
Lady No More
By Cerise DeLand
She’s through with love.
Lady Laurel Devereaux prided herself on her sterling reputation, even as she overlooked her two younger sisters’ foibles and their ailing grandfather’s little peccadilloes. She always adored frolicking in fountains and dancing before breakfast. But those were innocent delights compared to the one night she left a ballroom to play the piano alone—and a charming man joined her to play a duet that became a mad love affair.
He quickly proposed and just as quickly jilted her. Now she’ll marry only for friendship or security or children.
He’ll never give her up again.
Now Hadley, Viscount Grey, arrives in Brighton and vows to win Laurel back. But this time, his greatest problem is not overcoming his competition or challenging Laurel’s vow to remain a proper lady, but her decision to never love another man.
How can he convince her that she simply never stopped loving him?
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Excerpt
Of all the people in all the world, the one who should never have walked into her cousin Cass’s grand salon was Hadley Sherborne, the dastardly, the false, the dishonorable Viscount Grey. Two years ago, the scoundrel had broken her heart—and their engagement—and she had no reason to welcome him here. Or anywhere within a thousand miles of her. Ever again.
Yet she squared her resolve to appear civil. Minutes ago, he’d strode in with three other men, all of whom had rescued her sister Addy from abduction. And ruin.
Ironic, that Hadley had destroyed Laurel but saved her sister.
Thus, here he stood, docile as a lamb.
A wolf in lamb’s clothing.
Laurel took a glass of bubbly from the footman’s tray and downed a good swallow. She’d hugged her sister, welcomed her back to safety and security. She was happy for her. Addy didn’t deserve to be so horribly used as to have been abducted and by a man of the cloth, too. What nerve that creature had to so misuse a young woman. What hideous arrogance to think one could kidnap a lady to compel her to marry.
Laurel nodded at that. Marriage should be undertaken for respect and affection, at the least. For love, at the best. She took another hefty swig of her good white wine and considered what it would have meant to her had Hadley ever abducted her. She’d be his wife. His bed partner. His lover. As once she’d been…
And lived to regret it.
Across the rosy gold salon, Hadley stood talking with Cousin Cass and that lady’s dashing beau, Colonel Lord Magnus Welles. Carefree, forthright in his regard to Cass and his friends, he’d greeted her politely and briefly. He’d shown no twitch of his mouth or blink of his eye that he recalled any of the humor or passion of their past.
She wished she knew how she had acted as they met just now. Shock could transform a woman. Of that she’d had first hand experience the day Hadley had appeared in her Grandpapa’s drawing room and told her he was breaking their engagement. His announcement had turned her into a mole, a shrew…a tiny animal who was less herself. Still, she had put a good face on her sorrow, if she said so herself, even after Grandpapa had died. Months later, Cousin Cass had come to Ireland. She’d mourned with them and educated them in the ways of proper British society. Then Cass had scooped up her two sisters and her and spirited them off to London, Brighton and the charms of a debutante Season. There their mother’s relative offered the triplets a plunge into the haute ton and the hope of a respectable marriage loomed before each of them.
In less than three weeks in town, both her younger sisters had found men they loved. Imogen had married the Earl of Martindale last week. Tomorrow, Adelaide would marry the Marquess of Heath, a fine fellow who had rescued her sister from the clutches of a perverse young man. Addy’s intended had been assisted by three gentlemen. Cass’s new beau, a colonel of the Royal Buffs and a decorated soldier. A cavalry man, Captain Fitzroy, recently home from the wars on the Continent. And Hadley. Here in Brighton. When he should be home in Wiltshire after a wedding in June to a young lady who had land, money and Hadley’s father’s blessing.
Instead you are here. Alone. Why, Hadley?
Grey. She must call him ‘Grey’. ‘My lord.’ ‘Scoundrel.’
The man cut a fine figure, too. Damn his hide. In a midnight blue cutaway frock coat, black Hessians and tight fawn breeches dusty from the group’s hurried ride across Brighton to Hove to the home and stables of the Earl of Davenport, Hadley…Grey looked like a devil’s advocate. His hair—the color of sunshine—glowed with streaks of old gold. Tousled by wind and exertion, locks of his hair hung over his brow in boyish abandon. His sharp cheekbones were stained pink from the rough ride in the hot August sun. His mouth was full and ripe, able to entice and claim and sip from a girl the noblest of intentions. Oh, yes, Hadley Sherborne, Viscount Grey, who had tasted her with those lips and promised with those lips, had also lied with those lips.
“I love you, my darling, and I’ll never part from you.”
But he had parted from her.
Soon, too.
Three weeks later, in fact.
Those lips that had kissed her, those hands that had caressed her, that rogue who had seduced her had abandoned her. Told her his father had demanded he wed the family friend’s daughter who lived across the river. He’d also told her he would go home to England, correct the error his father had made, apologize to his old friend whom her father and his had betrothed to him, then he would return to Laurel.
