Wednesday, May 25, 2022

First Chapter

Below I've posted the description and first chapter from my lighthearted Regency romance, The Curious Curate and the Opera Singer. This is book 4 in my Seductive Regency Romance Series, but can be read as a standalone.



The Curious Curate

(and the Opera Singer)

Book Description

 

When is a curate not a curate? When he is a dashing rogue sent to assist his Reverend uncle as penance for his unruly behavior.

When the Marquess of Tyden learned of his youngest son, Lord Aiden Renford’s, roguish behavior in Town—duels, fist fights, and gambling—he knew there was only one solution for it. To send him to his uncle for a year. Under the Reverend Matthew Renford’s gentle guidance, Aiden would learn humility and to behave like a gentleman. The penalty if he refused? He would be cut off, not only from his funds, but from his family and all access to the family’s estates.

While the locals are happy to embrace the new temporary curate and welcome him into their homes, Aiden soon discovers that although he is counting the days until he regains his freedom, a year in Harelton is not such a bad bargain, especially when an unexpected guest arrives at the vicarage only a week before he is free to leave.

Miss Amelie Rouen is an opera singer, something many Londoners unfortunately appeared to equate with being a Cyprian. While being pursued by an ardent admirer, she takes refuge at the Harelton Parish Vicarage, and finds herself in the care of an unusual curate with twinkling eyes and a mischievous sense of humor, who looks like he belongs anywhere but there.

Please note that this is a steamy love story

 

Chapter One

 

Aiden Renford walked into the small Harelton village church of St. Augustine’s, and looked around. He breathed a sigh of relief, looking up into the eaves at the ancient wooden beams stretching across the aisle, the gilded domed ceiling, the colorful stained-glass windows and exquisitely embroidered altar cloths. Beneath his feet on the ancient stones were inscribed the names of many of the ancestors of local families who had resided here many generations ago, the church was centuries old. It had all become so very familiar to him now.

Was it only one year ago when his father, the Marquess of Tyden, had arrived at his townhouse in London with two of the Tyden estate’s burliest footmen? At his father’s direction the two men had thrown him into a chair, pinning him there and forcing him to sit still and listen. No matter how hard he fought, he’d soon realized he wasn’t leaving that room without hearing his father out. So finally, though infuriated he had succumbed, intending to leave the moment that he was released.

It was all still so vividly clear to him, his complete and utter fury at being manhandled, and eventually being given an ultimatum that he’d deemed absolutely horrific at the time—join his uncle, the Reverend Matthew Renford, as a curate for a year, or he would be cut off from the family, his inheritance, his allowance and all access to the family estates.

Reluctantly, even though incensed, he’d understood his father’s annoyance with his recent behavior. He’d been in a scuffle or two after imbibing a little too freely at his club, fought three duels, and had racked up a few gambling debts. But what his father hadn’t known, was that he had won a considerable fortune on the last game, which he had since invested, and therefore would not need his father’s funds.

The only reason he had initially agreed to his father’s insane request that he become a temporary and yet unofficial curate to his uncle, had been to give his father time to calm down and see reason. But that hadn’t happened. He had in fact, been bundled into a carriage and delivered to his uncle’s door the following day by his own groom and valet, who had been instructed to report to his father when their task was completed. They would be employed at the Tyden estate until his year was up when he could resume his normal life. He was expected to fend for himself during that year, without the benefit of personal servants, other than the delightful Mrs. Comfrey, the cook sent down from the Tyden estate to keep house for him and his uncle.

Hearing the creak of the heavy oak and iron studded door, Aiden turned as the door swung open and daylight flooded the small church.

“Collins!” He hurried forward to greet his valet, reaching out with both hands to grasp the older man’s work worn hands between his own. Collins looked a little surprised, not only at the effusive greeting, but at seeing his employer dressed as a conservative curate all in black and looking quite the part.

“Sir?”

Aiden looked down at his attire and threw back his head and laughed. “You think it suits me, Collins?”

“Black always did favor your complexion, sir!” Collins answered dryly.

