The Autumn Bride Read online

  “I never miss an Anne Gracie book.”

  —Julia Quinn, New York Times bestselling author

  “Treat yourself to some super reads from a most talented writer.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “For fabulous Regency flavor, witty and addictive, you can’t go past Anne Gracie.”

  —Stephanie Laurens, bestselling author

  PRAISE FOR ANNE GRACIE’S NOVELS

  Bride by Mistake

  “The always terrific Anne Gracie outdoes herself with Bride by Mistake . . . Gracie created two great characters, a high-tension relationship and a wonderfully satisfying ending. Not to be missed!”

  —Mary Jo Putney, New York Times bestselling author

  “Another [of] Ms. Gracie’s character-rich, fiery tales filled with emotion and passion leavened by charm and wit.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  The Accidental Wedding

  “With her signature superbly nuanced characters, subtle sense of wit and richly emotional writing, Gracie puts her distinctive stamp on a classic Regency plot.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Anne Gracie’s writing dances that thin line between always familiar and always fresh. She is able to take a Cinderella story with all the inherent—and comfortable—tradition, mix in a few recognizable elements, add a dash of the unexpected and a sprinkling of the unpredictable, and come up with a luscious indulgence of a novel . . . The Accidental Wedding is warm and sweet, tempered with bursts of piquancy and a dash or three of spice. Like chocolate and chili, this novel is your favorite comfort food, with an unexpected—delicious—twist.”

  —New York Journal of Books

  “Gracie takes conventions of the romance novel that have been done to death—amnesia, injured hero, heroine who does too much—and turns them into a story that is fresh and new and interesting. That takes talent. And this, plus two charming main characters, a suspenseful subplot and some delightful love scenes, makes for a near-perfect read.”

  —All About Romance

  “Gracie paints an affecting portrait of a woman surviving parental neglect to manage a home via her wits, and a diplomat who’s not so diplomatic when it comes to the woman he wants but won’t admit he loves. A finely crafted tale, with just the right amount of sexuality.”

  —Library Journal

  “Gracie writes a traditional amnesia plot with charm and grace. Appealing characters allow readers to experience their emotions and smile with happiness.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

  “Sure to please the fussiest of historical romance readers.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Anne Gracie does it again: The Accidental Wedding is funny, charming and completely endearing . . . There are some authors I pick up when I just want some comfort at the end of a long day. Anne Gracie is one of them. Although the stories have their share of excitement, ultimately it’s the love between the characters and the remarkably well-drawn relationships that pull me in and keep me in the story.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “A delightful and fanciful novel that is charmingly romantic and sure to mesmerize you long after you’ve read it!”

  —The Season

  To Catch a Bride

  “Anne Gracie at her best, with a dark and irresistible hero, a rare and winsome heroine and a ravishing romance. Catch a copy now! One of the best historical romances I’ve read in ages.”

  —Mary Jo Putney, New York Times bestselling author

  “Threaded with charm and humor . . . [An] action-rich, emotionally compelling story . . . It is sure to entice readers.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “It was loveable and laugh-out-loud, full of heart and of memorable and interesting characters.”

  —Errant Dreams Reviews

  “A fascinating twist on the girl-in-disguise plot . . . With its wildly romantic last chapter, this novel is a great antidote to the end of the summer.”

  —Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author

  “One of the difficulties of reviewing a favorite author is running out of superlatives. An Anne Gracie novel is guaranteed to have heart and soul, passion, action and sprinkles of humor and fun.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  His Captive Lady

  “With tenderness, compassion and a deep understanding of the era, Gracie touches readers on many levels with her remarkable characters and intense exploration of their deepest human needs. Gracie is a great storyteller.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4½ stars, Top Pick)

  “Once again, author Anne Gracie has proven what an exceptionally gifted author is all about . . . Absolutely one of the best romances I’ve read this year!”

