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Prologue
June 1814
Haydn’s Cello Concerto No.1 in C major played in the background, its liveliness lending a necessary light airiness to the otherwise dull ballroom. Anthony might not enjoy his mother’s balls, but she always selected good music for her musicians to play. He doubted the guests found the ball tedious, as he did. Not when everyone who was anyone was present, and copious amounts of the best French champagne and a potent punch were being served. Anthony had opted for a refreshing peach ice, quite happily eating away at the iced beverage while staying out of everyone’s way. Or rather, he was hiding from his overwhelming mother and wasn’t ashamed to admit it despite being nineteen.
Elizabeth Montague, Duchess of Kent, was in her element when surrounded by adoring people. Even at forty-four, she was still stunning, and she knew it. Most of the men, young and old, were watching her either openly or covertly, depending on their companions. Some had been her lovers, men who were once on top of the world when they believed the duchess was in love with them, only to have the carpet roughly pulled from beneath their feet once she abruptly moved on. One would think she didn’t have a doting husband at the rate she took on lovers. It disgusted Anthony, especially since he had inherited her good looks and received as much attention from women. If not for the white patch of hair above his left ear, he doubted people would believe he was his more unfortunate-looking father’s son.
Shifting his position against the wall, Anthony leaned against it with his shoulder, crossing his ankles while he continued to eat his peach ice. The spot he had chosen to hide in was nice and dark, one of the few areas not brightly illuminated by a candle. He wasn’t even supposed to be at the ball, but his mother had purposefully omitted the details about hosting a ball on the day he was due to return to London. She knew he preferred not to attend her parties, a continued sore spot for her. Had Anthony not needed to return to their countryseat to get Catalina’s birthday gift, he could have found an excuse to not attend the ball. Unfortunately, their usually careful and meticulous servants had not packed it in his luggage as instructed, forcing him to leave London for a few days. However, it would be worth it once Catalina opened the gift.
Anthony had put much thought and effort into it, from the soft leather dyed a deep pink—her favorite color—to the water paintings that indicated the start of each month, and the amusing or encouraging quotes written at the top of every page. There were three hundred and sixty-five days’ worth of quotes to perk up his best friend when she fell into one of her self-diminishing moods. Catalina was usually a vivacious person and lived each day to its fullest, but she had her moments when she was riddled with so much doubt; so overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts that only he could bring her out of her mental hell. Anthony blamed her self-absorbed and verbally abusive mother. Nothing Catalina ever did was good enough for Lady Hartford, but in truth, her daughter was worth hundreds of the women the marchioness often compared her to.
“Lord Windsor,” a woman said behind him.
Anthony inwardly groaned. How Francesca had found him when no one else had was a mystery. He had seen her arrive moments ago, drawing attention to herself just as his mother had done. The women were not related by blood, but one would swear they were mother and daughter by how they behaved.
“Lady Francesca,” he said, turning to her. “How are you this evening?”
Half her body was cast in shadows, but the other half was bathed in light from a nearby mounted candle. At seventeen, Francesca was an undeniable beauty. Wavy blonde hair put up with pearl combs, light blue eyes that reminded one of a bright and clear spring’s day, and a willowy frame with curves that had only been a hint a year ago. Now, Francesca took every opportunity to show off the swell of her young bosom and her supple figure in dresses that made men wonder what else lay beneath.
“Much better now that I’ve seen you,” Francesca replied to his greeting. “I heard you left London a few days ago. I was worried you wouldn’t return in time for the ball.”
“I came just in time,” he said dryly. He looked down, disappointed to see the last bit of his peach ice had melted into liquid. “Would you excuse me, Lady Francesca? I find myself in need of refreshment.”
“As chance has it, I am also in need of refreshment,” Francesca claimed. “Shall we go together?”
She took his arm before he could reply, making his decision for him. Anthony inwardly sighed and stepped into the light with her, immediately attracting the attention of men and women. This was what Francesca wanted. Two people hailed as exceptionally good-looking walking together was always cause for attention.
