Neanderthal Seeks Duchess: A Smartypants Romance Out Of This World Title (London Ladies Embroidery Book 1) Read online

  Neanderthal Seeks Duchess: A Smartypants Romance Out Of This World Title

  LONDON LADIES EMBROIDERY BOOK 1

  LANEY HATCHER

  WWW.SMARTYPANTSROMANCE.COM

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

  Copyright © 2022 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

  Made in the United States of America

  eBook Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-949202-96-0

  Developmental Edits: Emerald Edits

  Editing: Write On Editing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: London Ladies Embroidery series, Book #2

  Sneak Peek: First to Fall by Laney Hatcher

  Also by Smartypants Romance

  To anyone who has ever felt like the supporting role in their own life story

  One

  “Bollocks.”

  I gazed down the length of my pale green bodice and noticed the unfortunate three-inch tear in the fabric. Twisting my head and peering over my shoulder did nothing to improve my situation. My gown was still torn. I suddenly wished I had my friend Fiona’s skill with a needle. The duchess had embroidery talent unmatched in our circle.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think of a solution to this problem, but only succeeded in reminding myself that my luck, as of late, had taken a turn. The decision to attend Lord Sullivan’s social gathering of the season only served to further the gossips of the ton. I had hoped to continue on, business as usual, but the rend in my garment, if discovered, would only add new fodder for the things whispered about me in ballrooms. Particularly this ballroom.

  This luxurious home in the heart of Mayfair was the site of the most sought-after invitation this season. I was still unsure why I was included among the guest list. I had not been introduced to the old duke nor his socializing son, Lord Quinton Jameson. He held the courtesy title of the Earl Sullivan while his father retained the dukedom. Although gossips indicated father and son were quite estranged in their relationship and had not been seen together in an age. The Duke and Duchess of Benton had remained in the country following their eldest son’s death years prior. I was told, despite never having inquired, Lord Sullivan himself had been absent from society for many years. It all seemed very mysterious. This gathering at the family’s impressive London home, one of the many Benton estates, was said to be Lord Sullivan’s reintroduction to the ton. Nevertheless, I was unacquainted with the entire family. I couldn’t pick Quinton Jameson out of a lineup of lords if pressed.

  My friend, Lady Eliza, merely hoped showing my face and my fortitude at the Earl’s ball would put gossipmongers in their place. But with the latest development involving my gown and my exposed… Well, posterior, that might no longer be possible.

  As the peculiar bluestocking daughter of a marquess, I was already regarded as an oddity associated with scandal. But my recent broken courtship with Lord John Holesome, the Earl Fairbanks and son of the Duke of Archford, intensified the chin-wagging among my peers.

  My father took the news of our broken courtship and subsequent non-engagement rather badly. While I remained the aging middle daughter of a marquess, the title was all we had. Through debt and family scandal, we were woefully low on funds and reputation. John had promised to cover my father’s debts and turn a blind eye to my sisters’ scandals in making me his countess in the future.

  Apparently my father couldn’t abide my decision to end my relationship with the Earl Fairbanks. He’d demanded that I return to our country home in Hampshire to avoid further gossip if I couldn’t find it within myself to resume the courtship. Father deemed the remainder of my London season wholly unnecessary since I had made the decision to insult an earl and future duke with my scruples.

  Alas, I had no plans to return to the country and be swept under the rug the way my sister was. I had my own business to see to in London. In this instance, my father’s complete and total disinterest in me came quite in handy. He only needed me when I could be of use. As I was no longer courting a wealthy and reputable earl, I was pleasantly out of sight and out of mind. I was however, blessed by a close circle of friends, several of which offered to sponsor me for the remainder of the season. Ultimately, I decided to remain with my dearest friend, Lady Eliza Morgan. And thus, how I’d landed myself in my current predicament.

  “Damnation,” I murmur again, looking down.

  If possible, the gaping seam between my bodice and skirt had grown. Only moments ago, the heel of my slipper had caught the back edge of my dress when I stood. Deciding the ladies’ retiring room would be the best place to assess the damage, I made my escape.

  With the quartet playing a lovely tune and the attendees enjoying the dance floor—Eliza included—I tried to unobtrusively maneuver around the edges of the ballroom until I spotted the entrance to the retiring room. In my first lucky stroke of the evening, the room was blessedly empty. Not even a servant in sight. I paused, listening intently as the sound of footfalls met my ears. I peeked my head out into the corridor on the blind hope Lady Eliza was making her way toward me. No Eliza in the hallway. However, there was a gentleman. And a dapper looking gentleman at that. What a strange thought to have at a time like this. But I supposed he was universally handsome, and even in this disastrous situation, I could appreciate his form. Tall and rather dashing, the gentleman had dark hair and very light blue eyes. A black topcoat, dove gray waistcoat, and a snowy cravat completed the overall impression of an attractive male. A general sense of intimidating beauty was all I could really discern before I retreated into my hiding place once again.

