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    Sweetest Regret
    Sweetest Regret
    Sweetest Regret
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Sweetest Regret

    By Meredith Duran

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    About this ebook

    The spirit of the season is festive—and clouding even the sharpest of judgments—in this Victorian era romance, perfect for fans of Jude Deveraux and Sabrina Jeffries.

    At a house party in the countryside, the joyful spirit of the Christmas season threatens to sweep Georgiana Trent under the mistletoe—and back into the arms of the dashing rogue who broke her heart two years ago. Little does she know that Lucas Godwin has no intention of leaving until he has reclaimed her as his own.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPocket Star
    Release dateNov 28, 2016
    ISBN9781501147555
    Sweetest Regret
    Author

    Meredith Duran

    Meredith Duran is the USA TODAY bestselling author of thirteen novels. She blames Anne Boleyn for sparking her lifelong obsession with British history (and for convincing her that princely love is no prize if it doesn’t come with a happily-ever-after). She enjoys collecting old etiquette manuals, guidebooks to nineteenth-century London, and travelogues by intrepid Victorian women.

    Read more from Meredith Duran

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    4/5

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    • 5/5
      In this Christmas novella, Duran manages once more to imbue her storyline with all sorts of emotions. Of course there are semi-tragic backstories; devious side characters and steadfast heroes too!
      I love that they both learn from past mistakes to fight for what they want- and what better time to hope for a new beginning than at Christmas?
    • 4/5
      This sweet Christmas-themed novella is a quietly enjoyable read. Georgiana and Trent are both nursing a broken heart, but watching them try to work together to avert a diplomatic crisis while coping with that pain makes for a great story. As they find their way back to each other despite the chaos of a weekend holiday party, they also share some of the magic of an old-school English Christmas. My only wish is that this book had been a full length novel rather than novella- I didn't get to spend enough time with this lovely couple.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 5/5
      As with all of Meredith Duran’s writing, I enjoyed this one, too.  Albeit, short, since it is a novella, it was packed with humor, silly moments, outrageous dialog and above all, a sound happily ever after.  The story begins a few days before Christmas.  Georgie has always, or so it seems, been alone at Christmas.  Her mother passed away years ago and she was virtually stranded to enjoy the season with the servants!  Some years previous, she thought she’d fallen in love.  Lucas Godwin seemed to like her with her unusual intelligence and interests for a woman of the Regency period.  But Sir Philip was nothing more than a rogue and she, the duped one.  After 30 days of acquaintance and continued attraction, their time in Munich was a distant memory, nothing more.Needless to say, Georgie was a bit sarcastic, embittered and thoroughly put out when her father who was to finally spend time with her at Christmas was called to duty, running off to some diplomatic tangle he was supposed to fix.  Georgie was left to entertain a bunch of foreign diplomats.  Her father also expressed concern about an important and vital letter which had gone missing.  He thinks one of the diplomats has snagged it.  It is up to Georgie to find it. The theme of the entertainment is for diplomats to enjoy the tradition of an English Christmas.  Just as she was prepared to take the bull by its horns, her father cabled additional instructions.Excerpt: I have ordered Lucas Godwin to join the party. He will find the letter.****The name Lucas Godwin set her heart pounding and not in a good way!  As far as she’s concerned, he was nothing more than a silver-tongued snake. She couldn’t face him. No, she wouldn’t face him.  But then...she couldn’t deny him entrance to her father’s home.  Her father was his boss.  She’d been schooled to not lose her temper, to restrain her reactions.  She was the daughter of England’s best diplomat. She was scholarly, deeply interested in the political scene, and not one to enjoy balls.  But under this façade, she is dynamite!With this setting, all is chaos.  Georgie cannot hold her tongue.  She says all the outrageous things she can to rid herself of Lucas.  Lucas shoves it right back!  But they have a job to do – find the letter.  Once the letter is found, Lucas can be on his way.This is a funny, uplifting story which kept me chuckling throughout.  In my opinion, Georgie and Lucas deserve each other and are perfectly matched, that is, if the truth can be discovered under all the rhetoric.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 5/5
      A lovely froth of a novella. Georgie's father is infuriating, but the romance, while a cliche premise, is well-portrayed.

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    Sweetest Regret - Meredith Duran

    Chapter One

    December 22, 1885

    The crowd was rowdy; only eight of them, but they managed to make a ruckus better suited to undergraduates on holiday. The noise spilled from the drawing room all the way down the hall to the grand staircase, where Georgie paused to take it in: laughter, clapping, a slurred yell, the ring of champagne glasses knocked carelessly together. Some untalented pianist was mangling Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.

    Foreign diplomats: scallywags by profession. And one among them was evidently a thief to boot. This was the crowd her father had left her to host for Christmas.

    It will be very easy, he had assured her while hastily packing his things. An international crisis had called him away to Constantinople—some fracas that could only be resolved by the great Sir Philip, hero of British diplomacy.

    Georgie was accustomed to her father’s abrupt departures. But the house was full of his friends! Worse, one of them had broken into his study and stolen a letter of exceeding political sensitivity. You can’t mean to leave me with them, she’d protested. How am I to search their rooms for the letter if I’m the one hosting them?

    Her father had seemed unconcerned. Cheerful, even. You’ll think of something, he’d told her. And they’ll only stay till Boxing Day. Show them our holiday customs. I promised them a proper English Christmas. Feed them mince pies, keep them drunk. Very easy, Georgiana.

    Easy, was it? Today, from off the coast of Marseilles, he’d cabled a new set of instructions. Never fret, he’d written. I have ordered Lucas Godwin to join the party. He will find the letter.

    Lucas Godwin! Georgie had goggled at the page for long minutes. On no account—not even for peace everlasting—would she endure the presence of that silver-tongued snake in her house!

