Seduced at Sunset

Book 6: Love at Pembroke Palace

by Julianne MacLean

Genres: Romance; Victorian Romance; Historical Romance; Gilded Age Romance; Regency Romance; Sagas

Synopsis

From bestselling author Julianne MacLean comes a grand historical romance series set in the lavish palace of an English duke, where duty and desire collide.

Sometimes the matchmaker finds a love of her own…Lady Charlotte Sinclair has long given up her dreams of happily ever after. Years ago, a tragic accident claimed the life of her beloved fiancé, but somehow she found the strength to go on–as an independent woman with a secret double life that has earned her a fortune of her own. Lately, however, she has begun to yearn for something more…

While setting out to play matchmaker for her mother, Lady Charlotte meets a rugged, handsome stranger who saves her from a thief in the street, but her heroic rescuer soon turns out to be more mysterious—and dangerously captivating–than any man she has ever known. Swept away by passion into a glorious summer affair with a man who leads a double life of his own, she vows to live only for pleasure with no promises of tomorrow. But soon she must accept that one final night in the arms of a stranger might never be enough…

Release date: September 17, 2020

Publisher: Julianne MacLean Publishing Inc.

Print pages: 174

Sample

Chapter One

 

Pembroke Palace, England, 1886

In every life, there comes a time when one must let go of certain regrets, stop mourning for the paths not taken, and forge ahead into the future with fresh new goals, and somewhat altered expectations.

Standing at the window, looking out over the vast expanse of green lawns and thick forests reaching all the way to the horizon, Lady Charlotte Sinclair raised her teacup to her lips and settled her gaze on the red brick dower house in the distance.

“Do you ever wonder if she’s lonely?” Charlotte asked her sister-in-law, Lady Anne, who rose from her chair and came to join her at the window.

“Are you referring to Adelaide?” Anne replied. “She certainly hasn’t seemed melancholy, not that I can see. It’s been two years now, since the duke passed. I think she is doing remarkably well under the circumstances. Why? Do you feel differently?”

Charlotte set her teacup down upon the saucer with a delicate clink. “I cannot help but wonder if Mother ever thinks about Dr. Thomas. They haven’t seen each other since Father’s funeral.” She turned her eyes to Anne. “You know the story, don’t you? That she attempted to run off with him and flee the palace through the underground tunnels on the eve of her wedding?”

“No, I did not know that particular detail,” Anne said with surprise, looking sharply out the window toward the dower house. “I knew, of course, that she and Dr. Thomas were close at one time, and that they had been sweethearts before she married the duke.”

Anne spoke tactfully, well aware that the two were more than sweethearts, for Adelaide had also left her husband for a brief interval during their marriage and had spent time away from Pembroke with Dr. Thomas. As a result, Charlotte and her twin brother Garrett were born nine months later—one of the many secret scandals hidden within the palace walls.

For years, the secret had been kept safe. No one outside the family knew that Charlotte and Garrett were illegitimate, and that Dr. William Thomas was their true father.

“What in the world happened?” Anne asked. “Because obviously, she didn’t jilt the duke at the altar. She went ahead with it. Otherwise she would never have become Duchess of Pembroke.”

Charlotte turned to sit on the wide painted windowsill and set her teacup and saucer down beside her. “Mother told me everything about it shortly before Father passed away. She said she had no regrets about marrying him––that it was her destiny to be duchess here, and mother to all of us, just as we are. Though she loved Dr. Thomas quite passionately in her youth, I believe, in the end, she was content with the choice she had made.”

“Naturally I am pleased to hear that,” Anne said as she sat down beside Charlotte on the windowsill. “But you still haven’t told me what happened on the eve of the wedding. Did she keep the duke waiting at the chapel?”

