WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BALLROOM REGENCY ROMANCE TRILOGY:

Candles flickering in crystal chandeliers, music floating in the air, distant laughter, and muted conversation as dancers take their opening steps… drama simmers underneath the glamour.

The room is ripe for chance meetings, mistaken identities, and secrets. The desperate mingle with the determined while keeping in time with the music.

Once upon a time in a ballroom…

A man with a dark past meets a woman who fears she has no future.

A good deed leads to a desperate journey.

A cup of punch and a secret throw two unlikely lovers into peril.

Book One – How To Train Your Baron

London, 1812

She’d only ever seen a pen and ink likeness of the man, but there was no mistaking him. The wild hair, the blithe smirk, the awed parting of the crowd as he passed through the ballroom, leaving his name whispered in his wake. Byron. Lady Elsinore Cosgrove stood on tiptoe to get a better look as he finished his single circuit of the room and turned down the grand house’s main hallway. Most likely making his way to the card room…or else to an assignation. How very romantic.

In a maneuver she’d reserved for the direst of situations, Elsinore grasped two of the pearl buttons on her satin evening gloves and wrenched them free. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed, attempting to sound devastated. “Look, Mama.” She held the buttons for her mother and older sisters to see. “My gloves are falling apart.”

“Good gracious.” Her mother frowned at the offending pearls. “I see I’ll have to have a word with the glover for passing off shabby goods. Take yourself to the ladies’ retiring room and find a seamstress with a needle to let. Quickly now,” she ordered. “You’re to dance the next set with the marquess.”

Elsinore looked over to spy her mother eyeing an ancient marquess. The man was as old as her father and twice as round. One by one, her sisters all nodded their silent approval and Elsinore cringed inwardly. She’d known when the season started that her days as an unmarried woman were numbered. Tonight’s taste of liberty might be her last. She had better make it count.

As they married, Elsinore witnessed her older sisters change from semi-intelligent, articulate human beings into demure and proper matrons. Each had squandered the paltry freedoms marriage offered in exchange for domestication. They now reminded her of the automatons she’d seen at an exhibition in Spring Gardens a few years ago. Mechanical beings endlessly repeating lifelike tasks with great precision, yet without a glimmer of emotion. She would not let it happen to her.

“I’ll hurry.” Elsinore turned and ducked behind a potted palm to make her escape before one of her sisters thought to accompany her. Weaving her way across the room, dodging dancers and ignoring a summoning wave from the hosts’ daughter and her dearest friend, Libby, Elsinore plowed forward. She would make amends for the social cut and the grief her mother would heap upon the poor glover tomorrow. Elsinore could let nothing stop her from completing tonight’s mission.

Nothing, that is, but a wayward baron.

My musical inspiration for this novel was The Blower’s Daughter by Damien Rice. The lines “And so it is the shorter story. No love, no glory. No hero in her sky” along with Rice’s yearnful delivery foreshadowed Elsinore and Quin’s long road to love and their happily ever after, where Quin finally becomes the hero Elsinore deserves.

Reader praise for How To Train Your Baron:

Diana Lloyd’s skill at creating a Regency world will pull you in and hold you until the end of the story. Her ability to develop characters who are delightful, wounded, misguided, and endearing captured my heart from the beginning. The witty banter between Elsinore and Quin is foreplay for their steamy romantic encounters, all written with deft cleverness. They are witty without being snarky, and they are well-rounded without being forced. I confess that Regency romances are not my favorite reads, but Ms. Lloyd may have converted me. She weaves such an intriguing mystery into the plot that I couldn’t stop reading. Her ability to insinuate a clue, to drop a hint as to some evil in the past kept me turning the pages. I was delightfully surprised at how much I enjoyed Ms. Lloyd’s story. If you enjoy Regency (and even if you don’t) this book is a must read.  An Amazon reviewer for How To Train Your Baron

Book Two- About an Earl

April 19, 1775

I beg you heed this missive, good sir. Meet me in the garden by the fountain of the goddess Themis. Your future is in grave peril.  JL Julianna Latham’s hand trembled as she scribbled her initials underneath the desperate plea and folded the strip of foolscap in half. She folded it again, worrying her fingers along the seam as the waiting footman’s hand extended eagerly so that he might be on his way. Hesitating to draw a single nervous breath, Julianna surrendered the note along with a coin she’d borrowed from her cousin Edwina.

