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Little tame creatures


“How did they allow them to keep rats as pets?” asked my editor at the end of my epilogue, when my nine-year-old boy cousins were racing indoors after a fortnight away, to check on their pet rats. “Were they even domesticated at this time?”

Well, yes. They were. And nine-year-old boys love rats as pets at least in part because it upsets the maids and bothers the adult female cousins. Not my boys’ mothers, of course, who are made of sterner stuff.

Rats as domestic pets might have been familiar in Europe as early as the seventeenth century, and this was certainly  the case in Japan. We have excellent documentation for domesticated rats in England in the early nineteenth century. In fact, the ancestor of many of today’s pets might have been raised by Jimmy Shaw or Jack Black. (This might not have been his legal name, but it is the name under which he was interviewed by Henry Mayhew. The interview the two men was published in a book titled London Labour and the London Poor.)

Jack and Jimmy were ratcatchers. He suppled live rats to the rat pits, a popular blood sport that didn’t end until 1912. Another lucrative income source for him was breeding from rats that had different coloured coats. He told Mayhew ‘I have ’em fawn and white, black and white, black white and red. People come from all parts of London to see them rats. They got very tame and you could do anythink with them.’  He sold them as pets or curiosities, mainly to young ladies. Jimmy Shaw was even more interested in the odd rats. If today’s pets are not descended from those kept by one of these two men, they no doubt originated in a similar way.

Laboratory rats appear to have been used in research from at least 1828, and probably were also saved from the rat pits or bred from such animals. The Albino rat often used in laboratories or as pets is also known to have been around for a while. There was apparently a wild colony of Albino rats in Bath in 1828.

 

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Toil and trouble on WIP Wednesday

I’m adding to my Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, and turning it into a Christmas story, for the Bluestocking Belles Christmas Collection. Here’s one of the new additions.

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The hope of soon being reunited with Will, or at least reaching his mother, had kept Maggie moving along the winding roads from Portsmouth to the first village of Ashton. When that proved to be the wrong place, she changed her strategy. Winter was coming. Even now, the heat was gone from the long evenings as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. If she had to find lodgings for herself and the children during the winter, then she must make more than the few coins she had picked up on her way north.

Having made the decision between one village and the next, she put it into practice at the first opportunity, asking at both inns and the three major houses if there was any work available.

One of the inns took her on to clean rooms and empty slop pails. For one week, she told them. After that, she said, she must be off once more on her search. With Eva on her back and Billy tagging behind, she managed the heavy work with ease, and a week later set off the next Ashton with several more shillings in her purse and a warmer coat for each child to keep them comfortable in the sometimes cold wind.

The second Ashton was as disappointing as the first, but Maggie got two night’s work at the inn, and on the strength of that was offered temporary work at the great house, where they needed extra servants during a house party. At first, she thought she’d have to turn the job down, though the wages were excellent. But another woman overheard her telling the hiring steward about her children.

“I reckon they could stay with me Ma,” she said. “She’s looking after me own young uns, while I earn a few coins, so two more wouldn’t matter to her none, and she could do with the pennies.” The woman introduced herself as Frannie, and offered to take her to visit her mother immediately.

“If she could put you up for at night,” said the steward, “I shall add two shillings a day to the wages, for where I could find you a bed, I do not know. Mind you, you’ll have to be at your post by five in the morning, and will not be home until after the guests have had their dinner.”

Frannie’s mother proved to be a kind woman whom Eva took to straight away, and the other children were twins of Billy’s age, so Maggie went off to work the following morning with a light heart. If she saw out the week of the house party, she would earn the princely sum of twelve shillings! Two shillings of that would go Frannie’s mother, but ten shillings would feed her little family for weeks, if she was careful.

It was hard work and long hours, but in some ways, it was also a holiday. No walking for hours with Eva on her back and the wheelbarrow before her. No need to find dry spaces through the day to feed the children or to change a wet clout. And she enjoyed the walks with Frannie in the pre-dawn quiet and the velvet dark of the late evening.

After the first three days of the house party, the servants settled into a routine—those who belonged to the house, the temporary hires, and servants of guests all learning what they could expect from one another. Hearing how some of the guests behaved toward the servants, Maggie was pleased to be working where she didn’t see them.

