The Bluestocking's Highwayman: A Regency Romance

Book 6: The Bluestocking Club

by Audrey Harrison

Genres: Clean & Wholesome Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

A botanically inclined bluestocking and a highwayman are surely not a match made in heaven. But love, like a carefully nurtured plant, can bloom even in the most unlikely places.

Frances Somers is a woman of exceptional intellect and passion, known for her vast knowledge of plants and her love for botanical exploration. Her father’s recent remarriage has brought an unwelcome stepmother into her life, who has little patience for Frances’s scholarly pursuits and her greenhouse filled with exotic flora.

Under the threat of a forced marriage and on the way to London in the dark of night, Frances is simultaneously terrified and thrilled when her parents’ coach is held up. Might this be her one and only chance to escape her monstrous husband-to-be?

Albert Waverley has many secrets hidden behind the facade of an aristocrat he wears by day. His double life was forged from necessity, driven by a deep-rooted desire to serve King and Country and a restlessness that had plagued him since childhood. In the glittering ballrooms of high society, he is the epitome of genteel refinement. With wealth, title, and privilege at his fingertips, he moves through the upper echelons with grace and charm. But as the moon ascends and the world slumbers, a different persona erupts from the shadows.

Albert’s cousin is a renowned botanist, but he is not all he seems, and innocent Frances is drawn into his nefarious clutches. As their two worlds collide and secrets teeter on the brink of exposure, Albert finds himself torn between duty and rebellion, love and risk. Amidst all the chaos and danger, Frances and Albert become entwined in a way that will change their lives forever.

Discover a tale of intrigue, romance, and adventure in The Bluestocking’s Highwayman, where a hero emerges from the most unexpected of places.

The Bluestocking Club
The Bluestocking’s Quest – Book 1
The Bluestocking’s Fortune – Book 2
The Bluestocking’s Highlander – Book 3
The Bluestocking’s Rake – Book 4
The Bluestocking’s Pirate – Book 5
The Bluestocking’s Highwayman – Book 6
The Beastly Bluestocking – Book 7
The Bluestocking’s Christmas – Book 8

 

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Release date: March 31, 2024

Print pages: 213

Sample

Chapter 1


Late 1819, Stratford, North East of London.

