Courtship on Eaton Square

By Suzanne G. Rogers

After Angela's engagement to a viscount falls apart, she seeks refuge from London gossip with a family friend in Canterbury. From the moment she steps foot in the railway station, she locks horns with Mr. Chaucer, fresh from romantic troubles of his own. When circumstances conspire to throw Angela and Mr. Chaucer together, they form an uneasy alliance to regain what they have lost. Unfortunately for Angela, her growing attraction to the man threatens her carefully laid plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne G. Rogers
• Release date: Dec 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781947463486

Suzanne G. Rogers

Originally from Southern California, Suzanne G. Rogers currently resides in beautiful Savannah, Georgia on an island populated by exotic birds, deer, turtles, otters, and gators. Tab is her beverage of choice but a cranberry vodka martini doesn’t go amiss.

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Chapter 1

Thrown Off

London. May 1867

As Ellery made his way toward Asprey & Garrard, the jewelry shop door opened and a familiar, unwelcome figure emerged. As Ellery’s eyes locked with Lord Quayle’s he fought to maintain a pleasant expression.

Quayle smirked. I can’t say it’s good to see you, Chaucer.

Likewise. Ellery regarded the viscount as he would a six-foot insect. If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than to chat with a malcontent such as yourself.

I’m quite content these days, I assure you. Quayle’s laugh was twisted. Best of luck, Ellery. You’re going to need it. The man strode off to a waiting landau.

A man makes his own luck, you idiot, Ellery muttered.

He brushed off the unfortunate encounter and entered the shop. As he glanced around, he was impressed by the size of the premises and quantity of display cases. How was he ever to choose the proper sort of ring? Fortunately, a clerk bustled over with a welcoming smile on his face. When Ellery introduced himself and explained his mission, the clerk beamed.

You’ve come to the right place, Mr. Chaucer. At Asprey & Garrard, we have just what you are looking for. He escorted Ellery to a jewelry case. Shall we start here?

Ellery perused the rings inside, but the myriad of choices brought a frown to his lips. I just don’t know. He glanced at the clerk, puzzled. Which gemstones do ladies prefer?

That depends entirely on the lady, sir.

I was afraid you would say that. Ellery grimaced. Well…is yellow gold better than rose gold?

Again, it’s a matter of personal preference. Rose gold is very popular for an engagement ring. The clerk brought out a tray and lifted one of the rings up with a gloved hand. Queen Victoria wears a ring with two intertwined serpents, similar to this one.

Serpents?

One represents the man and the other represents the woman, together forever throughout eternity.

Hmm.

The clerk returned the ring to the tray and picked up another. Rings with three stones are also in favor. This one features a center diamond flanked by two rubies.

Well…Miss Drake is extraordinarily beautiful and ladylike. I’d like to give her a ring that isn’t too ostentatious, but one she would be very proud to wear on her finger. Cost is no object.

The clerk’s eyes widened. "Oh dear. Miss Drake, did you say?"

Miss Victoria Drake. Ellery gave him a puzzled smile. Do you know her?

The clerk glanced toward the shop owner, as if to make sure he was not overheard. I’m not supposed to reveal anything about our customers, but another gentleman has already ordered a ring for Miss Victoria Drake.

Ellery’s lips parted. Are you sure?

Quite sure. He asked me to engrave her initials inside the band along with his.

There must be some mistake.

You could be right. The clerk averted his gaze. London is a big place and perhaps there are two ladies with the same name.

Perhaps. Ellery’s face felt numb. Who was this fellow?

The clerk’s eyes darted toward the shop owner once more and lowered his voice so much that Ellery could barely hear him. He is an aristocrat but more than that I cannot tell you.

I’ll get to the bottom of it before I return to purchase a ring. Ellery deposited a gold crown across the counter. That’s for your trouble.

Best of luck, sir. The clerk dropped the gold coin into his pocket in a smooth motion and slid his business card across the counter. Ask for me when you’re ready to make your selection and I’ll do what I can to assist you.

