The Duchess of Haverford, renowned for her progressive views and enlightened mindset, epitomizes a refreshing departure from society’s expectations. Unlike many of her peers who cling to rigid social positions, she possesses the ability to discern a person’s true worth beyond their title or wealth. Growing up, she was undoubtedly a spirited child, characterized by her openness to embrace people from all walks of life.
Recently, the Duchess found herself in Sommer-by-the-Sea at the Rostov Tearoom, a cozy place with a quiet atmosphere—a welcome relief from the hubbub of London. There, she had the pleasure of seeing her dear friends, the distinguished writer Lady Alicia Hartley and Lady Patricia Edgemont, the unfortunate widow of Lord Edgemont. Tea was lovely, and before she left, the Duchess insisted that Lady Edgemont visit her when she was in London. By the following year, the lady was no longer Lady Edgemont.
The duchess received Princess Patricia Montgomery Edgemont Baranov and her husband, Prince Nikolai Baranov at her home in London. As Nikolai was the son of Grand Duke Anton Stephanovich Baranov from the esteemed House of Breuce, Prince and Princess Baranov’s arrival was a celebrated event.
“More tea?” Her Grace asked holding the pot in her hand.
“You can warm mine.” Nikolai smiled and lifted his cup.
“Your Highness—” the duchess said to Princess Baranov while she freshened the prince’s cup.
“Please, Your Grace. That sounds much too formal for friends,” Patricia began. “Patricia is fine.”
“And Nikolai for me, if you please.” He dropped a cube of sugar into his cup.
“Very well, please call me Eleanor.” She put the teapot down. “Now that that’s all settled, you must tell me about your adventure, or is it a national secret?”
The three laughed, but Nikolai and Patricia gave each other a meaningful look over their teacups. When Patricia thought about the last year, it was hard to believe what had happened.
Nikolai, ever her gallant protector, gave a nod. It was all right to tell the tale.
“You knew Edgemont, Eleanor. He was a quiet man, into his puzzles. I had known him since we were children. His passion for word puzzles fascinated me. We tested each other all the time.” Patricia sipped her tea, put her cup down, and settled back.
“I remember him as a quiet young man, cordial and pleasant but distant. I was surprised when your wedding to him was announced.”
“Benedict and I were good friends.” Patricia glanced at Nikolai. His warm smile encouraged her to go on. “But that was all we were. The idea of marriage… Well, there was no attraction on my part. However, my father thought otherwise.”
“It was a lovely affair,” Eleanor offered. “You did a good job of hiding your feelings. I don’t think many people knew the truth behind your marriage.”
Patricia let out a deep breath. “Yes, I did my wifely duties. I showed him the respect he deserved. I made no demands. I gave him no reason for concern. But when I was told he was found dead in his mistress’ boudoir, I was devasted and angry.” She leaned forward and caught Eleanor’s gaze. “He betrayed me.”
Eleanor reached over and covered Patricia’s hand with her own. “You needn’t go on. I don’t want to be intrusive, bring up unpleasant memories.”
“I was wrong. Benedict hadn’t betrayed me at all,” Patricia said. “Many people thought Benedict had been unfaithful.” She turned toward Nikolai.
“My friend, Benedict, was a good man. A loving man,” Nikolai said. “We worked together for our governments. There is much I cannot tell you.” He looked at his wife. “I can tell you that Patricia is a courageous woman.”
Eleanor preened. She knew Patricia’s attributes and loved her for them.
“It was her closeness to Benedict, even though she didn’t love him. He trusted her like no one else. He left her one last puzzle to solve.”
Patricia took his hand.
“She was the only one who could solve it. She saved us all.”
Their conversation continued for another hour or so until Nikolai glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”
Eleanor stood. “I’m glad you found each other. Your story is a great adventure. I am honored and want to thank you for sharing so much with me.”
Eleanor walked her guests to the door. “The lesson I learned from your story is a very profound one. Life’s most rewarding ‘game’ is not one of succumbing to society’s expectations or revenge but rather the ‘game’ of finding and cherishing true love. It’s a tale of letting go of the past and embracing the possibility of a shared future that fulfills the heart’s deepest desires.”
She hugged Patrcia and even Nikolai. “Please, you must visit me again.”
The Lady and the Spy
With each encounter her heartbeat quickened.
With each encounter, his need for her grew stronger.
“…a strong plot brims with tension building twist, with setting descriptions and action sequences are wonderfully vivid which brings this read together perfectly and will keep you on the edge of your seat from the moment you begin the journey with Lady Patrice and Nikolai Baranov until the very end.”