“I noticed Lady Catalina has not arrived yet,” Francesca commented, smiling graciously at those who stared. She probably thought she was doing them a favor by allowing them to look upon her beauty.
“Yes, I know,” Anthony replied. “Lady Hartford is usually the cause for their tardiness.”
The comment was rather direct, but Anthony had no time to sugarcoat his words, especially for people like the Marchioness of Hartford. Anyone who had a penchant for upsetting Catalina wasn’t worth a sweet word.
Francesca laughed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Lady Catalina has no reason to take her time with her appearance.”
Anthony stilled beside her. It was true that Catalina wasn’t the prettiest girl, but she had something far more important than physical looks, and that was character.
“What do you mean by that?” Anthony asked, not allowing them to take another step closer to the refreshment table.
Francesca chuckled a tad self-consciously, likely realizing she had put her foot in her mouth. She knew better than to insult Catalina in his presence.
“Dear me!” she cried, patting her hair. “I meant nothing terrible, I assure you. I’m her friend, after all,” she added. “Why would I insult Lady Catalina? I only meant that she isn’t concerned about outward appearances, so she doesn’t spend hours preening herself like the rest of us.”
Anthony was only half-satisfied with that answer, but it was enough to continue to the refreshment table.
“The outward man perishes,” he said, paraphrasing a well-known Scripture. “It’s the inward man that should concern a person.”
Spending years watching his mother treat his father like mud on her shoe had taught him that beauty was a curse. People abused it and justified their black hearts because others allowed it.
“Right you are, my lord,” Francesca readily agreed. “Also, if the outward man complements the beauty of the inward man, that person must be blessed by God. Do you not think so?”
“A very rare occurrence, Lady Francesca,” said Anthony, stopping at the refreshment table. “Those born with beauty rarely need to build character because things come easily to them. Often, it is those born ugly but bloom later in life that can boast both beauty and character.” He picked up a glass of champagne, finding he needed a little bit of courage to continue with the night. “Of course, some beautiful people grow under adverse conditions, so they cannot help but grow in character.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Although, some do take offense at that rough upbringing and become terrible people later in life.”
Anthony had met at least one person under each of those conditions. The ones he felt were the most dangerous of all were the last category. They had something to prove, and God help anyone who fell in their line of fire.
“How wise of you to say, my lord,” Francesca said, nodding. “It seems we are both rare people.”
Anthony almost chuckled. Francesca was wholly unaware of her shortcomings, but he felt no need to point that out. He wasn’t perfect by any standard, least of all his.
He handed her a glass of champagne, already knowing her preference. He probably should have given one to her before he took a sip from his, but he didn’t feel very gentlemanly that evening. Still, it was no excuse to forget his upbringing and duty to every lady.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Francesca, taking it from him. Her gloved hand skimmed his, the action unnecessary but deliberate. “I didn’t even have to tell you what I wanted. You must know me well.”
Anthony said nothing in response, only smiling for politeness’s sake. It wasn’t that he knew her; he just knew her type. Francesca was a woman who consumed only the highest quality because it was just that—the highest quality, according to whoever had set the standard. It probably never occurred to her to try something and gain her own opinion of it rather than listen to others and simply accept whatever they said. That was where she and Catalina were very different. Catalina disliked authority and rules, only following those she believed were necessary. Of course, she maintained the semblance of following the rules, but the defiance in her eyes always said differently. It was therefore disappointing and confusing to him that she seemed so unlike herself these days.
“Shall I save you a space on my card, Lord Windsor?” Francesca asked.
The last thing Anthony wanted to do was partake in dancing. “Perhaps another time, Lady Francesca,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m rather fatigued this evening. I only arrived some hours ago with hardly a chance to rest before being informed of the ball and required to prepare for it.”
Disappointment clouded her lovely features. “Oh. Perhaps another time then.”
