Cover

PRAISE FOR

ANNE GRACIE AND HER NOVELS

“[A] confection that brims with kindness and heartfelt sincerity. . . . You can’t do much better than Anne Gracie, who offers her share of daring escapes, stolen kisses and heartfelt romance in a tale that carries the effervescent charm of the best Disney fairy tales.”

—Entertainment Weekly

“I never miss an Anne Gracie book.”

—New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn

“For fabulous Regency flavor, witty and addictive, you can’t go past Anne Gracie.”

—New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens

“With her signature superbly nuanced characters, subtle sense of wit and richly emotional writing, Gracie puts her distinctive stamp on a classic Regency plot.”

—Chicago Tribune

“Will keep readers entranced. . . . A totally delightful read!”

—RT Book Reviews

“The always terrific Anne Gracie outdoes herself with Bride by Mistake. . . . Gracie created two great characters, a high-tension relationship and a wonderfully satisfying ending. Not to be missed!”

—New York Times bestselling author Mary Jo Putney

“A fascinating twist on the girl-in-disguise plot. . . . With its wildly romantic last chapter, this novel is a great antidote to the end of summer.”

—New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James

“Anne Gracie’s writing dances that thin line between always familiar and fresh. . . . The Accidental Wedding is warm and sweet, tempered with bursts of piquancy and a dash or three of spice.”

—New York Journal of Books

“Threaded with charm and humor. . . . [An] action-rich, emotionally compelling story. . . . It is sure to entice readers.”

—Library Journal (starred review)

“Another [of] Ms. Gracie’s character-rich, fiery tales filled with emotion and passion leavened by charm and wit.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“The main characters are vibrant and complex. . . . The author’s skill as a storyteller makes this well worth reading.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“A well-plotted, richly emotional and delightful read, this Regency novel brims with wonderful characters and romance.”

—Shelf Awareness

Titles by Anne Gracie

Merridew Sisters

THE PERFECT RAKE

THE PERFECT WALTZ

THE PERFECT STRANGER

THE PERFECT KISS

Devil Riders

THE STOLEN PRINCESS

HIS CAPTIVE LADY

TO CATCH A BRIDE

THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING

BRIDE BY MISTAKE

Chance Sisters

THE AUTUMN BRIDE

THE WINTER BRIDE

THE SPRING BRIDE

THE SUMMER BRIDE

Marriage of Convenience

MARRY IN HASTE

MARRY IN SCANDAL

MARRY IN SECRET

MARRY IN SCARLET

Dedication

To the Word Wenches—Mary Jo Putney, Patricia Rice, Nicola Cornick, Andrea Penrose, Joanna Bourne, Susan King and Susanna Kearsley—with whom I blog each fortnight, and who provide ongoing friendship, support and encouragement. Thank you.

Chapter One

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

Agatha, Lady Salter, tapped her foot impatiently and glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. Twenty-six—no, twenty-seven minutes he had kept her waiting. So far.

Young people nowadays. No manners at all.

But she would not allow the duke’s rag-mannered behavior to distract her from her purpose. What was that line again? It is a fact, widely understood . . . No, that wasn’t it. It is a truth—yes, that was it, a truth.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single duke in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a bride. That was the line. A very sensible observation to commence a very silly book.

Young gels deciding for themselves who they would marry or not. Ridiculous!

Had it not been for the commonsensical actions of an aunt, that foolish, stubborn Elizabeth would have whistled an excellent marriage down the wind. But her aunt had saved the day when she’d taken the gel to visit the young fellow’s estate. That had made the foolish gel sit up and take notice.

Lady Salter glanced at the clock again. Twenty-nine minutes. Disgraceful. She’d expected he might be reluctant to see her. But that was no excuse for tardiness.

He’d been more or less jilted at the altar—a little pique was understandable. Young men had their pride. But it had not been, after all, a love match. It was an arranged marriage between her beautiful niece Lady Rose Rutherford and the Duke of Everingham, the catch of the season. The match of the season.

Weeks of careful strategy on her part to get the two together. And when the betrothal was announced, she had basked in universal admiration. While it lasted.

Rose had let her down badly. A secret marriage! And to the veriest nobody. A scarecrow returned from the dead, ragged and dirty, in the middle of the ceremony! An absolute disgrace. It didn’t bear thinking about.

But she would not admit defeat.

The door to the sitting room opened. The duke stood in the doorway. Finally!

Lady Salter looked up and inclined her head graciously. “Good afternoon, Redmond.” She’d known him since he was in short coats. The use of “Redmond” rather than his title was to remind him of the fact.

Redmond Jasper Hartley, the fifth Duke of Everingham, strolled into the room. He’d kept her waiting a good half hour but he made no apology. He bowed over her hand and said in a bored voice, “Lady Salter, how do you do?” His cold gray gaze was indifferent.