“No, she was there on time. Her father caught Mother and Dr. Thomas as they were attempting to flee the palace. There was some violence, I believe, and poor Dr. Thomas was dragged away, unconscious. I do not know all the particulars, but Mother chose to walk down the aisle the next day to save him from any further harm. She wrote to him and told him that she had changed her mind, that her father was right, and it was her duty to marry the duke, and that Dr. Thomas must never contact her again. When he found out she had gone through with it, he left England and didn’t return for a few years. It was when he came back that he and mother spent those…intimate hours together.” Charlotte picked up her tea again. “Father knew nothing about her infidelity until much later, when he realized Garrett and I looked nothing like him or our brothers.”

Anne laid a hand over her chest. “Goodness. That is quite a story,” she said.

“Yes, indeed, and I have not been able to push it from my mind since I learned of it. Imagine, poor Dr. Thomas being thumped on the head and dragged out of the tunnels. And poor Mother, who was desperately in love with him… How she must have suffered. It is quite a tale of woe, which is why I believe it’s high time someone made it right. Their day has come, Anne. Do you not agree? Mother was a dutiful wife to the very end, but she is a widow now. And Dr. Thomas—so skilled in the art of medicine—was such a good friend to her when Father was ill. He was her knight in shining armor. Surely they both deserve happiness. They have waited so long.”

Anne considered it. “Do you not think they are old enough, and wise enough, to make their own decisions? If they want to be together, there is nothing standing in their way. They can do so without someone—and that would be you, I presume—making it happen.”

Charlotte smiled. “Of course it would be me. Why do you think I brought it up?” She rose to her feet and went to pour herself another cup of tea. “Dr. Thomas is always delighted to see me when I visit my publisher in London,” she said as she picked up the teapot. “I am sure he would be open to an invitation of some sort. Perhaps he just needs a little prodding.”

“Do you intend to try your hand at matchmaking?” Anne asked, intrigued.

“I most certainly do,” Charlotte replied. “I am the perfect candidate for such an undertaking. They are my parents, after all, and I know them better than anyone. Besides, I must have some form of romance in my life, even if it is not my own.”

Anne and Charlotte had been sisters-in-law for twelve years now. They were the best of friends, and for that reason Charlotte did not need to explain why she had long given up dreaming of her own happily ever after. Charlotte was no stranger to heartache and disappointment, which was probably why she and Dr. Thomas rubbed along so well. She felt a deep connection to him, for he had lost his beloved tragically at an early age, just as she had.

Before that loss, Charlotte had actually believed she was leading a charmed life, for she had met the perfect man during her first week of her first Season in London. Lord Graham Spencer was the most handsome gentleman she had ever seen, with jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a tall muscular build. If his looks weren’t enough to make a young lady swoon, he was also charming, intelligent, and exceptionally honorable. To top it all off, he was heir to a dukedom, and was soon to inherit his ailing father’s title and estate in Devonshire.

Charlotte and Lord Graham had fallen in love instantly upon introduction, and the courtship was as passionate and romantic as any woman could ever dream. By the end of the Season Graham had proposed and given Charlotte his grandmother’s gigantic diamond ring, and they fell more deeply in love with each passing day as they anticipated their wedding the following spring.

It was a passionate love, and they had both been far too impatient…

Then, three weeks before Charlotte’s highly anticipated walk down the aisle, Graham was thrown from his horse in the middle of London’s Trafalgar Square on a sunny afternoon. The coroner told them he died instantly from a head injury, and Charlotte was left to endure the unbearable agony of losing the man she loved with all her heart, and with that, the happy future of which she had dreamed.

A month later, she discovered she was with child. While most women would have feared and dreaded the scandal, Charlotte had wept tears of joy. She announced it to her family with pride—and a careless disregard for how Society would judge her—for in her womb, she carried a piece of her beloved that would stay with her forever.

But fate was cruel to her yet again. At the end of her first trimester, she lost the baby and fell into a deep pit of despair that lasted nearly a year. The grief was immeasurable, and it was a long hard climb back to a life that included any thoughts of the future, for she couldn’t possibly imagine how to ever find happiness again.