“This must be delivered to the Earl of Winchcombe in all haste.”

“Winchcombe?” A rare expression of confusion clouded the footman’s face. “The Earl of Winchcombe?”

“He’s a guest at this evening’s ball,” Julianna replied. “As a favor to me, Thomas.” She pressed another coin, her last, into the footman’s hand. “Tell no one who sent it.”

“Aye, miss.”

“Thank you.” She lifted her hand away, releasing the note to begin its perilous journey. The footman turned and hurried off, his purposeful footsteps clicking across the polished marble floor. As he turned down the hallway and out of sight, fear that she’d just made the second biggest mistake of her life prickled the back of her neck.

Scrunching her toes in the too-big dancing slippers to keep them on her feet, she made her way out into the garden to await fate. The fountain of the goddess Themis seemed a fitting place to exact a measure of justice. Blindfolded, with her balancing scale held aloft, perhaps the Greek goddess would silently bless Julianna’s betrayal of her cousin Udele’s mad plan to trap the earl into a compromising situation.

With a lace domino masking her face and the sound of the fountain obscuring their conversation, it was unlikely anyone would take notice of Julianna’s warning to the earl. All he had to do was show up.

Forcing someone to offer for you was just as bad as, well, as bad as making certain promises to a girl and then abandoning her. Eldridge’s cruel words still brought tears to Julianna’s eyes. After years of pretty talk and a dozen stolen kisses, Eldridge was now betrothed to another. How calm and cold he’d been when informing her of his sudden “cessation of affection” for her. She would not have her justice, but she could use tonight to spare someone else misery.

“Well, your majesty…” How did one properly address a goddess? Glancing back up at Themis, Julianna smiled sheepishly. “I hope you and those of your ilk are looking down upon me kindly this eve.” Julianna felt around for a dry spot at the edge of the fountain and sat, rubbing her arms to keep warm as she waited.

The starched lace edge of the domino tickled, and she pulled it off to give her nose a scratch. Her cousin’s insistence on a masked ball was one more piece of her outrageous plan. The masks suggested an anonymity that made the reckless bolder and the ill-mannered even more so. If the earl could be warned before Udele sprung her trap, Julianna dared to hope everyone would walk away unscathed.

Cousin Udele’s ruthless determination to capture a title via marriage was beyond the pale and unsupportable. That her Aunt Hester had agreed to the scheme was only further proof that Julianna never should have come to London. Weeks of pinches, pokes, and petty insults made her more determined to thwart their plan and save some poor fellow from a life without love.

Winchcombe, just out of mourning for his father, did not deserve the cruel fate her aunt and cousin planned for him. They were counting on his sense of honor while they acted dishonorably. If she performed only one noble act before returning to Boston, it would be saving Winchcombe.

My musical inspiration for About an Earl was Aimee Mann’s song, Save Me. “You look like the perfect fit for a girl in need of a tourniquet,” sums up how broken Jewel feels at the beginning of the book and the chorus of “Why don’t you save me?” is Oliver asking Jewel to stay.

Reader praise for About an Earl:

An engaging Regency with a fascinating blend of romance and intrigue. Two social outcasts unwittingly align to discover an evil man’s motive for destroying them both. When a dawning attraction complicates their efforts and the crisis comes down to the wire, you’ll be glued to your chair! An Amazon reviewer for About an Earl

 

Book three – The Last Lord Standing

1812

Ruined. A public snub from the daughter of a duke was as silent, quick, and efficient as a blade through the heart. Lady Olivia Liberty Chalford always thought she’d fall from Society’s grace with a bit more fanfare. She raised her chin as her face warmed with indignation and watched her former friend disappear into the crowded ballroom.

Refusing to look around to see the shocked faces of those who’d witnessed the cut direct, she adjusted her mouth into a semblance of a blithe smile and stared at the orchestra. The most notable event of the evening was supposed to have been the attendance of the poet, Lord Byron. Instead, the recklessly ill-mannered lord had breezed past the ballroom without greeting her parents or wishing her felicitations on her birthday.

Two and twenty today, the evening portended the beginning of her downward slide into spinsterhood. After three seasons, she’d spurned three unacceptable offers. At least, they’d been unacceptable to her. Today’s fete, with all the blooms, gilt, and ribbons suggesting a more joyous outcome was, to her, more of a starting line in her race to achieve upheaval. Looking around at all the silken, jeweled gowns and crisp superfine coats, it was hard to believe she was the only one in the room who viewed it all with a large measure of disdain.