“Yes, another time,” he agreed. He promptly expressed his need to excuse himself, not wanting her to glue herself to his side all evening. “I have someone I must speak to,” he explained.
It was a lie. Anthony simply wanted to be alone for as long as possible. He didn’t even know if he wished to be around his best friend. He didn’t have the patience or strength to deal with her changed behavior, although he still loved her very much. She was like a younger sister to him, someone he had grown up with. They were only two years apart and had gotten along well from the very beginning. They called each other their next-door neighbors because their London homes were close to each other, but they lived miles apart at their main countryside homes. However, that didn’t stop them from seeing each other often. They might as well be family, but lately, that dynamic had changed, and he didn’t understand why.
Anthony walked away, losing himself in the crowd so Francesca couldn’t track his movements. He had to deal with others who tried to talk to him, but he gave them the slip. He had much practice dodging people—it was a necessity when one had a mother who loved to show off her beautiful boy. Unfortunately, there were too many people to avoid, people he hadn’t noticed before.
“You’ve been giving us the slip, haven’t you?” said Kimble, a fellow he attended university with.
Anthony’s mother had apparently fished for the addresses of the few men from his university he had mentioned in passing because they were all present at the ball. The woman was rather scary when she wanted to be. Four of the men were not even his friends, merely acquaintances, but she had undoubtedly wanted to ensure he was involved in the ball whether he liked it or not.
“When did you lot arrive?” Anthony asked once greetings had been exchanged between the five of them. “I didn’t see any of you earlier.”
“No more than ten minutes ago,” Evans replied. “The boys and I came together after we arrived in London yesterday. We were surprised to receive an invitation to the ball. We didn’t think you thought that highly of us.”
He didn’t feel enough for the men to have good or bad thoughts about them; they were simply people he knew. That might be rude to admit, so he avoided Evans’s indirect question altogether.
“Well, I hope you enjoy the ball,” Anthony said. “It’s all my mother’s doing. She’s quite the butterfly for such events.”
The men all turned to where Anthony’s mother was chatting to a mixed group of men and women. Appreciation shone in their eyes, making them like any other man in the room. Anthony inwardly shook his head. His mother cast her spell on every man who came within a few feet of her, bewitching them with her ready smile and infectious laugh.
“You have a stunning mother, Lord Windsor,” said Thorne, his hooked nose flaring slightly. “Now we all know where you got your looks from. Unless your father is handsome as well?”
“His Grace is a good man,” said Shelby, briefly looking at Anthony. “Lord Windsor got his heart from him.”
Shelby was the only one present whom Anthony called a friend and had briefly encountered his parents on the odd occasion.
“I see,” said Kimble, raising his eyebrows. “So, not a looker but a good man. He’s fortunate to have married the duchess.”
“My mother is the one fortunate enough to have him,” Anthony snapped. He grimaced, annoyed he had let his emotions about the matter show. He must be more fatigued than he initially believed.
“Yes, of course,” Thorne agreed. “They’re both fortunate to have each other. That’s what I always say about married couples. One shouldn’t be more than the other. It wrecks the balance.”
Evans laughed. “How would you know?” he said. “You’re not married yet.”
“I plan to be,” said Thorne, frowning at the man. “Eventually.”
“Do you even have anyone in mind?” Shelby asked.
Anthony’s mind drifted, not paying attention to the man’s answer. He wasn’t interested because he had heard about Thorne’s ease falling in and out of love quicker than most women changed shoes. Instead, Anthony sipped his champagne, and mulled over his best friend’s changed behavior. Her frequent blushes around him, giggling at almost everything he said, and worst of all, how she stared at him. It was the same sickly look of adoration that other women gave him, including Francesca. It didn’t seem right coming from Catalina, someone he had known for years. Anthony didn’t like to delve too much into the reasons behind her changed behavior, so he had ignored it as much as possible. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.