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Backlist Spotlight on Thrown to the Lyon

My latest release, The Lyon’s Dilemma, is the sequel to Thrown to the Lyon. The Duke of Kempbury, who is something of an antagonist in this story, is the hero in the next.

Thrown to the Lyon

When Dorcas Anderson saves Mrs. Dove-Lyon from being crushed by a passing dray it sets up a chain a series of events she could not have imagined. The grateful lady insists on presenting to her rescuer a tinder box containing three tokens. Each can be exchanged for a favor from The Black Widow of Whitehall herself.

She needs the first sooner than she expected, when her dead husband’s twin, brother to a powerful duke, has her and her four-year-old son arrested for theft.

When Mrs. Dove-Lyon asks him to help rescue a wrongfully arrested widow, Ben, the Earl of Somerford, is glad to aid Mrs. Anderson, whom he knew and respected when he was with the army in the Peninsula.

Dorcas uses the second token to enlist Mrs. Dove-Lyon in catching Ben’s attention, little knowing that Ben is already wondering if Dorcas is just the wife he needs.

Ben is too slow to declare his interest. Dorcas’s brothers-in-law threaten, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon may have the answer: Another marriage, this time to a man powerful enough to stand against a possibly malevolent duke.

The plan is set. A game of cards will decide the groom. Can Dorcas use the third token to change the odds? Anything can happen when a lady is thrown to a Lyon.

https://www.amazon.com/Thrown-Lyon-Lyons-Connected-World-ebook/dp/B0DGMYS3W9/

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Meeting the in-laws on WIP Wednesday

And so, as The Night Dancers goes to beta, I have begun An Unpitied Sacrifice.

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Chapter One

London, 1816

In the street outside of the elegant townhouse, Valeria Izquierdo checked the address. The sheet of paper had suffered since her husband gave it to her on their wedding night, five years ago. Stains marred the surface, one corner was torn away, and the folds were worn and beginning to come apart. It was still precious to her, not just for the address, which she had memorized long ago, but because it was a witness to Harry’s care for her—almost the only one to survive the intervening years.

“Take this and keep it safe,” he had said. “If anything happens to me, go to my father. He will welcome you for my sake.”

But would he? Valeria owed it to Harry to put it to the test, but she was not confident that either she or Ricci would find the promised welcome. And if she had no doubt that Ricci deserved recognition and a place, she was not so certain about herself.

That was the reason she had come on her own, leaving her children and her companions at the lodgings her English agent had found. If she was turned away at the door, at least she would be the only one to know and to suffer.

Perhaps, after all, Valeria should have written. But letters are far easier to ignore than callers, and besides, how could she explain the past five years in a letter?

Indeed, how could she explain it at all? Which was why she was dithering in the street like an idiot. What would those who had nigh worshipped El Phantome say if they could see her now? What would her current followers say, come to that?

It was the last consideration that allowed her to break the paralysis that kept her hesitating in the street. She could not ask the women with her to approach the families of their husbands or lovers when she was not prepared to make such a move herself.

Five paces brought her to the steps that led to the front door. Ten of them, bridging a kind of small dark courtyard set into the ground and surrounded by a fence. As she looked over the rail, a maid with a basket came out from the house from the basement below and set off up a flight of steps that brought her up to street level, where she opened a hitherto unseen gate in the fence and turned set off down the street.

Two more steps, and then knock on the door, she commanded herself.

The knocker was in the form of an ugly little man. Ricci and Marie-Therese would love that. She lifted the ring that the little man held in his oversized hands, and dropped it again to strike the brass plate below. Knock, knock, knock.

And wait.

But she had not taken more than a couple of breaths before the door opened. The man who opened the door stood in the entrance way, ensuring she could not enter. He had the air of an upper servant of some kind. “May I be of assistance, Madam?” he enquired.

Valeria had come prepared with a small rectangle of pasteboard, according to the English custom. She had written her name on it. Both her own name—Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo—and Mrs. H. Redepenning, for the English had the custom that a woman took her husband’s name upon marriage.

“Please ask Lord Redepenning if he will see me,” she said the butler, handing him the card.

She was permitted inside, to stand in the entry hall, still wearing her bonnet and coat, while the butler went up the stairs to discover the wishes of the master of the house. It was a lovely space, with furniture that was not new but that had been lovingly dusted and polished so that it gleamed with a rich patina. The carpet and the matching stair runner were likewise a little worn but clean and richly covered. On one wall, a large mirror in a gilt frame reflected light around the hall and made it seem larger.

