Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford
Читать онлайн.| Название | Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Joanna Fulford |
| Жанр | Исторические любовные романы |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Исторические любовные романы |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn |
JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination and she has traveled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband, Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles.
The Wayward Governess was a finalist in the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Pure Passion awards, 2011.
Secrets in the Regency Ballroom
The Wayward Governess
His Counterfeit Condesa
Joanna Fulford
Table of Contents
To Vee Leighton for her insight and encouragement
throughout the writing of this book
‘Gartside! Alight here for Gartside!’
The guard’s voice roused Claire from her doze. Feeling startled and disorientated, she looked about her and realised that the coach had stopped. She had no recollection of the last ten miles of the journey to Yorkshire and had no idea what hour it might be. At a guess it was some time in the midafternoon. Her cramped limbs felt as though they had been travelling for ever, though in reality it was three days. For more reasons than one it would be a relief to escape from the lumbering vehicle. Further reflection was denied her as the door opened.
‘This is where you get down, miss.’
She nodded and, under the curious eyes of the remaining passengers, retrieved her valise and descended onto the street in front of a small and lowly inn.
‘Can you tell me how far it is to Helmshaw?’ she asked. ‘And in which direction it lies?’
The guard jerked his head toward the far end of the street. ‘Five miles. That way.’
‘Thank you.’
After a grunted acknowledgement he closed the door of the coach and climbed back onto the box. Then the driver cracked his whip and the coach moved forwards. Watching it depart, Claire swallowed