While she considered her father fiscally responsible and a thoughtful guardian of the family fortune, in truth, titles weren’t portioned out based upon merit. They lived in this grand house, burned beeswax candles in the ballroom, and summered at Winchcombe Abbey courtesy of the fickleness of fate for having been born into a titled family. Every year the great chasm betwixt the haves and the havenots stretched a little wider and more of the working class tumbled in, never to claw their way back out again.

As if her soon-to-be-implemented plan to insert herself into the fray wasn’t enough, the cut by Lady Elsinore Cosgrove, the Duke of Wallingford’s youngest daughter, may have sealed her fate as an outcast. Any offers of marriage received now would come from fortune hunters, elderly rheumatics, and gentlemen who’d also fallen from Society’s good graces.

Convincing her feet that there was no need to grow roots into the floor, Libby lurched forward and crashed into a wall of midnight blue wool with silver buttons. The unfortunate occupant of the blue coat was forced into an impromptu juggling act with the cup of punch he carried. His performance left them both spattered in blood-red cherry liquid.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I wasn’t minding my direction.” Abandoning her retreat for the moment, she pushed her own calamity aside and apologized by force of habit. The man managed a deceptively warm smile in response. Her social life was most likely about to come crashing down around her ears, but she could be no less than cordial to one of her parents’ guests. Matching his smile with one of her own, decorum dictated she offer the poor man assistance with good humor.

“May I…” he said, executing a reasonably elegant bow with empty cup still in hand.

“Might I…” she said at the same time, their words bumping into each other along with their heads.

Nervousness forced her lips into another smile as she rubbed her temple and bobbed a curtsy. His face elicited no memory of acquaintance or name. Who is he? Neither as tall nor as old as her father, the stranger’s bright blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, and youthful face teased at any age from twenty to forty. Perhaps he was a rogue Corinthian who’d slipped into her birthday ball for liquor and cards.

“Punch, miss?” he asked, offering her the empty cup. “I hope you’re not too thirsty.”

“No, thank you,” she said, looking down at her stained gown. “I just had some.” Snatching the cup away, she slipped it onto the tray of a passing footman as she considered her next move. “Follow me, I’ll direct you to the gentlemen’s retiring room and have someone meet you there with something to clean your coat.”

“You need to dance with me.” Offering his arm, he turned to the dance floor.

“My gown is ruined, sir, I couldn’t possibly.” Determined that her last evening before becoming a social pariah shouldn’t end as badly as it started, she boldly looked him over. Ignoring the punch stains, the guest’s suit was well tailored with no threadbare spots or loose seams and his shoes well-made and polished. His tailor and valet might be meticulous, but it was impossible to decipher anything of this man’s character with so little evidence.

“Ruined?” His tone was teasing, as if they were already old chums who could speak of such things publicly. “I say it is an improvement. An embellishment of rosebuds or flock of robin redbreasts taking flight across your skirt. You wear it so well no one would be the wiser.”

“I would.” Curious, yet distrustful, she said the one thing that would surely send him packing off to sniff around someone else’s hem. “You’re quite the accomplished liar, sir.” “True. I’m very good at it. I might be England’s greatest liar. Take my hand,” he said, still teasing. “A new set is starting.”

“I will do no such thing. We’ve not been properly introduced.” Cheeky bastard. Civility be damned, she had her own problems and owed him nothing. “Enjoy your evening, sirrah, the offer to have your coat cleaned stands but I will not be dancing with you.”

“I saw,” he said in a contrived whisper. “If you quit the room now, you confirm what everyone else who saw is thinking. Refuse to be cowed by Society’s perception of someone else’s rudeness. Dance with me and plant doubt in their minds that their eyes may have deceived them. You’re wearing my punch, what more of an introduction do you need?”

The song Poison & Wine by the Civil Wars served as my musical inspiration for Last Lord Standing. The line, “I don’t love you but I always will,” is Kerrigen and Libby’s relationship in a nutshell.

Reader praise for The Last Lord Standing:

“As soon as I got this downloaded, I was nose to reader. It’s sexy, genuine, characters who had me falling hard for them.” Net Galley Review of The Last Lord Standing

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