~ Goodreads, 5 Stars
Lady Patrice Montgomery Edgemont always did what was expected of her and look where that got her: married off by her father to her childhood friend, a loveless relationship. Her father tried again but walked away from prospective husband number two just in time, which quickly made him a distant memory. Lady Patrice is not playing games. She is through with men.
Nikolai Baranov is the son of a Russian grand duke and spy for Tzar Alexander I. When his father and associates are killed, Nikolai doesn’t play games. The only thing worth winning is revenge for his family.
But both are caught up in a game neither anticipated but have dreamt of for some time. Can they reconcile the past? Can they both win their heart’s desire… each other.
Buy Link: Amazon Kindle Unlimited
Chapter One
February 14, 1815
Sommer-by-the-Sea
Lady Patrice Montgomery Edgemont, the young widow of the late Lord Benedict Edgemont, 3rd Earl of Gosforth, entered The Rostov Tearoom. She was home in Sommer-by-the-Sea permanently. Her extended stay in London was a distant memory, and she had every intention to keep it that way.
She stomped her feet to remove the slush from her boots and brushed the snow from her primrose yellow pelisse. After wearing black for ten months, she swore she’d never wear the color again.
This snowstorm was as unexpected as her early return. She shouldn’t have left, but in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness, her mother won the day.
“You’ll stay in London with your father and me. You shouldn’t be alone mourning your loving husband.”
Loving husband. That sounded well and good, but she felt no need to mourn over something that didn’t exist.
A year and a day. Really? Two weeks’ mourning was more than enough. But after several arguments, Patrice relented. She closed her country home, The Mooring, in Sommer-by-the-Sea with plans to reopen it in April when her year and one day was over. But that didn’t suit her mother either.
“One doesn’t rusticate in the country until the end of the Season, in June.” As if she didn’t know. Like a relentless woodpecker, Lady Montgomery nagged, jabbed, and stabbed away until Patrice threw her hands in the air and gave in. She’d return north the first of July.
But after last week’s final indignity she refused to stay in London a moment longer. Without a word to anyone, she packed herself up and with her lady’s maid, Jean, returned to Sommer-by-the-Sea. A year and a day. The end of the Season be damned.
She arrived two days ago with her bags in hand at Marianna Ravencroft’s doorstep to a surprised but warm welcome.
The coach ride had been brutal, but the shock on Anna’s face when she entered the parlor was priceless. Anna quickly rallied. It didn’t take long before they were once again sharing a room as they had at Mrs. Bainbridge’s Sommer-by-the-Sea Female Seminary.
Removing the last of the snow from her boots, Patrice soaked up the familiar tearoom that bustled with activity. After staring at the drab furnishings at Montgomery Hall, she thrilled at seeing the painted blue walls with blue damask wallpaper insets in white wainscot panels. She looked across the neat rows of tables, each dressed in a crisp white linen cloth with a lace overlay. Small vases filled with a bouquet of red quince, winter heather, and white snowdrops added a soft and bright finishing touch to the room.
Patrice took a deep breath and enjoyed the grassy aroma of green tea and the astringent scent of the black variety along with the mouth-watering fragrance of warm bread, and sweet scones. The turmoil of the last year slid away. She felt lighter, her spirits brighter. Restored.
The server passed with a tureen of soup. The savory fragrance of the tearoom’s signature mushroom barley soup stirred memories best left buried deep in the St. Petersburg snow. She blinked and quickly squashed the budding images before they could develop.
As bundled as she was, a chill crossed her shoulders and up her neck. It was an uneasy, unnerving, under-scrutiny feeling. A warning voice went off in her head, someone was watching. She glanced to her right. Tatiana Chernokov, proprietress of the tearoom, was actively engaged in a discussion with a gentleman.
Gentleman may have been an overstatement. A further glance had Patrice appalled that Tanya allowed the man into the tearoom and had not directed him to the kitchen door. She was a kind soul, and well thought of by the ton. This man could be her downfall.
Tanya’s back was to her. The man faced Patrice and stared at her intently.
She took a better look. While his appearance was more “vagabond” than “gentleman,” it was his clothes that appeared out of place, not the man. From his loose black trousers, snug white shirt, fitted brown waistcoat, to his broad-brimmed gray hat, it was clear to her he wore the wrong costume.
He had a rugged look with a full beard, and long, curly hair pulled back in a romantic, wild way. But his fixed gaze held her captive. His compelling eyes were summer-sky blue and oddly familiar. Could she have met him before?
He smiled and tilted his head in an arrogant yet elegant nod. Her heart jumped in her chest. The excitement had her heart racing.
Tanya turned, a surprised expression on her face, and gave Patrice a wave. She nodded, leaving Tanya and the man to figure out which of them she acknowledged. Even she wasn’t certain.
