A note from Abbi…
Just as the title isn’t your typical Regency Romance title, neither is this story. When I decided to write a historical romance, I had a lot of questions. However, three things I knew without a doubt:
1. This would be set in Regency London. I have a love/obsession with England and its history. I have for as long as I can remember. Did this help me with my writing? Not really. I found that I averaged at least an hour of research a day while writing this. Simple things like “When were mirrors invented?” or better yet “What year did England start having afternoon tea?” and then there was “Did they have ice in London in the early 1800’s” possibly my favorite “When was glitter invented?”
2. I would write it in first person. I have been reading historical romance novels since I was fifteen years old and picked up “Whitney, My Love” by Judith McNaught in the library. I could not read enough of them after that book. So, I know full well they are written in third person. At least every historical romance novel I have ever read has been third person. I am a first person writer so I knew that I would write this book in first person. I wouldn’t change that.
3. The writing would still sound like me. I never went into this intending to sound as eloquent as Jane Austen. I knew no amount of research was going to keep me from making mistakes in my dialect. It was just going to happen y’all. Facts remain- I’m from Alabama no matter how badly I wish I had been born British. This is a new world for me as far as writing goes. However, I will tell you, I enjoyed the hell out of it! I fell in love with the characters and I hope you do too.
GLITTER
by Abbi Glines
Dedication
To Emerson- you, my wild- intelligent- headstrong- sweet girl, are Emma.
With each movement, be it a full turn or slight move of hand, Miriam knew she was being watched closely. The smile she kept on her lips wasn’t easy and she had no doubt that her dance partner noticed the less than genuine expression she was trying hard to keep in place. This was it, tonight would be the last night she attended a ball as simply Miss Miriam Bathurst. There was no more time to decide. Her decision had been made.
Miriam felt her body stiffen as she moved in the arms of the man she had agreed to marry this morning in her aunt’s rose garden. He, however, wasn’t who she loved, and she wished desperately that he was. She did not have forever to wait for the man she had thought might love her to make up his mind. Her mother and sister needed her to marry. Glancing up into beautiful green eyes, her smile became genuine, even if it was sad.
Tonight would be the last time she was given this freedom to enjoy his friendship and the simplicity of his company. So much would change and she hoped it didn’t destroy them all. For after she became his wife, the man her traitorous heart loved, would hate her. That was a pain far worse than any she could comprehend. Yet, she knew she would never have been his choice. He had made that clear with his failure to choose.
Six months earlier…
Miriam Bathurst – age eighteen years and one month
One would believe that being given the chance to go to London and be thrown into the marriage mart, with fancy gowns and a pretty face being all you truly needed, was the most brilliant moment in a girl’s life. At least, if they were listening to my mother speak of it. If one cared to hear my opinion, which they obviously did not, then they’d get a different description. I didn’t care for all the silliness a season in London promised. Who wanted to be squeezed into ball gowns that were terribly heavy and uncomfortable, added to the weight of the hair piled high on top one’s head and laced with pearls, flowers and the like? It all sounded dreadful in a way that I would very much like to miss every last aspect of it.
“Just to dance among all the loveliness would be truly magical. Can you imagine the way they all shine and glimmer?” my twelve-year-old sister Whitney said in her dreamiest of voices. The guilt came as it always did. A reminder that what I wanted nothing to do with was the one thing Whitney wanted so desperately, yet would never experience. The limp that remained to this day, after a dreadful fall from her horse when she was nine years old, would keep her from dancing in a ballroom. She would never have a dance card on her delicate wrist filled with men who wished to spend a moment in her presence. She would never be seen for the true beauty she was, unless I changed it all. Me, it was all up to me to ensure my sister had the life she dreamed of and I’d do anything for her. Even sacrifice my own.