  Leaving thoughts of the elegant gentleman in the hallway where they belonged, I considered my options. Perhaps a maid would come through shortly. I could then have a servant deliver a message to Eliza. Huzzah!

  No longer hearing the footsteps of the passing gentleman, I again inched into the hallway to try my luck.

  I immediately stumbled back, once again catching my hem.

  He was right there. Standing directly outside the door to the ladies’ retiring room, was the dashing gentleman.

  My abrupt and indelicate retreat was punctuated by the sound of tearing fabric.

  My eyes went wide as did the gentlemen’s.

&n
bsp; The ensuing silence was suffocating. Finally, the unknown man spoke.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady. Are you quite well?” His deep voice rasped quizzically, eyes narrowed as he searched my face. He seemed to be cataloguing my features and his expectant gaze momentarily stunned me.

  “Yes. Quite,” I forced out, unable to believe my rotten luck as a warm flush began to crawl up my neck. I attempted to straighten back from the doorway but could feel my heel still snagged on the back of my dress.

  Riiiip. I paused immediately and one eyebrow rose on the gentleman’s stern face.

  “Quite,” he confirmed in a disbelieving tone.

  I risked a small shake of my foot in an attempt to dislodge my slipper while nodding most assuredly. “Indeed. Quite. Wel—”

  Riiiiip. I stopped abruptly, eyes widening. Another black brow rose to join the first.

  “Are you sure?” he remarked uncertainly, eyes sparkling.

  Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip. Sigh.

  “Yes. I was merely attempting to gain the attention of my friend so we could be on our way,” I said brightly, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric and the true meaning behind his inquisition. I was likewise distracted from my predicament by his handsomeness. The brief glimpse in the hallway hadn’t done justice to his lovely form. And he was that… Very well formed.

  “It’s a bit early to be leaving, is it not?” he said, looking discretely behind himself toward the sounds of merriment coming from the main ballroom. Without giving me a chance to answer, he continued, “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

  “It’s a lovely ball,” I countered. “I’ve merely had a trying day. I think it best if I take my leave… Especially in my… um, current situation.” I ended the statement on a near whisper, mostly to myself. But I realized he must have heard my hushed admission as his mouth quirked up just a bit at the corner.

  And then the gentleman slowly leaned to the side as if to see around me. Despite knowing I was alone in the doorway and room beyond, I turned in tandem with him. I realized too late he was investigating “my current situation” and the initial ripping sound that punctuated our meeting in the hallway… and the subsequent audible fabric destruction as I attempted to regain my posture. I gasped, clutching my skirt to my bodice above my ample buttocks and whirled back to face him.

  My abrupt spin elicited one final riiiiiip, and I could feel my heel’s newfound freedom. Finally.

  “Ah, yes. Your current situation. I see,” he choked out even as a faint pink tinged the tips of his ears.

  Was I detecting mirth in his tone? Well, I never…

  “Yes, um—” I cleared my throat delicately while also hoping the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “As you can see, it is of utmost importance I make a hasty exit. Lovely ball or not,” I said, eyes moving over the hallway beyond.

  I found suddenly I could not maintain eye contact with this beautiful creature. I would wager he never associated with women like me. Tall and awkward, prone to saying all manner of oddities. He seemed every inch the polished lord, and there were a multitude of lovely inches to gaze upon.

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he offered, bringing my attention back to his handsome face. He continued before I could object, “I’m happy to lend the use of my carriage. Come, I’ll escort you through the kitchens to the servants’ entrance. We’ll attract less attention, and you can be on your way out of… your current situation.”

  And without waiting for my response, he placed my hand on his arm and we made our way down the corridor away from the sounds of music and frivolity. And away from Eliza.

  The more I thought about dragging Eliza and her lovely father away from Lord Sullivan’s ball, the more I regretted my own clumsy nature. They shouldn’t have to suffer by mere association with me. And they would be disappointed to miss the social event of the season.

  I didn’t know this man leading me through hallways. But I did know he was a gentleman and his offer of escape was well-timed. One does not look a gift lord in the mouth.

  However, I did finally manage to voice an immediate concern, “My lord, I beg your pardon, but we have not been introduced. You cannot simply escort me from the ball.”

  His steps, and subsequently mine, slowed as the gentleman considered my objection. “Of course, my lady. But please understand, I’ll do what I can to see you safely on your way,” he murmured as his gaze found mine.

