The Stanforth Secrets (35 page)

The first,
Lord Wraybourne’s Betrothed
, was republished in October 2009, and now you have read the second,
The Stanforth Secrets
.
The Stolen Bride
will be out in October 2010.

These books don’t form a tight series like my Company of Rogues or the Mallorens, but Lord Randal Ashby forms a link. He’s a handsome young devil nicknamed the Bright Angel in school, largely in contrast to his friend the Dark Angel, Piers Verderan—a troubled boy who would turn into a dangerous man.

He becomes entangled with Lady Sophie Kyle in
Lord Wraybourne’s Betrothed
when dramatic events lead them into a compromising situation. Sophie is not at all displeased, for she’s adored Randal for years. Randal, however, is more ambivalent.

The Stanforth Secrets
goes back a few years to when he helped his cousin Chloe cope with murder and mayhem and find her own true love. In
The Stolen Bride
, we’re in the period after the Wraybourne wedding, and Randal and Sophie’s own wedding draws close, but all is not well in their Eden. Sophie thinks Randal is behaving strangely, and fears it’s because he’s been trapped into marrying her. She wants him for her husband more than anything in the world, but she knows an unwilling groom will be disastrous. Into this fraught situation comes an old enemy.

This novel also tells the love story of Jane Wraybourne’s old governess, Mrs. Beth Hawley. Jane has asked Beth to come to Stenby Castle to assist with the wedding preparations. Beth considers herself a practical woman, and at thirty-three too old for romance, but as she gets to know Lord Wraybourne’s sporting friend, Sir Marius Fletcher, her world begins to turn topsy-turvy.

In
The Stolen Bride
, we also meet the Dark Angel, Randal’s friend Piers Verderan, and discover exactly why people are always warning Randal to stay far, far away from him. However, in
Emily and the Dark Angel
(October 2010) Verderan will meet no-nonsense Emily Grantham in a cloud of violet-scented talcum powder and his life will never be the same. This book won a RITA award.

I hope you are enjoying all these classic stories, whether for the first time or again.

If you visit the page for these books on my Web site—
www.jobev.com/tradreg.html
—you’ll find more about the books, plus a place to sign up for an e-mail reminder when the books are arriving on shelves. Those are the only e-mails you’ll get from there, so don’t worry about spam. You can also sign up for my occasional e-newsletters. There’s a separate sign-up box for this, but again, no chat, no spam.

 

All the best wishes,
Jo Beverley

B
ETH HAWLEY was on her way to Stenby Castle to visit her ex-pupil, now Lady Wraybourne, and to assist at the upcoming wedding of Lord Wraybourne’s sister. At a halt they encountered Sir Marius Fletcher, a friend of Lord Wraybourne’s, whom Beth had met before. As his curricle was broken down, she felt obliged to offer to share the carriage to their nearby destination.

Sir Marius’s baggage was transferred from his curricle to the boot of the coach, his man was given instructions for the care of the equipage, and then the baronet climbed into the coach to take the seat opposite hers.

It was not as bad as Beth had imagined, though his size did dwarf the compartment.

“I don’t much care for closed carriages,” he said dryly as the coach rolled out of the inner yard. “I always feel as if I’m going to put an elbow through the wall.”

She remembered Jane had found this man rather forbidding when they had first met, then had come to call him a friend. Beth could certainly understand the first part. “Harsh” was the word that came to mind. Like granite. The bones of his jaw and skull were solid beneath the flesh.

She realized she had been staring. “It must certainly be a problem at times, being so large,” she said hastily.

“No more of a problem than being so tiny, ma’am,” he drawled.

Beth sat up straighter. “Well, really, Sir Marius. There is no call for personal remarks.”

There was a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “It was no more personal than the remark you made about me, dear lady.”

“It was you, as I recall, who began the topic with talk of elbows. . . .” Beth trailed off as she realized she was arguing, in a rather childish way, with a virtual stranger. “I—I do beg you pardon,” she stammered, knowing she was turning a fiery red. She was a redhead with very indiscreet skin.

“Now, don’t spoil it,” he said with a grin. “I was looking forward to sparring all the way to Stenby.”

“I could not contemplate such a thing, Sir Marius,” Beth said stiffly, regretting the charitable impulse that had prompted her to invite him into the carriage. She didn’t even feel able to remove her bonnet and be comfortable.

He looked at her consideringly, and then smiled in a more natural way. “I apologize. It is not good of me to be teasing you when we’re in such a situation.”

For some reason these words made Beth feel only more flustered. “What do you mean, ‘such a situation?’ ”

He leaned back at his ease. “Why, in a closed carriage, Mrs. Hawley. You can hardly escape me, short of risking life and limb by leaping into the road. We’re going a fair speed too. Kinnock must be keen to be home.”

Grasping a safe topic with relief, Beth said, “You must know Stenby well, Sir Marius.”

“Very well. David and I have been friends since we were boys. I’ve spent many a happy summer at the castle. Is this your first visit there?”