I placed a smile on my face before turning to look at her. She was sitting on the settee in the bedroom we shared, watching as I packed my things. Since the death of our father last year, our world had abruptly changed. Mostly due to the fact my father was a gambler and left us in debt. Along with no more servants, we also had no silver in the house. Mother had sold all she could find of value to keep us fed and pay off my father’s debts. I didn’t mind the simpler way of life. In truth, I embraced it. Less fuss and worry over dressing. No formalities at dinner. It was an unexpected ease that I felt we were lucky to experience. I didn’t mind fetching my own breakfast and serving my mother and sister the meals I managed to prepare. Although I had many failures in the kitchen thus far, I had become adequate at making a proper pot of tea.
London would not be so easy.
“You’re going to turn London on its ear, Miriam,” my sister said with excitement in her voice. “I so wish I could watch it all unfold.”
The wistfulness held a touch of sadness and I wanted nothing more than for Whitney to have all she wanted. I’d often felt the need to scold God for letting it be Whitney that was left with a limp and not me. For I would be quite happy living a life alone in the country, writing novels and enjoying the solitude. I wasn’t fond of people in general. It was as simple as that. They annoyed me with their behavior. I preferred truths and I had found very few who spoke the truth. Most only worried over how they appeared to others. All but Whitney. She was a perfect creation, if there ever was one: selfless, kind, intelligent, hopeful. Her presence lit up a room. I’d yet to meet another person like her. She was the true gem in this family and I would make sure she had her moment to shine.
I had none of her qualities; my mother would agree with me. She often scolded me for my sass and rude behavior. I loved our mother, but she wanted things for me that I didn’t want for myself. It caused great strife between us with every year that passed. Once I yearned to have Mother look at me with the same love she did my sister, but over the years, I realized whereas Whitney was easy to love, I was not.
Whitney’s sweet voice was the one thing that kept me in check when Mother started in on me about my manners and behavior. I didn’t want to let Whitney down. It might seem inconsequential to others, but they hadn’t lived in our home nor did they understand this family and all we’d been through. Our father had not been happy with either of his daughters. He’d wanted a son.
He had gotten his wish when I was born, for I was a twin. However, my brother didn’t live but for a few days. More than once in my life, I heard my father say he wished it had been me that died. It had left me damaged in a way I dare not admit to anyone. I often wondered if my father had loved me, would I have turned out more like Whitney. He had simply ignored her, but at least she’d never been on the receiving end of his harsh tongue. Her gentle nature made it impossible to find fault in her behavior. It made it easier for me to accept when our mother showed my sister the affection I knew she required. Whitney wasn’t thick-skinned like I was and she would never survive being the unwanted disappointment.
“I am sure Uncle Alfred will agree to sending for you. I will ask that of him on my arrival. I can’t bear the thought of us being apart.”
Whitney beamed up at me and her smile truly was remarkable. If I wanted to be beautiful, I’d wish for her enchanting smile. I, however, did not care how I looked. My face held only one purpose now and that was to find a wealthy husband so that my sister and my mother were taken care of properly. Uncle Alfred had agreed to step in and help them, but not like I wanted them helped. At least not Whitney. I had spent hours poring over medical journals in my father’s library and I knew that there were procedures that could help, if not completely mend, my sister’s limp. Then all those dreams she had could come true. Whitney’s face was one of fairy tales. She belonged in the beautiful gowns and to be dancing in the light that she believed glistened with whimsy.
If it was up to me to give her that, then I would do it. I would stand in the way of a bullet for my sister and at times, I felt this was one in the same. The bullet may possibly be more appealing. I did not feel as if I would ever fit the part I must now play. Turning back to my clothing, I hid my scowl at the idea of dealing with a man. I wasn’t fond of men. My father had shown me the cruelty of the opposite sex. I preferred to stay buried in my books or with my quill in hand, writing stories of women who were brave and resourceful.
“Oh, do you think he will? Truly?” Whitney asked as I folded another item and placed it in my open trunk. I had never packed my things before and I wasn’t sure this was the proper way, but I was working from memory from the few times I’d seen Anna, my former lady’s maid, do it for me. I did so miss Anna. She had been an excellent listener. I hoped she had found a good home that would treat her well. Mother assured me that she had made sure all the servants had found new places of work, but I was never sure how much to believe when it came to my mother. I’d often caught her in an untruth.