And so, she passed through her best years in a quiet state of melancholy. Her family tried to coax her to begin again at the next London Season, or the Season after that, but Charlotte had no interest in flirting, and surely no man could possibly compare to Graham, the great love of her life, who had been so cruelly ripped from her world.

Now she was long past a marriageable age, but had found a different sort of happiness from within—through her writing. A year ago, her first novel The Boxer had been published under the pseudonym Victor Edwards, and it was now a literary sensation, which proved to be exceedingly lucrative for Charlotte. The book was in its seventeenth printing and was selling well in Europe as well as America. She had already been commissioned to write a second novel, which was due on her editor’s desk next summer.

Hence, her life—though it was not what she’d imagined it would be when she was young and full of romantic dreams—had turned out to be surprisingly satisfactory.

Nevertheless, Charlotte had recently begun to desire something more. She was not a block of ice. She had known passion and desire once before. Though she did not yearn for a life of matrimony—she was financially independent and quite happy in her solitude—her body longed for certain physical pleasures with a man. She wanted to be touched. By a lover. By someone handsome and experienced. Someone compelling.

She would never be as young as she once was, but by God, she had not lost her looks yet. If she were honest about it, without conceit, she was in fact quite comely, with golden hair and a curvaceous figure. In the right situation, Charlotte was confident she could do what was required to attract a desirable candidate for the sort of encounter she had in mind.

“How do you plan to begin?” Anne asked as she rose from her seat on the windowsill to return to the sofa. “Will you invite Dr. Thomas to Pembroke?”

Charlotte shook away the other fantasy that had been on her mind so often lately and sat down beside Anne. She chose a raspberry scone from the biscuit plate. “Eventually, yes, but first I will pay him a call in London. He is always pleased to see me, as I am his only daughter. Since the Season is in full swing, I shall persuade Mother to accompany me this time. I will suggest that we take in the theater and accept a few invitations to dinners and balls. For years she has been trying to convince me to enjoy myself, so I will inform her that I am ready to do just that.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” Anne laid a hand on her knee. “Please tell me that you are indeed ready to enjoy yourself, and that it is not simply a charade to lure Adelaide to London.”

Charlotte popped the last bite of the scone into her mouth. “I believe I am more than ready,” she replied. “I have been too bookish of late. It’s time to live a little. Do you not agree? Heaven forbid I become a recluse in my old age.”

The maid entered to collect the tea tray, and Anne smiled with encouragement. “Will you write to me from London?” she asked. “And tell me everything?”

“I will write to you each day,” Charlotte replied.

Though she was not certain she would be able to divulge all the details – for some of the activities she planned to engage in might turn out to be exceedingly private. 

 

Chapter Two

 

London

Immediately following the meeting with her publisher, Charlotte instructed her coachman to take her to Dr. Thomas’s medical offices on Park Lane. A short while later she was greeted by the clerk at the front desk and shown into her father’s study, which was located down a narrow red-carpeted corridor at the rear of the clinic.

As always, Charlotte paused at the door to behold the cluttered yet cozy state of the room, with books and papers piled high and spread everywhere, and a faded coat of dark green paint on the walls. Aside from the fact that there was a skeleton standing by the window, the room was quite inviting, though definitely in need of a woman’s touch. Dr. Thomas needed some help with organization. Charlotte suspected, however, that too much of it might upset his professional balance. He was a brilliant surgeon who specialized in diseases of the brain, and he probably knew the exact location of every book and document in the building.

This was obviously his sanctuary, his place of private reflection, where he researched the newest methods of scientific investigation. Charlotte was exceedingly proud of her father and pleased that he derived so much pleasure from his work. He had once told her that his work gave his life meaning, even when he had been forced to endure certain disappointments.

He was referring, of course, to the loss of his great love—Charlotte’s mother Adelaide, now the Dowager Duchess of Pembroke. It had been years since Charlotte and Dr. Thomas spoke of it, but she knew the hole in his heart would remain there forever, just as the hole in her own heart would always be a part of her. ‘Like father like daughter,’ he once said to her. ‘We are two peas in a pod.’

