Devilish Regency Nobles

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Frances bounced on her tiptoes, watching the impressive stallions pound down the racetrack at impossible speeds.

She held her breath as the jockeys flew past in a blur of brightly colored shirts, her heart racing.

The public crowd on the other side of the track erupted with a roar.

She held onto her bonnet, the wind across the Ascot racecourse whipped her dress around her legs, all the fine men and ladies beside her murmuring excitedly.

“Did he win?” Frances asked her cousin, Amelia, who stood haughtily beside her.

“Does it matter?” Amelia said, tossing her golden curls with a bored expression on her face.

Frances sighed inwardly. She wished her father had not arranged for Amelia to join them.

It was Frances’ first time at Royal Ascot, the social event of the season, and her snobbish cousin was already ruining it.

Although Amelia and Frances were both eighteen years old, they looked at life very differently.

Since she had come out into society two years ago, Frances had enjoyed every minute of the luxury, the balls and the garden parties.

Amelia had recently become engaged to the boring Marquess Huntley and had become even more insufferable than she was before.

She now viewed everything and everyone, especially Frances, as distinctly below her.

“Father?” Frances turned to Baron Andrew Fortescue, who was sipping champagne. “Do you know if the Marquess’ horse won? Amelia is interested.”

Amelia frowned at her and Frances smiled sweetly back.

“No, I believe it was the Prince Regent’s favorite, Lutzen, that crossed the line first,” her father said, smiling at the girls. “I’m sure your future husband won’t begrudge the Prince Regent his win.”

“Of course not.” Amelia rolled her blue eyes, unable to recognize the soft humor of her uncle.

“Come, Frances, let us go and look at the horses.”

Frances gratefully followed her father out to where the fabulous horses and their riders were gathered in the winners’ circle, catching a glimpse of the figure of the Prince Regent, aloof and stern, in the royal box.

“Have you enjoyed today, my dear?” her father asked, leading her to the Marquess Huntley’s horse, Adamant, that they had bet on together.

“Oh, yes!” Frances gushed, reaching out to pet the horse’s strong neck with her new white satin gloves. “It’s been so exciting! All the gentlemen dressed so finely and the ladies in their new gowns, like the new butter yellow muslin that Amelia wore…”

Frances let her sentence trail off. She and her father had a minor disagreement a few weeks ago.

Frances had hoped he might purchase her a new dress for the Royal Ascot, but in an expression of unusual frugality, he had said no.

She now thought he might be saving a surprise of a new gown for the upcoming summer ball, and she now wanted to drop hints as to the kind of fabric she would most like. Her father sighed.

“I’m glad you’ve had a lovely day, dearest, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to share some difficult news with you.”

“Oh?”

Frances’ heart dropped. The last time her father had spoken to her like this had been the crushing day her mother had died. Though it was over ten years ago she still felt the edges of that crushing panic closing in on her. She took a deep breath.

“What is it, Father?”

“I need to be honest about our financial situation.” He rested his hand absent-mindedly on the horse’s neck. “Do you remember the investment I made last summer?”

Baron Fortescue had always kept his daughter abreast of their family finances.

Aside from the Fortescue inheritance, he was also a successful painter and had appreciated the extra help of an intelligent daughter when negotiating payments and commissions.

He had taught her basic economic principles and she had flourished.

Now she tried to remember the exact details of their investment.

“It was in that new type of plumbing, was it not?”

He nodded. “There is no easy way to say it, but it turns out to have been a manipulation. All of our investment was lost.”

“Oh, Father.” Frances swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was ashamed.” Her father closed his eyes briefly. “I have tried to make the best of it, but my brother has been supporting us these past months, and I can no longer ask him to cover our expenses.”

Frances flushed at the idea of Amelia’s father covering the cost of her shoes and bonnets. How Amelia must have been laughing at her! Her fist tightened in the horse’s mane. The beast snorted.