Ellery glanced at the card which was engraved with the clerk’s name. Thank you for your help, Mr. Taylor.

He left the shop, hailed a passing cab, and went straight to Miss Drake’s residence in Marylebone. When the family butler answered his knock, the man seemed to look right through him. Miss Drake is not at home, Mr. Chaucer.

Since the fellow was usually cordial, the cool note in the butler’s voice made Ellery’s heart sink even further.

It’s imperative that I speak with her, Harrison. Ellery held out his calling card. Please let her know I was here.

The butler accepted the card with a solemn nod. Very good, sir. He stepped back and began to shut the door.

A female voice called out, Mr. Harrison, wait!

Ellery’s heart gave a great leap. Was Victoria going to insist on speaking with him? Moments later, a young maid appeared in the doorway and his hopes were dashed.

Begging your pardon, Mr. Chaucer. She gave Ellery a letter. My mistress left that for you.

The maid retreated from view and the butler shut the door in Ellery’s face more firmly than was strictly necessary. He returned to the pavement, ripped the envelope open with bloodless fingers, and scanned the contents:

Dear Mr. Chaucer,

I’m sorry if this letter comes as a disappointment but you should know my feelings are engaged elsewhere. I must ask you not to call on me henceforth but please accept my best wishes for your future health and happiness.

Sincerely,

Victoria Drake

Ellery bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He did not understand what had gone so horribly wrong between him and Victoria or how she could throw him off just when he had been about to propose. Nevertheless, the first place he would look for answers was at the bottom of a bottle of gin.

The Smith Residence • Eaton Square

Angela sat on the sofa in the drawing room, staring out at nothing while her grandmother wept. Lisa sat on the floor at her feet reading Noah’s letter to herself—as if by doing so the horrid words would change.

There can be no doubt of Noah’s intentions. Angela’s younger sister folded the paper and returned it to its envelope. I can’t believe His Lordship wormed his way into our family and then broke things off like this.

Mrs. Orchid Smith blotted her eyes. Did the two of you quarrel, Angela?

No, Grandmama. Tears rolled down Angela’s cheeks. We’d even talked about a wedding this fall.

Lisa made a sound of disgust. His Lordship took up with another girl. That’s the only explanation. I always suspected he was a rake.

Insults, however much they may be deserved, won’t help at this juncture. Mrs. Smith began to pace. I think we need a pot of tea.

Tea won’t help either. Angela twisted the engagement ring off her finger and set it down on the low table in front of the sofa. I’ve been jilted. She began to sob in earnest.

Mrs. Smith sighed. Lisa, dearest, go to the kitchen and ask the cook for tea. Ask her to send a tray to the drawing room as well.

Lisa’s shoulders drooped. All right. The seventeen-year-old girl pouted as she left the room.

When they were alone, Mrs. Smith sank down onto the sofa. Angela might have expected her grandmother to offer words of solace, but the teary woman had more practical concerns in mind.

I must admit, this is a disaster on many levels. Whatever the reason His Lordship has forsaken you, society will view it as your disgrace.

Angela’s throat closed. I don’t know why that should be so. Noah is the one who behaved badly, not I.

The rules of conduct are a trifle more flexible when it comes to the male aristocracy, my dear. Your engagement to Lord Quayle has already been announced in the papers, so quite soon the news will spread, and everyone will know you’ve been jilted. You’ll have to leave town for a period of time.

So, I’m to wrap myself in a cloak of disgrace and slink away?

You needn’t act as if you are the heroine in one of your romance novels, Angela. This is reality after all. Mrs. Smith crossed over to the writing desk and sat down. I’ll write my dear friend, Cora Merritt, to ask if you may visit her in Canterbury.

How long will I be away? Angela’s voice sounded strangled.

Until Lisa’s birthday next month.

That’s most of the Season. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. This isn’t fair!

There’s something else. Mrs. Smith swiveled around in her chair to face Angela once more. I was counting on His Lordship’s money to launch Lisa into society properly.

What?