Francesca had said a few things to him that he hadn’t thought much of, but now he had to wonder if there was some truth to her words. The young woman had subtly implied that perhaps Catalina wasn’t the friend she appeared to be. Just like any other person, she was with him because she wanted to use him to elevate herself, especially now that she had been introduced to society. Anthony had rejected that very thought, believing his best friend would never do that to him.
The very same woman on his mind suddenly appeared at the entrance with her parents. Dressed in white, Catalina seemed radiant, her plump face excited as she observed the room. She didn’t see Anthony at first, but their eyes met soon enough. Instead of waving at him, she blushed and quickly looked away, making his heart sink. They had known each other since she was three and he was five—there was no reason for her to blush upon seeing him. Anthony respected and cherished their friendship because she was the only one who knew him inside out, so to see her behave out of character was worrisome. Still, Anthony wanted to believe the best about his old friend and ignore the words of a woman who might be speaking from a place of jealousy.
Anthony and Catalina didn’t cross paths for the next hour, which only increased his concern. It almost seemed as though Catalina was avoiding him. Eventually, she approached him rather abruptly, asking to speak to him in the garden. Catalina appeared nervous, her hands fidgety as she looked anywhere but at him. He wished to calm her hands and demand to know what was going on, but he waited until they left the house and stopped under an old willow tree. His mother had ordered the servants to hang a few lanterns in the tree, providing him with the light he needed to see Catalina’s every expression. Anthony hadn’t yet decided if that was a good or bad thing.
“What is it that you wish to talk about that you couldn’t say in the ballroom?” Anthony asked, growing impatient.
She had said nothing for a full minute, but stared at the moon as though she were searching for something. Catalina turned to him, her almond-shaped dark blue eyes filled with apprehension. She was worried, but that cursed look of adoration was still there.
“You’re scaring me, Cat,” he said, using his nickname for her.
She laughed, sounding nervous. “Truthfully, I’m scaring myself,” she said. “This isn’t precisely the easiest thing for me to say.”
“Since when have you been tongue-tied around me?” he asked incredulously. “Cat, this isn’t like you at all. We’re friends, for heaven’s sake! Frankly, your behavior over the past year has been strange. At first, I ignored it as best I could, but it has risen to a crescendo that I cannot turn a blind eye to.”
Catalina gnawed on her plump lower lip, hiding her eyes from him as she moved her body from side to side. This was the sort of behavior she exhibited when in an uncomfortable situation. She had never done it because of him. Anthony sighed, running his fingers through his dark brown hair. This really wasn’t the friend he knew. Keeping his frustration at bay, he gently grabbed her arms and stilled her before lifting her chin to meet his eyes. He searched their dark blue depths, willing his friend to come back to him. He couldn’t find her. All he could see was a woman who might come undone in his hands very soon. Catalina was trembling beneath his touch, but the night was warm, almost stifling so.
“Tell me,” he entreated, fighting the urge to turn and run from the implications he foresaw. “Tell me what is on your mind. We’ll work through whatever it is. We always do.”
Anthony already knew the answer, but part of him still had to hear it. He needed Catalina to confirm what he could see in her eyes. He would regret it, but that part of him that always jumped into danger despite the consequences would not rest until it heard her confession.
“What if I’ve fallen in love with you?” Catalina suddenly blurted, her eyes vulnerable.
Anthony released her and stepped away as though she had burned him. “What?”
Catalina’s blush darkened until it reached her chest. “I, uh, love you,” she said, hunching inward as though she was suddenly unsure of herself. She seemed to think better of her stance and stood a little straighter, pushing her shoulders back. “I just wanted to confess that to you. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
Well, Anthony wished she had, although he had needed to hear the words. He turned away and rubbed his chest, oddly feeling betrayed. There was no possible way their friendship could ever be the same again, not after this. Francesca’s many subtle hints swam to the surface of his mind, taunting him with their growing validity. While it was true that most people only considered talking to Catalina because of him, she was able to hold her own once they got to know her. Anthony wasn’t so blinded by their friendship that he didn’t know how plain looking and odd she was, but these things never mattered to him. He believed it was his duty and honor as a friend to help her make a good first impression so people could get to know her and find out how amazing she was. He had never thought about it as her using him. But perhaps his wish to help her had given her a taste of what she could have if she took things further with him. If she wanted to elevate herself by getting him to court her… well, it changed things.
