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Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna FulfordЧитать онлайн книгу.

Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa - Joanna  Fulford


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      JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination and she has traveled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband, Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles.

      The Wayward Governess was a finalist in the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Pure Passion awards, 2011.

      Secrets in the Regency Ballroom

       The Wayward Governess

       His Counterfeit Condesa

      Joanna Fulford

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       His Counterfeit Condesa

       Dedication

       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

       Copyright

The Wayward Governess

      To Vee Leighton for her insight and encouragement

      throughout the writing of this book

      ‘Gartside! Alight here for Gartside!’

      The guard’s voice roused Claire from her doze. Feeling startled and disorientated, she looked about her and realised that the coach had stopped. She had no recollection of the last ten miles of the journey to Yorkshire and had no idea what hour it might be. At a guess it was some time in the midafternoon. Her cramped limbs felt as though they had been travelling for ever, though in reality it was three days. For more reasons than one it would be a relief to escape from the lumbering vehicle. Further reflection was denied her as the door opened.

      ‘This is where you get down, miss.’

      She nodded and, under the curious eyes of the remaining passengers, retrieved her valise and descended onto the street in front of a small and lowly inn.

      ‘Can you tell me how far it is to Helmshaw?’ she asked. ‘And in which direction it lies?’

      The guard jerked his head toward the far end of the street. ‘Five miles. That way.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      After a grunted acknowledgement he closed the door of the coach and climbed back onto the box. Then the driver cracked his whip and the coach moved forwards. Watching it depart, Claire swallowed


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