Not exactly, however, for his lost love was still alive and now attainable. There was hope for them yet.

Charlotte heard her father leave one of the examination rooms and approach her from behind. “Dr. Thomas,” Charlotte said with a warm smile as she waited in the doorway. (They were on intimate terms, but he refused to let her call him ‘Papa,’ for it was not to be acknowledged.)

“My darling girl,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “What brings you to London? Another meeting with your publisher, I suspect? They must be so pleased with the success of your book.”

“Yes, and they are eager for me to finish the next one. My editor had all sorts of questions about it this morning.”

“What sorts of questions?” he asked as he moved into the room and closed the door behind them.

Charlotte took a seat in the leather chair in front of the desk and told him more about her meeting.

After they had caught up on each other’s news, Charlotte sat forward on the edge of her chair and folded her hands primly on top of her reticule. “Did I mention that Mother is here in London as well?” she asked. “We intend to stay for what is left of the Season and will probably attend the theater this week. Thursday, perhaps. Tomorrow we will walk in the park. What plans do you have this week, Dr. Thomas? Anything of note?”

She spoke in a light, casual tone, so as not to ram too forcefully through the gate in the first five minutes, for she firmly believed that matchmaking required a certain…subtlety. The persons involved in the potential match must not feel they are being pressured, persuaded, or manipulated. They must each believe they, alone, are the source of the attraction, and that they are making their own choices without any outside influences. Each must believe they are holding the reins.

Dr. Thomas sat back in his chair, removed his spectacles, and laid them on the desk. “My plans for the week,” he replied, “involve a great deal of research and reading. Which is exciting enough for a man like me.”

She inclined her head at him. “What do you mean? A man like you. You speak as though you are a dull sort of fellow, which is the farthest thing from the truth. Your work is fascinating. I am sure Mother would love to hear about your latest research. She is very much looking forward to our walk in the park tomorrow. The coachman will take us to the Marble Arch entrance around two o’clock, I believe. I do hope it will be a fair day. If it rains, we will hold off until the following day, but two o’clock is such a fine time to walk in the park, don’t you agree? And Marble Arch is a convenient spot to begin. It is not far from here.”

Dr. Thomas inclined his head and studied Charlotte with some curiosity.

She forced herself to stop talking, for she was quite sure her subtlety had just slipped from her grip like a wet frog and was hopping like mad out the open window.

“Are you trying to play the matchmaker, Charlotte?” he asked with an amused look on his face.

She found herself relaxing slightly and chuckled as she dropped her gaze. “There it is. My secret is out. You know me too well, I suppose. I thought I could lure you innocently to the park, where you would take one look at Mother and remember what you were to each other at one time.” Her eyes lifted. “You haven’t seen her since the funeral. That was two years ago.”

“How is she doing?” Dr. Thomas asked with a genuine note of compassion in his tone. “I know it wasn’t easy for her in those final days before the duke slipped away.”

“You were a great comfort to her,” Charlotte told him, leaning forward to clasp and squeeze his hand on the desk. “I don’t know what we would have done without you. Not just in those final days, but in all the years when he was so…” She couldn’t finish, for there were no proper words other than ‘confused,’ ‘delusional,’ ‘impossible to care for.’ Pitiful.

“I was happy to be of service,” Dr. Thomas said. “You know how much I care for you and your mother, and for all of your brothers.”

Garrett especially—her twin––who like his father, was now a surgeon himself. The two men worked together occasionally at the medical school in London.

“I do know it,” Charlotte replied, “which is why I have come. I would like to see Mother find happiness again. I thought perhaps you and she might like to spend some time together while she’s in London.”

“You have given this quite a bit of thought,” he said with a smile.

“Yes,” she openly admitted. “So, what do you say? Could you join us tomorrow for a walk in the park?”

