To Catch A Suitor: A Regency Romance (Dalton Family Book 2) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To Catch a Suitor Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Adams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  First edition March 2020

  Book design by Sarah Adams

  Cover design by Sarah Adams

  WWW.AuthorSarahAdams.com

  Contents

  Dear Reader

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Also by Sarah Adams

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dear Reader

  I ask you to put off everything you know about Regency England and step into my imagination with me. I strive for historical accuracy, but I adore a fun lively story. At times, I have taken creative liberties and strayed away from accuracy in the name of writing a more enjoyable tale. I hope you fall in love with these characters as much as I have.

  -Sarah Adams

  Josh, this one’s for you. Thanks for being such an amazing brother and letting me steal your best friend.

  Chapter One

  It was Elizabeth’s torn slipper during her first ball of the Season that led her to believe that, perhaps, bad omens were real and, if so, her first Season was not looking bright. Seeing Oliver lead yet another beautiful young lady onto the dance floor only increased her worry. She had suspected the Season was going to be torturous, and she was not wrong.

  But Elizabeth was not one to wallow. Or brood. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and tore her eyes away from the man she had loved since she was ten years old and searched for an exit from the ballroom.

  She had only arrived at the ball a little over a half hour ago and already she was aching to leave. Not that the feeling surprised her. Crowds were the very worst. Elizabeth lifted up on her tiptoes in search of a doorway that would lead out of the ballroom, but she could not see one around the colorful swirl of satin, lace and, feathers. Really, how did women look in the mirror before a ball, assess the feathers in their hair and think my goodness, how lovely I look impersonating a large bird!

  The Season was in full swing now and this ball was a horrifying crush. Despite the short amount of time Elizabeth had spent under the eyes of the ton, beads of sweat were already forming at the back of her neck, and the heat of so many bodies squeezed into one room together was giving her a headache. On top of all this, her rebellious little slipper was all but hanging off her foot.

  Her eyes raced over the bustling room, noting each of the rosy faces, smiles plastered on, eager to prove their enjoyment in the night. How could every person in the ballroom truly be enjoying themselves? As always, her eyes gravitated to the dance floor, seeking again the tall man with sandy blond hair and a physique too wonderful for his own good. Oliver appeared to be having the most magnificent time of his life, sweeping easily around the room in spite of the overwhelming movement and noise surrounding them. In the crush, Elizabeth felt short of breath, as though she wanted to disappear and melt into the wall—feelings she was certain her older siblings never felt among society.

  As the middle daughter of the Duke of Dalton, sister to both the Earl of Kensworth and the Countess of Hatley, Elizabeth had already been forced into introductions to at least fifty people whose importance made her legs wobble and her voice crack when she spoke.

  This was not the plan. It was decidedly opposite of the plan.

  Elizabeth had hoped that London’s air would somehow change her into the outgoing socialite she longed to be. Oliver Turner was nothing but outgoing. Everything about him oozed confidence and charisma. He loved society events, flirting and dancing and then spending the summer at Dalton Park, telling Elizabeth all about his life in Town. As the younger sister of Oliver's best friend, Carver, Elizabeth had not always counted herself as his friend. But as they had grown older, the five year span between them had seemed less and less like an impediment to friendship. Now, she considered him her very best friend, and they shared all kinds of confidences with one another.

  But this wasn’t about him.

  This was her Season. Her chance to show Oliver—correction, herself—that she was no longer the young girl who had chased Oliver, Carver, and Mary around the park grounds, begging to be included in their games. Actually, she hadn’t been that girl for some time. Elizabeth now had twenty years in her dish—soon to be twenty-one. Really, if anything, she was showing Oliver that she was no longer the schoolroom miss who would listen to him talk for hours on end about whatever love he’d most recently tumbled into. He was always doing that—falling in love.

  But again, this wasn’t about him.

  As Elizabeth had grown older, she and Oliver had turned into real friends, especially during Carver’s dark years after the death of his fiancée when he refused to return home. Oliver had still come to Dalton Park every summer, however, and he spent those warm, magical months with Elizabeth and her family—but mostly Elizabeth—riding, walking, reading, and doing most all activities that unfortunately didn’t include falling in love with her. However, she had come to terms with it. She wasn’t one to wallow.

  Elizabeth hadn’t always been this comfortable with the idea that the man she had spent her whole life dreaming about would never reciprocate her affection. No, this was a new resolution. A decree written into her heart and sealed with the wax of her melted hopes and dreams.

  Elizabeth had decided before she came to London for her first Season that she would not waste it wearing the willow for a man who didn’t want her back. She deserved someone who cared for her just as much as she cared for him, which was why she was determined to spend her Season kicking Oliver Turner out of her heart and finally letting herself shine like a Town Diamond.

