Heiress in Red Silk: An Entertaining Enemies to Lovers Regency Romance Novel

Book 2: Duke's Heiress Romance

by Madeline Hunter

Genres: Historical Fiction; Women's Fiction; Regency Romance

Synopsis

USA Today Bestseller
 
“Stellar…vibrant and witty writing.” – Booklist
 
“Another smart pairing and a genuinely romantic ending.” —Publishers Weekly
 
A sparkling new love story from a historical romance legend, perfect for Bridgerton fans and readers of Sabrina Jeffries, Eloisa James, and Grace Burrowes.
 
In one life-changing windfall, Rosamund Jameson goes from struggling shopkeeper to heiress—and  co-owner of a new business. Not only will her sudden fortune allow her to move her millinery shop to fashionable London, but Rosamund will be able to provide her younger sister with a proper entry into society. The only hitch for resourceful Rosamund is her arrogant, infuriatingly handsome business partner...
 
Kevin Radnor is shocked that his late uncle, the Duke of Hollinburgh, bequeathed half his company to a total stranger—worse, a beguiling beauty who can only hinder his enterprise. But Rosamund insists on an active, equal partnership, so Kevin embarks on a plan: a seduction that will lead to a marriage of convenience, giving Rosamund the social status she needs, and guaranteeing him the silent partner he desires. Yet as this charismatic gentleman sets his flirtation in motion, he begins to wonder who is seducing whom—and if he can learn to share himself body and mind, without losing his heart . . . 
 
“A book that hooked right into my emotions and gave me what I wanted and needed from a story right now.”
—Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
 
“Romance and mystery combine to entertain.”
—Fresh Fiction

 

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Release date: April 27, 2021

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Eccentricity ran through the Radnor family much like an orange thread weaving in and out of a tapestry. Some members showed none of the color, while others were ablaze with it. Kevin Radnor was still a young man, so it remained to be seen how much the orange would dominate his section of the tapestry.

He already displayed some evidence of the trait that so marked his father and his uncle. When a subject captured his attention, he investigated it thoroughly with a notable singlemindedness. Thus, at not yet thirty years of age, he had acquired an extraordinary expertise in fencing, mechanics, engineering, moths, ancient Greek, chemistry, and carnal sensuality.

It was the last of those investigations that brought him in late March to a brothel in the neighborhood of Portman Square. His attention had been distracted of late by a business problem he faced, and only pleasure might relieve his brooding. The house he visited was known for women who had joined their profession out of enthusiasm, not desperation. That absolved his conscience of furthering the ruin of some poor female, and also appealed to him because with enthusiasm came both invention and joy.

He sat stripped to the waist in the chamber of a prostitute who used the name Beatrice while the pretty, red-haired woman slowly removed her own garments. Already his concerns had receded, especially because Beatrice turned disrobing into an art. At the moment, down to her chemise and hose, she was bending over to roll down one stocking. Her pose revealed her round, plump bottom which, Kevin noticed, had been rouged along the cleft.

A scratch at the door caught Beatrice just after she pulled off the stocking.

“I’ve a gentleman here,” Beatrice called out.

“I only wanted you to know that it has come. The new bonnet,” a muffled woman’s voice said. “It is so lovely.”

Beatrice began on the other stocking, but Kevin could see that the news of the bonnet had most of her attention now.

“Go and see it,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

She skipped over to him and gave him a kiss. Then she hurried to the door and opened it halfway.

“See?” the other woman said.

“Oh my, she outdid herself this time,” Beatrice said. “Look at that ribbon and how intricate she wove it.”

“Rosamund is the best,” her friend said.

Rosamund. The name might have been shouted, it garnered Kevin’s attention so thoroughly. He stood and joined the women at the door. “I have a fancy for pretty bonnets,” he said. “Let me see it.”

The bonnet was indeed handsome, with blues and pinks appropriate for the coming spring. Some cream cloth had been neatly sewn to cover the high crown, and the ribbons around its base showed painstaking effort to create little rosettes.

He admired the bonnet, but it was the hat box on the floor of the corridor that interested him much more. He lifted it, so the bonnet might return to its home. A label pasted to its side carried the words Jameson’s Millinery, Richmond.

He kept his expression impassive, but as soon as the door closed, he strode to the chair and picked up his shirt.

“What?” Beatrice exclaimed. “I thought—”

“I suddenly remember I must attend to something this evening. Do not worry, I will pay Mrs. Darling all the same.”

Beatrice pouted. “I was expecting some fun. You are one of my favorites.”

