Just a Little Daring (Daring Daughters Book 9)
Just a Little Daring
The Daring Daughters Book 9
By Emma V. Leech
Published by Emma V. Leech.
Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2022
Editing Services Magpie Literary Services
Cover Art: Victoria Cooper
ASIN No: B09HQ1SGZG
ISBN No:978-2-492133-36-7
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products are inferred.
About Me!
I started this incredible journey way back in 2010 with The Key to Erebus, but didn’t summon the courage to hit publish until October 2012. For anyone who’s done it, you’ll know publishing your first title is a terribly scary thing! I still get butterflies in the morning when a new title released, but the terror has subsided, at least. Now I just live in dread of the day my daughters are old enough to read them.
The horror! (On both sides, I suspect.)
2017 marked the year that I made my first foray into Historical Romance and the world of the Regency Romance, and my word what a year! I was delighted by the response to this series and can’t wait to add more titles. Paranormal Romance readers need not despair, however, as there is more to come there too. Writing has become an addiction and as soon as one book is over, I’m excited to start the next, so you can expect plenty more in the future.
As many of my works reflect, I am greatly influenced by the beautiful French countryside in which I live. I’ve been here in the South West for the past twenty-four years, though I was born and raised in England. My three gorgeous girls are all bilingual and my husband Pat, myself, and our four cats consider ourselves very fortunate to have made such a lovely place our home.
KEEP READING TO DISCOVER MY OTHER BOOKS!
Other Works by Emma V. Leech
Daring Daughters
Daring Daughters Series
Girls Who Dare
Girls Who Dare Series
Rogues & Gentlemen
Rogues & Gentlemen Series
The Regency Romance Mysteries
The Regency Romance Mysteries Series
The French Vampire Legend
The French Vampire Legend Series
The French Fae Legend
The French Fae Legend Series
Stand Alone
The Book Lover (a paranormal novella)
The Girl is Not for Christmas (Regency Romance)
Audio Books
Don’t have time to read but still need your romance fix? The wait is over…
By popular demand, get many of your favourite Emma V Leech Regency Romance books on audio as performed by the incomparable Philip Battley and Gerard Marzilli. Several titles are available and more added each month!
Find them at your favourite audiobook retailer!
Acknowledgements
With special thanks to my lovely sensitivity readers, Crystal Carr-Chennupalli and Rebecca Vijay. Ladies you are so generous with your time and advice, thank you for your help with this title.
Thanks, of course, to my wonderful editor Kezia Cole with Magpie Literary Services
To Victoria Cooper for all your hard work, amazing artwork and, above all, your unending patience!!! Thank you so much. You are amazing!
To my BFF, PA, personal cheerleader and bringer of chocolate, Varsi Appel, for moral support, confidence boosting and for reading my work more times than I have. I love you loads!
A huge thank you to all of Emma’s Book Club members! You guys are the best!
I’m always so happy to hear from you so do email or message me :)
emmavleech@orange.fr
To my husband Pat and my family … For always being proud of me.
Table of Contents
Family Trees
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
Epilogue
An Enchanting Dare
To Dare a Duke
The Rogue
A Dog in a Doublet
The Key to Erebus
The Dark Prince
Want more Emma?
Family Trees
Chapter 1
August,
I am Anna Brown is in the most dreadful fix. You must send her brother, Bill, at once to get her out. She’s being held at the gaol in Battle.
Please hurry.
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Anna Lane-Fox to her older brother Mr August Lane Fox.
28th December 1840, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.
“I do like the orange satin,” Ash said, a wistful expression on his handsome face.
“That is because you’re an unfeeling monster with no regard for anyone around you,” Viv said mildly, smothering a grin. She watched her twin brother with amusement as he pulled a face at her, sticking out his tongue. She gave a sad shake of her head. “Such a child.”
Ash scowled and continued looking at the fabric samples Nani Maa had ordered sent to the house. The siblings were very much alike in looks, with dark indigo eyes like their father, and thick black hair and golden skin that spoke of their mother’s heritage. Their mama, Aashini, was the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Ulceby and one of his Indian servants. Aashini’s marriage to their father, Viscount Cavendish, had caused an almighty stir back in the day, not that their father had given a tinker’s cuss. He had turned his back on the ton years earlier and didn’t give a damn. Viv suspected his utter disdain for them was the main reason they still welcomed him among their ranks. Well, that and the fact he was disgustingly wealthy and powerful. He was also a loving father and fiercely protective, while anyone wishing to cross swords with their mother—let alone their wicked grandmother, Nani Maa—could only be certifiable. The Anson family were close-knit and did not suffer fools.