She did have to admit the man was appealing.
Her mother would have a convulsion if she had a hint of her daughter’s thoughts. She bit her cheek to stifle her smile. Poor Mother would never understand attraction. Position, title, assets, and gossip were the things that drove her.
Patrice glanced around the room and found her friends seated at a back table. They were a close group of graduates from Mrs. Bainbridge’s who met weekly, either at the tearoom or the seminary’s salon.
As she made her way to her friends, she tried to figure out where she had encountered the man. Nothing came to mind. It was useless at the moment. She would remember sooner or later.
Patrice didn’t know if she was annoyed or pleased that the only empty chair faced Tanya and the man. She avoided looking at him and chatted with her friends. When she did look up, she was once again caught in his snare. The audacity. God’s toes, was she destined to be attracted to a rake in any clothing? It had certainly proved to be her pattern of late.
She dragged her glance away and immediately felt a void, an emptiness. Ridiculous. What was she, some naïve schoolgirl whose head could be easily turned? And by whom? She placed her reticule on her lap all the while schooling herself not to look at the doorway.
“Welcome home.” Hattie grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I was taken aback when Anna told us you had returned. We didn’t expect you until July.”
Effie placed a scone on Patrice’s plate and took one for herself. “Is it true you’re home to stay?”
“I enjoyed being here for the Harvest Festival in November. I missed you all terribly and I am past the stage of residing in my parents’ home.”
“I was surprised you went to stay with your parents.” Effie poured Patrice a cup of hot tea. “Your London address is a perfectly grand home.”
Anna nudged Patrice. “Who are you staring at?”
Patrice gave Anna a shocked glare while Hattie and Effie glanced toward the doorway.
“Who is he?” Effie’s voice was soft, almost playful, her tone conspiratorial.
God’s big toe. She was staring at him, again. Something in the back of her mind kept poking her. She couldn’t fit the man with a place. She casually turned toward her friends.
“You’ll have to ask Tanya. He does appear familiar, but I can’t place him. He must remind me of someone. But I have no idea who.” Had she seen him in passing somewhere along her journey? The road, the inn, someplace? Patrice placed the linen serviette on her lap, her mind not letting go of the puzzle.
“What were they saying? You were standing next to them.” Effie picked up a scone and slathered it with raspberry jam.
“Effie.” Patrice sounded indignant, but her mood quickly cooled. “My Russian is rusty. I didn’t get much past ‘What are you doing here?’ They spoke too quickly for me.”
“You can ask Tanya, if you dare.” Something flicked across Hattie’s face. “I love Tanya, but she’s like my mother. She and my grandmother speak German when they don’t want any of us to understand what they’re saying. Including my father.”
“You know your father speaks fluent German.” Patrice glanced at the ceiling with a someone-give-me-strength look. “So does everyone else in your family.”
“You know that, and I know that, but Mother? No.” Hattie could hardly keep the laughter out of her voice. “I asked her once and she proudly told me that father has many talents, but speaking a foreign language was not one of them. Which made me laugh. And yes, Father taught my sister and me German, with instructions never to tell Mother.”
“So much for your mother’s private talks.” Patrice lifted her teacup in a salute.
“That’s all very enlightening. But that’s not what I want to talk about.” Hattie’s expression went serious. “We said little when you were home in November, but we’ve all been concerned about you since…”
Patrice leaned toward Hattie and covered her friend’s hand with her own. “Edgemont’s passing was difficult to bear. Thank you, and I say that with all my heart. Your letters kept me sane at a time when madness surrounded me. The ton can be so cruel.” Even she heard the sneer in her voice.
“I never thought the gossip or scandal sheets were harmful, simply entertaining.” Hattie’s declaration didn’t surprise Patrice. She would have agreed if she wasn’t their target.
“Of course you wouldn’t. Their so-called polite conversations are verbal duels, fencing matches. I refuse to thrust and parry for groups of spectators. I prefer an intimate dagger attack. Swift, clean, and done.”
Patrice’s thoughts randomly jumped to last year’s trip to St. Petersburg. She’d been pleasantly surprised when she and her husband traveled with Ambassador Cathcart to St. Petersburg. Had it been only ten months since that voyage? It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Edgemont’s intentions for an evening with her alone may have been well-intentioned, but as pleasant, witty, and likeable as her husband was, he couldn’t keep a promise, at least not to her.
Her husband’s pained expression when he was called to a meeting was little consolation. Intellectually, she understood business came first. Emotionally, it was disappointing. Graciously, Prince Baranov came to the rescue and played her escort to the ballet and dinner.
How odd. She hadn’t thought of that evening with the prince in some time.