“Anthony, are you angry with me?” said Catalina, her voice soft with uncertainty and worry.
Anthony’s shoulders sagged. Although he felt betrayed, this was still Catalina, his best friend. His first instinct was to protect her, even from how he felt about the situation. He turned to her, mustering all the affection he had for her. Catalina looked at him with so much hope that he actually felt guilty about what he was about to say.
“We’re friends, Cat,” he said apologetically, tugging on one of her curls. “I love you, but like a brother loves his little sister. I can never see you as anything but that.”
Catalina slowly lowered her eyes, hiding the dejection he had seen. “Oh, I see,” she replied, pulling her curl away from him. She said nothing for a moment, but just as he thought to say something, she lifted her head. Catalina was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, I suppose I’ve said my piece, and you’ve said yours. Should we get back to the ball? We cannot stay out for too long. I’m a young lady now, not a child.”
The fake cheerfulness in her voice pulled at his heartstrings and made his chest feel too tight. “Yes, we should,” he agreed, taking the coward’s way out. He should stay and mend things, make her smile again, but he didn’t have the will to do it.
“I think I’ll go inside in a bit,” she said, still giving him that forced smile. “I would like a little fresh air.”
In other words, she wanted time alone from him. He nodded. “I’ll see you inside.”
Anthony walked away, softly muttering expletives with every footstep. His courage had failed him, but hopefully, he would have the opportunity later to discuss the matter with Catalina again.
Unfortunately, later never came. After dinner, during which Catalina had stayed far away from him, he saw her whisper something in her father’s ear before she disappeared. Anthony didn’t know it at that moment, but it would be the last time he saw his best friend. Catalina’s pride had evidently been more important than their friendship, hurting him more than she could ever imagine. The only thing he could do was forget about her, but it came with much difficulty. Catalina had been a part of Anthony’s life for as long as he could remember, and now she was gone because she couldn’t handle rejection. Perhaps he was better off without her, but his heart immediately denied that. Catalina was part of him, but just as many injured people learned to live with severed limbs, so would he survive without her. He had to.
“An Earl’s Rekindled Daydream” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Catalina Lancelot, returning from exile, seeks redemption and a fresh start. Unbeknownst to her, the man who shattered her childhood heart attempts to re-enter her life after six whole years. Navigating high society as a captivating lady was already challenging before the reappearance of her lost love… Struggling between the recently built walls around her heart and the vulnerable girl of the past, Catalina feels torn between the attention of eligible suitors and the lord who still captivates her spirit.
Will she set aside her pain and allow her heart to lead her back to her first love?
Anthony Montague, the Earl of Windsor, has never gotten over losing his best friend Catalina, unable to understand what happened after he gently rejected her confession. Her sudden reappearance in London leaves him breathless and a sudden stab of attraction battles his efforts to ignore his feelings. Fighting jealousy over his friend’s Marcus’ strong interest in her, Anthony sets aside the past and decides to pursue Catalina, risking it all for love.
Can he regain her trust, winning more than just a friend?
Tensions rise, old wounds reopen, and the truth behind their separation unravels. Catalina, torn between Marcus’s charm and her timeless attraction to Anthony, confronts her past and present. Despite external forces manipulating their connection, the undeniable chemistry reignites, mixed with love, betrayal, and redemption. Will doubts and past hurts keep them apart, or will they trust their hearts to rediscover the pure happiness that once bound them?
“An Earl’s Rekindled Daydream” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Whispers of Regency Love", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello my dears, I hope you enjoyed the preview of my new book, it holds a special place in my heart! I will be waiting for your comments here, they mean so much to me! Thank you. 🙂