Ash had inherited their maternal grandmother’s love of fine fabric and vibrant colours, an appreciation which Vivien had little time for. Not that she didn’t appreciate a well-cut gown or pretty things, but there always seemed more important and exciting ways to spend her time than choosing a gown for the next dratted ball.
“You know, if I’m that much of a monster, I ought to have left you to wear that yellow creation you were so taken with that made your skin appear sallow to Mama’s New Year ball. Instead, you have that lovely pink gown that will have all the men sighing over you,” Ash grumbled, returning Viv’s thoughts to the task at hand.
“Just what I need,” Vivien muttered, though she perked up at the idea it might make a certain someone sigh over her. If he accepted her mother’s invitation, that was.
“Are you going to tell me who he is?” Ash asked, proving he was not half as daft as he liked to make out, though Vivien knew that well enough. Her brother acted the happy-go-lucky dandy, but there was far more to him than that.
“Who said—” Viv broke off at the impatient glance Ash sent her. Crossing her arms, she gave a huff of annoyance. “Fine. But if I tell you, it means you are complicit in my plans and are honour bound to help me ensnare him.”
Ash slapped his hands over his ears. “No! I take it back. I don’t want to know. La la la!” he said desperately as Viv tugged his hands free.
“Idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Oh, Viv, leave me out of it,” Ash said, a pleading glint in his eyes. “You know it always ends badly when you come up with some mad scheme, usually with my head in the basket.”
“Don’t be silly. I only need you to befriend him, and… and tell him how wonderful I am.”
“So you want me to lie through my teeth, too!” he retorted.
Viv folded her arms and levelled a look at him that could etch glass. It was one she’d learned from Nani Maa, and it never failed.
Ash threw up his hands. “Ugh! Very well. Who is the poor dolt?”
Vivien hesitated, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
“Good God! Blushing, Viv?” Ash said in astonishment. “It’s serious, then. Oooh… That fellow we met at Beverwyck?
Lane-Fox? It is, isn’t it?”
Viv nodded. “I got Mama to invite him to her New Year’s ball,” she admitted. “But I don’t know if he’s accepted. I can’t ask her because then she’ll know it wasn’t just any old request and she’ll take an interest.”
Ash regarded her curiously. “Well, he seemed a decent chap, though rather tame by your standards, sis. Are you quite sure he’s the fellow for you?”
Viv bit back a retort, because in fairness, she knew what he meant. She did not want a quiet life, at least not an entirely quiet life. Moments of calm were lovely, but needed to be interspersed with regular doses of excitement and adventure.
“I know he seems that way,” Viv admitted, wondering why she had been so immediately taken with him herself. “He also seems kind, a truly gentle gentleman, but there was something else, like he was hiding something. I… I can’t put my finger on it.”
“And you’d best not, unless you want Papa to chop him into tiny pieces,” Ash said, smirking.
Viv rolled her eyes. “Don’t be puerile.”
Ash shrugged. “Why not? It’s what I do best.”
“Oh, Ash, don’t tease. You will help me, won’t you?”
With a long-suffering sigh, her brother slung his arm about her shoulder and hugged her. “When have I ever refused you?” he demanded, sounding a tad exasperated.
“Never,” she admitted, hugging him back.
“And I have a lifetime of regrets to prove it,” he added darkly.
Vivien laughed.
28th December 1840, Rother House, Burwash, Etchingham, East Sussex.
August tugged the rough woollen cap over his blond hair, straightened the cheap, well-worn waistcoat, and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. This was the last straw. Truly. He ought to leave the lot of them to their own devices. Lord knew they wouldn’t miss his interference. Well, not unless he was being useful and hauling one of them out of gaol or breaking them out of some building they’d accidentally got locked in, or smuggling them out of a village on the verge of riot for spreading pamphlets of an incendiary nature. Good God. Could he not at least get through an entire week without one of his female relations exploding some blasted scandal in his face? Apparently not.
Muttering furiously under his breath, August stomped down the stairs, heading for the kitchen and the servants’ entrance. His mother caught sight of him on his way through the hallway and perked up.
“Ah. Bill Brown, how good to see you again,” she said, beaming at him.
August snorted. “It was only three days ago, Mother, and I swear I shall burn this infernal disguise and Bill Brown alongside it, and then where will you be?”
“You say that every time, August, dear,” his mama said affectionately, reaching up to pat his cheek. “But every battle requires sacrifice.”
“Yes, but why am I always the fatted calf?”
“Oh, pish. It’s your poor sister languishing in that horrid cell, and for what, I ask you? Speaking her mind, as any free-thinking individual ought to do.”
“Yes, Mother, but must she speak her mind so loudly that she causes mayhem and disorder, and in front of so many witnesses? It’s only a matter of time before people realise Anna Brown is Anna Lane-Fox, and then I shall be a laughingstock, and she and Gwen will be completely unmarriageable.”