Lady Salter came straight to the point. “I understand my niece has apologized for her disgraceful behavior.”

He raised a dark brow. “Niece?” As if he had no idea to whom she was referring.

Her lips thinned. So he was still angry. Coldly furious, under the indifferent-seeming facade, if she was not mistaken. Pride was one thing, incivility to his elders quite another. Besides, she was as much a victim of Rose’s carelessness as he.

“I refer to Lady Rose Rutherford, as you very well know. She came here last week, I believe, to apologize.”

The duke strolled to the window and stood looking out, his back to her. After a moment he said in a tight voice, “Is there a purpose to this visit, Lady Salter?”

“You are still in want of a bride.”

He stilled, then turned slowly to face her and in an arctic voice said, “And if I am, madam, what business is it of yours?”

Lady Salter lifted her chin and said what she had come here to say. “I have another niece.”

He didn’t move. His expression was carved in ice.

She continued, “She is also, of course, the daughter of an earl, though her mother was of the yeoman class. Georgiana herself is young, attractive, healthy and—”

“Ambitious.”

She blinked. “Not in the least—quite the contrary, in fact. She has—”

“All her teeth too, I’m sure. A picture of perfection, no doubt, but I’m not interested.”

She glared at him.

His lip curled and he continued with silken insolence, “We are not at Tattersalls, Lady Salter. There is no need to act the coper and enumerate your niece’s various qualities. I am not interested in furthering either her ambitions or yours.”

She bristled. Likening her to a horse coper indeed! “You forget yourself, young man—duke or not. Your mother would be appalled.” His mother was her goddaughter, as well as a friend.

He glanced pointedly at the clock.

His indifference was infuriating, as was his assumption that she was ambitious for her niece. She was, of course—Georgiana had no sense at all of where her duty lay—but the duke could not know that. He and Georgiana had barely even met. She doubted they’d exchanged a dozen words. It was yet another situation where an aunt was needed to step in and take control.

“Your mother and I—”

“—will, in future, kindly keep your noses out of my business. I’ve had enough of your interference.” In two paces he crossed the room and yanked on the bellpull. “Good day to you, madam.”

Interference? Madam? She almost choked on her indignation. Such ingratitude toward one who’d worked tirelessly—selflessly!—to arrange a suitable marriage for him.

The butler appeared in the doorway. The duke said, “Lady Salter is leaving, Fleming.”

Lady Salter rose and with great dignity stalked toward the door. As she reached it her temper got the better of her. She turned and in an icy voice said, “I was mistaken in thinking you and Georgiana would suit, Redmond. Far from being ambitious to marry you”—she gave a scornful huff—“the truth is, Georgiana did her level best to dissuade Rose from marrying you—”

“Wanted me for herself, no doubt.”

“Your arrogance is misplaced, sirrah! Far from wanting you, she was quite vocal in her dislike of you—and I see now she has a point. In any case the ridiculous child has declared far and wide that she would rather live with dogs and horses than marry.”

That silenced him, she could see. She added, with crisp satisfaction, “I had thought, your grace, that marriage to a young woman of good family, an independently minded young woman who would not hang off your sleeve, a girl who wants nothing more than to retire to a country estate and be left to breed horses, dogs—and possibly children—would be exactly what you required. A wife who would keep out of your way and give you no trouble.” She paused to let that sink in. It was exactly the kind of wife he’d described back when Rose was the bride being considered.

She made an airily dismissive gesture. “Even so, it would have taken all my considerable powers of persuasion to coax Georgiana to wed you.”

His eyes grew flintier, and she added with barely concealed relish, “I would not be surprised if we’d had to drag her to the altar in the end. My niece is a headstrong gel who disdains the advice of her elders and betters. You, sir, are equally stubborn. Almost, I think, you deserve each other, but since you both lack a proper attitude to marriage—and to me!—I wash my hands of you.” She sailed from the room in high dudgeon.

*   *   *

“I’m not at home,” Hart told his butler after Lady Salter had left. “Not to anyone.”

The news of his aborted wedding had spread like wildfire through the ton. His doorbell had been jangling constantly ever since, with women—ladies of the ton—eager to soothe his injured feelings and shove him straight back into the marital noose, if not with themselves, then with their daughter or niece or granddaughter.

To hell with them all. He’d had it with women—no, not with women, with ladies.

He tried to resume his correspondence, but the annoyance lingered. What the devil business of anyone else’s was it whether he married or not? He knew he needed to get an heir, but what was the hurry? He wasn’t yet thirty. And just because he’d been brought up to the mark once didn’t mean he was ready to do it again, dammit.

Because look how well that had ended.