“Yes. Jane invited me during the summer but I felt she and her husband should have time together. Now she has asked me to come and help with Sophie’s wedding.”

“Well, if you were giving them peace and quiet,” said Sir Marius, “you should have taken that minx Sophie out of their orbit. She has a natural antipathy to tranquility.”

Beth was beginning to understand the large gentleman and did not miss the fondness behind the comment. “Lady Sophie is lively,” she responded, “but she has a kind heart. I’m sure she has done her best not to be a bother to her brother and Jane.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “It’s certain she hasn’t sought their company if Randal’s been available.”

Beth smiled. She remembered Lady Sophie Kyle and Lord Randal Ashby at Jane’s wedding, always together, always smiling, always in some way
connected
. Even though their betrothal had not been officially announced until recently, no one who saw them could be in any doubt as to the state of affairs. “It is only natural for young people to want to be together when they’re in love, Sir Marius. And Lady Sophie and Lord Randal are very much in love.”

“Sickening, ain’t it?”

Beth chuckled. “I can quite see you are not of a romantical disposition, Sir Marius, but you should not begrudge your friends their happiness.”

“Why not?” he replied, but with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s spoiled a perfectly good summer. My two closest friends have wasted it on mere women.”

Beth shook her head. “I fear you are a cynic, Sir Marius. One day you too might come to that dreadful fate.”

“Marriage, maybe. Love, never. It ain’t in my disposition.”

Beth felt the conversation was becoming a little too intimate, and in a way she found strangely disconcerting. “Could you tell me a little more about Stenby Castle?” she asked quickly. “Jane has conveyed some of its history in her letters but I have a very unclear picture. Is it truly medieval?”

He settled in his seat and stretched his legs. Beth had to move slightly to ensure her skirt was not in contact with his boots. When she thought of her previous journeys on crowded stages, her unease with the slightest contact seemed ridiculous, and yet . . .

“That’s difficult to say, Mrs. Hawley,” he said easily. She knew he had noted her move and was amused. A truly infuriating man. “Most of the external walls date back to at least the fourteenth century but the Kyles haven’t done without their comforts. Arrow slits have become windows; fireplaces have been improved. Walls have been covered with tapestries, panelling and wallpaper. Apart from the Great Hall, which is hardly used, the house appears very like any gentleman’s seat.” He leaned forward, and she hastily leaned back.

He was merely gazing out the window.

“If you look carefully,” he said, “you can catch your first glimpse of the place through those trees.”

Forgetting her concerns, Beth quickly moved forward to share the view.

“Over on that rise,” said Sir Marius, close to her ear.

Then Beth saw Stenby Castle in the distance, crenellated gray stone walls softened by greenery and set with glittering windows. As the coach bowled along she sat and watched the place gradually fall behind a screen of trees. She became aware of Sir Marius’s breath, warm on her cheek.

Startled, she turned to face him and was surprised to see a look of enigmatic amusement. She drew back into her seat feeling far more flustered than was reasonable.

“A charming prospect,” she said hurriedly.

“Decidedly,” he drawled. “But not in the common run.”

“Of course not. Most earls do not have castles for their principal seats.”

“Certainly most people prefer the younger, the more fashionable standard of beauty,” he said in a manner she could take only as teasing, though she could not see what there was to joke about.

“Do you think so?” she queried. “I thought there was a decided taste for the Gothic these days.”

“Gothic?” he echoed with a grin. “Do you really think that description fair?”

Beth could not remember ever having been so off balance. She was used to handling events with calm competence and yet this man, in some way, was making her feel dizzy. He was also talking nonsense.

“I know some people use ‘Gothic’ in a pejorative sense, Sir Marius,” she said sharply, “but surely it can be used more exactly. A medieval castle must have elements of the Gothic.”

“Time will tell,” he drawled. “It certainly promises to be an entertaining visit—” He broke off as the horses were suddenly pulled up.

As soon as the coach stopped, he swung open the door. “What’s amiss?”

“Coach off the road, Sir Marius,” said Kinnock. “Grigson’s just gone to see if they need help.”

Sir Marius turned back. “I’ll see what’s going on,” he said and jumped down onto the road.

Not at all unwilling to stretch her legs, Beth followed. Sir Marius turned back and moved to help her down.

Beth felt a decided reluctance to allow him to swing her to the ground, but it would be a long jump for her and she could hardly order him to let down the steps. Two strong hands nearly spanned her waist and she was lifted down as if she were a feather. She was used to being small, but this man made her feel positively childlike and she didn’t like it one bit.

JO BEVERLEY
is widely regarded as one of the most talented romance writers today. She is a
New York Times
best-seller, a five-time winner of Romance Writers of America’s cherished RITA Award, and one of only a handful of members of the RWA Hall of Fame. She has also twice received the
Romantic Times
Career Achievement Award. Born in England, she has two grown sons and lives with her husband in Victoria, British Columbia, just a ferry ride away from Seattle. You can visit her Web site at
www.jobev.com
.