“What will we do?” Frances asked.

“I am afraid there are only two roads forward. Our only options are to use your dowry to cover our living expenses -,”

Frances’ breath caught in her throat. If she lost her dowry, it was likely she would lose her place in high society.

A young girl with a poor father and no prospects would hardly keep receiving the sorts of invitations she had become so accustomed to.

She would do anything, she thought, to save herself that humiliation.

“- or I fear it may be time for us to make a match for you, as soon as possible.”

“You mean, I will have to get married?”

“I do.” Her father looked at her gently. “It is about time, my dear. Your cousin is lately engaged, and aside from ensuring you will be settled for life, it is the natural next step for you.”

Frances didn’t know what to think. Of course, she hoped she would marry one day, like every young girl she had always dreamed of it, but she had wanted to marry for love, not for money.

Yet if she had to choose between losing everything - her friends, her social life, perhaps even her family home - and marrying someone for convenience, then it was simple.

She and her father had worked hard to build a good, comfortable life after her mother’s death, and Frances had no intention of losing it.

She would rather be married than poor. She let out a long breath.

“Of course, Father.” She turned away, trying not to show him her disappointment. “I think I’ll go back in and check on Amelia.”

She had no real intention of doing so, however. She just needed a moment to collect her thoughts, but as soon as she entered the velvet-roped area for the Beau Monde, Amelia spotted her and smiled cruelly.

“He finally told you.” Amelia twisted a pale blonde curl around her finger and smirked. “I can see it on your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Frances accepted a glass of blackberry tonic from a passing server and took a quick gulp.

“I’m talking of your father relying on my father for everything,” Amelia laughed nastily. “At least I’ve had the good sense to engage myself to a wealthy man, but I suppose your future is already set.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, my dear cousin, being a charity case there is only one route for you moving forward it seems.” Amelia grinned cruelly. “Servitude.”

“Servitude!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll always have a place in my household.” Amelia leaned forward, whispering, “I need a new lady's maid, or perhaps a governess soon enough!”

Frances took another gulp of tonic and tried to fight back her anger. Taking a slow breath, she turned back to her cousin.

“You are delusional,” she said calmly. “I will find someone perfectly suitable to marry, and then you’ll never be able to say such things to me again.”

“I doubt it,” Amelia said snidely. “I think it much more likely you die an old maid. My maid, in fact. I would bet my ring on it.”

She flashed a shiny gold and ruby engagement ring in Frances’ face. Frances lost her temper.

“Really?” she snapped. “Because I’ll take that bet. I bet you that I will marry the richest, most successful man here today!”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Amelia smirked, looking over Frances’ shoulder. “The Duke of Sinclair just arrived.”

Frances swung around. Ralph Wynter, the Duke of Sinclair, glanced around the collected members of high society, seemingly unaware of the way all the women present stared and whispered when he had entered.

He had spent the race drinking in the Royal box with the Prince Regent, and Frances had seen him there, standing with many beautiful women.

He had one of those conflicting reputations of well-established men of society: he was a widower - well-liked and trusted, but also known to be a flirtatious womanizer. Frances was sure he only got away with it because he was so handsome. She couldn’t help but stare at him.

He was easily the tallest man in the room, with dark hair and the broad shoulders of an oxford rower, his warm brown eyes beguiling.

Then those eyes turned on her. Frances felt a strange spark of energy between them as her eyes fixed on his.

It was the oddest, most compelling sensation - as if the Duke had looked directly into her soul, and she into his.

Flushing from his gaze, she turned away, holding her breath as he brushed past them, very aware that he had looked back over his shoulder towards her as he passed by. It was electrifying.

Amelia snorted into her glass of champagne at her red cheeks. “I think my ring is safe.”

“Don’t be so sure, Amelia,” Frances spoke coldly, trying to ignore the thundering of her heart from the Duke’s eyes, she made a rash promise: “I’ll have him before the year is out.”