A large vase of fresh flowers stood on a table under the mirror, adding a light floral high note to the atmosphere.

The butler came back down the stairs almost immediately. “His lordship shall see you, Madam.” He gave a shallow bow. “May I take Madam’s bonnet and coat?” Once he had placed the items on a polished brass coat stand near the door, he led her up the stairs.

On the landing for the next floor, he turned right and opened the nearest door. “Your visitor, my lord,” he said.

Perhaps he does not want to mangle my Basque surname nor give me the family’s surname when I have not yet been accepted.

The man stepped out of Valeria’s way, and she walked into the room where her husband’s father waited.

She knew him immediately. Both of the men who stood up when she entered were relatives of Harry’s—that was clear at a glance. Both had the striking blue eyes. The older gentleman must be Baron Redepenning, her father-in-law. He was still vigorous and handsome, and his eyes were as striking a blue as her husband’s. However, his hair had faded with age to a sandy-brown rather than her husband’s guinea-gold, and also receded from his forehead.

His well-lined face had the heavier look around the jaw of a man approaching old age, and his figure was also somewhat stouter than his son’s. He still had the carriage of the soldier she knew him to be. He held a general’s rank, though when she asked for him at the Horse Guard yesterday, she had been told he was retired.

He inclined slightly toward her in a bow and smiled in welcome.

The other man’s hair was still bright gold. No smile here. His blue eyes were hard with suspicion, and his brows were drawn together in a frown.

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Spotlight on Tempting a Lonely Lord

Book 6 in The Rakes of Mayhem

A determined viscount…

William Dudley never expected to inherit the title of Viscount—or the neglected estate in Kent that came with it. But duty is something he has never shied away from. Now responsible for his spirited young brother, William is juggling guardianship, estate matters, and his ongoing secret work for the Crown. Though he has officially resigned as an agent, he still deciphers coded messages and remains relentless in his pursuit of a criminal smuggling ring wreaking havoc along the coast. Marriage is the last thing on his mind—until fate quite literally drops into his arms.

A fateful fall…

Lady Bella Conolly’s search for her mischievous dog, Lacey, leads her to the newly inhabited neighboring estate. But when her chase ends with a misstep down an embankment, she finds herself swept into the arms of a stranger. A golden-haired Adonis with striking blue eyes, a devilish grin, and the kind of effortless charm that could make any woman weak in the knees.

Yet beneath his easy smile and godlike beauty, there’s something else—something elusive. A quiet intensity that speaks of secrets carefully guarded. Bella should know better than to be drawn in by mystery and charm alone, yet she cannot deny the pull of curiosity… or attraction.

A dangerous dilemma…

Yet Bella’s troubles are far from over. Her uncle is determined to marry her off to a ruthless earl with sinister motives and a chilling hold over her family. As danger tightens its grip, Bella must decide whether she can trust the debonair and dashing viscount who has unexpectedly entered her world. Together, they must navigate secrets, schemes, and the undeniable pull of a love neither of them expected.

Can William unravel the web of deceit before it’s too late? Or will Bella be lost to the shadows of a perilous plot?

The Rakes of Mayhem
The Earl of Excess
The Marquess of Mischief
The Duke of Disorder
The Baron’s Return
To Win a Viscount’s Heart
Tempting a Lonely Lord

Note: This series is part of Dragonblade’s Sweet Dreams line, so this is a sweet, wholesome Historical Romance where passion beyond the bedroom door is left to the reader’s imagination.

Excerpt from Tempting a Lonely Lord

A few moments later she heard his voice from somewhere below her, which only confused her more. “I want you to trust me—what’s your name?”

“B-Bella.”

“Bella, I’m William. I’m standing below you and just to your right.”

“H-how can you be…?”

“There’s a ledge beneath you—about ten feet below your feet. I found a path to take me down here.”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t see the ledge.”

“That’s all right, Bella. I’m going to catch you. But you must promise to do exactly as I say.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good girl, Bella. When I say let go, I want you to let go and just let yourself drop.” He must have noticed her stiffen at his instruction because he added, “This ledge is wide enough and sturdy enough to hold us both.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m certain, Bella,” he said in a deep, calm voice.

