The Bluestocking and the Beast

Contents Title Page Copyright Those Regency Remingtons Series 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 Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Epilogue The Bluestocking and the Beast Those Regency Remingtons Book Six Jennifer Monroe Copyright © 2023 Jennifer Monroe All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Those Regency Remingtons The Duke Who Loved Me The Baron Time Forgot Hero of My Heart The Viscount’s Lady Harlot The Rake’s Runaway Bride The Bluestocking and the Beast Chapter One Aldwick, England, September 1803 The tall, oak-encased clock struck midday, sending Miss Faith Cromwell’s heart racing in terror. For at that very moment, the family butler, Oster, entered the room. In his hand he held a silver tray, upon which sat a letter. She could smell the faint odor of the rosin and olive oil used in the red wax to seal the exquisitely fine parchment. Faith might not know the sender, but she suspected what the missive contained. This would be the eighth such letter she had received in the past two months, each becoming more pronounced with the sender’s intentions. And the threats of what would happen if she refused him. “Shall I have tea sent up for you, miss?” the butler asked. Well over seventy and with the only traces of his once-dark hair protruding from his ears, Oster’s tall, thin form had widened over the past few years. Light glinted off his bald head, and creases lined his friendly features. Despite his aging appearance, however, he was as spry as ever. If not a bit senile. Poor man. He was a dear, and Faith thought the world of him. He always had a smile to offer her, as he did now. Unfortunately, it did little to comfort her rattled nerves. “Thank you, but no,” Faith replied. “Though, if you would send for Olivia, I would very much appreciate it.” The old butler scrunched his brow. “Olivia, miss?” he mumbled in confusion. Faith rose, the fear that had previously held her hostage now replaced with sympathy. The signs of his failing mind had begun the previous year, and his malady was only getting worse. Soon, he would lose the position he had held for longer than Faith had been alive—more than two of her lifetimes, in fact. Placing a comforting hand on the butler’s arm, Faith replied, “My lady’s maid, Oster.” His eyes brightened and he smiled. “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll go for her now.” Faith waited until Oster left the room to open the letter, her hands trembling with reluctance. If only this person would stop writing to her! Dear Miss Cromwell, Two evenings ago, I pondered your beauty, as I am often wont to do. How is it that one woman has been gifted with not only a voice that could call down the heavens but also a loveliness that could outshine the sun? Faith nibbled her bottom lip. She had been performing at the local theater, but try as she might, she could not recall any one particular man who stood out to her or had paid her any extra attention. Who could her mysterious admirer be? She had noticed how some men reacted while in her presence, and not as a matter of pride. How could she miss how Mr. Walker, the local butcher, looked at her? His cheeks went red, even when Faith was doing nothing more than ordering a chop or a few sausages. And then there was the jeweler, Mr. Hawthorne, who did not go a single day without reminding her that he was unmarried. Just as was she. Could her admirer be one of the old sailors who frequented her performances? Or a miner? Or perhaps the son of the blacksmith? He seemed to pop up at every turn. Then again, Aldwick was not a large village, and none of those men were as wealthy as her admirer claimed to be. Shrugging, she read on and nearly choked on the words that followed. I imagine you sprawled across my bed, the finest jewelry adorning your lush curves. Such vulgarity! Yet his clear intentions were not what made the bile rise in her throat. That came from the threat that followed. Yet you would be well aware of my intentions, for I have apprised you of my feelings many times. And still, you scorn my advances. Therefore, I have a proposition for you. Marry me, and you shall have all you have ever wanted. Refuse, and your life will be one of torment. Perhaps I shall begin with your uncle, who, while enjoying his afternoon ale at The Blackbird Inn, might just find himself toppling to the floor, his heart stopping from the poison added to his mug. Or shall I happen upon him on the road during one of his many journeys to London? Who knows what I can do to him where there are few witnesses? If I cannot pay off the servants who are with him, I just may be forced to take their lives as well. I will give you a fortnight to consider your response. But I do hope it is the correct one. P.S. I will interpret a nonresponse as a refusal, so do make your decision within the allotted time. Faith refolded the letter and secured it away in the hidden pocket of her dress. Her uncle could not know about this! Her heart and mind raced in