Last Gentleman Standing
Jane
Ashford
Pub Date: September
5, 2017
A fortune
hunter’s dream…
Miss Elisabeth Elham is an unlikely heiress. She never knew the
curmudgeonly uncle who died suddenly and left her a fortune. She’s proud,
outspoken and independent—a definite challenge for London’s fortune hunting
suitors.
As various determined gentlemen vie for her attention at balls, routs,
picnics and parties, Elisabeth finds herself embroiled with a charming rake, a
mysterious nabob, and an elegant neighbor. This would all be great fun, if only
she wasn’t so fascinated by the one man in London who’s not trying to
woo her…
Rediscover this
classic Regency romance! Originally titled Bluestocking,
this classic story has been unavailable for over 25 years and is now returning
from the vault!
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Elisabeth had
recrossed a stile and was traversing an open field when she heard hoofbeats
behind her. Turning, she was just in time to see the rider urge his magnificent
chestnut up and over the fence she had just climbed. The form of both was
flawless, and she forgot herself in her admiration of the jump, watching
unself-consciously, as the horseman approached her.
The chestnut had
white feet and was one of the most beautiful and spirited animals she’d ever
seen. He moved with the ease and power of a true thoroughbred and might have
made almost any rider appear insignificant, but the man on his back matched his
quality. He looked to be tall, and his figure was well-molded and athletic. His
buckskin breeches fitted him to perfection, and his coat fairly cried out its
fashionable origin in the workrooms of a Weston or a Stultz. Elisabeth had seen
a few gentlemen of the haut ton in Bath,
and she knew enough to recognize that the deceptive simplicity of the folds of
his cravat and the carefully casual arrangement of his hair were the signs of a
veritable tulip, a top-of-the-trees corinthian. At that moment, she met his
slightly mocking gaze and looked down in confusion, recalling herself with
annoyance. She had been gaping like a schoolgirl, she thought.
The rider pulled
up before her. “I almost feel I’ve been in a competition,” he said. His voice
was deep and resonant. “I hope you gave me full points for that jump.”
Elisabeth looked
up. His eyes were pale blue, she noted, in spite of his black hair and rather
dark complexion. “I was staring quite rudely, I know,” she replied. “I beg your
pardon. But I was transfixed by the way your horse took that fence.”
The man patted
the chestnut’s neck, “He’s wonderful, is Tristram.”
“Tristram?”
repeated Elisabeth, smiling. “That’s an uncommon name for a horse. Do you take
it from Tristram
Shandy?”
The rider looked
at her with much more interest than he’d first shown. “Yes, I’m fond of
Sterne.”
“Oh, it is my
favorite of all books. I thought hardly anyone read it now.”
He smiled back
at her somewhat quizzically. “And I should hardly have thought it fit reading
for young ladies.” He surveyed her. He was the despair of his mother and
several aunts, who had all at one time or another introduced to him dazzling
debutantes calculated to urge him into marriage. But though he’d treated them
politely, he’d been extremely bored in their company and really had very little
notion of what to say to conventional young women. Seeing that Elisabeth was a
bit uncomfortable under his gaze, he continued, “But then I rarely find young
ladies wandering about my land unattended. So I can’t quite make you out. Are
you someone’s governess, perhaps? Do you teach your pupils from Sterne?” His
amused smile faded as he went on before she could answer. “No, that doesn’t
seem right.”
Looking down at
her drab garments, Elisabeth laughed. “I’m sure I don’t know why you say so. I
do look very like a governess. In fact, until a few weeks ago, I was a teacher
at a seminary for young ladies. Now that my uncle has obligingly left me his
fortune, I shall have to change my style of dress.”
“Uncle?” he
asked. His eyes narrowed. “You can’t mean old Anthony Elham? I heard of his
death.”
“Yes. I am
Elisabeth Elham. Though it is not at all the thing to go about introducing
oneself to strange men,” she told herself reflectively.
The rider
laughed. “I hope I’m not strange. But I beg pardon. I should have made myself
known to you immediately. I am your neighbor, Derek Wincannon. Do you mean to
say that old Elham has left you Willowmere?”
Elisabeth
shrugged. “It is part of the estate. And a very ramshackle part, I must say. I
have never seen so neglected a house.”
“It’s the
scandal of the neighborhood,” said Mr. Wincannon. “Your uncle was a shocking
landlord and a worse neighbor.”
“From what I
heard of him,” answered Elisabeth, “he
was uniformly shocking. I’m rather sorry I never met him.” The man laughed
again. “But in any case, you may inform the neighborhood that I shall be
putting the place to rights as soon as I may.”
“That’s good
news. Will you be settling there?”
“No. At least,
not immediately. I shall live in London for a time, at Elham House.”
“For the season,
I assume.”
“Yes, I’ll be
bringing out my cousin.”
“You are bringing
out someone? I’d have thought it would be the other way about.”
“Oh, no,”
Elisabeth smiled. “I’m beyond that sort of thing. Quite on the shelf, in fact,”
she added lightly.
“I see it now,”
he responded dryly, “a veritable antique. How can I have mistaken you for girl
in her twenties?”
She laughed.
“Well, I daresay I shall attend a few parties also, if I’m asked.”
He smiled.
“There can be little doubt of that, I should think. You’ll wish to sample the
gaities of the season and attend the assemblies at Almack’s.”
“Almack’s? Oh,
no, I shouldn’t think so.”
He raised his
eyebrows.
“My father used
to tell me stories about London, and he was most severe on Almack’s. He called
it the Marriage Mart and painted such a vivid picture of the trials young girls
undergo as they are catalogued and labeled according to their faces and
fortunes that he gave me quite a horror of the place. I don’t at all wish to go
there now.”
Mr. Wincannon’s
interest was definitely caught. “Now?”
“Well, of course
I might have done so some years ago had I been offered the opportunity,”
Elisabeth explained obligingly. “When one is thrown penniless upon the world at
the age of nineteen, one is willing to try any shift to come about again. I was
very willing then
to marry to make my fortune. But I wasn’t given the chance, and how fortunate
that was, really. For now, you see, there is no need.”
Derek Wincannon
laughed. “You are a most unusual girl,” he said.
“Because I
prefer to order my own life now that I have the means to do so?” asked
Elisabeth. “I’m persuaded you can’t really think so. Would you give up your
independence without need? No indeed. When I was desperate and might have
married, no one dared offer for me. I certainly won’t encourage anyone to do so
now that I have an income.”
“Much good that
will do you, I should say.”
After enjoying this classic
romance, dive into Jane Ashford’s current series, The Dukes Sons! Enter to win
a copy of Heir to the Duke by Jane
Ashford
Jane
Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior
high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of
Regency England. That delight led her to study English literature and travel
widely in Britain and Europe. Her historical and contemporary romances have
been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia,
Slovenia, and Spain, as well as the US. Jane has been nominated for a Career
Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. She lives in Beverly Hills, CA.
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