Lacey barked wildly as if she were telling Bella to trust him.

“I do, girl,” she said, her voice faint. “But I can’t hold on much longer.”

“You don’t need to. I’m here,” the soothing male voice said below her. “I’m going to catch you.”

Bella’s heart pounded as she clung to the ledge, too terrified to look down. “You promise to catch me?”

“Yes, I promise. Trust me. I’m right here. Just let go,” he murmured, voice steady and sure.

Her fingers ached, frozen stiff, and unresponsive, as if they no longer belonged to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, whispered a desperate prayer, and released her grip.

For an instant, she was weightless. The wind roared past her, pulling her downward. The jagged rocks below seemed to reach up, hungry and waiting. A scream tore from her throat, sharp and involuntary—

But then she stopped falling.

Strong arms wrapped around her, solid and unyielding.

“I’ve got you, Bella. I’ve got you,” he rasped, his voice rough with exertion.

The impact of her fall must have jolted him, and for a harrowing moment, his footing slipped. Her panic surged, and she let out a frantic yelp, flailing against him.

Then there was a thud—a hard, jolting stop.

Bella lay still, gasping for breath, her senses spinning. Was she alive? The air felt too rich, too vibrant to belong to Heaven. A warm, grounding presence surrounded her—sandalwood, citrus, and leather mingled with the sea’s salt.

She stirred, feeling the solid heat of his body beneath her. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and the world came into focus: not the endless blue of sky or water, but the deepest, most mesmerizing blue she’d ever seen. Her rescuer’s eyes.

He lay beneath her, chest heaving, his arms still holding her securely.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek.

For the first time since the fall, she believed him.

Meet Anna St Claire

USA Bestselling Author, Anna St. Claire, is a big believer that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself. She sprinkles her stories with laughter, romance, mystery, and lots of possibilities, adhering to the belief that goodness and love will win the day.

Anna is both an avid reader and author of American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their two dogs and often, their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, and Mimi—all life roles that Anna St. Claire relishes and feels blessed to still enjoy. And she loves her pets – dogs and cats alike, and often weaves them into her books as secondary characters. And she loves chocolate and popcorn, a definite nod to her need for sweet followed by salty…but not together—a tasty weakness!

Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, encouraged Anna’s interest in writing after discovering short stories Anna would write in her spare time.

As a child, she loved mysteries and checked out every Encyclopedia Brown story that came into the school library. Before too long, her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind, now a treasured, but weathered book from being read multiple times. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss,’ books, Shanna and Ashes In The Wind, Anna became hooked.

Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys any period in American and British history.

 

https://www.annastclaire.com

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire

https://twitter.com/1AnnaStClaire

https://www.facebook.com/authorannastclaire

https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17419205

https://www.instagram.com/annastclaire_author/

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A brief history of umbrellas

Umbrellas were used in China as early as 3,500 BC, and waterproofed with a combination of wax and lacquer by 3,000 BC. They came to Europe through ancient trade routes, but were considered appropriate only for women. In England, they were still considered a female accessory as late as 1790, but a man called Jonas Hanway ignored popular ideas of suitability, and used an umbrella for decades. By the early 19th century, men and women both used umbrellas. The folding umbrella, though, would not appear until the 1850s. Which are some of the things I discovered when I went down the research rabbit hole while writing A Gift to the Heart (coming in November 2025).

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Making enemies on WIP Wednesday

I’ll write the last scene of The Night Dancers before the end of the weekend, and have it out to beta readers before the following weekend. So here’s another excerpt, to celebrate. My hero and his brother have escaped their evil father, and are now looking for allies in their battle to stay free. To that end, they have been invited to dinner by the Duke and Duchess of Dellborough, where they will have the opportunity to put their case.

First, they heard the shouting from outside of the room, coming closer. Then the doors burst open and people scrambled into the room. First, two burly men in Teign livery, holding the Dellborough butler between them, his back facing the room as he protested, “My lord, their graces are at dinner. My lord, you cannot burst in this way.”

The men were holding the poor man by his arms so that his feet couldn’t reach the ground, and after them came several Dellborough and Teign footmen, shoving and pushing at one another.