“As you are one of mine. Another night, however.”

Fifteen minutes later, Kevin pulled up his cantering horse in front of a house on Brook Street in Mayfair. He tied his mount to a post, then bounded to the door. When it opened, he pushed past the servant and ran up the stairs, ignoring the bleating objections sounding behind him.

He barged through an apartment, throwing open doors until he entered the dimly lit bedchamber.

A woman cried out in shock.

“Hell, Kevin,” a man yelled.

That brought him up short. Two pairs of eyes glared at him from the bed. The woman’s peered over the edge of a sheet pulled up to her nose. “Honestly, Chase, sometimes your family is not to be borne,” she said furiously.

“My sincere apologies, Minerva. Chase. Truly. Only I have found her. I have finally found Rosamund Jameson.”

Rosamund hoped the lady hovering outside the window of her shop would enter. She looked to be of quality, judging by the blue, woolen pelisse that fit her as only the best-made clothes did. Her bonnet had cost a good penny too, although Rosamund could not help reworking it in her mind. She would have found a stronger shade of blue, with more brilliance that would contrast better with the woman’s very dark hair. The brim could use a touch of trimming too. The lady had a lovely face and impressive dark eyes, and it was a shame to use a brim that made so much shade.

But unfortunately the lady walked away, and Rosamund returned her attention to Mrs. Grimley, who had decided to purchase one of Jameson’s Millinery’s last remaining winter hats. Mrs. Grimley had demanded a lower price because the season was over, and Rosamund had agreed. The hat sported some fur, an indulgence she regretted. That fur had been admired by her patrons, but it made the cost too high for her clientele. That meant her own money had sat in that hat all winter.

“Can I interest you in commissioning a bonnet for the spring garden parties?” she asked while she placed the hat into one of her special boxes. They cost more than she liked, but all the good milliners used them, and her ambitions required she swallow the expense. She had enjoyed choosing the pasteboard with its purple hue that contrasted nicely with her cream, printed label.

“I will think on it,” Mrs. Grimley said. “I am traveling up to London and will be visiting shops there with my sister, but I may still have need of something when I return.”

Rosamund smiled, but her heart sank. She would have never been able to open this shop in London and was grateful that Richmond afforded her the opportunity to start her business. Richmond was very close to London, however, and her best patrons gave her one commission to every five they left in London. One day she would have a fine shop in Mayfair that could charge double what she did in Richmond, but she needed to take matters one step at a time.

“I will look forward to creating a masterpiece for you, should you have that need.” She tied the cord over the top of the box and handed it to Mrs. Grimley. “I’ll have them caps you wanted in a day or so and will send them to your home. They be almost finished.”

She did not find much artistic fun in caps, but she sewed a great many of them. Even her wealthiest patrons felt there was no need to pay London prices for such utilitarian items. Caps kept her shop alive, in fact. That and the commissions that came from London, from old friends like Beatrice.

She thought about the bonnet she had sent there two weeks ago, and pictured Beatrice wearing it in the park. She had invented a new way to make grosgrain rosettes for it, a method she would not share with anyone else. Perhaps one day fine ladies would seek her out in London because of those rosettes.

Mrs. Grimley took her leave. Rosamund tidied up the counter, then turned to rearrange some trim on a shelf. She always let the ends fall out of their boxes and baskets, reflecting the light to show off their color. She used them as lures, hanging down to catch the eye of wealthy fish swimming by.

She was dusting the looking glass set near the window, the one on the table where she fitted hats and bonnets to patrons, when she noticed the lady in the blue pelisse was peering once more through the shop’s window. Rosamund smiled while she dusted, to encourage her to enter.

Enter she did. She paused inside the door, her gaze taking in the shop, moving from the bonnets to the shelves and counter, and finally resting on Rosamund. She looked Rosamund up and down, then stepped closer. “Are you Rosamund Jameson? Did you of late live on Warwick Street in London?”

“Yes. That be me.”

The lady fished a card out of her reticule. “My name is Minerva Radnor. I have been looking for you.”

Rosamund read the card. Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries. “It says here your name is Minerva Hepplewhite.”

“I married, but the office remains in my given name.”

“I think you did not come here because you want a new hat.”

Mrs. Radnor smiled. Her dark eyes brightened. “No, although yours look to be very nice. I have been trying for many months to find you and tell you about a legacy you have received. A substantial legacy.”

“You do not need to close your shop,” Mrs. Radnor said. “I will wait if someone enters and needs attention.”

“As if I could talk to a patron now.” Rosamund drew the curtains over the window and locked the door. “I can barely breathe.”

