Gabriel D'Arcy. Ann Lethbridge
Читать онлайн.| Название | Gabriel D'Arcy |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Ann Lethbridge |
| Жанр | Историческая литература |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Историческая литература |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9781472044440 |
He grinned at Nicky. ‘I’ve been on the Town a long time, Countess. I have not failed to learn how to make the most of the company of a lovely and enticing woman.’
She settled herself more comfortably on the seat. ‘I do not respond well to flattery.’
‘And if it is the truth, Countess?’
She shook her head. ‘Incorrigible.’
She said it the French way and the caress in her voice was unmistakable. Velvet and honey and fine old brandy wrapped up in one word.
‘But you should know, Milor’ Mooreshead,’ she continued as he wove between the slow traffic of carters and tradesmen about their business, ‘your reputation precedes you. I have been warned that there isn’t a lady in London who does not fear for her virtue when you smile her way.’
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in another time—to be the heroine of some grand adventure? I know how fortunate I am to get to do that on a daily basis. It doesn’t always go as smoothly as I would like, or exactly to plan, as characters have a way of twisting things to suit themselves. On the other hand, I must say I have a lot of fun discovering their stories. This time we are revisiting Beresford Abbey, which you may recall from HAUNTED BY THE EARL’S TOUCH. The ghost is being her usual helpful self—or is she? And the French are massing across the Channel.
Without a doubt the Regency era is one of my all-time favourite periods of history. However, it can easily be forgotten, in the glitz and glamour of London’s ballrooms, that it was a time of war as well as a time of great change—the dawn of our modern age. I touch on these matters as we follow Nicky and Gabe’s adventure.
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Gabriel D’Arcy
Ann Lethbridge
ANN LETHBRIDGE has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.
Ann grew up roaming Britain with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.
Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves to hear from readers.
It isn’t often an author has the privilege of working with two editors, but for this book I have been fortunate to have the advice of Joanne Grant and Anne Marie Ryan, so I am doubly blessed. Thank you, ladies, for your help in bringing this story to fruition.
I would also like to dedicate this book to my sister-in-law, Diane Jones, a courageous woman who loved family above all else.
Contents
August 1804
When Napoleon amassed an army twenty-two miles away on the other side of the English Channel, what should an English peer of the realm do? Attend Lady Heatherfield’s summer ball, naturally. Gabe D’Arcy, the recently gazetted Marquess of Mooreshead, eyed the occupants in the over-hot marble-columned ballroom with a sense of despair. Did they have no idea of the danger facing their country? Did they not see the disillusion of the common man on their estates, in their cities and towns? If they did, they didn’t show it. Or seem to care.
The myriad candles reflected in gilt-edged mirrors threatened blindness as he gazed at his fellow peers. How would these carefully coiffed heads look in the basket at the foot of a guillotine? It was where they would end up if Britain became a satellite republic of France.
It wouldn’t happen. Not if