We’ve spent a great deal on your wardrobe since you made your debut. I have nothing left for your sister.

But I come into my inheritance when I’m twenty-three!

That’s not for another two years, dearest. Lisa will be turning eighteen in June.

I thought we had set aside money for her.

Mrs. Smith swallowed hard. When His Lordship showed interest in you, I decided a little more investment in your clothes was necessary.

Merciful heavens. Angela peered at her. How bad is it?

Mrs. Smith averted her gaze. We’ll have to make economies and sell a few belongings, I’m afraid.

I’ll happily sell Noah’s engagement ring. I never liked it anyway.

You’ll have to sell more than that ring. Her lips flattened in displeasure. We may have to take in a boarder.

Angela gasped. Not really!

To be honest about it, we may have to take in two boarders. For the time being, however, we mustn’t let anyone know the truth about our finances—not even your sister. I’ll ask the housekeeper to discharge your maid, but we’ll give her an excellent letter of reference and two weeks’ severance.

How am I to travel to Canterbury without a lady’s maid?

If anyone asks, we will say the girl quit at the last minute. While you’re away, you’ll just have to dress yourself.

Angela shook her head in disbelief. Oh, Grandmama, why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner!

I saw no need to worry you, especially since you’d caught a viscount. The older woman frowned. Besides which, would you have managed His Lordship differently if you had known?

I-I might have pressed him for an earlier wedding date.

And have him leave you at the altar? No, it’s best to find out about his lack of devotion now.

Angela’s laugh ended with a sob. If you’re trying to make me feel better, it isn’t working.

Mrs. Smith gave her an appraising glance. Cora’s grandson, Mr. James Burnside, lives with her. He is an eligible bachelor, so perhaps the two of you will hit it off.

You would have me marry a country mouse, Grandmama?

Better wed to a country mouse than end a spinster, dearest. Go ask one of the maids to help you pack two trunks for the country and I’ll send them on ahead. Don’t take any gowns that are overly complicated.

Angela blinked. What about my tea?

Her grandmother waved her hand dismissively. Tea can wait. She pulled a piece of stationery onto the blotter. "I’ll take care of sending out pour prendre congé cards on your behalf. After things have settled, we’ll see where we stand. You may not be able to resume a social schedule for the rest of the Season."

Angela’s tears began to flow anew.

The following Monday morning, Angela kissed her family goodbye, climbed into a cab, and left for Canterbury. Due to an accident on the road, time was running short when she arrived at the railway station. After she paid the driver, she carried her small overnight bag into the railway station and hastened over to the ticket window. A well-dressed young gentleman reached the window moments before her, unfortunately, and she bit back a sharp remark. After the man finished his transaction and turned away, she stepped forward to address the clerk.

I’d like to purchase a first-class ticket to Canterbury, if you please.

The clerk frowned. I’m sorry but I just sold the last first-class ticket. If you want to get to Canterbury on the next train, you’ll have to travel in third-class.

Angela’s shoulders drooped. Oh, bother! She turned on her heel and ran after the gentleman, who carried a valise under one arm. Excuse me, sir?

He did not appear to hear her because he neither slowed his pace nor glanced around. Angela was obliged to run several steps until she could touch his sleeve.

Excuse me, sir?

The fellow stopped walking and gave her a cool glance. Yes?

You cut me off at the window just now. She pointed at the ticket in his hand. That’s the last first-class ticket to Canterbury and it should have been mine.

His eyebrows rose. Oh, well then I should just let you have it, shouldn’t I? He brushed past and continued toward the platform.

Angela darted in front of him once more. I am more than willing to purchase it from you, sir. You can always ride in third.

The man’s smile was tight. So can you.

Although he attempted to step around her, she was too quick. Yes, but if you were a gentleman, you would give way.

His lips parted. And if you were a lady, you would not insist!

In her current humor, the rebuke felt like a slap to the face and her vision began to swim. Yes, of course you’re right. Forgive me. Angela whirled around, made her way to the nearest bench, and sank down. As tears rolled down her cheeks, she fumbled for a handkerchief.