“Look at the state of you!”
Frances jumped back from where she had been working in her hothouse within the garden of the family home. “I am wearing an apron,” she said in her defence, trying to hide her hands behind her back. The state of her fingernails was something she could not excuse as easily. She knew from bitter experience that it was pointless arguing that it did not matter how she looked, but she had been taken by surprise and had reacted without being her usual circumspect self.
“A servant would baulk at wearing such a tattered dress. I am convinced you are determined to bring shame on your father and I.”
“I would never do anything to upset either of you if I could avoid it.” Frances’s cheeks heated. She did everything she could to be the passive daughter her father and stepmother wished, but the thing that kept her sane when she was with them was working with plants. “No one will see me dressed so roughly. I promise to be presentable in time for morning calls; I always am.”
Frances was taller than her nemesis, but Mrs Somers was not a woman who took kindly to being challenged. “You would do well to remember who I am, young lady. I will not stand for your backchat as your father does. You will show me the respect that I deserve.” The older woman was seething with rage, which happened all too regularly when Frances was nearby.
“I apologise, Stepmother. I did not mean to upset you.” Frances knew full well when to admit defeat. If she did not, both her father and herself would suffer for days as a result. Added to the discomfort, she would be guilt-ridden at the pained expression her father always wore when her stepmother had taken against her.
Mrs Somers leaned forward, her finger poking hard into Frances’s chest. “I am the only mother you have, and you would do well to remember that. Be thankful that you have a roof over your head, young lady, and do not forget that we are providing for you years after you should be off our hands.”
Hanging her head, Frances knew her stepmother would be smiling in triumph if she was foolish enough to meet her gaze. If she did not score a hit over Frances’s love of all-things plants, her stepmother would fall back on the fact that Frances was eight and twenty and unmarried.
“What is that?” Mrs Somers demanded, suddenly distracted and leaning towards a newspaper clipping, which had been secured on a shelf with a plant pot.
“It is nothing,” Frances replied, inwardly groaning that she had left the advertisement where it could be seen. She should know by now that nothing got by a woman intent on causing discomfort for a despised stepdaughter.
Mrs Somers snatched the cut-out up and quickly scanned it before laughing with derision. “Professor Waverley wishes to appoint a person to help catalogue his findings. A person with an interest in plant life is essential, as is an excellent level of penmanship and an above-average talent in drawing. You have kept this, why?” The mocking expression made it clear that she knew exactly why Frances spent most of the day glancing at the piece of paper, trying to convince herself that she was qualified for the job.
“I was thinking of applying for the position.” The laugh that followed her words had her cheeks burning with mortification to the extent that she responded when she would not normally do so. “I meet all the criteria. Even you must admit that I am very knowledgeable and excel in penmanship and drawing.” She was not one to sing her own praises, but for once, when faced with ridicule about the subject she was passionate about, she could not stop herself from responding. That she would pay for her impertinence was not enough of a deterrent in this case at least.
“You have been indulged by your father into believing that you are above the rest of us.”
“I do not! I would never be so conceited, but I know about plants. My interest affects no one else.”
“That is a matter of opinion when you are constantly costing us money. Now stop wasting your time here and try to make yourself presentable.” Mrs Somers did not wait for a reply, knowing her instructions dared not be disobeyed, but walked out of the hothouse, screwing up the advertisement and throwing it on the ground.
Frances retrieved the paper and, after smoothing it out, put it out of sight. She should have railed against the untruth in her stepmother’s statement: she was not an expensive woman and was a dutiful daughter in every way possible. Just sometimes, she was pushed to respond to her stepmother, this being one of those occasions.
She stung at the slur on her abilities, though she was her own worst critic, very often doubting her prowess without any input from her stepmother. To work with the professor would be a dream come true. She followed every article he wrote with eagerness and tried to replicate whatever he recommended.
That her family had the most spectacular gardens was because of her instructions to the gardeners and their joint work. She could put into practice far more than everyone around her realised, and just walking around the gardens was enough of a reward. Not one to be vain, she would smile when visitors complimented how fine the gardens were without pointing out that whatever they were admiring had been her own handiwork.
Perhaps her stepmother was correct, though; she was unmarried, and horticulturists and botanists were men. Surely the professor would be expecting a man to apply? What would he think if she turned up on his doorstep asking to be considered? He would probably laugh at her just as much as her stepmother had.
With those disheartening thoughts, she picked up her trowel and quickly finished repotting the seedlings she had been working on. The pleasure of the task had been ruined by the interruption, but she would not abandon her plants until she was done.