“Yes, I am sure of it. Uncle Alfred is a kind man from all I have been told. Mother respects him greatly.”
“Do you know anything of Aunt Harriet? Mother says she’s American.” Whitney said ‘American’ as if someone from America would be exotic. I smiled imagining a much different reality. I had read many books set in America and I knew she would not be exotic at all.
“Mother has only met her once and has told me little about her,” I replied honestly, but left out the distasteful look on Mother’s face when she told me that Uncle Alfred would be providing me with a proper English lady to aid in my introduction into society. It was clear that Mother did not approve of her brother’s choice in a wife. This, of course, meant I was likely to appreciate Aunt Harriet immensely.
“This room will be so lonely without you.” Whitney’s tone had changed. The melancholy pitch made my heart ache for her and for me. I didn’t want to leave her. She was the only human on earth I truly loved. I placed one of the few nicer day gowns I had left on the bed and turned to look back at her.
“I will miss you terribly and I promise as soon as I can bring you to London, I will. I am doing this for you too. Not just for Mother. I want you to have all the happiness in the world. I love you.” I didn’t say those three words enough and neither of our parents ever spoke them. From the moment Mother had brought Whitney to meet me all wrapped up in a soft yellow blanket, I had known what love truly was. Even at the tender age of seven years, I’d known I would do anything for her and protect her at all cost.
“Oh, don’t look so melancholy. I shouldn’t have said that. I just want you to know how dearly you will be missed.” Whitney forced a smile I could easily see she didn’t feel at all.
“I will be sad every day until the moment I see you again. I promise to write letters of all the beautiful people, the busy streets, the gossip I will most definitely hear,” I told her, trying to brighten her spirits.
“And the beautiful ball gowns! I need to know all about how they sparkle and shine. Do tell me every detail of Grosvenor Square,” she reminded me.
“Yes, most definitely. I will describe every small detail,” I promised, although I hoped I saw it the way she would. I couldn’t be sure I’d notice the glamour she dreamed of at all. My views on the marriage mart were sorely different than hers.
Chapter One
Miriam Bathurst
Without even a knock to prepare me, the door to the bedroom I’d been given at my uncle’s home on 18 Mayfair Street swung open and my aunt Harriet came barreling into the room, carrying a gown the color of the bluest sky and grinning so brightly her gums were on display above her teeth. She smiled that way often. I now prepared myself for those wide tooth grins, knowing that something was about to be announced in her loud, strange American accent. She always spoke as if I were in the other room. I wondered if it was because I struggled with her accent and many of the words she used. Unlike the Americans I had read of in books, my aunt was not from those areas. My uncle had made his fortune in the transport of whiskey, tobacco and cotton in New Orleans, Louisiana, and he had met my aunt there. It hadn’t taken me but a moment to realize not all Americans were alike. They were indeed very diverse.
“It’s here, honey, and it’s a beauty!” she proclaimed as she laid the gown out at the foot of my bed. “I said something fit for a princess and the dressmaker delivered,” she paused, “Oh what is her name? It’s French, that I do recall.” Aunt Harriet began to bite her lower lip, which was a habit of hers as was talking too loudly as if I had a hearing impediment.
“Marguerite Badeaux,” I offered, although I knew Aunt Harriet wouldn’t remember it the next time either. She often forgot names amongst other things. Just yesterday, she was looking for her slippers that she’d taken off, as she often did, and the entire time she had been carrying both of them in her left hand.
“Yes, yes, well, she has done just as I asked. Look at this will you.” She waved her hand at the gown on my bed and sighed as she placed both her hands on her chest dramatically. “You will be a vision. Even more stunning than your introduction to the queen and you were a true star then. The way she so obviously approved of you, but then who wouldn’t? You have the face of an angel. I didn’t think it possible another dress could outshine that one, but this one has and oh how thrilling. You’ll be married before we can even blink!”
