And before we begin our story, I must emphatically thank writin’ buddy and sister author Louisa Cornell for her generous assistance with the legal details regarding mental incompetence proceedings. She walked me through the relevant arcanities, and pointed me to a very useful period primer on the whole business. For storytelling purposes, I simplified a few aspects of the process, but the basic ideas—accusations of mental incompetence could come from anyone, and the judgment rendered was from a legal commission without any medical expertise—are accurate. If you want to have a really interesting conversation, ask Louisa about the commissions (note the plural) convened to consider the Duke of Portland’s mental fitness. My, my, my…

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Look for Stephen’s story in HOW TO CATCH A DUKE

Available Spring 2021

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Chapter One

Chapter One

“I have come to ask you to kill me, my lord.”

Abigail Abbott had surprised Stephen Wentworth from the moment he’d met her several months ago. May she ever bask in heaven’s benevolent light, her unexpected call renewed his delight and amazement.

“Miss Abbott, while it is my greatest joy to accommodate a lady’s pleasure wherever that quest may lead, in this instance, I fear I must disappoint.”

“You are the logical party to execute this errand,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You are in line for a dukedom and thus too highly placed to face repercussions should you be charged criminally. You’ll see the thing done properly.”

The butler had shown Stephen’s guest into the library, which was a breach of etiquette. Miss Abbott should have been received in the formal parlor, which faced the street and thus afforded a lady’s reputation greater protection.

Bless all conniving butlers. “Might we sit, Miss Abbott? My knee is—as it were—killing me.”

She glowered at him down the length of her magnificent nose. “I importune you to commit murder, and you jest.”

Stephen used his cane to gesture at a comfortable wing chair set before the blazing hearth and waited until Miss Abbott had seated herself before he settled onto the sofa.

“Your faith in my abilities is flattering, Miss Abbott, but my family takes a dim view of violence toward women—as do I. I cannot, alas, accommodate your request.”

She popped out of her chair and paced across his new Axminster carpet, gray skirts swishing. “And if I were a footpad trying to snatch your purse, a brigand menacing your person? Then would you send me to my reward?”