Though what manner of poor fool would marry them as it was, August could not imagine. It boggled the mind to envisage either of his sisters as wives and mothers. Warrior-queens of ancient Britain, yes, but docile, well-behaved spouses? Not on your life.
“Oh, no. Bill, dear, is that you again?”
August sighed as an ethereal figure dressed all in pale grey floated into the hall like an elegant phantom, bringing with her the faint scent of peppermint. “Yes, Aunt Lettice. Anna has got herself into a bit of a scrape.”
Again, he added silently.
Aunt Lettice made a sound of distress and pressed her ever-present lace hanky to her lips.
“Don’t fret, love,” Mama said cheerfully, giving her beleaguered sister a hearty squeeze. “Bill will get her out of gaol and no one the wiser.”
“Gaol! Again? Oh! The scandal! We’ll be ruined. Ruined!” Lettice wailed and fled down the hall sobbing. Oh, Lord. Could this day get any worse?
“Mother,” August reproached her, for Letty’s nerves were fragile things, and existing within Dante’s lesser-known tenth circle of hell as she did—August lived with the conviction his mother had created a new one—was a constant strain upon them. He sympathised.
His mother just grinned and pressed her ink-stained fingers to her lips and then upon his cheek. “Run along now and free your sister from tyranny. There’s a good boy. I must get back to my book. It’s flowing marvellously well at the moment.”
August groaned and hurried away. At least this debacle would get him out of the madhouse for the afternoon.
“There’s no need to scowl so. It worked, didn’t it? And it didn’t cost half so much as last time. In fact, I thought the guard was rather sweet. He let me send you that letter after all, and he paid the boy over the odds to get it to you quickly.”
August regarded his younger sister with impatience. “Yes, for which I have now repaid him with an exorbitant amount of interest. That get up doesn’t fool anyone, you little twit. Anyone can see you are a lady, not… not a—”
“Flower seller,” Anna said, quite unperturbed. “I had to get my paper into the hands of Lord Selby, and I discovered he buys his wife flowers every Monday on his way home. As an apology for all the vile things he did over the weekend when he was in town, I don’t doubt.”
“Oh, my God. Anna, you didn’t?”
Anna beamed at him. “I did! I wrapped the flowers in my paper. Wasn’t that clever of me, August? For even if he doesn’t see it, his poor wife will—the servants are bound to show it to her—and do you not think she is tired of being made a laughingstock by the disgusting old satyr? Perhaps it will give her the motivation to join our fight.”
“Or hit him over the head with the fireside poker.” August sighed gloomily. “And then we’ll be taken up for inciting a riot or murder, or something equally appalling.”
“My, but you are a little ray of sunshine today.” Anna tutted. “It wasn’t my fault that big brute pinched me. Why must men see a single woman and think she is fair game? Must I be a prostitute because I do not have a man standing beside me? And it was hardly my fault he fell against that drunken lout and his friends. Did I make the lot of them start hitting each other or breaking windows? No, I did not.”
“No, love, of course not, and the bastard needed a clout around the head for laying a finger on you. I should have gladly done it myself… but if you’d not been there alone, dressed as a flower seller, it would never have happened,” August pointed out, not unreasonably in his view.
“No. If I had been a good, well-behaved, obedient young lady, I should be at home crocheting or doing needlepoint whilst my brain died by slow degrees and I screamed silently inside until I was dead,” Anna remarked. “Is that what I should do, August, so I don’t invite men to pinch my bottom simply by being in the same street as them?”
August felt the powerful desire to dash his brains out against the nearest brick wall, but took a breath. “No, Anna, of course not. The fellow was an ignorant brute, and it’s wretchedly unfair. I know it’s unfair, but it is how the world is. I cannot change it for you, and you cannot change it either. You can only make yourself and the rest of our family into pariahs. I don’t wish to be a pariah, Anna.”
His sister sent him a mutinous look he recognised only too well. “I might not change things in this lifetime, or even for the next generation, but perhaps I can build a steppingstone, as Mary Wollstonecraft did, a small but solid step up for women everywhere, something to lean upon. The echo of a voice that speaks for those who cannot.”
August stared at his sister, and not for the first time he envied her. She had such purpose, such fire inside her, such a definite view of what was right. August had never felt so sure of his place in the world. Their father had been a brute, and he could not blame his mother or his sisters for jumping for joy when he’d died. Indeed, his closest male role models had been disgusting excuses for humanity, never mind anything higher minded. His friends’ fathers had been little better, and the more his mother and sisters harped on about how the male of the species was ruining the world, the more August had questioned what the devil it meant to be a man, let alone a gentleman, a label he was finding increasingly difficult to hang on to.