Dr. Thomas slowly pulled his hand from her grasp and sat back in his chair. He was quiet for a moment, and his cool withdrawal caused a knot of discomfort to form in Charlotte’s belly.

“I appreciate the invitation,” he said, “but I am afraid I must decline. I have appointments booked and I am sorry, Charlotte, but your Mother and I had our chance many years ago. She chose to marry the duke.”

“But it wasn’t really her choice,” Charlotte argued. “I know what happened that night before the wedding. She only went through with her marriage to protect you.”

“I didn’t need her protection,” he said. “All I wanted was her love.” Then he quickly shook his head, waved his hand as if to erase the conversation, and rose from his chair to stand in front of the window. “I do not want to discuss it any further. I care deeply for you and Adelaide, but please understand that I cannot pursue the very thing that nearly broke me on so many different occasions. I loved your mother and I dreamed of her for years, but then the time came for me to move on with my life and accept the fact that we were not meant to be together.”

“But she is free at last,” Charlotte argued as she watched him stare out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. “Won’t you consider giving it one more try?”

He faced her. “I am sorry, Charlotte. I am Adelaide’s friend now, but nothing more.”

Charlotte stood up and approached him. “Please do not give up so easily. Things are different now. She is a widow. She can do as she wishes.”

“And what is it, exactly, that she wishes to do?” he asked. “Do you even know?” He regarded Charlotte with a knitted brow. “Did she send you here? Or is this your idea, alone?”

Charlotte looked down at the floor. “She doesn’t know I am here. I didn’t want to push her––or you, for that matter. I had hoped we could simply encounter each other by accident at the park tomorrow.”

“I see.” He sat down on the window ledge and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he looked up and inhaled deeply. “You must put this out of your mind, my dear. When I told you that I had moved on with my life, I meant it. You say your mother is free at last, but the fact is…” He paused. “I am not.”

He may as well have thrown a glass of cold water in Charlotte’s face. She stepped back. “I don’t understand.”

He couldn’t be married. She was his daughter. He would have told her. Wouldn’t he?

“I have been courting someone,” he explained.

Charlotte swallowed uneasily. “Is there an agreement between you?” she asked as a sickening mixture of dread and disbelief flooded into her stomach. “Do you intend to marry her?”

“That is the direction it has been heading for quite some time,” he replied. “She is a lovely woman—also a widow—and completely devoted to me. I have been a disappointed bachelor all my life, but she adores me, Charlotte. I hope you can be happy for me.”

Charlotte looked into her father’s eyes and felt a painful, aching sensation in her heart. Of course she wanted him to be happy, but she had wanted a happily ever after for herself as well. She had believed she could accomplish that by watching her true parents come together at last, fall in love all over again, and walk down the aisle while the family threw white flower petals at their feet. But clearly that was not to be.

Somehow Charlotte found the strength to smile and take hold of his hand. “Upon my word. What a surprise. Certainly, I am happy for you,” she said. “And I hope to meet this woman one day soon. She must be very special.”

“I believe so,” he said. “But let us take it one day at a time, shall we? I will introduce you when the time is right.” He moved to fetch his spectacles from the desk. “Now I must see a patient, my dear.”

“Of course. I will take my leave.” Charlotte gathered up her reticule from the chair.

A few minutes later, she was standing outside on the breezy street, fighting a severe feeling of disappointment, and waving to her coachman who had parked a few doors down. How many years had she dreamed of seeing her parents finally reunited? The tragedy of their love affair always seemed so unfinished. Charlotte had genuinely believed a happy ending was possible for them.

Perhaps trying to play the matchmaker was her way of dealing with her own lost love. Perhaps, by bringing her parents back together, she would have been able to prove that the cracks and breaks in one’s heart could be repaired one day. But it was not to be, and she was terribly unsettled by that awareness. She had been so sure that Adelaide and Dr. Thomas would end up together. Was she truly a foolish dreamer? Was she living in a fantasy world?

