Regency Pleasures: A Model Débutante

Regency Pleasures: A Model Débutante
Louise Allen

From genteel poverty to high society Talitha Grey expected to spend her life as a milliner. Then a sudden inheritance catapulted her into the ton! Talitha will make her debut under Lady Perry’s wing – and must hide her shameful secret from her kind guardian. The only difficulty is Lady Perry’s nephew, the gorgeous, suspicious Lord Arndale, who sees far too much… And from highwayman’s bride to lord ’s wife!Katherine Cunningham married an unknown highwayman awaiting execution to save her brother from a debtor’s prison. But her new husband proved to be innocent and a lord. She won’t hold Nicholas to such a mistaken match – but he seems determined to make their marriage real…Two classic and delightful Regency tales!

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REGENCY PLEASURES

Louise Allen

REGENCY SECRETS

Julia Justiss

REGENCY RUMOURS

Juliet Landon

REGENCY REDEMPTION

Christine Merrill

REGENCY PROTECTORS

Margaret McPhee

REGENCY IMPROPRIETIES

Diane Gaston

REGENCY MISTRESSES

Mary Brendan

REGENCY REBELS

Deb Marlowe

REGENCY SCANDALS

Sophia James

REGENCY MARRIAGES

Elizabeth Rolls

REGENCY INNOCENTS

Annie Burrows

REGENCY SINS

Bronwyn Scott

About the Author

LOUISE ALLEN has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember and finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past. Louise divides her time between Bedfordshire and the north Norfolk coast, where she spends as much time as possible with her husband at the cottage they are renovating. With any excuse she’ll take a research trip abroad—Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Please visit Louise’s website—www.louiseallenregency.co.uk—for the latest news!

REGENCY

Pleasures

Louise Allen

A Model Débutante

The Marriage Debt

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

A Model Débutante

Louise Allen

To the Fufflers

For all the support and laughter

Chapter One

February 1816

Miss Talitha Grey shivered delicately and risked a glance downwards. A single length of sheer white linen draped across her shoulder and fell to the floor at front and back: beneath it her naked skin had a faintly blue tinge. Tallie strongly suspected that it was marred by goose bumps.

With a resigned sigh she flexed her fingers on the gilded bow in her left hand and fixed her gaze once again on the screen of moth-eaten blue brocade that was doing duty for the skies of Classical Greece. Perhaps if she thought hard enough about it she could imagine that she was bathed in the heat of that ancient sun, her skin caressed by the lightest of warm zephyrs and not by the whistling draughts that entered the attic studio by every door and ill-fitting window frame.

Tallie exerted her vivid imagination and summoned up the distant sound of shepherds’ pan pipes floating over olive groves to drown out the noise of arguing carters from Panton Square far below. She was con centrating on conjuring up the scent of wood smoke and pine woods to counteract the distressing smells of poor drainage and coal fires when a voice behind her said peevishly, ‘Miss Grey! You have moved!’

Taking care to hold her pose and not turn her head Tallie said, ‘I assure you I have not, Mr Harland.’

‘Something has changed,’ the speaker asserted. Tallie could hear the creak of the wooden platform on which Mr Frederick Harland had perched himself to reach the top of the vast canvas. On it he was depicting an epic scene of ancient Greece with the figure of the goddess Diana in the foreground, her back turned to the onlooker, her gaze sweeping the wooded hillsides and distant temples until it reached the wine-dark Aegean sea.

There was more creaking, the muttering that was the normal counterpart to Mr Harland’s mental processes and then the floorboards protested as he walked towards her. ‘Your skin colour has changed,’ he announced with a faint air of accusation.

‘I am cold,’ Tallie responded placatingly without turning her head. Frederick Harland, she had discovered, took no more and no less interest in her naked form than he did in the colour, form and texture of a bowl of fruit, an antique urn or a length of drapery. When in the grip of his muse he was vague, inconsiderate and sometimes testy, but he was also kindly, paid her very well and was reassuringly safe to be alone with—whatever her state of undress.

‘Cold? Has the fire gone out?’

‘I believe it has not been lit today, Mr Harland.’ Tallie wished she had thought to insist on a taper being set to the fire before they had started the session, but her mind had been on other things and it was not until the pose had been set and the artist had clambered up onto his scaffold that she realised that the lofty attic room was almost as chill as the February streets outside.