Someone sat next to her and dropped a large linen square into her lap.

Thank you. Angela blotted her eyes and glanced up, only to discover the handkerchief belonged to the young gentleman. Oh, it’s you.

He frowned. I didn’t mean to make you cry.

To be perfectly honest, you didn’t. Angela sighed and swallowed a lump in her throat. The slightest frustration was bound to set me off this morning, unfortunately.

Frustration is my middle name. He produced a slim flask and offered it to her. This is how I’ve maintained my equilibrium lately. You’re welcome to have a drink…for medicinal purposes.

Angela threw all decorum to the wind as she accepted the flask and drank deeply from its contents. The fiery liquid made her shudder and the burning in her throat and stomach gave her something to think about other than her troubles.

Thank you. She thrust the flask back into his hands. That was rather bracing…whatever it was.

Brandy. The man took a sip before returning the flask to his inner coat pocket. Not bad as a breakfast beverage when the alternative is a bottomless cup of self-pity. He stood. Well, I’d best be off. Good luck.

Angela scowled at the gentleman as he strode away. How could he leave in such a cavalier fashion when she was obviously in distress? The cad had been in such a hurry, he’d not even bothered to collect his handkerchief. He was also very likely a drunk if he was drinking at such an early hour. Then again, she could be tarred by the same brush.

She blew her nose into the linen square and stuffed it into her pocket. I’m in no mood to be fair.

Propelled by brandy and vexation, Angela retraced her footsteps to the ticket window and grudgingly paid the fare for third class. The distance from London to Canterbury wasn’t terribly far, admittedly, so she wouldn’t have to cope with rough company and the lack of privacy for long.

On the way to the platform, she decided to stop at the newsstand to purchase the most lurid novel available. Since she was never to be married, it seemed, she might as well experience passion where she could find it.

Ellery Chaucer quickly perused a shelf of paperbacks at the railway station newsstand, chose one, and gave it to the clerk to ring up the sale. The man glanced at the title before looking at him askance. "The Honorable Miss Scandal?"

Ellery scowled. It’s for my sister.

After collecting his change, Ellery stuffed the book into his pocket and stepped out of the shop. To his dismay, he noticed the weepy lady heading in his direction. Since he’d already done enough by giving her his handkerchief and a tot of brandy, he continued toward the platform.

Lord knows, I have enough troubles of my own, he murmured aloud.

Very shortly thereafter, he boarded the train to Canterbury and settled into his seat. As he waited for the train to depart, he pulled out a notebook from his valise and made an entry in his journal:

Monday, May Sixth. 1867

Miss Victoria Drake has thrown me over precipitously. As it so happens, I just received an invitation to visit from Grandmother, so I have decided to quit London in favor of the country. I’m to spend several days with her and my cousin, James Burnside, before he and I depart for a tour of France, Italy, and Spain. That is to say, I hope James agrees to accompany me since I do not relish the prospect of meandering around Europe alone. I don’t know whether a change of scenery will help mend a broken heart but it’s better than drinking myself into an early grave, I suppose.

I’m not the only lost soul at the railway station, I discovered. A young woman accosted me after I purchased my first-class ticket, demanding I turn it over. When I rightly refused, she burst into tears. How like a woman to arrive too late to purchase her own ticket and proceed to blame someone else! I wasn’t about to accommodate her, but I did give her a swig from my flask of brandy. Sadly, I also lent her my handkerchief and I regret doing so since she has it still. I’m destined to leave parts of myself with women, evidently, despite my desire to remain whole.

Movement on the platform outside the open carriage door caught Ellery’s eye and he glanced up. The weepy woman was remonstrating with the conductor to find her a seat in first-class.

The man shook his head. We’re all full, I’m afraid.

She glanced at him through her eyelashes. Oh, I know, but sometimes people don’t show up at the last minute and a seat might be free. I’m happy to pay the difference, naturally.