  Except she didn’t feel very shiny at the moment, what with her displaced shoe, and her wobbly legs, and her voice cracking as if she were an adolescent boy.

  The sights and sounds and smells of the ballroom were really too much for her. She didn’t understand how anyone looked forward to these events. Everywhere Elizabeth turned someone fluttered a fan, wafting the smell of sweat directly into her face. She pushed around a group of flittering debutantes. Still no exit. She did, however, have a perfect view of Oliver in his beautifully tailored blue jacket, flashing that charming smile of his to a young woman whom Elizabeth didn’t actually know, but still managed to hate all the same. Someone should really tell the girl
that pink was not her color. It washed her out.

  Elizabeth was still seeking an exit when a large feathered coiffure swayed to the music, out of the way enough to give Elizabeth a blessed view of a door.

  She shuffled across the floor—careful to slide her foot with the ripped slipper instead of fully picking it up. It was just like her to somehow manage to rip a brand new slipper during a ball. It was a subtle—or not so subtle—reminder that even though she was a daughter of the Duke of Dalton, she didn’t fit in there with the ton and she would never get Oliver to see her as the right woman for him. Drat. Not Oliver. Not caring about Oliver's opinion of her was turning out to be a more laborious task than she had anticipated.

  She pressed on toward the door, not allowing herself to glance back at the man she loved, but stopped when she felt someone grasp her arm. Elizabeth took in a deep breath.

  It’s not going to be Oliver. It’s not going to be Oliver.

  It wasn’t Oliver.

  “Where are you going?” Mary, her older sister and chaperone for the Season, shouted above the orchestra.

  Elizabeth leaned so Mary could hear her. “To the ladies’ retiring room. I just need a little air.” She tucked her torn slipper a little farther under her dress.

  Mary’s light grey eyes pierced Elizabeth with skepticism. Elizabeth knew that look well. As the oldest of the four siblings, Mary possessed the uncanny ability to sniff out a problem when one of them was in trouble. Elizabeth wished she could plug her sister’s nose. She didn’t want Mary to know the truth just then. Mary couldn’t know about her torn slipper. Or that she had the urge to scream every time someone addressed her as Lord Kensworth’s darling little sister. And, most of all, Mary couldn’t know that Elizabeth ached to “accidentally” spill a glass of sherry on the pretty miss currently on Oliver's arm. She was wearing a silk gown and it would stain famously.

  Mary must have seen the evil look in Elizabeth’s eye. “Are you feeling well?” She asked, not releasing Elizabeth’s arm. Mary’s eyes scoured Elizabeth’s face for the truth.

  “Perfectly,” Elizabeth lied. “I’m simply not accustomed to a crush like this, but I’ll adjust.”

  “You’re sure? Do you want to leave early?”

  Yes. Yes, she did. But Mary had been smiling all night as if she had actually been enjoying the smell of so many perspiring bodies, so Elizabeth lied again. “I’m having a grand time, Mary, so you may stop giving me that Mother Hen look of yours.” Elizabeth saw a smirk begin on her sister’s mouth and decided to push the conversation in a different direction. “How are you feeling? Is it too hot in here for you?” She glanced briefly to the swell of Mary's abdomen.

  Elizabeth had been hesitant to accept her sister’s offer to act as her chaperone for the Season when Mary had first suggested it. Mary was pregnant with her second child, and Elizabeth worried that all of the late night balls, morning callers, and constant events associated with launching a debutante into society would be too much for her sister’s constitution. Especially since Mary’s pregnancy was considered delicate, given the loss of her last pregnancy. But then, just before it had been time to leave Dalton Park for the Season, Kate, her younger sister, had fallen ill with influenza and Mama had not felt comfortable leaving her. Elizabeth was forced to accept Mary’s chaperone.

  But just now, when she was hoping to go home early, Elizabeth was feeling glad that Mama had stayed home to nurse Kate back to health instead of accompanying her to London, and hoped that perhaps her sister’s swollen ankles would work in her favor.

  Mary smiled broadly. “Actually, I’m feeling fantastic. It’s so nice to be out in Society again now that the constant feeling of sickness has left me.”

  Just wonderful.

  “Wonderful! Enjoy yourself. I’ll only be a minute.” Elizabeth mustered a believable smile and hoped it would be enough for Mary to release her hold.

  Her older sister looked hesitant but then finally relented. “All right, if you’re sure. Shall I come with you?”

  Part of Elizabeth wanted to state that she was a grown woman and perfectly capable of taking herself off to the retiring room on her own. But instead she said, “That’s not necessary, thank you.”

