From Governess to Countess
The scandalous truth about the count’s new mistress!
A Matches Made in Scandal story
Count Aleksei Derevenko has hired governess Allison Galbraith for her skills as a herbalist, not a mistress! But when rumors spread, Allison is more shocked by her wanton reaction to Aleksei—inscrutable and impossibly handsome, his icy blue eyes promise white-hot nights of sin. She knows too well how fragile her reputation is, but will the price of their passion be worth paying?
“Readers will be seduced by the passionate natures of the protagonists, and the fast-paced, thrilling adventure.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Harlot and the Sheikh
“Fairytales do come true... There is plenty of action and adventure to captivate all readers.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sheikh’s Mail-Order Bride
Matches Made in Scandal miniseries
Book 1—From Governess to Countess
Book 2—From Courtesan to Convenient Wife—coming soon
Matches Made in Scandal
Disgraced...yet destined for passion!
The Procurer is the woman everyone in the ton is talking about. Reputed for her utmost discretion, she makes the impossible come true.
She excels at finding fresh starts for the women she chooses to help, but little does she know that her scandalous matchmaking has wildly sizzling results...until it’s her turn!
Don’t miss this scorching new quartet
from Marguerite Kaye!
From Governess to Countess
Has Count Aleksei Derevenko
hired herbalist Allison as a governess, mistress...
or something more?
Available now!
From Courtesan to Convenient Wife
Lady Sophia is the ton’s most notorious courtesan...
until she accepts a new role as
a duke’s convenient bride!
Available soon!
Author Note
The Procurer, the mysterious woman who links this new series, Matches Made in Scandal, has a reputation for making the impossible possible. Her own dark past makes her empathize with other women who have been surviving on their wits, on the fringes of society, in desperate need of redemption and a second chance.
Such feisty heroines require extraordinary heroes. Men whose worlds have been abruptly turned upside down, who require unconventional solutions to their unique dilemmas. Heroes who are also, like their heroines, seeking a fresh start. And who are definitely not looking for love.
I love creating a sense of place, so I’ve located the stories in four of Europe’s most glamorous cities: St. Petersburg, Paris, Venice and London. And because I really like a challenge, I turned to my friends on Facebook to help dream up the scenarios into which I would hurl my heroes and heroines. Thanks to Mairibeth MacMillan, whose suggestion of an assassin was the starting point for the plot of this first book in the series.
Thanks also to Eabhnat ni Laighin for putting me in touch with herbalist Rachel Anderson, who gave me advice on dog biscuits and deadly poisons! Thanks to Manda Ward for naming Felix. And last but certainly not least, heartfelt thanks once again to my fabulous editor, Flo Nicoll, for her patience, and for having faith in this, the most difficult (and rewarding) book I’ve written to date.
Marguerite Kaye
From Governess to Countess
Marguerite Kaye writes hot historical romances from her home in cold and usually rainy Scotland, featuring Regency rakes, Highlanders and sheikhs. She has published almost fifty books and novellas. When she’s not writing she enjoys walking, cycling (but only on the level), gardening (but only what she can eat) and cooking. She also likes to knit and occasionally drink martinis (though not at the same time). Find out more on her website, margueritekaye.com.
Books by Marguerite Kaye
Harlequin Historical
Never Forget Me
Strangers at the Altar
Scandal at the Midsummer Ball
“The Officer’s Temptation”
Scandal at the Christmas Ball
“A Governess for Christmas”
Matches Made in Scandal
From Governess to Countess
Hot Arabian Nights
The Widow and the Sheikh
Sheikh’s Mail-Order Bride
The Harlot and the Sheikh
Claiming His Desert Princess
The Armstrong Sisters
The Beauty Within
Rumors that Ruined a Lady
Unwed and Unrepentant
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For my cousin Allison Rankin, who requested that her namesake be a feisty heroine with red hair. Be careful what you wish for!
It’s also for Alison Lyndsay and Alison Lodge, heroines in their own right. A huge thank-you for your generosity and support in terms of research and book recommendations, and most of all your friendship.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Historical Note
Excerpt from Rescued by the Earl’s Vows by Ann Lethbridge
Excerpt from Devil in Tartan by Julia London
Prologue
Hampstead, near London—summer 1815
The village of Hampstead enjoyed an enviable location on the fringes of the capital. Though its popularity as a spa retreat had declined somewhat, the fresh, clean air and its proximity to London had encouraged a number of well-heeled new residents to settle there. Passing through fruit farms and dairies on her journey from the city, the woman known only by her enigmatic epithet The Procurer had enjoyed the rustic charm and tranquil atmosphere of her surroundings, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of London where she plied her clandestine trade. Reining in her greys, she brought her phaeton to a halt before summoning a small boy standing idly nearby. She handed him the reins and proffered a sixpence. ‘I am looking for a Miss Galbraith.’