Aiden slapped him on the back. “You are here with a message?”

“Yes, sir. Your father, his lordship, has sent me to inform you that you have only one week left of your…um…stay in Harelton Village, and you may now instruct your staff to open up your London townhouse in readiness for your return a week from today…unless…”

“Unless?” Aiden waited, clenching his hands at his sides, hoping the hesitation and the blush staining Collins’ cheeks did not have foreboding consequences for him, involving new rules and requirements. Much to everyone surprise, including his own, he had fulfilled everything his father had asked of him.

“Unless you have found your calling and wish to stay, sir!” Collins finished.

“Stay?” Aiden’s eyes grew wide and he sat down hard in the nearest pew. Collins’ lips were twitching as he tried hard not to grin. “No, Collins, I think not, though I have to admit it has not been quite the unpleasant experience I had expected.”

“Due to Mrs. Comfrey, sir?” Collins asked with a quirk of one of his thick black eyebrows.

“Indeed, Collins. A very welcome and most unexpected concession from my father.” Mrs. Comfrey had been the long time cook at the Tyden estate since he was a small boy. His father had sent her to work as cook/housekeeper at the vicarage during his stay. And although he knew she was there to keep an eye on him—having been sworn to secrecy about the true reason for his stay, as was his uncle—she was a motherly and comforting sort, who had always welcomed him to the kitchen as a child with hugs and a smile.

“We have all missed her cooking at Tyden Hall, sir.”

“I don’t doubt it! In fact, I am certain it is about lunch time, Collins, shall we?” Aiden rose and swept his arm to the open door.

Collins grinned. “There’s no chance we could take her back with us to your London townhouse, is there, sir?” Collins asked hopefully.

“Sadly, no, she has been instructed she must return to Tyden Hall. However, I will leave it to you to engage a decent cook for us, you have good taste and as much a desire for a decent meal as I do myself.”

“Will do, sir!” Collins grinned.

“And the rest of the staff, Collins? Are they still in place?”

“Just the skeleton staff as requested, sir. With a new housekeeper and cook, you will be set. Gibbins will arrive with your mount tomorrow morning…”

“A week early, too?”

“Another small concession from your father, the marquess, sir.”

His father had refused to allow him to take his Thoroughbred, Nero, to Harelton with him, informing him that a simple curate would not own such a horse and therefore he would have to either walk or use his uncle’s cart and horses.

He’d missed Nero, but he knew that Gibbins would have taken good care of him. A race through the open countryside, leaping the low stone walls and hedgerows on Nero’s competent back sounded like pure bliss to him now. A year of abstinence had been grueling. And it wasn’t the only thing he’d been forced to abstain from. He’d also had no choice but to remain celibate for a year. The new curate could hardly be seen visiting local taverns or keeping company with a mistress. Not that he had a mistress! He sighed, getting back to his normal life would be seventh heaven.

Mrs. Comfrey greeted Collins like a long-lost son, making the pair of them smile. She was a slightly rotund, rosy-cheeked, middle-aged woman who loved to cook. She wasn’t shy about bossing them about in her kitchen either. It was her domain and she ensured everyone knew it. They laughed when she shooed them out to wash their hands before she served them lunch. The relaxed environment of the vicarage was one of the unexpected perks of his year-long banishment. His uncle was an affable and well-read man who could converse on any subject, so the long winters’ nights had been spent in comfortable conversation. He cringed when he thought how foreign that idea would have been to him a little over a year ago. Should he tell his father he’d been right, at least about some of it?

Many other evenings had been spent visiting the parishioners, and he’d been gratified by their easy acceptance of him. Most had no knowledge of his life before he came to Harelton. He’d found himself helping with organizing parish events, but for the most part, he’d volunteered to assist when actual physical labor was required, when a husband was injured and his wife could not do the manual labor, or a roof needed repair, anything that helped to keep him in shape as he no longer had a horse to ride, or Gentleman Jackson’s Bond St. boxing saloon to attend.

