion. But Juliet’s mouth fell open before she recollected herself and said, In that case, show him in.

She stood up, brushing down her pink silk morning dress and patting her russet hair into place. Mr. Wickham was shown into the room and she graciously stepped forward. He sketched an acceptable bow, and said, Good morning, your Grace.

Mr Wickham seemed an unprepossessing sort of man, not tall but not short, not fashionable but not slovenly either. Juliet thought of him as unremarkable.

Good morning, Mr. Wickham. Won’t you sit down?

Thank you.

The man sat, looking interestedly around. I must say, the Duke certainly had extremely good taste in furnishing.

Indeed he did, replied Juliet, taking her own seat. When she first came to Hampshire Manor, she had been in awe of the house with its antique decorations and fine furnishings, but in the years since it had taken on the feel of an old and trusted friend. However, I do not think you came here to discuss the draperies, sir?

Mr. Wickham laughed. No indeed, your Grace.

My butler informs me it is a matter of national importance?

Yes. Mr. Wickham sat forward in his chair. I was hoping to employ your skills for a mission we are undertaking.

A mission? Juliet was astonished. What kind of mission? Juliet imagined it was a Christian mission, and that perhaps she might be asked to join a letter writing campaign, or some such task. She could never have imagined what Mr. Wickham would say next.

It is a mission into France to intercept a courier service.

For a long moment, all Juliet could do was to stare at the man in front of her. Then, she laughed.

Oh, Mr. Wickham, thank you. You have no idea how much I needed a good laugh today.

But the man’s face didn’t change. I am completely serious, your Grace. We need you to go covertly into Paris and assist in closing a courier ring.

Juliet stopped laughing. The man was not jesting.

Covertly? said Juliet. I could never do such a thing.

Why not?

Juliet couldn’t think of a single good reason. Well, Mr. Wickham, I don’t know...

We think you would be the ideal person for the mission, he interrupted, with your knowledge of French and your...

My humble beginnings? Juliet asked with a grimace.

"Yes. We would have you infiltrate a couture artisanale."

I see.

Yes, I thought you would.

But I am untrained in intrigue.

Mr. Wickham smiled a little sourly. I should have thought that five years amongst the ton would have provided you with all the tools you need, he said. Secretly Juliet agreed, but in keeping with her duchess personage, she merely raised one haughty eyebrow. The man before her flushed a little, and continued, Anything else you need we will instruct you before you go.

Juliet’s head was in a whirl. She could never go undercover in a foreign country! It was unheard of!

But then, a little voice whispered in her head, Why not? It would be an adventure, and your life is certainly lacking in adventure these days.

What would it entail? she asked Mr. Wickham, a note of caution in her voice.

Two or three weeks here, learning all that you need to know, and then six weeks in France. You would be well reimbursed for your time and inconvenience.

Another incentive - she might gain some income from it. And she could close the house for a while - that would save her a great deal in expenses.

Suddenly, Juliet felt a rush of energy through her body. It was mad and absurd and impossible - but she was going to do it.

Very well, Mr. Wickham, she said, her voice betraying her excitement. Where do we begin?

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS.

I assure you, I am. Deadly serious.

Alistair, Viscount Chisholm, stared across the desk at the serene countenance of his superior, Mr. William Wickham, Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department. Unofficially, Mr. Wickham was also the man entrusted with the running of Britain’s intelligence gathering network, an important job as the war with France dragged on and on.

Right now, though, Alistair wondered if Mr. Wickham had lost control of his senses. He sat studying Alistair, his hands clasped together on his desk, looking to all intents and purposes as if he had just invited Alistair to his club to dine, rather than having delivered him the details of the most vexing mission of his career to date.

Alistair pushed back his chair and, standing up, strode around the room, ending up looking out of a large window with a vista over a manicured garden. He cut a dashing figure but appeared a man who cared little for the way he looked, preferring to leave those details to his valet. He ran his hand through his fair, golden hair, undoing all the work his man had done this morning to brush it into a fashionable Brutus. His posture, stiff and unyielding, showed his dislike of the assignment he had been offered.

Mr. Wickham cleared his throat. I have your orders right here, Alistair, signed by the secretary himself.

Alistair turned and strode back to the desk and placed his hands palm down on it, leaning forward.

You cannot expect me to go into the field with an untried, untested...woman, he spat.

"Is it a woman, or is it this particular woman?" Mr. Wickham asked, unperturbed by Alistair’s stance.

You do know that she tricked Hampshire into marriage, right? That she’s nothing but a conniving, manipulative ...commoner?

He said the word as if it were the very worst of diseases.

With a tight smile, Mr. Wickham replied, I am a commoner too, you know.

But you are different, William, Alistair said, dropping back down into his chair. You are a man who has proven his worth to the crown, who has worked hard and earned his place. And, you do not seek a position above your station.

Heaven forbid, Mr. Wickham muttered under his breath.

Alistair continued, oblivious to Mr. Wickham’s interjection. But this... this... He waved his hand about as if he was trying to find a word.

Woman? Mr. Wickham supplied helpfully.

"This woman, Alistair continued, has ensconced herself in polite society and refuses to budge, even though her boat sailed with the death of her husband. Now, she swans about, taking lover after lover, and spending exorbitant amounts of money so she can find herself yet another poor fool to sucker into marriage."

You make her sound like a dreadful person, said Mr. Wickham absently as he busied himself with pen and paper.

Indeed she is, agreed Alistair. The very worst of encroaching, grasping harpies.

Then she should do very nicely as a seamstress in a boutique.

Alistair turned to Mr. Wickham, his mouth agape. Have you not heard a word I said?

Yes, replied Mr. Wickham agreeably. I have merely chosen to ignore them all. He finished his writing, sanded the page and blew it off, and then handed it to Alistair. These are your orders.

But I haven’t accepted the mission, replied Alistair, automatically taking the document from Mr. Wickham’s hand, "and I have