The gown was everything Whitney would love. Aunt Harriet was correct in that it was remarkable. I dreaded tonight so fiercely that I couldn’t even appreciate its stunning qualities. I had been in London for almost two months, preparing for the season to truly begin. However, it had been more intriguing than I had expected, for Uncle Alfred had not provided me with a proper English chaperon like my mother had said he would do. Instead, he had left me in the hands of Aunt Harriet and that, in itself, had been entertaining. She knew nothing of the ton’s rules and restrictions. Her mishaps and odd behavior brought a smile on my gloomiest of days. I’d been enjoying myself here more than I had ever thought possible.
I was sure my letters about my outings with Aunt Harriet had amused Whitney to no end. I could almost hear her musical laughter as she read my penned descriptions of my days spent at 18 Mayfair. I missed her terribly and hoped soon she would be sent for a visit. Mother was too concerned about my introduction into society that she didn’t want Whitney here this soon to distract me. I was already distracted with what was expected of me. Even with the daily entertainment provided by Aunt Harriet, I did so miss my home.
“I’ll send Betsey up to you shortly. Your hair is always glamourous, but I believe, given the time, Betsey can place it so that even a crown would pale in comparison.”
I doubted my aunt’s fanciful belief, but it was no hardship to sit for Betsey and let her do what she would with my hair. I had wanted to trim it for so long, but mother refused. The heaviness of my auburn locks often caused my head to ache. However, mother seemed to believe it was one of my finest attributes. I disagreed, but my opinion was of no value, it would seem.
“Thank you, Aunt Harriet,” I replied simply. For I was thankful. For many things. I was thankful that she wasn’t an uptight bore. I was thankful she was happy with the fact my uncle had dumped me on her to marry off. I was thankful that if I behaved properly, I’d have a good chance at giving my sister a better life.
“I can’t help but notice that you aren’t happy about all of this,” Aunt Harriet said with a small frown on her lips. She rarely frowned. I felt guilty to have caused my ever-chipper aunt to frown.
“I am thankful,” I said, because I couldn’t describe myself as happy and mean it. “I miss my sister,” I admitted. “But I am grateful that Uncle Alfred and you have given me this opportunity. I want nothing more than to make sure Whitney is properly taken care of.”
My aunt continued to frown. “What about you, honey? You always mention your sister’s happiness and that’s a very commendable attribute but what of your own happiness? Do you not want to enjoy the London season and be the bell of the ball? Are there no dreams of your future that you think about? All girls have dreams. I was once a girl too, you know. I do remember all my dreams.”
I had dreams. Dreams that would not be because they couldn’t be. I knew if I told Aunt Harriet these dreams, she’d understand and not look down at me for them. But they were my dreams, my secrets, and I wanted to keep them that way.
“Finding a husband who will be kind to me and my family is my dream,” I lied. That was why I was here. It was my duty, but it was not my dream.
Aunt Harriet sighed and walked over to pat my shoulder, as if she must console me. “Perhaps one day you’ll realize I’m a good listener. I have several younger sisters, you know. I’m more wise than I appear.” She then turned and with a swoosh of her skirts, she walked out of the room. Before the door closed behind her, she called out much too loudly, “Betsey!”
I winced at her shrill voice and then I had to cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. The stories I would send back to Whitney after tonight’s ball would be colorful indeed. Aunt Harriet would steal the show without meaning to. I wondered if she would shout at everyone she spoke to… I truly hoped she would. That would entertain me for a fortnight, at least.
Standing, I walked over to the blue gown. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever owned. When I was younger, much younger than Whitney, I too had dreamed of wearing a gown such as this. I’d never seen so much silk. I touched it briefly and smiled. Whitney would truly love this gown. I would describe it for her perfectly in my next letter.
There was a very small part of me who wanted to hope for something more than just a marriage of convenience. My parents hadn’t been a love match by any means. I hadn’t believed that was part of a marriage until now. My uncle truly adored his wife and she very nearly worshiped him. They were refreshing to watch and I feared the more I was around them, the more I’d wish silently for a match like theirs. The idea was unrealistic and I had no time to waste with such a whimsical idea of falling in love. What did I know of love? Very little indeed.