A few days before, his erstwhile bride had called on him, supposedly to apologize, but then she had the cheek to invite him to the ball that had been planned to celebrate his wedding. Its purpose now was to celebrate her husband’s return from the dead, blast him. Hart had nothing against the fellow, but why the devil hadn’t he come back from the dead a week or two earlier and saved them all a lot of fuss and botheration?

He narrowed his eyes. Now he came to think of it, he had met the girl Lady Salter had just tried to foist on him. Lady Georgiana Rutherford had accompanied Rose on that little errand. A long-legged, dark-haired wench, with more than a dash of impudence.

She’d pulled her skirts up to warm her legs at the fire. Dropped them, cool as you please when he’d entered the room, not embarrassed in the least. A hoyden, if not a light-skirt.

Damned fine ankles, as he recalled.

She would rather live with dogs and horses.

He snorted. She was welcome to them.

*   *   *

“What?” Lady Georgiana Rutherford could hardly believe her ears. “You offered me to that . . . that . . . duke? Like a . . . a cake on a plate? Without even consulting me?”

George was taking afternoon tea in the drawing room with her uncle, Cal; his wife, Emm; and her two great-aunts: the sweet one and the sour one. The sweet one, Aunt Dottie, was knitting haphazardly in between poring over a dish of jam tarts and sipping her tea. Her sister, Aunt Agatha, sat like an offended poker, looking down her nose at them all, disdaining the offerings before her.

Cal, lounging on the settee beside his wife, chuckled. “Like a cake on a plate, George? More like a hedgehog in a bag.” He bit into an almond biscuit.

George ignored him. She glared at Aunt Agatha. “How dare you go behind my back and make such a . . . such an offer?”

Aunt Agatha made a dismissive gesture. “Well, someone must make a push to find you a husband, and Emmaline is otherwise occupied breeding The Heir. Besides, since Rose’s disgraceful behavior left the duke embarrassed at the altar, this family owes him reparation.”

“Possibly, but we don’t owe him me!”

The old lady set down her teacup with a snap. “If a duke is going spare, my gel, it doesn’t do to dally!”

“But I don’t want a duke! I don’t want a husband at all! I’ve said so repeatedly. And even if I did, Everingham would be the last man I’d consider!” George didn’t know what it was about the Duke of Everingham, but he . . . he irritated her with his cold, hard gaze, so indifferent and superior and I-rule-the-world. She longed to take him down a peg.

“Nonsense! Every gel needs a husband. And, all appearances to the contrary, you are the daughter of an earl and need to marry and be a credit to your family.”

The flat dismissal of her views infuriated George. “Not me. I don’t want a husband, I don’t need one and I won’t have you or anyone else arranging one for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, child.”

“It’s not ridiculous and I’m not a child. I’m almost twenty and—”

“And well past the age you were married and off your aunt’s and uncle’s hands. Ashendon and Emmaline are starting their own family.” Aunt Agatha gestured to Emm’s swollen belly, then trained her lorgnette on her rebellious great-niece.

George put up her chin and glared back. She wasn’t sure whether the old lady actually needed the eyeglass to see with, or whether it was just her chosen weapon of intimidation. Whatever the reason, George would not be intimidated.

Aunt Agatha continued, “Ashendon’s sisters are now married—in however scrambled a fashion—and their future is taken care of. There is only yourself remaining—an ill-mannered, unfeminine, ignorant, tomboyish hoyden with no idea of ladylike or even polite behavior—and worse!—no interest in acquiring it. You should be grateful that I’m taking an interest in your future.”

“Grateful? For unwarranted and unasked-for interference?” George was ready to explode. The insults stung; there was no denying there was some truth in them, but she would never let Aunt Agatha get the better of her.

“You cannot expect your uncle and his wife to care indefinitely for his late brother’s unwanted and unacknowledged offspring—especially a gel who’s more trouble than she’s worth. A charitable gesture is one thing, an embarrassing millstone quite another.”

Emm sat up angrily. “George is not a millstone, Aunt Agatha! Nor is she an embarrassment. She’s a dear sweet girl and a beloved member of our family and as far as I am concerned she can live with us until . . . until she’s a hundred years old!” She reached out a hand to Cal and he took it, a silent gesture of support.

Aunt Agatha gave a dismissive wave. “That is your condition speaking, Emmaline. Breeding women are notoriously hysterical.” She turned to Cal. “You see? Yet again Georgiana is causing your wife distress. And endangering The Heir.”

“I’m not the one upsetting people,” George muttered.

“Now look here, Aunt Agatha,” Cal began.

“Oh, don’t worry, Cal,” George said. “I know better than to mind the spiteful outpourings of an interfering, officious, presumptuous old b—”

“George,” Emm said in a warning tone. George glanced at her and bit off the remainder of the insults she had stored away. She would cross swords with Aunt Agatha any day, but upsetting Emm was another matter.