“Perhaps some medicinal spirits . . . ?”

Rosamund looked over her shoulder at her guest. “I don’t be needing spirits. Just an explanation . . .”

“Of course.” Mrs. Radnor moved a second chair to the table with the looking glass, so that they could both sit.

“Who would leave me this . . . legacy?”

“The Duke of Hollinburgh.” Mrs. Radnor looked intently at Rosamund. “Did you know him?”

Rosamund took a moment to absorb this astonishing news while she collected her wits. “I was acquainted with him. We had but one conversation.” She realized why Mrs. Radnor was looking at her so closely. “We were not lovers. It was nothing like that, if you be thinking that way.”

“I am not thinking any way. You see, he also left me a legacy. We were not lovers either. In fact, we had never met. I am fascinated that you and he spoke at least once.”

“It wasn’t a long talk, but he learned something about me.” She had confided too much, perhaps, but that conversation had occurred when she was weary and only because he had shown kindness to a friend of hers that he hardly knew. Rosamund had known who he was, and was surprised how easy it was to chat with him. “He was so very kind. He gave me a purse that held ten guineas. That was how I was able to open this shop.”

Mrs. Radnor looked around the shop again. “When did this happen? The only address given in the will was the street in London, but no one there knew of you.”

“I lived there for a mite bit over a year. I took it over from a woman I knew, and I confess we did not inform the owner because he might have increased the rent if we did. I kept to myself as a result. I lived there while I worked at a millinery shop in the City, learning what I could about accounts and finding sources for fabrics, notions, and such. It takes more than a dream to make a go of something like this.”

“And you figured out what it took and set about obtaining it.”

“Something like that. Then I moved here, because letting a place in Richmond would be much less, and there weren’t so much competition.”

“Where were you when you met the duke?”

Rosamund’s back stiffened. “Is it a requirement of receiving the legacy for me to give my whole history?” She regretted how snappish she sounded.

Mrs. Radnor seemed not to notice. “Goodness no. I, for one, was most grateful for that. I did not mean to pry.” She removed two more cards from her reticule. “Here is the solicitor you must see to obtain the inheritance. This is my personal card. We are sisters of a sort, aren’t we, as two women to whom the late duke gave unexpected gifts? When you come up to Town, please call on me if I can aid you in any way. In fact, if you write to me when you are coming, I will invite you to stay with me.”

Rosamund took the cards with unsteady fingers.

“Are you in such shock that you are not even curious about the amount of the legacy?” her guest asked gently.

“Whatever it be will be more than I’ve got now.” Maybe it would be enough to open that London shop she dreamed of, though. Or even to help with her sister’s future. Those ideas gave her thinking firmer legs. “It would be nice to know if it comes close to a hundred. That would go far with some plans I have.”

“It is a good deal more than that, Miss Jameson. You have inherited many thousands of pounds.”

Thousands of pounds. Rosamund had to concentrate on breathing in order to get any air inside her body.

“Furthermore, there is a business in which the duke was a half owner. He left his half to you.”

“The duke . . . had a millinery shop?”

Mrs. Radnor reached over with a smile and laid her hand on Rosamund’s. “Not a millinery business. Quite different. Please arrange to come up to London as soon as possible. I will help you settle all of this in a timely way.”

Rosamund let out a laugh, and then had the horrible suspicion that she was about to burst into tears. Instead she grasped Rosamund’s hand with both of hers and said, “I will leave for London as soon as I can stand without fainting.”

Two weeks later, Kevin Radnor again rode his horse through Mayfair to his cousin Chase’s house. Despite his agitation, which more than equaled that on his last visit, his progress was slow. Society had begun arriving in Town for the Season and roads that had been blissfully peaceful for months were now clogged with wagons and carriages.

He jumped off his horse upon arrival, threw the reins to a groom, and showed no more ceremony than the last time in entering. The butler merely pointed him toward the morning room.

Chase and Minerva had only moved here recently, so he strode through chambers sparsely furnished until he arrived at the light and airy morning room that overlooked the garden.

“Where is she?” he asked by way of announcing his abrupt arrival.

His cousin Chase glanced at him, then finished drinking the coffee in the cup at his mouth.

“How good to see you, Kevin. And so early too.” Minerva made a display of turning to look at a clock on a small corner table. “Why, it isn’t even ten o’clock.”

He was in no mood for Minerva’s sarcasm. “Chase wrote that Miss Jameson was coming up to Town yesterday, and that you had offered her hospitality, so I know the woman is in this house.”