But she was Lady Laurel Devereaux, then age eighteen and with her two sisters the only remaining offspring of infamous Irish aristocrats. She’d grown up immersed in tall tales told by the likes of her Anglo-Norman family who were real live faeries. Those clever charmers possessed boundless imagination and very few scruples. They had woven their sprightly fables for more than eight centuries to mine their reputation, earn their keep and multiply their fortunes. They had also covered their losses and camouflaged their crimes.
Truly, she should have known a fairy tale when she heard it. Believing Viscount Grey’s declaration of love was her failure. She’d not be so naive about any man ever again. She was here in Brighton to marry for security. For money. For children. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she’d also laugh again. Indeed, she’d marry for many reasons. None included love.
She drained the last of her wine.
“Dinner!” Cousin Cass announced with glee for all assembled in the salon. “We will celebrate the coming nuptials of our dear Adelaide and the Marquess of Heath.”
Only fitting. Laurel considered reaching for more wine from the footman’s tray, but Adelaide gave her a mischievous little troll’s eye. Very well. Laurel demurred. She had been drinking more than she should lately. Things had not been calm here in the marriage mart. She’d worried about the unscrupulous men she and her sisters had met. First Imogen had been assaulted by one evil sort who had tried to sully her in Dublin years ago, then tried again here. But she was rescued by the noble man who married her. Today dear Addy had been abducted and saved from ruin by her own Sir Galahad, the Marquess of Heath. Amid all that, their older cousin, Cass, Lady William Downs, had been cuddling in closets and map rooms with the strapping Colonel Welles there. Who had Laurel been entertaining? No one worth his salt. Of course, she’d have a few nips. Who wouldn’t!
But, Addy was right. Drinking was not good for the old reputation. Not very good for her attempt to establish a new one either.
She’d accept what she could not change.
Tonight at this intimate party, she’d celebrate the good turn of events. Even if they were in no small part thanks to the the man who had once been her dearest love, her fiancé. Grey had been heroic. He’d saved her sister. After that, for Laurel to be ungracious to him would be so de trop.
Fie! The things she did for love.


In the eighteenth century, France was rapidly changing from a fundamentally agricultural society to a commercial empire with many overseas outposts. The population was increasing, and industrial production was rising. And the French Enlightenment was focused on transforming cultural, scientific and political thinking. Thinkers such as Helveetius, Dietrich, d’Holback, de Condillac, de la Metrie, and Rousseau explored different fields, but agreed that tradition was a bad guide to the future, that government and justice needed radical improvement, and that free-market economics was the way of the future.
Thomas Paine was first man in modern times to present democracy as a positive term. To do so, he redefined democracy. He suggested that, while direct democracy (where everyone voted on everything) was inconvenient, representative democracy (where everyone voted on the people who would decide everything) avoided the problems of both direct democracy and oligarchy or autocracy. His writing caught the attention of American intellectuals, and the modern view of democracy was born.





Those of us raised in the English tradition of democracy are often told that it started with the Magna Carta. But before that came the Witan and the Moot. These were the government, legislative, and judicial assemblies of Anglo-Saxon Britain, and they were adopted, with changes, by the Normans. The Witan was called by the King and comprised the individuals he wanted to include. Their job was to advise the king. In theory, the king did not have to listen to their advice, but these were powerful men with troops behind them. The balancing act between king and council was underway, and would continue for centuries.
The issue was taxes. The King wanted to pay for his war in France. His barons were not happy. They rebelled, and the Magna Carta was the charter in which the King agreed he was not above the law. The Magna Carta established the law as something separate to the will of the monarch. This is the fundamental principle on which Western democracy is based–that the leader of a country is bound by its laws, though that principle was not the issue for most of the barons. They just wanted to make certain that the king could not impose ruinous taxes without the consent of his council.
Representative government. Sort of.
The English Civil War in the seventeenth century was also a fight between the unelected King and the Parliament. Again, it was mostly about taxes. Parliament won and executed the king, having convicted him of treason. Twelve years later, Parliament welcomed back his son to take the throne. Before the end of the century, in 1788, came the so-called Glorious Revolution. Parliament was dissolved by the king, who decided to rule on his own. So they decided to pass the crown to one of his daughters and her husband. William of Orange entered the country and won the throne without a shot being fired, but first he and his wife Mary agreed to a bill of rights that would mean Parliament and those who held power in the land could not again be removed by the king. Those rights?
In the seventeenth century, John Locke built on the ideas of Aristotle and others to come up with a theory of the legitimacy of government. He held that government represents a social contract between the ruler and those ruled. He did not state a preference for democracy, oligarchy, or autocracy, but he did state that, if the ruler failed to meet his side of the social contract, the people had a right to rebel.