    But an hour ago, his coach had rolled up her drive.

    The sight had driven Georgie out of the drawing room. Panic urged her toward the kitchens. There was nowhere she felt safer, nobody’s counsel she trusted more than Cook’s.

    But halfway down the hall, she’d changed course. The staff could not save her from her father’s plots. Instead, she had flown up the stairs, bursting into the von Bittners’ suite to make a hasty search of two valises, praying to find the letter so she could send Godwin packing.

    She’d not found it, though.

    Another round of laughter floated to her ears. She took a strangling hold on the ivy-wrapped banister. Did the voices include Godwin’s?

    Of course they did.

    She should march into the drawing room and slap his face!

    The thought made her sigh. Some other woman might have done it. Alas, she was Georgiana Trent, daughter of England’s finest diplomat, schooled from childhood in the art of restraint. She was scholarly, politic, retiring. The worst anyone could call her was a spinster. She would not let an old wound drive her to fresh disgrace.

    Moreover, if she did slap Godwin, he would probably think her mad. He had no idea that he had broken her heart, two years ago. That month in Munich had only been a flirtation for him, one among dozens. Everybody fawned over him—even the great beauties. He had that kind of charm.

    Yet for a month, in Munich, Godwin had ignored the beauties. He had looked only at Georgie—laughing at her jokes, praising her insights, gazing at her across crowded rooms as though she were some kind of miracle. One glance in the mirror might have proved otherwise; she was plain and brown-eyed, with ashen hair too frizzy ever to shine. Her perfectly round face had never caused anybody to gape, much less to think of miracles.

    But even spinsters could lose their good sense. Godwin’s respect for her learning, his interest in her opinions, had touched her deepest, most secret hopes. She had wondered if they might be falling in love.

    They weren’t. That had become clear the morning she’d read of his departure in the diplomatic circular. He’d left! Without a word of farewell, without even a note, he had packed his bags and departed for a new post in Paris!

    He’d forgotten her as easily as he’d noticed her. That was the way of the flirt.

    Well, hers was the way of the civilized. She would abide by her father’s instructions. She would allow Godwin into her home, even have a Christmas stocking knit for him. Not by a single look or word would she reveal how he’d wounded her. But she did not mean to go lightly on him, oh no. If he took it upon himself to charm her again, she would show him what she thought of cads who built their careers on shallow charisma. She had more weapons at her disposal than a mere slap. She had erudition. She had substance and dignity and pride.

    Resolved, she marched down the stairs, then cut through the entry hall toward the drawing room. The clamor had assumed a wild edge; ragged shouts of laughter drew her to a halt at the door. Her heart skipped a beat.

    Godwin stood blindfolded amidst a ring of laughing guests. She’d fantasized, once or twice, that Parisian cooking had turned him into a round-bellied, gout-ridden glutton. Alas, his tall frame remained lean—displayed to very good advantage by his formalwear, black tails and a starched white necktie. He could not have been in company above half an hour, for he had made time to change his suit. But already he’d become the center of attention. Typical.

    He thrust out one gloved hand, and Countess Obolenskaya, a willowy blonde well accustomed to men’s attentions, sidestepped with expert ease. What is this called? she giggled to the man at her side—Lord von Bittner, a gruff, silver-bearded German.

    The blindman’s bluff, von Bittner informed her. He gave a grand sloshing wave of his wineglass. The Axminster carpet might not survive this party. English traditions!

    Georgie crossed her arms. Here stood the crème de la crème of European diplomacy, upon whose shoulders rested the future of nations, the fate of politics and continent-defiling wars. And how did they entertain themselves? With a children’s game!

    Somebody noticed her—Mr. Lipscomb, from the Home Office. Oh, look, he cried, and then stepped forward to seize Godwin’s shoulders, giving him a shove in Georgie’s direction. Better luck that way!

    Godwin grinned, teeth startlingly white against his tanned face. He had the coloring of a farmhand. Did he never wear a hat? Too late, Georgie stepped back. His grip closed on her arms, startlingly firm. At last, he said. My first victory of the evening.

    His voice was low and rich, like sunlight through honey. It sent a startling stab through her chest. You are a wonder, Miss Trent. So he had told her once.

    A wondrous idiot, more like. A man always at the center of parties would never lose his heart to a wallflower.

    She tried to jerk free, but his grip tightened. Who could it be? he asked, teasing. He’d mistaken her resistance for part of the game. A lady, to turn so bashful. To say nothing of these elegant hands. His fingers flexed around hers, his thumbs stroking her wrists.

    She swallowed. The blindfold obscured the azure brilliance of his eyes and the sharp planes of his cheekbones, but it made a becoming frame for the strong square of his jaw. She would not blame herself for having lost her head to him in Munich; he was quite the most handsome man in the diplomatic corps. But Paris had brought out his raffish side: he wore his black hair long now, with no pomade to tame it. It hardly suited him.

    He leaned close—close enough to breathe deeply of her. He still wore the same scent, a faint trace of bergamot that made her stomach clutch. No perfume, he murmured. Not Lady von Bittner, then.

    You noticed my perfume, did you? The German lady sounded pleased about this. Her husband looked less gratified.

    This was absurd. Georgie opened her mouth, but the other guests shushed her. Don’t spoil the fun, Lipscomb said, as the rest of them gathered around to watch. Meanwhile, Godwin eased his hands up her arms.

    She gritted her teeth. These casual touches were the very reason adults played such games. They gave license to misbehave—and made spoilsports of anyone who preferred to remain aloof.

    She would not be called a spoilsport. But as Godwin’s hand brushed the patch of skin bared between her glove and sleeve, some stalwart place inside her came

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