Preview Outrageous in October
Lady Eliza Wade is no longer the jewel of London.
Her first and only Season was a lifetime ago.
Years of genteel poverty in the country, selling off everything of value to keep the estate afloat, have humbled her, but not blunted the sharpness of her tongue.
All Eliza has left is her pride, wrapped around her body like armor, and even that has weakened.
When her cousin August inherits the title, he weds the obscenely wealthy daughter of a draper to keep them afloat.
The scandal nearly rivals that of Eliza’s poverty.
Julian, Viscount Everhurst, is no longer the penniless third son who once dared offer for Lady Eliza Wade.
He has a title, a fortune, and survived the battlefields on the Continent.
But nothing has left him more broken than Eliza.
Determined to forget the woman whose betrayal still haunts him, Everhurst has become a charming rogue, hunted by every young lady in London.
He should relish his newfound notoriety, toss it in Eliza’s face after what she’s done.
Instead, Everhurst decides to be honorable, though it is years too late. Marriage will make a most suitable punishment for them both.
London,1814
Lady Eliza Wade smiled up at her dance partner, Lord Miner.
He was an earl, older than she. Fairly attractive.
He wore too much pomade for her tastes, but otherwise, he was perfectly acceptable, at least as a dance partner.
His hair, the color of a gold coin, shone beneath the chandeliers of the Duke of Courtland’s ballroom as he spun Eliza about.
She had absolutely no interest in him.
Fluttering her lashes, Eliza stole a glance at the handsome gentleman standing half in the shadows, near the refreshment table.
His evening wear was merely adequate, not nearly as fine as Miner’s.
He was not a dancer. Nor did he flatter Eliza excessively, no matter how she goaded him.
His eyes, a deep brown, nearly the same hue as his hair, followed her as she danced with Miner.
So possessive.
Her heart skipped about in her chest.
“I should like to call upon you, Lady Eliza,” Miner said with smooth politeness. “Of course, I will ask the permission of His Grace first.”
Everyone did.
Father was arrogant, as most dukes were, and powerful. An arbiter of pedigree and social status, especially during the Season. As such, the Duke of Courtland struck fear into each of Eliza’s suitors.
Save one.
“Delightful,” she replied, knowing Miner would be refused.
A dance was permissible, but to become one of Eliza’s suitors required a loftier title and a great deal more wealth than Miner possessed.
Father would like a duke, of course, but there were none floating about this Season.
There was a marquess or two, namely Lord Groton, with whom she’d dance earlier, but Eliza was as uninterested in him as she was Miner.
It doesn’t signify. My heart has chosen.
She’d been raised with few to no romantic expectations of her future.
As the daughter of a duke, her marriage was to be one of prestige, property and wealth.
Her heart would have little to do with it.
Eliza had always viewed the gentlemen of London—and the few who dared visit Windhaven—with great ambivalence.
Were they all to disappear, she would likely not even notice.
She had always imagined feeling the same about her future husband.
So it had been a great surprise to find her feelings were not so lukewarm when it came to Mr. Julian Hyde.
Miner turned her expertly, and Eliza tilted her head back, just far enough so that she could lock eyes with Mr. Hyde across the dance floor. Warmth spilled over her entire form at that look, one that said she belonged to him and no one else.
Ah, I do.
On a visit to her brother Edward at Eton, she’d stepped out of Father’s carriage and opened her parasol. The headmaster rushed out to greet them, already fawning over the Duke of Courtland and the honor of his visit to the institution.
Father rarely checked on Edward and Cousin August when they were away at school.
That he’d chosen to visit during their last few months here was unusual, to say the least. But Edward liked his spirits a bit too much.
August was libertine in his pursuit of the maids and village girls.
So, Father decided to surprise them both by appearing.
As Eliza pasted a bored look on her features, prepared to spend the day following Father about, a young man ran through the courtyard, carrying a chicken.
A chicken.
A wild mass of chocolate-colored hair spilled over his ears, nearly touching his shoulders, as he was chased by a buxom woman, shaking a rolling pin in his direction and hollering something fierce.
The young man paused, only for a moment, when he spied Eliza. He winked at her and held up the chicken. “Mrs. Wellington is far too good for the dinner pot.” Then he sped off into the grass.
Eliza’s entire being stilled. She pressed a palm to her heart because…she knew.