  —CK2S Kwips and Kritiques

  The Stolen Princess

  “Gracie begins the Devil Riders series with a fast-paced and enticing tale . . . Captures both the inherent tension of the story and the era with her hallmark charm and graceful prose.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

  “Anne Gracie’s talent is as consistent as it is huge. I highly recommend The Stolen Princess, and look forward to the rest of the series.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Anne Gracie always delivers a charming, feel-good story with enchanting characters. I love all of Ms. Gracie’s stories and The Stolen Princess is no exception. It stole my heart, as it will yours.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Berkley Sensation titles by Anne Gracie

  The Merridew Sisters

  THE PERFECT RAKE

  THE PERFECT WALTZ

  THE PERFECT STRANGER

  THE PERFECT KISS

  The Devil Riders

  THE STOLEN PRINCESS

  HIS CAPTIVE LADY

  TO CATCH A BRIDE

  THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING

  BRIDE BY MISTAKE

  The Chance Sisters

  THE AUTUMN BRIDE

  THE

  Autumn Bride

  ANNE GRACIE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa), Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North 2193, South Africa • Penguin China, B7 Jiaming Center, 27 East Third Ring Road North, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100020, China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE AUTUMN BRIDE

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / February 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Anne Gracie.

  Cover art by Ju
dy York. Hand lettering by Ron Zinn.

  Cover design by George Long.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-0-425-25925-2

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61829-5

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  With thanks to my friends—the Maytoners—as always,

  for sanity, support and laughs when I need them most.

  And with gratitude and many thanks to my readers.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems an hopeless business.”

  —JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  London, 1805

  “I’m sorry, my lord, but there’s nothing left.”

  My lord. Max Davenham still couldn’t get used to being called that. Lord Davenham was his big, hearty, larger-than-life uncle. But his uncle was dead and Max, the heir, was now Lord Davenham.

  Then the import of what Harcourt and Denton, his uncle’s lawyer and man of affairs, were telling him filtered through. “What do you mean, nothing?” His uncle was a rich man; everybody knew that.

  Harcourt spread his hands in a rueful gesture. “Nothing.”

  “Less than nothing,” Denton clarified. “Your uncle sold off everything that could be sold off, mortgaged the rest and borrowed as heavily as he could.”

  Max struggled to take it all in. His uncle had died just over a week before, of an accident in the hunting field, but no one seeing him in action could possibly have suspected there was any shortage of money. At the time of his death he’d been hosting a large, lavish house party.

  “He died in debt?” It wasn’t really a question. Since the news of the death, Max, who’d been finishing his final year at school, had been approached by an endless stream of tradesmen demanding payment, dunning him for what his uncle had owed. Some of the sums were enormous.

  “A great deal of debt,” the lawyer agreed heavily.

  Max speared his fingers through his hair. “What a damned, bloody mess!” Nobody reprimanded him for the bad language. He was a schoolboy no longer. He was Lord Davenham, and he was entitled to swear, to take his seat in the House of Lords—and to bear the responsibility for the huge financial mess his uncle had left behind.

  “Thank God for my aunt’s jointure. At least she won’t be caught up in this mess.” His aunt was the only daughter of the Earl of Fenton. The late earl hadn’t much liked her marrying a mere baron and on her marriage had set up a generous trust to provide for her in widowhood.

  There was a short silence. Harcourt gazed fixedly at his fingers. Denton fiddled with the documents that lay before him. Neither one met Max’s eye.

  “That’s gone too?” Max said incredulously. He didn’t understand much about trusts, but he’d always believed—in fact, he’d overheard his uncle say once—that it was damned well unbreakable. Obviously he’d found a way.

  He looked at the two men in front of him. “So what must I do?”

  “Everything that remains must be sold off.”

  “Everything?”

  Both men nodded. “Everything,” Denton confirmed. “Davenham Hall—”

  “The home estate?”

  “Everything,” Denton repeated. He consulted the list in front of him. “Davenham Hall, the Cornish mines, the hunting box in Leicestershire, the Sussex properties, the manor in Norfolk, the London house—”

  “The London house? But that’s my aunt’s home.” Aunt Bea hated the country. The loss of the country houses wouldn’t bother her in the least, but . . .

  Max’s brain was spinning. How had nobody seen this coming? Taken steps to prevent it?

  He shook his head. “I don’t mind selling off the other properties, though I’d rather we tried to keep the home estate if we possibly can, but I won’t allow the London house to be sold.”