The child’s eyes widened, though he accepted both the reins and the coin. ‘Me mam says she’s one as don’t want to be found,’ he answered in a hushed voice. ‘She don’t answer the door to no one.’
The Procurer’s face tightened at this tangible evidence of the woman’s fall from grace. If it was at all possible, she was determined to provide this most deserving of cases with the means to redeem herself. No one deserved to be vilified by the gutter press in the manner she had been. Provided, of course, Miss Galbraith was a satisfactory match for her client’s requirements. The Procurer approved of altruism but drew the line at charity. ‘Then it is as well that I am someone,’ she said crisply to the boy. ‘Rest assured, she will answer the door to me. Now, point me in the direction of her abode, and no more of your lip.’
The cottage was located at the end of a row on the far edge of the village. It had a sunny, south-facing garden, but it was sadly neglected and overgrown with weeds. Though the street appeared deserted, The Procurer had the dist
inct impression that behind the curtained windows of the other cottages, the occupants were watching intently. As she picked her way up the little path to the front door, the contented buzzing of bees collecting pollen from the thicket of wild roses filled the air.
The cottage looked for all the world as if it was uninhabited. The windows were tightly shuttered. The shape of the door knocker was outlined by the bleached paint, but the mechanism itself had been removed. The Procurer rapped sharply with her knuckles.
‘Please go away, I do not receive or welcome visitors,’ a voice from behind the door urged.
‘That is disappointing to hear, since I have travelled from London to discuss a matter of great import with you.’
‘Then I’m afraid you have had a wasted journey. Whoever you are, and whatever it is you want, I cannot help you.’
‘You mistake my purpose. It is I who have come to help you. But I cannot do that if I am to be left standing on your doorstep. Will you not invite me in and at least hear me out? I am acquainted with your recent history and understand your natural suspiciousness, Miss Galbraith, but I bear you no ill will, I assure you.’
There was no immediate response but The Procurer’s patience was rewarded about thirty seconds later when the door opened just enough for her to slip inside before it slammed shut again.
The woman who stared back at her in confusion bore a clear resemblance to her many newspaper caricatures, though her expression was wary, rather than evil. Her distinctive bright copper hair was tied in a simple chignon, not tumbling wantonly over her shoulders as it was customarily depicted in the press. Her chin was determined, but her mouth was soft and full. Of petite stature, she looked to The Procurer to be twenty-five or six, though she had, according to the gutter press, turned thirty. There were shadows under her big hazel eyes flecked with gold, her skin had the dull, lacklustre look of someone who had been hiding from plain view, skulking in the shadows. ‘Do not look so afraid, Miss Galbraith,’ she said, ‘I truly have come here to help you.’
‘I am sure you mean well, but you are mistaken. No one can help me.’
‘Not if you are determined to let Dr Anthony Merchmont and his medical cronies destroy not only your reputation as London’s pre-eminent herbalist, but your entire life.’
Allison Galbraith’s eyes flashed with anger at this barb. An encouraging sign, The Procurer decided.
‘As you have pointed out, my reputation is already in tatters.’
‘Very true,’ The Procurer conceded. ‘However, six months have elapsed,’ she continued briskly. ‘Time to embrace a new challenge. I can offer you rehabilitation.’
‘Impossible.’ Miss Galbraith’s voice was resigned. ‘Look, I have no idea who you are, but...’
‘I am known, rather fancifully in my opinion, as The Procurer. You may have heard mention of me.’
The revelation was met by a surprised widening of the eyes, a mouth curved into the faintest of smiles. ‘All of London has heard tell of The Procurer, though few have ever encountered you in the flesh. I was not aware you were a fellow Scot. I certainly did not expect—’ Miss Galbraith broke off, blushing. ‘You are so young and nothing like...’
‘The person my reputation would suggest? Then we have that much in common, do we not?’
A dejected little laugh greeted this remark. ‘We might, if I still had a reputation. Your position in society is quite unassailable, while I...’
‘You are a social pariah.’
A harsher laugh greeted this remark. ‘You certainly do not mince your words.’
‘In my business, straight talking is essential.’
‘Then I will reply in a similar vein, madam. I cannot for the life of me comprehend why you should wish to help me.’
‘I know what it is like, Miss Galbraith, to be a woman in a man’s world. To succeed as you did—and as I have—requires an uncommon level of determination and ambition. The sacrifices you have made, the hurdles you have overcome, would have defeated a lesser character.’
‘But not you?’
The remark was intended to be flattering, but provoked a different reaction. ‘I have succeeded on my own terms, but at considerable cost,’ The Procurer said, as much a reminder to herself as a boast. She would not permit herself to wonder whether the sacrifices had been worth it. ‘It is not simply a matter of character, Miss Galbraith. I am in control of my own destiny and answerable to no one, that is true, but it was not always so.’