“She is at that,” Minerva said. “Only she came two days ago and yesterday visited the solicitor. Right now she is in her chamber, probably sleeping.”

He pivoted toward the door.

“Stop.” Chase’s command caught him in mid stride.

Chase’s blue eyes glared when Kevin looked back at him.

“Sit. You cannot go up there, throw open a door, and have the conversation you want,” Chase said. “I understand your impatience, but you will have to wait a little longer.”

“I have waited a year, damn it. And I found her.” He had. Not Chase, the investigator charged with finding these mystery women their uncle had bequeathed fortunes to. Not Chase, whose profession was to conduct inquiries. Not Minerva either, who also had that profession, peculiar as that was.

Minerva gave him a sympathetic look that reminded him of the kind a nurse gives a tired child throwing a tantrum. “Why don’t you have some breakfast?”

He grudgingly went to the sideboard and made a plate of eggs and cakes for himself. The footman brought coffee when he sat across from Chase. His mind, however, was preoccupied with the upper floors of the house, where the woman who held his future in her hands slept peacefully, unlike his own sleepless nights of late.

The food helped him find some equanimity.

“When was the last time you had a decent meal?” Chase asked.

Kevin looked down at his plate, now empty of a mound of eggs and two of the three cakes. “Last night. No, wait. The night before. I have been busy.”

“Still working out the problem with gambling odds?”

“Not problems. Probabilities. And yes, I have been doing a bit of thinking about those.”

“It doesn’t seem right, somehow. To gamble with a mathematical advantage.”

“I’m certainly not going to gamble without an advantage. The point is to make a lot of money fast, not lose it.”

Chase, who knew why he needed that money, gave a little shrug. “You will find a way.”

“It may not matter. You are harboring a woman in your home who may make it all pointless.” He forced calm, even nonchalance, into his tone as he turned to Minerva. “How did the visit to the solicitor go?”

“Very well. Miss Jameson is overwhelmed, of course. Mr. Sanders was his usual, calm, fatherly self and explained everything clearly. He answered her questions completely.”

“What questions?”

Minerva’s mouth opened a bit, then shut. She glanced askance at Chase, who returned a look that said, “That was a mistake, darling.”

Minerva drank a bit of tea. “She had typical questions about accessing the funds. Unlike mine, hers are not in trust. The duke knew her, and probably saw what anyone can see, that she is a very levelheaded woman and quite practical. He would perhaps not worry so much whether she could manage the money on her own.”

Kevin felt a very thin smile form. His uncle, the late duke, had left a woman who was almost a stranger more money than he had left one of his favored nephews, Kevin. Free and clear, no less. “And the rest? The business enterprise?” His business enterprise.

Minerva cleared her throat. “Yes, that. Well, she did ask Mr. Sanders what she should do with it. He was duty bound to tell her the options.” She grimaced. “The notion of selling her half did seem to appeal to her.”

Hell and damnation. He would kill Sanders.

“I must see her,” he said. “Go and get her. Either that or Chase will be fighting me with swords on the staircase to try to keep me from going myself.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. She turned to Chase, looking for equal annoyance, only to see Chase decide to drink more coffee right then.

Minerva stood. “I suppose I can see if she has risen yet. However, I will not wake her for your convenience, and if she is not yet dressed, you will have a long wait. You should call again this afternoon, as a civilized person would.”

“I don’t care if it is a long wait. I’ll stay in the library until she comes down.”

Minerva left. Chase pulled over a stack of mail and began flipping through it. Kevin availed himself of the sideboard again.

He settled back into his chair. All the Radnor cousins had their own strengths, and one of Chase’s was the ability to find information and assess its worth. He also could size up a person quickly. He had made a profession of those talents.

“What did you think of her?” Kevin asked.

Chase set down a letter and considered the question. “She is sensible and independent. She has established herself in a shop and appears to be making a success of it. At least enough of one that she has an assistant and an apprentice, which allowed her to leave it in their hands while she journeyed here. She is common born, but she has little of the rustic left in her. She seemed intelligent, but I did not speak with her very long.”

“What does she look like?”

“She has blond hair. Other than that, my opinion would be subjective at best. Does it matter?”

Blond hair. He had assumed it would be gray. He didn’t know why he thought that. Perhaps because most modistes were advanced in years before they could afford to open their own shops, and he assumed it would be the same for milliners. Of course, most women did not have a duke giving them a small purse that could be used to establish a business.

“Minerva thinks her hats are very fine. Dramatic without being vulgar, in her opinion,” Chase said. “You look annoyed that I have nothing more.”