***

As she sat in front of her looking glass, having dressed in something her stepmother would consider suitable attire, she met her maid’s eyes.
“She is getting worse, Jessie,” she said quietly, seeming afraid of being overheard, though there were only the two of them in the room.
“Oh, miss, I know,” Jessie sympathised, working on Frances’s hair. “She could be heard throughout the house when she returned from your hothouse.”
“She wants me out of the way, and we all know that when she wants something, she will get it.”
“Your papa would not let her do anything that you disliked.”
“Hmm.” Frances was not as confident as Jessie about her father defending her against his wife. As the years had passed since their marriage, her father had chosen the route of least argument more and more, which meant supporting her stepmother in whatever scheme she had decided on.
Morning calls went as always, Frances sitting quietly while her stepmother held court with whoever attended. Frances was only required to distribute the tea and quietly embroider. Her opinions were rarely sought, and she was not encouraged to join in the conversation, but her stepmother liked to have her nearby, giving the impression of a perfect family. Frances often wondered if it was also to show that Mrs Somers was very much in charge of Frances, for she monitored any conversations she had, very often interrupting before Frances was able to reply and speaking for her, while the expression in her eyes challenged Frances to contradict her.
When in London, Frances could enjoy the companionship of her friends, who were all very close and members of the Bluestocking Club. While at her father’s country residence in Stratford, she was an hour by carriage from her friends and at the mercy of her stepmother, who was rarely inclined to indulge the request of her stepdaughter for use of the carriage. The only thing she could do was hide in the hothouse. Unfortunately, Mrs Somers seemed to take pleasure in making impromptu visits and spoiling the calm, happy atmosphere that Frances had created.
When her father remarried, Frances had done everything she could to gain the approval of her new stepmother, but Mrs Somers was jealous of the close bond that existed between father and daughter. It was not helped by the fact that Mrs Somers had no children survive beyond infancy, turning her resentful nature into that of pure hatred towards the daughter she had inherited. Frances had eventually come to the conclusion that there was nothing she could do to gain approval and had spent even more of her time either poring over books or hidden in her hothouse. She had thought that would appease her stepmother, but it seemed nothing Frances ever did was acceptable to a woman who was bitter and resentful.
At the end of the visits, Frances expected her stepmother to leave her to her own devices, as was her usual practice, but she rang for fresh tea. “Are you not going shopping today?” Frances asked, immediately receiving a glare for daring to ask a question.
“No, I am not,” came the terse reply.
“Oh.” All thoughts of escaping back to her hothouse would have to be abandoned if her stepmother did not embark on one of her favourite pastimes. She could only hope to flee to the library at some point. At least there, she could continue reading the journals of Professor Waverley, which had been bought for her last birthday. That they had been bought without her stepmother’s knowledge did cause Frances some anxiety when studying them, for there would be too many uncomfortable questions asked if they were discovered.
Her studying was another waste of time, according to her stepmother, but Frances refused to stop even when she was at home. She did all she could to appease her stepmother, but there were some things she would stand up for, and her studies was one of them. She was not allowed to read the novels her stepmother enjoyed, that was the rule, but Frances sometimes risked sneaking a novel into her bedchamber. On other occasions Mrs Somers could not complain too much when faced with Frances reading an improving book. That there might be a periodical concealed, or the latest novel, on the open pages of some book on household management so far had not been discovered.
“I want you to be civil to our next guest,” Mrs Somers interrupted Frances’s musing.
“Who is it?”
“Squire Cunningham.”
“He has returned? I thought he had gone on his travels,” Frances said of their near neighbour. He was by far the wealthiest man in the district and treated with far more reverence than his title and wealth would attract when in London. There, he would be mixing with those who had considerably more income than the squire had, but in a very small town, he was the most esteemed resident.
“We ran into him the last time we were in town and persuaded him to visit us. He has been good enough to keep his promise.”
Frances frowned at her stepmother, knowing she was not being told the whole story. There was meaning behind the words, which she instinctively guessed she was not going to like. Before she could ask anything more, the butler announced the squire, who came into the room smiling broadly.
“Mrs Somers! What a lovely sight you are!”
“Thank you, sir,” Mrs Somers demurred like a girl just out of the schoolroom. “I am so glad you could visit us.”
“After seeing you in London and explaining your little predicament, I was happy to help. Don’t you trouble that pretty head of yours; everything will be alright and tight.” He patted Mrs Somers’s hand reassuringly and sat when she did.