‘In that sense we differ greatly, madam,’ Miss Galbraith replied wryly, ‘for even at the height of my success, I was beholden to society.’
‘And society chose to condemn you. Now you are choosing to abide by that judgement. Do you agree with it, Miss Galbraith? Or do you think you deserve a second chance?’
‘Is that what you are offering?’
‘I am offering you the opportunity to fashion a second chance for yourself. What you make of it is very much up to you.’
‘Why me?’
The Procurer smiled faintly. ‘We are kindred spirits in more ways than you can know. You are also, as you pointed out, a fellow countrywoman and we Scots must stick together.’
‘Forgive me, but since we are speaking plainly, you do not know me. I cannot believe your motives are entirely philanthropic.’
The Procurer nodded with satisfaction. ‘There, you see, we do understand one another. We are both, in our way, hard-headed businesswomen. As such, you will not be offended, I am sure, if I tell you that I have carried out extensive diligence on you to my satisfaction. I have a business proposition for you, Miss Galbraith, which will be mutually beneficial, as all the best contracts are. Now, shall we make ourselves more comfortable, and I will explain all.’
* * *
Allison spooned camomile leaves into the china teapot and set it down on the table beside the cups and saucers before taking her seat opposite her unexpected and uninvited guest.
‘You were exceedingly difficult to track down,’ The Procurer said, looking perfectly at home, ‘though I can understand your desire to avoid the unwelcome glare of publicity.’
‘Notoriety would be a more apt description. In another few months I will be old news, and the world will find a new scandal, another cause célèbre to salivate over.’
‘Is that what you are hoping for?’
Resentment flared as Allison met her visitor’s challenging look. What could this elegant, haughtily beautiful woman with her flawless complexion, her black-as-night hair and her tall willowy frame, clad in the kind of understated carriage dress that screamed affluence, truly know about shattered dreams, about ravening guilt, about endless, sleepless nights going over and over and over those vital hours and asking, What if? Could I have done something different? Should I have done something different? Would it have made any difference if I had?
‘If you mean, do I think I will be able to re-establish myself, then the answer is no.’
‘So what, precisely, are your aspirations? To avenge yourself on the man who has engineered your spectacular fall from grace, perhaps?’
Allison took her time pouring the tea. There was something about The Procurer’s clear, steady gaze, that made her feel as if the woman could read her innermost thoughts. Even those she didn’t choose to admit to herself. ‘I have no aspirations at all,’ she said, ‘save to be left in peace.’
If she expected compassion, she was destined to be disappointed. ‘If you really mean that,’ The Procurer answered, ‘then I am wasting my time.’
‘As I have already informed you.’
‘But you don’t mean it, do you?’ The Procurer took a sip of the fragrant tea. ‘You are angry, and with just cause, for you have been made a scapegoat, your livelihood stolen, your reputation left in tatters. You have been the subject of lurid headlines, both libellous and slanderous and, I hasten to add, patently false. That i
s punishment out of all proportion to your alleged crime, if indeed you are culpable?’
Allison’s hands curled into fists, but she could not stop the tears from welling. ‘I committed no crime,’ she said tightly. ‘But to speak in the plain terms you prefer, I will tell you that I cannot be certain I was entirely blameless.’
She was trembling now. The memory of that night, her role in the events that unfolded, however significant or not that role might have been, threatened to overwhelm her. She screwed her eyes shut, opening them only on feeling the fleeting, comforting touch of The Procurer’s hand on hers. ‘How can I not blame myself?’ Allison demanded wretchedly, for the first time, and to this complete stranger, allowing herself to utter the words. ‘I did not believe, did not question—until he did. And now I will never be certain that I was not culpable in some way.’
‘No, but you can ask yourself, Miss Galbraith, what are the odds? Have you ever before miscalculated so badly or made such a catastrophic mistake?’
‘Never! Nature has defeated me on occasion, but I have never precipitated such a tragic outcome.’
‘And yet you meekly accepted the verdict and the punishment as if you had.’
‘Yes, I did, and now it is far too late to contradict it, even if I wanted to.’ Allison thumped her fist on the table, making the teacups shake in their saucers. ‘The medical profession in our country...’
‘...is a cabal of exclusively male-vested interests, whether it be doctors, surgeons, or apothecaries. There are midwives, granted, but even the most skilled do not carry any real authority. You, on the other hand, had gained a real foothold in society as a gifted herbalist. You were a successful woman, Miss Galbraith, a real alternative to accepted medical practice and as such, a threat to the old guard, as the systematic defamation of your character has demonstrated.’
‘Yet no one, not a single one of my former patients, has spoken out in my defence.’
‘They too must accept the rules of society, the world they inhabit. Has it occurred to you, Miss Galbraith, that your refusal to practise once that tragic event became public confirmed your guilt?’