“You know how important this is, so I assumed you would examine her closely and ask a few discreet questions.”

Chase smiled broadly while he picked up his interrupted letter. “I knew you would be able to conduct your own investigation soon.”

Kevin returned to his breakfast, wondering what his cousin found so amusing.

This was without a doubt the finest house Rosamund had ever entered. She marveled again at the drapery on her bed and the windows and the elegant paintings on the walls. The size of the chamber had impressed her, as had those of the public spaces below. Although still sparsely furnished, the furniture that did exist was of high quality.

Even the Copleys did not live like this, and they were gentlefolk. Not of the degree of Mr. and Mrs. Radnor, of course. Chase Radnor was grandson of one duke and cousin to the current one, after all.

She rose from the bed with regret. She had laid there awake for at least an hour, thinking about her change in fortune and what she would do with that money. She would put some aside to make sure her sister never had to do as she had done and go into service in a strange house. Lily would receive a proper education, too. That she could now provide for Lily was her greatest joy about this legacy.

Some of the rest she would use to open her London shop. Mrs. Ingram could continue with the one in Richmond until it was decided whether to keep both. She would need some help here in Town, though. That was one thing she needed to start looking into.

She could not stay forever in this house, so she needed a place of her own, and soon. But this was the point where her thinking changed from practical, sensible, and clear to something more muddled.

Now she looked out the window at the overcast day. Below the garden showed green starting to form near the ground. Bulbs sending up shoots, most likely. She continued considering her new home while she pictured tulips and narcissus fully up and blooming. A small apartment would be enough, even when Lily visited her. She had no need for more. And yet—it all depended on the purpose of the home, didn’t it?

If she intended to be a milliner, a modest abode would do. However, if she intended to—

She hesitated giving the dream words. She always feared that hoping too much would destroy the hope itself. Yet if she were going to consider this other step, she needed to face why. Her heart stretched with ache and yearning while she forced herself to do just that.

The question was, if she were wealthy, if she lived in a fine house and wore fine garments, if she were more than a servant or a milliner, would she then be good enough for Charles to marry her?

She closed her eyes while she thought of his name and saw him clearly in her mind, so handsome and fine, with a smile that made her heart beat faster from the first day she saw it. The memory of his face had been preserved carefully over the last five years. True love preserved it, and faith and loyalty. Such a love deserved to have a life if it could, didn’t it? A future? Even his parents might accept her if she was rich, and Charles—he had never forsaken her of his own choice. He’d been forced, and sent away, just as she had been forced from the Copleys’ house.

She relived the last kiss he had given her before the carriage took him to the coast. She had crept back to the house and waited in the street’s shadows to watch him go. He’d seen her, and walked straight to her, ignoring the glares of his parents and the command of his new tutor. He’d taken her in his arms and kissed her fully, and promised they would be together some day.

She was not a dreamer by nature. She knew better than to depend on that day arriving. After all, he was the son of a gentleman and she was the daughter of a tenant farmer in Oxfordshire. Such matches were not made. With her situation she had little time to think of it even if she wanted to. Yet she continued loving him and secretly hoping against all reason. And dreaming.

Now, with this legacy, there was a chance to make the dream real.

Her thoughts ran. The first items on a list came fast, then she cast a more serious mind on some others. Would this work? Should she risk it? Like those bulbs out the window, her dream sent up shoots that wanted to grow tall and flower.

A scratch on the door interrupted her. She bid the person enter, and Minerva opened the door with the maid next to her.

“I see you are awake. Mary here has brought up water and will help you to dress.”

“It be late, I suppose. Past time to start me day. I have some places I want to go this afternoon.”

Minerva entered and closed the door behind her, shutting out the maid. “I need to tell you something. Your business partner is below, waiting to meet you.”

Business partner? Oh, yes. “The other Mr. Radnor, you mean. Kenneth.”

“Kevin. As I told you, he is my husband’s cousin.”

“Then I must see him, so your husband is not insulted.”

“You should see him because you are tied together in that enterprise, not because of my husband.”

She hadn’t understood anything about that business when nice Mr. Sanders explained it. Not that she’d listened much. She was still so stunned regarding the money she’d inherited. Nor did she want to meet this other Mr. Radnor yet. Not today. She wanted to go walk the streets around this house, looking for shops and homes to let. She wanted to imagine herself riding along in a carriage with Charles . . .

“I will dress and be down soon.”

Kevin paced the library for half an hour, then chose a book from a shelf and threw himself onto t. . .