A maid brought in the tea tray and left the room. Frances moved to do her usual duty of distributing the tea, and the squire smiled at her.
“It is nice to see that you have turned into a useful girl for your mama,” he said benignly to her.
“She is such a capable young woman. Our pride and joy.”
Frances nearly dropped the china cup she was holding, and the hand that held the teapot shook a little at the words. Never in all the years her stepmother had been in her life had she ever offered any praise in Frances’s direction. Frances was no fool, and her heart started to pound at the suspicion that something was going on that she really would not like. Her wariness increased far more than when the squire had first entered the room.
“Oh my, dear me! Mary did not bring the biscuits that Cook made this morning. Please excuse me, and I will fetch some,” Mrs Somers said, standing.
“I will get them,” Frances said, feeling as if the walls were starting to close in on her. Surely she had to be wrong? The moment her stepmother glared at her, the feeling in the pit of her stomach made her knees shake.
“Not at all. I will return in a moment.” Mrs Somers walked out of the room, and though she did not close the door fully, the opening was very small and completely inappropriate for the situation.
The squire chuckled at Frances, placing the cup she had handed him on the arm of his chair. “Your mama has sprung this on you, I see you are a little unsettled. She is a teasing one, but I know you are not the missish type who would go against your parents’ wishes.”
“I hope I cannot be accused of being missish,” Frances said, having sunk into a chair, gripping her hands on her lap. “But I am not aware of going against anything my parents wish me to do.”
“Good. Good. I am not one for flowery speeches, so I will come to the point. I was in London for a particular reason, I had enjoyed my travels, but along the way, I decided that I should get myself a wife. I have never wanted to marry before now, I could not stand the thought of having to bow to someone else’s wishes and the thought of a houseful of children, well, even the option of confining them to a large nursery would not be enough to have tempted me. I have a nephew, who I am more than happy to leave everything to when I am gone, so the name and the land will remain in the family. The only thing that would have induced me to have children would be the thought that the Crown would receive my wealth after I died. While my nephew survives me, I have no worries in that regard.”
Frances might be worried about where the conversation was headed, but she could not help seeing the humour in the rambling speech she was being subjected to, especially after being promised that he was going to come to the point.
“My family might not have the highest titles in the land, but we have all been excellent with increasing our wealth, so you can be assured that I am as rich as Croesus.”
“I am very happy for you.” She knew he was exaggerating. He was fond of telling everyone exactly how wealthy he was, but now was not the time to start making petty challenges.
“And you should be for your own sake, my child. Do not forget how advantageous this is to you, for I am a generous man.”
Frances was no fool; part of her still hoped that the conversation would not continue in the direction it was going, but she knew it was inevitable. She gave one last try to stem his words. “I have enjoyed the entertainments you have held over the years. You have been very generous in including my family.”
“I see you are intent on playing with me! I am sure I will soon learn your ways as you will learn mine.”
“I do not think that we should ever find—”
“You see, I had decided never to marry, but I had not foreseen the problems with getting older and not having a wife,” the squire continued without acknowledging that Frances had spoken. “One needs someone to look after oneself. The body does not move as easily as it did, so I decided to go to London and find myself a helpmate to look after me in my dotage.”
“Would a housekeeper and valet not be preferable? Then you would have no need to put up with a wife’s idiosyncrasies.”
“I see you are no ninnyhammer! You are thinking just as I did at the start, but then I realised that servants could leave at a moment’s notice and have other duties around the house. That was brought home when my housekeeper had to leave my service to attend to her ailing sister. I was not happy when she made her announcement, but at least with a wife, she would always be by my side for when I needed anything.”
Do not show your feelings at his words, Frances thought, trying to maintain a blank expression but feeling sick inside.
“This was my aim on going to London. Then I met with your parents, and after a conversation with them, we found the perfect solution. I pay your parents’ debts and marry you, and you remain on the neighbouring property, able to care for me and then return to look after your parents when I have gone, for they are far younger than I. It is a perfect situation, is it not?”
“Papa agreed to it?”
“He agreed with everything your mama suggested. I thought your age was too much of a risk for having children, but your mama assured me that you were hardly to be considered in your prime. Yes, youthful enough to be of use to a husband, but not young enough for me to start worrying about you being with child. She said that women rarely started to increase once they were beyond their salad days.”