The coach pulled up in front of her. She was about to step inside and return to Pembroke House when a giant lump formed in her throat. Good gracious. She couldn’t possibly face her mother until she collected herself.

She turned to her driver. “I changed my mind. I am not ready to go back yet. I would like to take a walk.” She pointed down the street. “I’ll just go to that corner and turn up that street there. I will be back here in a quarter of an hour.”

“Would you like George to accompany you?” the coachman asked.

The footman stepped forward. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

She gave him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, but I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. I shan’t be long.” With that, she started down the street and turned at the corner.

It was a quiet residential neighborhood into which she ventured, and she strode at a brisk pace along the cement walk, looking around at the townhouses and wondering who lived in them—anything to take her mind off her botched attempt at matchmaking, and the fact that her parents were never going to be together.

Then suddenly, rapid footsteps pounded along the pavement behind her. She stopped to look back, wondering if there was some sort of emergency. Before she had a chance to make sense of the man who was barreling toward her, he grabbed hold of her reticule.

“What are you doing?” she cried as she gripped the purse tighter, refusing to let go.

The thief tugged harder and nearly swung her around. “Let go of it!” he shouted.

“I will not!” she replied as she leaned back to pull with all her might.

Charlotte had been raised with four brothers who were not above playing rough with her when they were children, and for that reason she was made of stern stuff. Nevertheless, she was completely astonished when the man shoved her back into the wrought iron fence in front of the closest townhouse. Her head snapped back, and a sharp pain resonated in her skull. She was barely aware of her knees buckling as the world spun circles in front of her eyes, and she crumpled to the ground in a haze of white.

 

 Chapter Three

 

Drake Torrington was just exiting his townhouse when the sound of a lady’s voice from across the street drew his attention.

“I will not!” she screamed.

He spotted her as she was knocked into the fence by a scoundrel who made off with her purse.

Drake leaped down the steps, darted across the street, and reached the woman in a matter of seconds. “Are you hurt?” he asked, kneeling down to lay a hand on her shoulder, for she had collapsed.

She seemed dazed by the strike to the head, but then she frowned up at him with a pair of gleaming blue eyes that upset his balance, for he hadn’t seen a woman so beautiful in many years––perhaps not ever.

“I am fine, thank you, sir,” she said as she struggled to rise, “but that man has stolen my reticule. I want it back.”

He helped her to her feet. “You’re certain you are all right?”

“Yes.”

“Wait here, then.” He took off after the thief who had paused foolishly at the corner to rummage through the contents of the purse.

Drake sprinted toward him. The man looked up in surprise, then turned to make a run for it. 

Reaching into his pocket, Drake grabbed his watch—a conveniently heavy piece of gold weaponry—and pitched it at the back of the man’s head. The strike was spot on. The bandit tripped and tumbled forward to the ground. Disoriented, he rose up on his hands and knees and shook his head like a wet dog just as Drake came upon him, grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled him to his feet.

Drake shook him. “Hand it over, scoundrel, or I will knock your brains out.”

The thief refused to part with it. He threw a flimsy punch, which by some dumb stroke of luck connected with Drake’s jaw. The pain reverberated through his skull and sparked his blood into red-hot flames of savage aggression.

It had been years since Drake had enjoyed a good fight, and he wondered what happened to his old instincts, for there was once a time he would have anticipated and easily skirted such a watered-down blow. His pride bucked violently in response, and a heartbeat or two later, the thief was sprawled out, unconscious on the pavement while Drake stood over him, feet braced apart, flexing his bloodied fist.

The noises of the street had somehow faded away. All he could hear was the heavy beating of his own heart, like a continuous rumble of thunder in his ears.

 As his body rhythms returned to a more natural pace, reality came crashing back. He dropped to his knees to check the man’s pulse at his neck. He was still alive, thank God. Drake removed the reticule from the man’s possession, rose to his feet, and turned around to discover the lady with the disarming blue eyes stood only a few feet away, staring at him in shock.

*  *  *