Theodosia King sat in the elegantly appointed drawing room of the Duchess of Haverford’s residence, her teacup hovering just shy of her lips. The warm fragrance of honeyed tea filled the room, mingling with the scent of freshly cut roses. Her mother, the Marchioness of Kingsley, sat to her right, chatting animatedly with the Duchess about her latest scheme—something Theodosia fervently wished would be forgotten before the next scone was served.

“I do believe, my dear Marchioness, that blind matchups could be the very thing to enliven the next social season,” the Duchess of Haverford declared with a twinkle in her eye. She was a woman who rarely missed an opportunity to create a stir, and her enthusiasm was matched only by the Marchioness’s own.

“Precisely!” Lady Kingsley agreed, nodding with such vigor that her ostrich feather hat threatened to topple. “Imagine the thrill of it! Young people meeting in a carefully orchestrated manner, none the wiser until they’re already smitten. Why, it’s positively Shakespearean!”

Theodosia, who had been eyeing the delicate sugar biscuits with mild interest, set her cup down with a soft clink. “Positively disastrous, more like,” she muttered under her breath, though it was just loud enough for both women to hear. Just ask her. She had been the one to sit through her mother’s “blind matchups.”

The Duchess raised an amused brow. “Oh, come now, Theodosia. Don’t be such a cynic. Blind matchups are an adventure. Your mother is quite the genius. One must embrace the unknown!”

“The unknown is precisely the problem, Your Grace,” Theodosia countered, crossing her arms. “The last time Mother arranged one of these dreadful encounters, Lord Chance nearly drenched our sofa in sweat. Utterly unpleasant. No lady should have to sit through that.”

Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Not all of them were that bad.”

“I beg to differ,” Theodosia replied dryly. “They were all equally bothersome.”

The Duchess laughed. “But that’s the beauty of it, my dear. Blind matchups are a delightful gamble. One might endure a few dullards, but then—who knows? You might stumble upon a gem.”

“Precisely!” Lady Kingsley exclaimed. “We should set up some matchups for Seth.”

“Seth? He would loathe being thrust into such an ordeal,” Theodosia said. On the other hand, perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea?

“Oh, I think Seth could do with a bit of excitement,” the Marchioness mused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s always so serious, locked away with his books and estate ledgers. A blind matchup might just be the thing for him to live a little.”

Or push him over the edge. Seth King despised anything remotely frivolous. Theodosia smiled. “You might be right, Mother. It’s only right that siblings share in joy and despair, is it not?”

“How delightful!” the Duchess declared, her tone brooking no argument. “The poor boy has been buried under responsibilities for far too long. A bit of romantic intrigue could do wonders, and it just so happens I have a few candidates in mind.”

Theodosia happily picked up her tea again, listening to the Duchess of Haverford and her mother conspire.

Ton beware!

A Little Bit of Hellion

By Tanya Wilde

What’s a lady to do when the man she thought was so utterly wrong turns out to be a hellion so very right?

Lady Theodosia King has had enough. Enough of her mother’s relentless matchmaking, enough of fortune hunters circling like vultures, and enough of the Earl of Saville clinging to her shadow under the guise of righting a wrong. Determined to escape the madness, she decides to pack her bags and retreat to Brighton for the remainder of the season. But she never expected a certain earl to follow her . . .

Field Savage, the Earl of Saville, has made his share of mistakes—none more torturous than his involvement in an infamous heiress list that found its way into White’s betting book, causing chaos in London. Every attempt to correct his errors only seems to worsen them. So, when he learns that the bane of his existence has fled London, he’s determined to let her go—after getting answers to a few burning questions.

Their plans go horribly awry when, shortly after Field catches up with Theodosia, they are set upon by highwaymen and left penniless on the side of the road.

Can they overcome their differences long enough to find help, or will their decisions lead them further down a path of mischief and mayhem? And perhaps even love?

Purchase link: https://www.amazon.com/Little-Bit-Hellion-Regency-Historical-ebook/dp/B0DC1859F1

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Except:

Theodosia King, daughter of the late Marquess of Kingsley, stared at the man before her and studied the pearls of sweat that dotted the line of his brow, one drop trickling down the side of his cheek. The man’s nervous laughter as he dabbed his handkerchief along his face reminded her of a timorous actor who forgot his lines in a Shakespearean play.

The Earl of Saville was to blame for this. Her once unperturbed life was in shambles.

Because of him.