  Mary walked back to join her husband, Robert, and Elizabeth darted…or, slid…toward the inviting door on the edge of the ballroom.

  No one seemed to notice her open the door and slip through. One glance around the dim hallway told Elizabeth this was not a part of the home in which she was supposed to be. The ladies’ retiring room must have been through a different door.

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together, looking both ways down the empty hallway. Her palms were sweating and butterflies fluttered in her stomach in the way they always did when an adventure was in the making. Thoughts of spending the remainder of the night exploring the halls played in her mind. It could be like a game, trying to avoid detection, like a…no.

  Focus, Elizabeth. You are an adult now. Act like one.

  She refocused her attention on the matter at hand, raising her gown and removing her slipper to inspect it. Of course. Irreparable. She flicked the limp hanging sole, no longer attached to the rest of the shoe, and silently cursed its delicate fabric.

  “There you are.”

  Elizabeth jumped and turned toward the man who had just stepped into the darkened hallway with her. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, peeking out the door before closing it.

  Oliver Turner.

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth hugged the banister rails as she waited to catch sight of Carver and his new friend, returning from boarding school for the summer holiday. Miss Emma had assured Elizabeth that she would fetch her from the nursery just as soon as Carver stepped through the door. But Elizabeth was ten years old now and much smarter than her stuffy governess suspected. She knew that Miss Emma would wait until Carver and his friend had settled in and had tea with Mama and Papa before she ever went to collect Elizabeth. That’s why Elizabeth snuck away from the nursery the moment Miss Emma had stepped away to fetch a book, and now waited on the second floor landing, peering through the banister rails, full of anticipation.

  She didn’t like that Carver had to go away to school for most of the year. It seemed unfair that she should get to remain at Dalton Park for her education while Carver had to live at Eton with no mothers and no sisters and only a slew of smelly boys to keep him company. She had missed him more than anything while he was away and was already concocting a plan to convince Papa that Carver should stay home for his studies and have a tutor rather than be sent off to school again. Of course, Papa had tried to trick Elizabeth when he said that Carver was actually enjoying his time at Eton. But Elizabeth didn’t believe him.

  She knew her big brother missed her just as much as she missed him.

  A knock sounded at the door and Elizabeth pressed her face in between the spindles to get a better view. Their butler, Henley, walked to the door and grasped the knob. Elizabeth heard Mama’s swishing skirts before she saw her rushing toward the door. “They’re here!” Mama called out over her shoulder.

  Mama had missed Carver, too. She knew because Elizabeth had seen Mama crying one day in the garden and, when she had asked her what was wrong, Mama said her heart was made up of five pieces—one for Papa, and another each for Elizabeth, Mary, Kate, and Carver. She said one of her pieces was away at school and she couldn’t wait for it to return.

  Elizabeth’s own heart raced as Henley opened the door. Mama stretched out her arms and Carver stepped through the door to wrap Mama up in one of his big hugs. Elizabeth couldn’t wait for one of her brother’s hugs. He would probably even pick her up and spin her around as he always had. Elizabeth stood, ready to rush down the stairs and claim her brother’s attention, when suddenly another boy stepped through the door.

  She froze and sat back down, shrinking behind the banister and peeking through the rails once again. She’d never seen this boy before. Carver had written home and asked if his
friend, Oliver Turner, could come stay for the summer holiday with him. Papa, of course, had agreed because he always loved to stuff the house with as many people as he could. But Elizabeth was a little worried that this new boy was going to take away Carver’s attention.

  Mama released Carver, after saying words Elizabeth could not make out, and looked behind him to Oliver Turner. Elizabeth thought Oliver looked a little nervous. Mama smiled and gave Carver’s new friend the same hug she had given Carver. The look on Oliver’s face was strange. It was the same sort of look she had seen on Miss Emma’s face when Elizabeth had surprised her with a bouquet of picked flowers—like she wasn’t quite sure they were meant for her but was happy to receive them anyway.

  Why did he look that way?

  Elizabeth continued to watch, still unsure of this Oliver Turner and not ready to announce herself yet. Papa’s happy voice boomed into the room as it always did before he came into view. She could hear and see them all exchanging more hugs and greetings, but Elizabeth never looked away from Oliver. He didn’t look like Carver. She knew he was the same age as her brother—fifteen years old—but his hair was lighter and he wasn’t quite as tall. But then again, no one was ever as tall as her big brother. The biggest difference between Carver and Oliver was that Oliver looked a little scared. He stepped back as Papa approached him. Papa looked like he was going to hug Oliver but then he paused and, instead, slowly extended his hand. Oliver stared at Papa’s hand a moment before taking it. After the handshake, Oliver smiled—a little tentative, but it was still a smile.