“You are not concerned that society would gossip at our age difference? After all, I am eight and twenty, and you are—”
“Approaching my sixtieth year,” the squire added with pride. “And not a bad figure of a man if I do say so myself.”
He had perhaps not always been so florid or wide, but when he moved, his corset creaked, and he looked older than his years by adopting the old-fashioned habit of always wearing a fully powdered wig. The loose powder covered the dark wool of his frock coat and would probably billow out behind him in a dusty cloud if he were to move fast. As his face was pock-marked and his teeth, if not missing, were yellow, he was not the picture of health nor attraction. Though Frances had never thought herself fickle enough to consider someone ineligible because of the way they looked, she could not find anything appealing in a man who was so much older than her.
“Thirty-two years difference,” Frances choked.
“We have agreed that I will return to London and obtain a special licence, and your family will join me there. You are fortunate that the archbishop is a particular friend of mine. I wanted to bring a licence with me today, but your mama insisted that you would prefer to have your friends around you when we wed.”
“What?” Frances’s head had reeled at his words. As much as the horror of his offer and his age were bad enough, the fact that her stepmother wanted her to be married in front of her friends was for one reason and one reason only. To make Frances look like a fool, to rub it in that she could not get any other man than one in his dotage who wanted her as a nurse. “I beg pardon for my outburst. You have been very kind with your offer, but arrangements seem to have been agreed upon when I have not even said yes.”
The squire waved his arm. “That is just a formality; I have made the arrangement with your parents. I just wanted to inform you myself. Both parents assured me you were not of a romantic nature but were practical and would agree immediately to the scheme, so I knew you would appreciate my being candid in my explanation. You are not as pretty as I would like, but you are quite passable, more handsome than a beauty, and I will not be too upset to have you on my arm.”
“I see.” Frances was speaking through gritted teeth. Horror, repulsion and betrayal were all fighting for dominance as the emotions raged; she was too pragmatic to be upset at the insult about her looks. Her stepmother would be perfectly placed to agree to a scheme as horrific as what was being suggested, but her father? He had always been her supporter, encouraging her to follow her passions. They had not been as close as they had been when her stepmother’s resentment of her had increased year on year, but surely she could not have persuaded her father into a scheme he must know Frances would hate?
“I have never considered myself to be overly romantic, though I had always thought to marry for affection at least,” she acknowledged. “But you must appreciate that this has come as an utter sho— surprise. I had no idea that you would ever make me such an offer.”
“I suppose not, but you must agree that it is, as your mama said, perfect for everyone.”
Frances managed to hold back the retort she wanted to make. “I beg you allow me a little time to consider and to speak with my father.”
Judging by his deep frown, it was clear the squire had not expected anything other than her agreement. “It is a good offer for you, the best you will ever receive at your age, and everything has been arranged.”
Frances stood to signal an end to the conversation. “I daresay it is, but I would like to consult with my father nonetheless.”
“He will not be happy with the delay. His creditors are becoming impatient.” Sighing at Frances’s determined expression, he stood. “You have until tomorrow to give me your agreement. I cannot say that I am happy about your response, but I had presumed that you would know something of the scheme, so reluctantly I see the need to speak to your parents. I take my leave of you, but I will return immediately after breakfast on the morrow, and then I will go to London to make the necessary arrangements. You can spend this afternoon writing letters to your friends, and I will see that they are delivered.”
Frances gave a slight nod of acknowledgement but took a step back when he approached her. Grabbing hold of her cheeks, he forced his lips on hers in the roughest fashion, holding her in place firmly so she could not move her face. His lips crushed hers onto her teeth in a painful way, and when he tried to force her mouth open with his tongue, his foul breath making her gag, she was stirred into doing something to stop his onslaught before she cast up her accounts.
Pushing him away with all her might, she was able to move him enough that the kiss ended. “How dare you!” Her stomach churned ominously as she spoke; she could smell him on her, and she wanted to scrub at her face in disgust.
He laughed. “I dare because you are mine. There will be none of this coyness when we are wed.”
“Does it not gall you to be paying for a bride?”
“Not at all. You will save me a small fortune, for I will have no need for mistresses or a housekeeper. You can fulfil every duty I wish you to.”
He turned and left her without another word. Her mind was reeling; it was mid-afternoon, and he was intent on returning first thing in the morning. She had very little time to persuade her father to change his mind. One thing she was sure of as she wiped her hand across her mouth, still feeling sick to her stomach: she could not marry the squire.