And his friends, it must be said, but most of all him. He was the reason her mother had started hosting what she disturbingly called “blind matchups.” Every morning—unless she escaped before her mother seized hold of her—she would be stationed in the blue drawing room while her mother and Aunt Rose, her father’s only sister, selected King-approved suitors from the receiving room, allowing them each fifteen minutes in which the men could display their peacock feathers and do a little social dance in the hope of attracting her interest—chaperoned by her trusted maid, Nancy, of course.

She loathed every second of every matchup.

She resented her mother’s strange mind.

And she hated the Earl of Saville.

Most especially today.

Even if the earl hadn’t been directly responsible for these matchups, he’d still poked at the sorest of the sore spots when he’d claimed, on that horrid heiress list, that she had Satan’s eyes. To make matters even more dreadful, he and his friends had given the whole of White’s good entertainment when they lost the list and it found its way into the betting book of White’s. The result had been predictable. Wagers spilled over the book’s pages, drawing out all sorts of wretched creatures to her drawing room.

All in all, an unpleasant reminder of her place in the world. She hadn’t liked the Earl of Saville to begin with. Not since the first time they had been introduced in her first season, and he’d visibly flinched when their eyes met. The man was arrogant, pompous, and rude. Then there was what he, they believed to be her biggest flaw . . .

Theodosia had thought she’d gotten over the incident from her childhood, but that man had brought everything back to the surface with that one comment. Reminding her—no, taunting her—that she could never escape the judgment of others. What was it that her governess had once said?

Ah, yes.

How unfortunate. With eyes like that, you must be cursed, girl. Best lower your gaze when suitors come calling one day.

Theodosia inwardly scoffed. In truth, she couldn’t quite recall the woman’s exact wording, but it had been something to that effect. Lower her gaze, she’d been advised.

What nonsense. It had never been in Theodosia’s nature to lower her gaze. Instead, she made a point to look a man dead in the eyes—like she had done with the Earl of Saville—and their discomfort be damned.

The result? Nine times out of ten brought about the flustering, sweaty mess before her. Lord Chance. Would that this had been the only count against him.

He’d also been late. How long did it take to walk from one drawing room to another? In his case, an entire cup of tea. That had been the first count against him.

The second point against him had come in the form of kissing the back of her hand upon their greeting. His mouth hovered not one, not two, but three moments too long. Must the man cling to her hand?

“Do you like tea, Lady Theodosia?”

Ah, small chatter. Smallest of the small. Irrelevant. Unnecessary. A waste of her breath. Another mark against.

What sort of question was that anyway? Did she like tea? Would she be drinking tea if she did not like it? Does anyone in England not like tea? She didn’t bother to answer, merely took a sip from her cup in response.

A small but purposeful belch slipped from her lips, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing when his eyes widened. “Oh, my apologies. The gasses in my body oftentimes demand release in the most inconvenient moments.”

He stared at her without blinking.

She tilted her head back, matching his stare.

“You . . . that . . .” He cleared his throat. “Inconvenient gasses should be left for more convenient settings.”

Is that so?

And this was the man Mama selected as a possible match. She loved her mother, but she sometimes wondered if the marchioness had any sense in her head. Her mother ought to have been able to tell with one glance this man would never do. He even wore the colors of a peacock. A green waistcoat adorned with a striking blue tailcoat.

Theodosia considered the man across from her, deciding to conclude this meeting ahead of the fifteen-minute mark. “Do you wish to marry me, my lord?”

Lord Chance sputtered on air. A true feat. “M-Marriage? N-no, I wouldn’t say that. I mean that is too early to speak of such m-matters.”

“Why is it too early to speak of such matters?” Theodosia arched a not-so-subtle brow. “You are calling on me, are you not? If you do not know if you wish to marry me because it’s still too early to decide, may I then help facilitate this decision?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Chance.” She set her cup down and leaned forward in her seat. “Would you enjoy a wife who is outspoken, stubborn to the bone, has a temper, hates dancing, loves bickering, and has no problem when it comes to insulting the opposite sex?”

His eyes had turned to saucers that grew with each trait she listed. By the time she said “loves bickering,” the man had already jumped to his feet. “Quite right, quite right. I cannot see myself with such a . . . such an unconventional wife.”

Theodosia dipped her head. A resolute nod meant to encourage him to scamper away. She fell back onto the divan even before he’d cleared the room, shooting him a sweet smile when he glanced over his shoulder before hurrying off. How many more? She’d already entertained five lords today.

Five!

Her mother breezed into the room. “What did you say to that poor man? He rushed out of the house as though the devil was on his heels.”

Theodosia gave her mother a deadpan look. “Perhaps the devil was on his heels.”