Aunt Agatha drew herself up, an outraged silver-haired praying mantis. “Abominable gel! Never in my life have I been subjected to such disgraceful incivility from a chit not yet in her majority. And from a member of my own family!”

“If the cap fits, wear it,” George said sweetly. “In any case, I won’t be on Cal and Emm’s hands forever. The minute I turn twenty-five and get my inheritance, I’ll be out of here and nobody need bother about me at all.”

Aunt Agatha primmed her lips. “More than five years to wait, then. A young married couple should not have to endure the company of—”

“I’ve asked and asked Cal to arrange for an allowance to be paid to me, an advance on my inheritance. He always refuses, but if I had it, I’d be gone and out of their hair in an instant.”

“Precisely why I won’t do it,” Cal said firmly. “There’s no question of enduring anything or anyone, Aunt Agatha. Emm and I are very fond of George and, as Emm said, she’s welcome to live with us as long as she likes.”

“Exactly! We love you, George, and there’s no question of your being in the way,” Emm said. “Now, please, let us all enjoy our tea and stop squabbling.”

At the word tea George’s dog, Finn, rose and sat down beside Cal, fixing the half-eaten biscuit in Cal’s hand with a mournful gaze.

George frowned and said in a low voice, “I do cause you trouble. You can’t deny it, Cal.”

Cal exchanged a glance with his wife and smiled a slow smile. “Let us say, rather, that you enliven an otherwise relatively humdrum existence.” Then as Finn nudged him, he added, “You and your enormous hound, I meant. And, no, Finn, this is my biscuit and is not for dogs.” He finished it in two crunches. Finn slid to the floor with a dejected sigh.

Emm nodded. “The house is going to feel so empty with both Lily and Rose gone. We couldn’t do without you, George.”

George glanced at the mound of Emm’s belly. The house wouldn’t be empty for long. Or dull. The baby would take up all Emm’s time and attention then. “I will leave when I’m twenty-five.”

“We’ll talk about that when the time comes,” Cal said. “Nobody is going to force you into matrimony, George, but I don’t want you living alone.”

“Why not? I did for most of my life.” Except for her faithful Martha.

“A situation I deeply regret,” Cal said grimly. “Henry should have been shot for his lack of care for you. And for keeping your existence a secret from us all for so long. But you are part of this family now, and so you will remain.”

“I can never decide which I like better, the plum tarts or the strawberry ones,” Aunt Dottie said into the silence that followed. “Of course the marmalade ones are very nice, but I always think red jam is such a happy flavor, don’t you agree?”

The tense atmosphere eased.

Aunt Agatha set down her teacup with a clatter. “Pshaw! If that’s your attitude, I wash my hands of you.”

“But the red jam is the sweetest, Aggie dear. There’s no need to get upset about it,” Aunt Dottie said. She winked at George.

“I’m not talking about the jam, as you very well know, Dorothea. Marriage is the only option for a gel of our order.” She trained her lorgnette on her sister. “We’ve already got one failure in the family, we don’t need another.”

“Aunt Dottie is not a failure—” Emm and George began at the same time.

Aunt Dottie chuckled. “Don’t worry, my dears, Aggie always takes a swipe at someone when she’s thwarted or put out in any way. It doesn’t bother me in the least.” She offered her sister the plate of tarts. “Try one of these, Aggie; they really are very good. They might even sweeten your tongue.”

Aunt Agatha waved them away. “You eat too many of those things. No wonder you’re so fat!”

“She’s not fat,” George said hotly. Aunt Dottie was plump and cuddly and George couldn’t imagine her any other way. Wouldn’t want her any other way.

“See?” Aunt Dottie twinkled at George. “She’s annoyed, so she takes it out on the nearest person, usually me. Just like a wasp, poor thing. It’s been like that ever since we were children in the nursery. I take no notice of her crotchets and you shouldn’t either.” She pored over a small dish of sweetmeats and selected one carefully. “Life is to be enjoyed, Aggie, and I enjoy every bit of mine. Do you?” She popped the sweet in her mouth and placidly resumed knitting.

There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of teaspoons clinking against teacups and the sound of crunching from behind the sofa. Emm raised her brow at George, who shook her head and looked at Cal, who tried to look innocent.

Avoiding his wife’s eye, he said, “Well, Aunt Agatha, don’t keep us in suspense—how did the duke respond to your proposal?”

George swallowed, feeling suddenly hollow. He couldn’t possibly have agreed to it—could he? She hadn’t given any thought to the duke’s reaction—she was only thinking of her aunt’s interference.

“He refused, of course, in no uncertain terms. No gentleman,” she added with thinly disguised satisfaction, “would want an ill-trained, boyish, impertinent hoyden for a wife.”

“Did he say that?” George flashed indignantly. “In so many words?”

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