Finally, the instigators of this riot—Teign himself, with Farnham at his elbow—strode into the room, Teign’s voice thundering, “I shall see Dellborough now, and those scoundrelly sons of mine. Dellborough, how dare you harbor these traitors!”

The Duke of Dellborough had risen to his feet. “Good evening, Lord Teign.” He looked down the long table to where his wife sat at the end. “My dear, are we harbouring traitors?”

The duchess remained seated, regarding Teign with the expression of a householder who has found a cockroach in the flour bin. “Lord Teign,” she said. “What is the meaning of this unseemly and violent invasion of our home?”

The marquess glared at her, looked around at the luminaries gathered at the table, and made a visible effort to rein in his temper. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he snapped, with a perfunctory nod in place of a bow. “I had to see your husband, to tell him not to support my sons in their rebellion. I shall just be taking them with me, and leave you to get on with your dinner.”

“Lord Kemble?” said the duchess. “Do you wish to go with your father?”

“I do not,” Allan replied, managing to keep his voice calm, despite the anger and grief he always felt in his father’s presence.

“And what of you other brothers?” said the duchess, managing to speak over Teign’s angry retort.

All seven Sheppard brothers replied. Where it was, a “no”, an “I do not”, or “not likely”, their answers amounted to the same.

“You have your answer, Lord Teign,” said her grace. “If you wish to pursue any complaint you have against my husband, please have your secretary arrange an appointment with Dellborough’s secretary.”

Teign sneered. “What kind of a man are you, Dellborough? Letting a female speak for you?”

The duke chuckled. “A wise and happy one,” he replied, and exchanged a warm glance with his duchess. What an inspiration! Thirty years or more, and their love for one another was palpable.

“A man who bows to a woman is no man at all,” Teign announced. He added, “A woman should know her place—silent, obedient, and in a man’s bed. If she forgets it, she should be beaten.”

Good work, you old sinner. You have now alienated all the great ladies Dellborough and his wife had invited to dinner and most of the men.

Dellborough lifted an eyebrow at his wife, and she commented, “An interesting if primitive view. Tell me? How has it contributed to your domestic and marital happiness?”

The duke smirked.

Teign’s sneer deepened, and he turned on his footmen. “Seize my sons, you fools. Have you forgotten what we came for?” Allan clenched his fist and prepared to leap to his feet.

“The marksmen in the minstrels’ gallery will shoot anyone who attempts to carry out that order,” Dellborough drawled. “Up to and including Lord Teign.”

Startled, Allan looked up. Sure enough, from the shadowy depths of the minstrel’s gallery, several rifle barrels pointed at Teign’s footmen, who were backing away despite the imprecations of their master.

Dellborough picked up his wine glass and leaned back in his seat. “My dear guests, I apologize in advance for the spilling of blood, but better to execute these invaders cleanly than to allow brawling in my duchess’s dining room. Teign, your language, sir! Please do remember that ladies are present.” His drawl edged into insolence.

From a lifetime of observing the marquess, Allan could tell he was on the pointing of losing his temper. Could he pushed over?

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Tea with a scandalous woman

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire, was reserving judgement.

The Duke of Kempbury was coming to visit, and bringing with him his new duchess. Some were whispering, with approval, that he had finally wed the lady to whom he had been ten years ago. Others assured their friends that they’d had doubts about that betrothal at the time. A duke marrying the daughter of a mere gentleman? And not even the legitimate daughter, but the child of a long ago mistress, whom he and his wife had raised with their own daughter.

Eleanor had been sympathetic at the time. She firmly believed that a child should not be blamed for the sins of his or her parents, and Adaline Fairbanks had been raised as a lady.

Then came the scandal, ending the betrothal, justifying the critics and casting Miss Fairbanks into Society’s outer darkness. Those who had stirred the scandal broth at the time were doing so again now that Adaline was finally the Duchess of Kembury.

Hence Kempbury’s call on Eleanor yesterday, to assure her that the betrothal had been broken over a misunderstanding, that the scandalous encounter had been a plot against Adaline, and that his lady was innocent.

Eleanor had to wonder whether he had been duped. After all, credible witnesses placed Adaline Fairbanks in an intimate embrace with the Duke of Richport. However, Kempbury was no fool. He insisted that Eleanor would understand all if she only spoke to his wife.

