A rivals-to-lovers historical romantic comedy between a grumpy Viscount with a rocky reputation and a bright-as-sunshine heiress determined to make something of herself, perfect for fans of Evie Dunmore, India Holton, and Bridgerton.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Faye Delacour’s A Lady’s Guide to London, which is out now.
If he won’t add her business into his guidebook, she’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.
Della Danby is determined to prove she’s more than just a flighty heiress riding on her parents’ money to get through life. When her closest friend and business partner finds her hands full with a new baby, Della takes the opportunity to shoulder more responsibility at their ladies’ gambling club and secure their financial stability, and she has the perfect idea: to drum up new business by adding their club to a popular guidebook of local attractions.
Gambling ruined Viscount Lyman Ashton’s life and his marriage. He has no intention of putting a new club in his guide, nor of getting involved with its intriguing and energetic proprietress. But when Della refuses to take no for an answer and approaches his publisher with a plan to write her own book of attractions for ladies, Lyman reluctantly agrees to collaborate with her in exchange for the money he so desperately needs to pay his debts. As they grow closer, Lyman finds himself falling for Della even though his past could jeopardize her reputation. But if they can ever have a future together, Della may have to choose between the club she’s worked so hard to build and her chance at love.
Lyman Price was seated before a large window in Verey’s cafe, overlooking Regent Street. It was a small but expensive establishment in Mayfair that catered primarily to ladies’ luncheons at this hour of the day, though gentlemen could find good French cookery and wines for supper in the evenings. Not a place Lyman would have chosen for a meeting, but it hadn’t been his suggestion. At least it wouldn’t be difficult to find Mr. Danby, even if he had no idea what the man looked like.
Lyman had described himself in his last letter (I’ll be the ne with dark hair, wearing spectacles and a brown coat), but Mr. Danby hadn’t seen fit to return the gesture. He might be any of the gentlemen who passed by the window.
Why am I even here?
He needed to get his revisions finished and turn his draft over to his publisher so that he could return to work on his guide to Bath. The sooner he was done, the sooner he’d get his money. Mr. Danby probably didn’t even have anything new to tell him. Half the time, when someone wrote about some perceived omission from the guide, it was only a neighborhood pub with stale bread and warm beer, unworthy of mention.
But there had been something compelling about Danby’s letters-an engaging wit that made him think his correspondent’s ideas might be worth his time-and Danby had insisted that it would be simpler to explain the attraction in person. Better to take a half hour from his day than to miss something his publisher might chide him over later.
A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts, her tone too cheery. “Excuse me, are you Viscount Ashton?” He looked up to find a lady of his own class standing before his table.
She was small and plump, and exceptionally pretty, with a round face and large, dark eyes. Her honey-brown curls were pinned up beneath a wide-brimmed straw bonnet with a ribbon that perfectly matched her blue gingham morning gown, trimmed with French lace. She looked rather like an expensive doll, right down to the healthy flush of pink that dusted her cheeks.
“I’m Cordelia Danby. I wrote to you.”
Cordelia. The C was for Cordelia. Not Charles or Colin or Christopher.
Lyman blinked, as if the sight before him might transform itself if he only refreshed his eyes.
“I’m not what you expected,” she said, mischief warming her smile. It was a look designed to charm, and it was working. “I apologize. But I wasn’t sure you’d come if you realized you were corresponding with a woman.”
II wouldn’t have. There was no brother or husband with her, nor any lady’s companion. What could she mean by this?
“You aren’t very talkative, are you?” That same smile again, quite devilish. “Would you mind if we walked over to Hanover Square? I would sit, but…”
Evidently, she had no objection to meeting him alone, but dining together was a bridge too far.
“Forgive me,” Lyman said, rising to his feet. He should’ve stood earlier. “You surprised me, Miss Danby. That’s all.”
Was she a miss? He didn’t see a ring, and she didn’t correct him, so she must be. Besides, if she had a husband, he wouldn’t let her wander about town meeting strange men.
“A walk would be lovely,” he added, setting a tuppence on the table for his tea and offering his arm as they exited Verey’s. She took it, settling neatly against his side.
She smelled nice; slightly lemony. A tart, bright scent that seemed to match her carefree manner.
He had no idea who this woman was, or what gossip he might be fueling if they were seen together, but Lyman wasn’t going to show more concern for her reputation than she did. She’d arranged this meeting, after all.
“I’m the co-owner of Bishop’s,” she began, the moment they crossed the street. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”
“I regret to say I have not.”
“We’re a chocolate house, exclusively for ladies. We have all the amusements one could traditionally find at a gentlemen’s chocolate house, such as White’s, for example.”
“Ah.” A gaming hell for ladies. Whatever next?
He studied Miss Danby as they reached Hanover Square, where they set down the small path that encircled a little patch of garden before the church. The sun’s rays had lightened her eyes to a rich shade of toffee that contrasted with the darker hue of her thick lashes and straight brows. Her skin was smooth and flawless.
She didn’t look like a hellcat; she looked like any other young lady of means, remarkable only in how pretty she was. But if he’d thought her daring or foolhardy for meeting him like this, it paled in comparison to her other activities. How did someone in her position end up running a gambling club?
With a growing sense of unease, Lyman pondered what her business had to do with him.
Surely not.
But Miss Danby continued talking, confirming his fears. “We’re a unique venture, the only one of its kind in London, and I daresay the whole country. I think we’d make an excellent choice for a mention in your book.”
What presumption! Best to end this quickly, before she could get carried away. “Thank you for the suggestion, Miss Danby, but I don’t intend to add any more gaming establishments in the next edition.”