Turning my attention elsewhere was for the best, as not to let vanity take hold of any of my thoughts. The street outside my window was busy as usual. I often watched the people as they strolled by in their day gowns, wanting to be seen. This was all so different from my home in the country. We rarely had company and the need to outshine others wasn’t understood. At home, I had found myself in the kitchen most days, attempting to cook food that was edible or washing bedding. We all had taken up household tasks since father had passed away. Whereas my mother often complained and sighed in weariness from the work, it had made me feel useful. There had been a purpose to it all that I greatly enjoyed.
I saw nothing useful about the activity on the street below. The people out there had no worries in the world, except what they were wearing to the next ball or reading whatever gossip paper they could find. Sinking down on the window seat, I sighed once more because that was what would become of me too. My future sounded very boring. Even I couldn’t write myself out of this if I wanted to.
Chapter Two
The Earl of Ashington
The last time I poured a glass of brandy before noon had been the day I removed my stepmother from this house. That had been for celebration purposes as well as preparation for when my brother would return from Paris irate with me. Today, however, was not celebratory, in nature but rather, solely preparatory. I did not attend the ridiculousness that the London season entailed. It was a marriage mart, and I had no need of it until recently.
If marrying and having an heir meant that at my death, my brother would not become the next Earl of Ashington, then that was a strong push for me to do so. However, it wasn’t my priority. If it was, I would have been in search of a wife before now. I had something more important than a title to protect and it was indeed time I married. Finding a wife that could step into the role as countess was easy enough. There were plenty young women in London who had been groomed to become a proper countess. However, I didn’t require just a properly trained lady, but one who would fulfill yet another role much more important to me. Finding a lady who would do so, without issue, would not be an easy task.
Being a countess was one thing but being my wife was another. I was a package deal and no one realized it… yet. I took another drink of the brandy in my hand and leaned back in my chair with a long, deep sigh. This past year had been chaos indeed. I’d found I had more patience than I had previously believed. No doubt the memories of my childhood had played a factor in my willingness to keep from giving up and tossing my responsibility aside.
At this point, I had done all I could do and a wife was beyond a simple decision. It was a requirement. I would rectify that as swiftly as I could. After much research, I had my intentions set on a one Miss Lydia Ramsbury. She was the granddaughter of a Duke. Her demeanor was soft and quiet. She was quintessentially English and exactly what this house needed. I did not take choosing a mother for my children lightly and a pretty face would not be enough.
The heavy door to my office swung open with more force than necessary, and I knew who the intruder was without looking. She would have been informed of my plans for the evening and I had no doubt that she was going to have her own set of questions. Sitting up from my relaxed state, I met the curious eyes of my inquisitor.
“You are going to a ball?” she asked, her eyes slightly brighter as she said the last word. I was sure she believed balls to be much different than their reality.
“I am sorry, my lord. Miss Emma was supposed to be taking her rest. I realized too late that she had escaped, again.” Alice, the most durable governess in England I’d wager, said as she entered the room.
“I want to go to a ball,” Emma added as she did a twirl in front of my desk before giggling. “I dance like a princess.”
I gave a nod and let the smile that Emma so often elicited from me show clearly on my face. She hadn’t seen many smiles in her short life and I never wanted to withhold one from her. I knew all too well what coldness did to a child. My brother and I were examples of just that.
“Miss Emma, you are not of age to attend balls. It is time for your rest. Come now,” Alice said in her typical stern voice.
Emma wasn’t bothered at all by Alice’s tone, giving Alice a sharp frown then turning her attention back to me. “Will you go alone?” Emma asked me.
I nodded my head. “Yes, I will attend alone.”
That seemed to bother her and her frown deepened. “You will be lonely,” she stated.
“His lordship will have many friends in attendance and ladies to dance with, Emma. This is not a child’s concern. It is to the nursery for you.” Alice was still trying to sound as if she were in control when all three of us were aware that she had no control over the child but then neither did I.
“Alice is rude,” Emma replied with a scowl. “She is often rude, Ashington,” Emma told me and I did attempt to hide my smile this time.