Ellery scowled. So, the lady was not beyond flirting with the old codger to get her way? Surely the conductor was inured to such behavior and would put an end to her nonsense. Unfortunately, the conductor’s white mustache twitched with amusement.

Well, why don’t you wait right here for a little while? As it so happens, one passenger has failed to arrive yet and we are on a tight schedule.

The young woman gave an excited little bounce. I knew you were the proper person to ask!

Ellery glared at the empty seat directly across from him and prayed for the rightful ticket holder to arrive apace. As the conductor began closing carriage doors, Ellery scanned the platform for late arrivals. When the last whistle sounded, the conductor returned to the girl’s side.

You’re in luck, my dear. He gestured toward Ellery’s carriage. Hop in.

She reached for her handbag. Let me pay you.

No time for that. You’d best make a run for it.

Thank you!

The girl squeezed the man’s arm before stepping into the train and. After she stowed her bag onto the rack next to Ellery’s hat, she sank into the vacant seat. As the conductor closed the door and the train began to move, she peered at Ellery.

Oh, it’s you!

He gave her a level glance and murmured, I must be a bad penny, before returning to his journal.

How can one man be so unfortunate, I ask? I am not to travel in peace, apparently, since I am at present haunted by the weeping lost soul of the railway station. The girl convinced the conductor to let her ride in first-class after all and she sits within view even now!

Ellery stole a glimpse of the lady, who had turned her head toward the window and was staring fixedly at the passing scenery. The leghorn hat she wore largely obscured her hair, but he supposed she was a blonde from the bit of visible fringe, the color of her porcelain skin, gray eyes, and light brown eyebrows. She was pretty enough but her expression had once more taken on an aura of sadness. Hopefully, she would not burst into tears again.

I had expected to pass the time reading a novel, but the girl might ask to borrow it. How then shall I occupy myself for the next hour and a half?

Underneath his journal entry, Ellery doodled a picture of a train ticket and then drew a medieval damsel in distress. When he glanced up, the girl had left off sight-seeing and was absorbed in a novel. After he noticed the cover, he fumbled in his pocket to make sure his own book hadn’t fallen out somehow. Apparently, he and the weepy girl had a similar appetite for decadent novels. Under the current circumstances, that wasn’t a bad thing. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about her asking to borrow his copy of The Honorable Miss Scandal since she had one of her own.

Ellery turned to the next page in his journal and began sketching the girl’s likeness. Although he wished he had a charcoal pencil and better paper for the task, it wasn’t as if he meant to frame his drawing for posterity. As he filled in the details of her features, hat, dragon brooch, and charcoal colored traveling suit, he had a renewed appreciation for his vow to eschew the company of women from now on. The fickle creatures were always wheedling their way through life, asking for favors, and generally causing trouble.

He frowned at his sketch, unhappy with his efforts to capture the shape of the young woman’s lips. The bottom one had a definite fullness to it and the upper one possessed a bit of a pout—quite different from that of Miss Drake, whose dainty, perfectly shaped mouth was always the focus of admiration. Ellery shook his head slightly, as if he could shake his former flame out of his thoughts, and focused on the task at hand. As he shaded the weepy girl’s mouth, he became much more satisfied with the pillowy texture…and was that a hint of a cleft in her chin? He glanced up to check…and met her gaze.

She peered at him with a suspicious expression. Are you drawing me?

Er… Ellery cast about for a response. Not exactly.

The man to his left chuckled from behind a newspaper. Might as well admit it, lad. You’ve captured her likeness remarkably.

Ellery slid the man a scowl. Oh, why couldn’t the fellow mind his own business?

I wasn’t sketching you in particular, Ellery said. I was merely bored.

The girl craned her neck and bent forward. May I see?

Ellery sighed and held up the sketch so she could view it. Her eyes widened for a moment and a brief smile lit her features.

That’s very nice, actually. Could I have it?

I’m afraid not. The page is part of my journal and cannot be removed without damaging the binding. He closed the journal with a snap and dropped it into his valise.

The girl gave him an appraising glance. "Why are you traveling to