  “I’m afraid you have no choice, my lord.”

  Max frowned. “But where would my aunt live?”

  Harcourt said apologetically, “Perhaps with relatives?”

  Max was appalled. Aunt Bea? His magnificent, outrageous aunt, a leader of the ton, living on her relatives’ charity as a poor relation? He couldn’t imagine it. It would kill her.

  “Impossible. There are only a few distant cousins left,” he heard himself saying.

  Denton leaned forward and said firmly, in a voice not untinged with sympathy, “You haven’t understood, my lord—everything must be sold, and even then there will be debts—big ones.”

  Max slumped back in his chair. “You mean I’m ruined?”

  “Utterly.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Did my uncle not realize?” From all Max could see, his uncle had been spending money like water up to and including the day he died. No, not spending money—running up debts.

  The silence thickened and became awkward.

  Denton broke it. “He knew he was ruined, all right. He’d known for years—we tried again and again to make him understand, but . . .” He shook his head.

  Harcourt, the lawyer, hesitated, then said delicately, “Your uncle did, however, ensure he had paid all his gambling debts before he . . . died. He died a gentleman.”

  Max stared at him, realizing what the man was telling him, what nobody had told him before now—the reason for the wild, lavish house party, the last drunken, reckless out-of-season hunt, where his uncle, always a noted horseman, had taken greater and greater risks, putting his horse at any barrier, heedless of any danger until he’d come off at the last fence, slamming headfirst into a stone wall and breaking his neck.

  The bastard had known. He’d gone out on a drunken spree, escaping the mess he’d made. Paying only his gambling debts—his so-called debts of honor—honor! Max snorted. Leaving the mess to his wife and his eighteen-year-old heir.

  He forced his fists to unclench. ”Does my aunt know?”

  Harcourt shook his head. “She knows nothing of this.”

  “Her jewels might secure a—”

  “Paste, my lord,” Denton said sorrowfully.

  “Paste?” She’d brought a fortune in jewels to the marriage.

  “Lord Davenham had them copied, all but a couple of her rings—the ones she never takes off.”

  “Does she know her jewels are paste?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “So we’re ruined, indeed.” There was a long silence. Max’s brain was reeling. Only a few weeks before, his biggest problem was whether he’d pass the Latin exam an
d whether his cricket team would win the cup. Now . . .

  He rose and paced about the room, trying to make up his mind what to do. He didn’t seem to have much choice. But he wasn’t going to take the advice of Harcourt and Denton—not completely.

  He squared his shoulders and resumed his seat. “Very well, sell off everything except the home estate and my aunt’s house in London.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand. “I won’t allow my aunt to be rendered homeless and dependent on the charity of relatives. Retaining her London home and securing her an income is my first priority.”

  “But—”

  “And if I can possibly hang on to Davenham Hall, I will. If you can, rent it out to someone; if not, close up the house and rent out the land to local farmers.”

  “But, my lord—”

  “I do understand the gravity of the situation,” he assured them. “But the home estate in Devon has been the heart of my family for generations and I’m going to do my damnedest to hold on to it. Sell off everything else; make sure you get the best price you can. Be discreet; once the vultures scent blood they’ll peck the carcass to bits. And part-pay the noisiest of the creditors first; it might give us some breathing time.”

  The two elderly men exchanged glances and seemed to come to some unspoken understanding. “Very well, my lord, but the sale of the properties won’t begin to cover all of the debts. How will you—”

  “I’ll borrow.”

  Denton said in an exasperated voice, “My lord, the banks won’t lend you a penny. Don’t you understand? You’re ruined.”

  Max clenched his fist. “I am not ruined yet! And if the banks won’t lend me the money I need to secure my aunt’s future, I’ll find it elsewhere.”

  In an urgent voice Denton said, “Don’t do it, my lord. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself in for. You spoke of vultures, but private moneylenders are worse than vultures.”

  Harcourt added, “He’s right. Remember your Shakespeare—they might lend you the money, but they’ll demand their pound of flesh.”

  Max stood. “Then if that’s what it takes, so be it.”