“Miss Emma!” Alice exclaimed horrified. “How many times have I told you that you are to address the Earl as Lord Ashington!”
Emma placed one very small hand on her waist and lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. I can only count as far as ten and sometimes twenty, if I so choose.”
A chuckle escaped me and this time, Alice was frowning at me in disapproval. “If I’m to teach her properly, my lord, we cannot encourage this… this rebellious behavior. It is unacceptable.”
Emma flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and beamed brightly at me. She enjoyed it when I laughed at her antics and when I, in turn, was scolded by Alice.
“She’s only four,” I reminded Alice, feeling rather proud of her intelligence and quick wit at such a young age.
“I question that and her certificate of birth, my lord. She’s much too… advanced and difficult to be so young.”
I had no question of her age. I knew full well the timeline in which her mother must have conceived her. Solange Bisset had once been my mistress for well over a year when we ended our agreement. Emma’s eyes had been the only proof I’d required when she’d arrived on my doorstep a year ago. Seeing them staring up at me, I had known she was a Compton.
“Emma, it’s time you go with Alice to the nursery. I will tell you all about the ball tomorrow over breakfast. How does that sound?”
Her mood brightened and she nodded her head with enthusiasm. I doubted Alice would manage to convince Emma to take a nap today. She was full of energy. Emma turned and headed to the door quickly. “Make haste Alice, I must take a nap.”
Alice glanced at me and the weariness in her eyes was amusing. Emma could keep one on their toes. She needed a mother and of that I was certain. Solange hadn’t been much of a one to her before she left her in the hands of a stranger. I would not allow another Compton child to be treated as I had been in this house. Her illegitimacy, I was working hard to cover up, although I wasn’t certain my lie would hold solid. Not with Emma’s ability to use the English language so well at such a tender age. The child’s memory was incredible and that I regretted simply because there were things I wished she could forget.
The door closed with a soft click and I reached for my drink once more. Emma had changed everything for me. My future especially. There was no longer time for me to waste. The grudge I once harbored for my stepmother was forgotten. The riding accident that had taken her life last year ended any untoward feelings I had toward the woman. The hatred I received from my brother, however, especially after his mother’s death, as if that had been my fault, was of no consequence. Not when I had Emma to consider. When Emma arrived here, I had planned on finding her a good home with a distant relative in the country. A place where she could grow and be trained to be something as ambitious as a Governess.
Within a fortnight of her arrival, I had known she would stay here. There was no sending her away when she could be given the life she deserved. I had a chance to give her a good home, to be raised properly, and I fully intended to do just that. My plan would begin with a proper wife that was willing to accept Emma as my child. Lydia appeared fit for the position. I did hope I was not wrong.
Lies, Deceit, Vengeance, Desire, and Hate…
wrapped up in a façade of all that sparkles and shines.
A pretty face, a fetching smile, a fabulous gown, a flutter of lashes at just the right moment – Miriam had been taught she must do all these things to land a wealthy husband. Much preferring the company of books to people, the only thing that stopped Miriam from fleeing to the countryside was her younger sister – who was counting on Miriam to make a match that would ensure she could care for her mother and sister properly.
He knew his duty to his title and he would do as was necessary.
Although Hugh Compton, Earl of Ashington, hadn’t wanted his father’s title at the age of nine and twenty, he gained it two years ago when his father died unexpectedly. The only good that had come of that was Hugh had been able to move his father’s wife to the dowager house.
Now it was time to marry.
Many disliked the arrogant Earl of Ashington but none so much as his brother.
After his mother was sent off as if she were trash to be disposed of, Nathaniel swore he’d even the score. With the intent of charming the boring Lydia Ramsbury right out of his brother’s arms, Nathaniel discovered it was a new face that had captured his brother’s attention – a one Miss Miriam Bathurst.
Vengeance had never looked so sweet.
iBooks preorder link: https://books.apple.com/us/
Barnes & Noble link: https://www.barnesandnoble.
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/
Amazon- releases June 22