So here she was. Waiting to have tea with a scandalous lady.

They would be here any moment. Eleanor resolved that, whatever had happened in the past, she would support Kempbury. And his duchess, too, if that lady could convince Eleanor that she was a fit mate for duke. Scandal could always be turned around, when a person knew how to manage it.

 

The Lyon’s Dilemma

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party, particularly one attended by her. Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel. The one woman put on God’s earth to lure him from his duty. But Kempbury’s purpose is strong. Nothing she can offer will tempt him from his chosen path.

Only 99c until July 30th.

 

 

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Spotlight on The Lyon’s Dilemma – published this coming Wednesday

She shattered his heart—now she’s his perfect match.

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party. But the matchmaker Mrs. Dove Lyon has promised him that his perfect match will be there, and Felix yearns for a wife.

He is horrified to find that the woman who meets the matchmaker’s description is Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel.

The one woman on God’s earth he will never marry. Not after what she did last time they were betrothed.

Published July 30th

Excerpt

Felix did not go back to the house. More than ever, he needed to be alone. He needed to think. He took a path that led further out into the park. His mind was reeling.

In his country seat, Felix had a miniature of himself as a child of nine or ten. Melody Beverley could be that child’s twin, green eyes and all. It was easy to tell where her name had come from, for Adaline had once told him that her mother’s name was Melody.

Felix remembered everything she had told him in the brief few weeks of their romance. Everything she said and did, though his memories were colored by what came after.

He should have expected her to be a wanton. She was, after all, the baseborn child of Arthur Fairbanks and his mistress, even if she was raised in the Fairbanks house with the legitimate daughter. She had been honest with him about that even from the first.

He had admired her for it, he remembered, had said that he was a duke and could do anything he pleased short of treason, had said she would be a duchess and—even if people did find out about her tarnished birth—it wouldn’t matter, because she would be ranked above all but the queen and the royal princesses, and a score or so of other duchesses.

Even when she came to his bed, he didn’t despise her for it. They had made promises to one another, after all. He had thought only that she loved him too much to wait, or to make him wait, for them to repeat those vows in a church.

He had, at the time, believed her to be a virgin, though he had doubted that later. Whether or not it was true, he could no longer doubt that the child—of whose existence he had so recently learned—who went by the surname of Beverley was conceived on that night.

She was his daughter, and Adaline had kept her from him.

Felix was, he realized, being a little unfair. She had visited him at his townhouse and been turned away. She had written to him twice, and he had ordered the letters returned, refusing even to touch them.

He did not feel like being fair. He did not know how he felt, in fact. His mind, heart—his soul even—echoed with the beat of the repeated words. I have a daughter.

A daughter who was four months past her ninth birthday, if she was born nine months or so after the night that Felix and Adaline spent together. Felix had missed more than nine years of her life. It hurt more than he could bear, like an ache over his entire being. He felt as if he had missed her all his life, though two days ago, he had not even known she existed. “Adaline will not keep me out of my daughter’s life anymore,” he swore.

Melody. She seemed a nice child. She spoke politely and curtseyed beautifully, and there was obvious affection between her and her mother.

But was Adaline a fit person to raise a child? A daughter? If he did not intervene, would he not be condemning his own child to the kind of life Adaline must have lived? Condemning some poor fool to the kind of betrayal he had experienced?

He could take Melody from Adaline, citing her immoral conduct as a reason. The legal ground would be shaky, but he had no doubt he could succeed. Wealthy dukes had few limits. But was it the right thing to do?

No child deserved to lose a loving, even if unfit, . Felix did not remember his own mother, but he had seen his sister-in-law Dorcas with his nephew Stephen and her new baby. The impersonal attention of servants was no replacement for maternal affection.

No matter how far he walked, he could not make up his mind. “Felix, you need more facts,” he decided, as he made his way back towards the house. “Talk to Mrs. Stillwater. Talk to others who know Adaline. Talk to Adaline herself, as distasteful as that may be, to Melody. You are no longer a cub, still wet behind the ears. You won’t be taken in again.”

Felix was not altogether confident about the last point. Even with everything he knew about her, he still felt the tug in Adaline’s direction. But he was a man in his thirties, a respected peer, and a gentleman. He could trust himself to resist Adaline’s wiles and to do the right thing.

Couldn’t he?