  “That’s… kind of you, seeing as we are unacquainted. I’m Jane, by the way. Lady Jane Morrison,” I said in an attempt to learn his identity in turn. If my subconscious had its way, I would be calling him Lord Dashingham of the Hallway Encounter. Lord Dashing, indeed.

  Before he could return my introduction, the newly appointed Lord Dashing halted abruptly. All at once, the reason for his stillness became clear. Voices. And footsteps approaching. Reacting to the threat of sudden discovery, the gentleman calmly directed us through a nearby entryway and quickly pushed the door closed with a quiet snick.

  We appeared to be in a darkened study or library. The moonlight filtering in the far window provided little light, as did the fire banked in the fireplace. I knew well enough to remain quiet as the sounds of voices grew nearer. Being discovered in this secluded room with an unnamed gentleman and no chaperone would only succeed in further ruination of my reputation. From the noises in the hallway, I could deduce two young men were conversing. The lord at my side stiffened while I maintained my silence and clutched my ruined skirt.

  I waited nervously for the danger to abate. My eyes vacillated between the unknown gentleman and my surroundings. So many books! Yet, no matter how intrigued I was by the room beyond, my attention occasionally alighted on this stranger’s large form. He was tall with dark hair made even darker by what little light seeped in through the window. His bladelike nose and sharp cheekbones culminated in an intensely masculine face.

  Despite my obliviousness at times, even I could appreciate the symmetry of his features. Lord Dashing was attractive. He would be sought-after by the marriage-minded mamas and their daughters.

  I wonder who he is…

  My musings were interrupted as my roving gaze caught sight of the bookcase to my right and snagged on a familiar book spine. I smiled involuntarily. The Count of Monte Cristo. It was one of my favorites. Vengeance and justice, action and adventure. What’s not to love?

  Eventually the footsteps and discussion outside the door receded. The relief I felt at avoiding discovery and subsequent ruination was profound. The only sounds now were from our deep breaths filling the space. Realizing the nearness and heat from the man at my side, I unthinkingly blurted in an exaggerated whisper, “Have you read Dumas?”

  I fixed my eyes on the book’s spine as I continued quietly and quickly, giving Lord Dashing no opportunity to respond to my unplanned inquiry. Anything to distract myself from this lord’s glorious face. “It is a fairly ruthless story filled with vigilante justice. I do not have personal experience with that sort of thing myself, but it makes for a very entertaining novel.” Absurdity and handsomeness made my words run all over each other.

  The nameless gentleman followed my line of sight and narrowed his eyes in response to my unprompted ramblings. “Is that so?” he ventured.

  “Yes. I like to think if someone wronged me so grievously, I, too, would dedicate my life and fortune to enacting justice in all its forms.”

  He paused, perhaps in confusion, but eventually marshalled his thoughts. “I suppose there is a certain entertainment, as you say, in witnessing vengeance performed on the deserving. But perhaps a life dedicated to enacting justice is not as fulfilling as Monsieur Dumas makes it out to be.”

  His voice had gained confidence as he spoke. I wasn’t sure if we were referring to Edmond Dantès any longer, and my gaze turned speculative in response.

  I should have probably chosen a more appropriate topic of conversation. Nevertheless, my words spilled forth. “I suppose that is true. But how often do people outside o
f grand novels get to dedicate their lives to revenge?” I managed with a curious smile.

  “More often than one would think,” came his unexpectedly soft-spoken reply.

  My smile fell with a growing awareness.

  What was happening here?

  We were gazing oddly at each other, this stranger and I. Assessing and reassessing. Eyes narrowing and gears turning. Seconds passed that felt like an eternity steeped in intensity.

  A momentary glance at the closed door and then, “I think it’s safe to venture out.” Lord Dashing motioned silently, breaking our connection.

  Fine by me. I was eager to put the awkwardness of our interaction behind me. My skin felt itchy and tight. Further proof I was completely incapable of having a normal conversation with a handsome stranger.

  Focus more on the weather, Jane.

  Don’t speak aloud every random thought in your head.

  Make passing conversation about… gowns and… horses.

  Alas.

  My companion carefully opened the door and reemerged in the passageway with me at his side, occasionally sending questioning glances my way. I could tell the ridiculousness of the situation was even affecting him. I had the strangest urge to laugh aloud. But I bit down on my wavering bottom lip until I felt quite sure of its good behavior.

  Despite my giddy relief at our near discovery, levity deserted me entirely as we encountered witnesses. Following in the gentleman’s wake through the kitchens, surprised servants quickly averted their gazes and went about their business.