Catherine Tinley - Waltzing With The Earl

A wallflower’s time to shine...

The Earl of Shalford needs to marry into money to save his estate. Wealthy and beautiful Henrietta Buxted should be the perfect candidate. So why does his eye keep wandering to her quiet cousin, Charlotte Wyncroft?

Charlotte watches Henrietta’s games of courtship with wry amusement. That is, until a stolen dance reveals a hidden side to the earl. Penniless Charlotte knows she’s far from a suitable match, yet, in Adam’s arms, she can dream of the happily-ever-after she’s always wanted!

‘Would you do me the pleasure of dancing the waltz with me?’

Charlotte’s happiness was complete. ‘I should be delighted, my lord.’

There was a murmur of excitement as the couples took to the floor. Belatedly Charlotte realised that Henrietta was glowering at her. Oh, no! Henrietta had probably expected the earl to offer her the waltz.

‘My lord, I think Henrietta wishes to dance the waltz with you. And I feel a little unwell, so—’

‘Oh, no! You shall not sacrifice yourself for her this time. You are not unwell, for I never saw you in greater looks, and it is you I wish to dance with—not your cousin. Let her find a partner from among her admirers.’

Shocked, but secretly pleased, Charlotte let it go. In truth, this was her wish. Right now she wanted to enjoy this dance, with this man, in this ballroom.

Author Note

I hope you enjoy Charlotte and Adam’s story as much as I do. It’s particularly exciting for me as it’s my first published novel, and it began—as these things often do—with a ‘what if?’

What if, in Regency England, a young woman of good family lost her place in society? Not through scandal or drama but subtly, insidiously, through loss of perceived wealth. And what if she had already become close to a man who needed to marry well?

Marriage in Georgian society was often more to do with land, property and money than affection, love or attraction, and yet there are stories of love-matches too. I’ve tried to be true to what we know of society at that time, so this story focuses more on the drawing room than the bedroom. My ‘planet Regency’ is as much Heyer’s as Austen’s, and I love to visit it regularly.

Watch out for Harry’s story, coming next—I wonder what would happen if he met Charlotte’s spirited friend Juliana…?

Waltzing with the Earl

Catherine Tinley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHERINE TINLEY has loved reading and writing since childhood, and has a particular fondness for love, romance and happy endings. She lives in Ireland with her husband, children, dog and kitten, and can be reached at catherinetinley.com, as well as through Facebook and @CatherineTinley on Twitter.

Waltzing with the Earl

is Catherine Tinley’s enchanting debut for

Mills & Boon Historical Romance!

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

To my parents, Sheila and Tommy, with love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

London, 1814

Leaning against a gilded column, the Earl of Shalford coolly observed the revellers at Lady Jersey’s party. The elegant ballroom was thronged with gentlemen and ladies of every age, shape and demeanour, all determined to enjoy the evening. A country dance was in full flow, and the sight of tittering ladies and merry gentlemen leaping and capering around the room seemed, at this moment, the height of absurdity.

‘Adam—so this is where I find you. Ogling the ladies, eh?’

The Earl regarded his younger brother with disfavour. ‘No, I shall leave that to you, Harry. I am leaving.’ He wrenched his long frame upright.

‘So soon? But the night is barely begun—and you are promised to dance the cotillion with Miss Ross.’

The Earl shrugged. ‘I shall apologise—a sudden indisposition, I think.’

‘You are not indisposed—well, not unless one counts this unseemly languor. Come now, Adam, there are lovelies to be danced with, flirtations to be had. You are too staid for your own good!’

‘Not staid—bored. Not one of these ladies has the power to hold my attention. I dance with them, then immediately forget them. I cannot choose between them.’

‘Then do not choose. Simply enjoy the moment. We have been out of mourning for Papa for months, yet still you act as though...’

‘As though I were still mourning him? You need not worry, Harry. Papa is gone. I have accepted it. The Earldom—and all its responsibilities—rests on my shoulders.’

‘It must not be a burden, Adam. You can still enjoy life.’

‘I do, Harry, I do. I just do not enjoy—this.’ He indicated the crowded room. ‘Give me an evening with friends instead—with people I know and wish to talk to.’

‘But your friends are here.’ Harry indicated a corner near the supper room, where a group of young men were indulging in drinking games with Lady Jersey’s potent punch.

‘Perhaps I am not friendly enough tonight. Have a good evening, Harry. Flirt with as many young ladies as you can manage. Keep up the Fanton name.’

Harry shook his head. ‘Adam, this is not good.’

His brother, unheeding, left with a slight wave of his hand. He spoke first to Miss Ross, who looked disappointed, then made his farewell to their hostess, Lady Jersey.

As Adam slipped out of the room, Harry spoke softly, though he knew his brother could not hear. ‘I wish I could lift your spirits, Adam, but if pretty girls and dances can’t do it then how can I?’

Chapter One

Buxted House in Half-Moon Street was a neat, elegant townhouse, ideally situated between Curzon Street and Green Park. As his coach stopped outside, Colonel Sir Edward Wyncroft glanced around. Late morning meant the street was busy with delivery men, street sweepers and errand boys. The smell of spring was in the air, mixed with the usual London odours—chimney smoke and horse manure.

A lean, sprightly gentleman, with intelligent blue eyes and dark curls showing only a hint of grey, Sir Edward had an easy gait, and his youthful looks belied the fact that he was now in his fifth decade.

Surrendering his hat and cane to the footman, Sir Edward addressed the butler, whose name, he remembered, was Biddle.

‘I believe your master is expecting me, Biddle?’

‘Indeed, Sir Edward. I am glad to see you again, sir. Please come this way.’

Sir Edward followed him to the breakfast room, where Mr Frederick Buxted, an affable, portly fellow in his middle years, was demolishing a selection of cold meats and rolls with coffee. Rising as the butler announced his guest, he shook Sir Edward’s hand and bade him join in the spread.

‘No, no, Freddy, I have eaten already. Can’t get used to these late hours, you know.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr Buxted knowledgeably. ‘No doubt you rise early in Venice?’