He’d even organized a small archery group. There had been numerous village fetes, and musicales at local manor houses, not to mention a few local girls who had frequently thrown themselves into his path. But he had easily resisted. Being leg-shackled to a local girl for the rest of his life held no appeal, and he’d done his best to ensure he did not allow himself to be placed in a difficult position where he felt honor bound to offer. But most of the villagers were easy-going and welcoming, happy to take whatever he was willing to give without pressing for anything more of him, but then, he was only the curate.

He’d developed an interest in one local woman, Verity Sommerville, of Harelton Grange, when he’d first arrived, she was cheerful, pretty, and a total bookworm with an impressive library, but she had recently married. Her future husband had given him a few warning looks when they had first met. At first he’d thought he may have been recognized from some of his more nefarious London pursuits, but no, it turned out the man had merely been jealous. Though from all he heard, Viscount Allum had been about as pleased to be forced into an arranged marriage in Harelton, as he himself had been when he’d initially been compelled to come here. Though on meeting Verity, Allum’s opinion had quickly changed. The oddly matched pair had pretty much fallen for each other from the moment they’d met. His uncle had performed the wedding ceremony for the beaming pair only days after the man had arrived.

Aiden had assisted his uncle in organizing many wedding ceremonies, though he had no right to officiate, that was purely his uncle’s domain. Marriage was not something he currently wanted to contemplate. He would have his freedom back in a week, and he intended to make the most of it.

Mrs. Comfrey nudged him. “Day dreaming, Mr. Renford?” she teased. “The gates of freedom will be open in a week. What do you plan to do first? Or should I not ask? My ears are delicate, as you know!”

Collins almost choked on his food. Mrs. Comfrey was a lovely woman but perfectly capable of delivering a blistering set-down when it was required. She’d had three husbands and four children, it was doubtful anything would shock her.

“I plan to do all the things you are no doubt imagining I will do,” he told her with a grin.

Mrs. Comfrey crooked an eyebrow and turned to Collins, “Do not enable his bad behavior! I’ve no wish to spend another year out here at the vicarage, pleasant as it has been!”

“Have no fear, Mrs. Comfrey, if my father should ‘suggest’ it again, I will forcefully decline,” Aiden told her wryly.

She grunted as she took their empty plates from the table and pulled a large pot from the boil, carefully lifting out a covered dish. “You made steamed pudding?” Collins’ eyes were round with hope.

“Indeed I did.”

“My favorite!” Aiden grinned.

“Mine too,” Collins agreed.

She scooped the sticky pudding into bowls and topped it with steaming custard, the pair dug in hungrily.

“I would follow you up north for this, Mrs. Comfrey,” Aiden admitted. “Unless I can persuade you to come to work for me in London?”

“Stealing your father’s favorite cook might not be the best start to your upcoming freedom!” she cautioned with a grin.

“You are worth the risk!” he teased.

“You need a wife.”

“One who can cook? Unlikely in the beau monde.”

“Then look elsewhere,” she advised. “Surely your year here has opened your eyes to other types of women?”

“True, an heiress is not the only option.” One of the benefits this year had brought was the numerous invitations to dine with local families and experience some truly magnificent but simple fare. And as a third son, his choices in a bride were a little less restricting than those of his older brothers. He was unlikely to ever inherit the Marquisate.

The clatter of galloping hoof beats in the stable yard had Aiden leaping to his feet. “Nero!” he exclaimed with a grin. “He’s a day early!” But it was not Gibbins and Nero that flew past the window, but a white horse bearing a rider in a flowing red habit.

“Unless Nero has changed color and Gibbins is wearing a red riding habit…you have an unexpected guest!” Mrs. Comfrey said with a grin, her arms up to the elbows in flour.

Collins and Aiden exchanged a quick glance, and as one they dashed for the door.

To continue reading please click the links below to Amazon:

The Curious Curate and the Opera Singer

 US   UK   CA   AUS  


Or find The Seductive Regency Romance Collection: Books 1-6 here:

Amazon:  UK     USA    AUS    CAN   


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