“But why not?” Her playful manner faded, leaving real confusion
in its wake. The lady wore her sentiments so openly that Lyman could read her thoughts before she gave them voice. “If there’s some thing new and interesting, you must include it. That’s the whole point of releasing new editions, isn’t it?”
Lyman held his tongue as another couple approached them. The man’s gaze lingered a touch too long. Though Lyman couldn’t place him, there’d been a hint of recognition on his face before he turned to murmur something in the ear of his companion. Had they recognized him? He waited until they’d gone a little further down the path before he spoke again, lest they tell all their friends they’d seen the Viscount Ashton discussing gambling clubs in the company of an unmarried lady.
“Miss Danby, with all due respect, it’s a gentleman’s guide. Why would I include a ladies’ club?
“Some gentlemen have wives.”
“Only the unhappy ones,” Lyman replied, before he could think better of it.
“What a terrible thing to say.” Miss Danby’s generous lips parted in shock, though he wouldn’t have taken her for an innocent. “If you’re unmarried, it’s very conceited of you to issue a blanket condemnation of something of which you have no firsthand knowledge. And if you are married, it’s quite cruel of you to speak that way about your wife, who would be heartbroken to hear you, I’m sure.”
She raised one dark eyebrow, challenging him to deny the assessment.
He might have said nothing. The opportunity was there, and Lyman’s instinct was to take it. Better to avoid such an unpleasant conversation with a woman he barely knew.
But that’s not the real reason you don’t want to tell her, is it? As with all things, it came back to his own selfish pleasure. There was temptation in the way Miss Danby’s gaze lingered on him as they spoke, in the teasing note in her voice, and the ever-present spark in her large, dark eyes.
She was very pretty, and she was trying to charm him. And Lyman-bastard that he was-enjoyed it.
This wasn’t a mature widow, in a position to take risks with her reputation. Miss Danby was young-in her mid-twenties, he would guess-and unmarried. In spite of her unconventional pastime of running a den of sin and ruin, she struck him as guileless. There was a certain childlike optimism in her speech and manners that warned him away.
He would drain every ounce of goodness from her spirit if given the chance, just as he had with Ellen. Better to stamp out this spark before it could burn her.
So he forced himself to say what he did next: “I’m afraid you’re mistaken on both counts, Miss Danby. I do have firsthand knowledge of the subject, for I am married, and I assure you it has made me miserable. As for Lady Ashton, there is no need to worry about my breaking her heart. I accomplished the task years ago. If we were still on speaking terms, I’m sure she would be the first to tell you that no sane person should enter the yoke of matrimony.”
The result of this speech was exactly as expected. Miss Danby stared at him as if he just dipped a kitten into a cup of tea and eaten it whole.
Monster, her eyes said. Scoundrel.
All true. And now that she knew it, Miss Danby would clutch her skirts and run back to wherever she’d come from. Her mischievous smile would never entice him again.
But she didn’t run. She drew a long breath and studied the scenery while Lyman tried not to dwell on the sensation of her hand upon his arm or her lemon-tart scent.
“Well,” she said finally. “I suppose when you put our dub in your book, we can’t count on your wife’s patronage then.”
A bark of laughter escaped him, quite against his will. Who is this woman?
“Miss Danby, I admire your tenacity, but my answer is still no.” A gambling dub for ladies.
If she ran any other sort of establishment, he would have been tempted to give in, if only to reward her persistence. But this was out of the question. It was bad enough that the men of this country brought their families to the brink of starvation and ruin on a roll of the dice. He wouldn’t help Miss Danby infect the remaining half of the population with the same affliction. He knew the toll it took all too well.
“Come and see it for yourself,” she invited. “I’ll give you a tour of the premises, then you can judge if it’s worthy of a mention alongside White’s or Brooks’s. You won’t be disappointed.”
Lyman stiffened. The promise of a personal tour from a beautiful woman might have tempted him in other circumstances, but not here. She couldn’t know how unwelcome her offer was.
He searched for a polite excuse. “I wouldn’t want to frighten away all your guests. It can’t be much of a ladies’ club if you let me in.”
She flashed that smile again. An impish glimpse of white between the pink of her lips, that promised something more wicked yet to come. “I’ll be more worried for you than for them, to be quite honest. Our members are known to get a bit rowdy without their husbands and fathers around, and you’d grant them a tempting diversion. But if things did get out of hand, we have a six-foot-tall, reformed pirate handling our security who could quiet things down rather quickly.” At Lyman’s stunned chuckle, she added, “None of that was a joke.”
It seemed Miss Danby had an answer to everything, but he wouldn’t drag this out any further. What she asked of him was impossible.
“Let me be as clear as I can. I won’t attend your club under any circumstances.”
She withdrew her arm from his and squared her shoulders.
“I urge you to reconsider. I would much rather be your friend than your enemy, Lord Ashton.”
My enemy? Of all the absurdities that had escaped her mouth in the past quarter hour, that had to take the cake. Standing in a patch of sunlight that fell across her face, dressed in her fine clothes and barely coming to his shoulder, Miss Danby couldn’t have looked any less threatening. A pampered tabby who thought herself a tiger. Yet the firm set of her jaw betrayed how serious she was.
“I regret that I cannot.” He almost meant it. This short acquaintance had proven Miss Danby to be an unconventional lady, one that he would have liked to know better. But that path held more danger than he could afford.
He needed to finish the revisions to his book as soon as possible with real attractions, not the thinly veiled temptation this woman offered-and collect his money. He had debts to pay. Too many to count.
“Very well,” she finally conceded. “But you’re making a mistake.” With that ominous warning, Miss Danby took her leave. Lyman watched her until she was out of sight, unable to shake the feeling she had only been a strange dream.