“Meet Master Hyde, Your Grace.” The headmaster let out a pained sigh. “Third son of Viscount Everhurst. His brothers were not nearly so difficult in their first year. He is brilliant at mathematics but a bit…spirited.”
“What a waste.” Father raised a brow. “To educate on a third son. Better to send him off to serve England.” His lip curled. “Keep him away from my heir.”
“Thank you for the dance, my lady.” Lord Miner’s words , Mrs. Wellington and that day fading once again into memory.
“You are most welcome, my lord.” He led her off the dance floor in the direction of Edward, who stood nearby.
Her chaperone, Mrs. Pearson, had been given the evening off because the ball, Eliza’s coming out, was being held at the Duke of Courtland’s residence.
Also, Mrs. Pearson was quite elderly. If she had been in attendance, she’d have been dozing in a chair.
Eliza glanced towards the refreshment table, but Mr. Hyde was no longer standing guard.
No matter. She and Mr. Hyde had danced earlier, with Edward’s permission.
The two were distant acquaintances at Eton, not friends, exactly.
Mr. Hyde gravitated more towards Cousin August. Edward was a bit too stiff.
And it was entirely proper, given his acquaintance with both Eliza’s brother and cousin, that Mr. Hyde dance with her.
Father and Edward didn’t suspect Eliza and Mr. Hyde had formed an attachment. He was well beneath their notice.
Edward raised a brow in greeting at Miner, who bowed and waited patiently for some sort of invitation to stay. When none was forthcoming, he slinked away.
“Too old,” Edward said, raising a glass of champagne to his lips.
Eliza shrugged. “He’s pleasant enough.”
“No familial connections of note. When he asks to call upon you, Father will refuse him,” Edward mused, reaching for another glass of champagne.
She glanced about. “Where is August?”
Edward jerked his chin towards a small alcove across the room, which seemed to be filled with pale green skirts and the enormous form of Lord August Wade. “Lady Denby has captured his attention for the evening.”
August sauntered over, leaving a blushing Lady Denby. “Lady Eliza, what a lovely come out you’re having.”
Cousin August was more like a brother than a cousin. He was big and broad, at least a head taller than Edward, with a shock of white-blonde hair. Every woman in London vied for his attention, and thus August was a terrible rake.
Eliza absolutely adored him.
“Father will tell Miner to go hang.” Edward drained his glass once more. “The earl does not meet his lofty expectations.”
Truthfully, no one did. The Duke of Courtland was well known for his pedigree, his wealth, and his unbridled superiority. He had turned down at least three offers for Eliza, and there were likely more she didn’t know about, all from upstanding titled gentlemen of the ton.
No one was good enough for Father.
Not that it mattered. Eliza had made her choice. Father would be furious, but she had a scheme in mind that would make him acquiesce.
“You’re such a bloody snob, Eddie,” August laughed, studying a young lady dressed in lavender. Lady Bern. A widow, recently out of mourning. “Excuse me.” August strolled away, following the line of Lady Bern’s slender back.
“He’ll cause a scandal one day,” Edward said, waving for another glass of champagne.
“Probably. Where is Father?” Eliza asked, nonchalant.
“Drinking brandy and playing cards with Whipple. Probably losing. He doesn’t have my acumen for whist. And despite this ball held in your honor, in our home, Father doesn’t care to play host. So, Whipple it is.”
Lord Whipple was the Duke of Courtland’s closest acquaintance, acceptable only because Whipple’s brother was a duke. The two would drink and play cards, which meant Father wouldn’t return to the ballroom for some time.
“I need to fix my slipper,” Eliza said with a frown. “Miner stepped on my toe, clumsy man, and tore the ribbon nearly clean away.” She sounded appropriately put out, though Miner had done no such thing.
Edward didn’t bother to look in her direction. He was too busy admiring the glass of champagne a servant handed to him with a bow. “Don’t dally. Father has me playing chaperone for you this evening. August was supposed to help.”
“I fear he has other plans,” she said, watching her cousin’s glowing hair move through the ballroom before he bowed and took Lady Bern’s arm. “I’ll return shortly, after seeing to my needs and repairing my slipper.”
Her brother gave her a bored look. “Hurry back.”
Eliza scurried off before Edward could ask anything else.
Taking a deep breath, she wandered through the crowd, accepting congratulations and greetings, her steps slowing as she came upon the room set aside for the ladies. Turning, she could just see her brother in the ballroom, but he wasn’t looking in her direction.
She passed the room and moved farther down the hall.