Overview
When Captain Pendleton needs an emergency fiancée, who better to turn to than his male best friend? After all, for Amadeo Orsini, life's one long, happy drag!
Captain Ambrose “Pen” Pendleton might have distinguished himself on the battlefield at Waterloo but since he's come home to civvy street, he's struggled to make his mark.
Pen dreams of becoming a playwright but his ambitious father has other ideas, including a trophy wife and a new job in America. If he's to stand a hope of staying in England and pursuing his dream, Pen needs to find a fiancée fast.
Amadeo Orsini never made it as a leading man, but as a leading lady he's the toast of the continental stage. Now Cosima is about to face her most challenging role yet, that of Captain Pendleton's secret amour.
With the help of a talking theatrical parrot who never forgets his lines, Orsini throws on his best frock, slaps on the rouge and sets out to save Pen from the clutches of Miss Harriet Tarbottom and her scheming parents.
As friendship turns into love, will the captain be able to write a happy ending for himself and Orsini before the curtain falls?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781786518354 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Totally Entwined Group |
| Publication date: | 09/03/2019 |
| Series: | Captivating Captains , #3 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 267 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Catherine Curzon is a royal historian who writes on all matters of 18th century. Her work has been featured on many platforms and Catherine has also spoken at various venues including the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, and Dr Johnson's House.
Catherine holds a Master's degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.
She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.
Read an Excerpt
Copyright © Catherine Curzon and Eleanor Harkstead 2019. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Pride Publishing.
Summer 1817
As Captain Ambrose Pendleton strode through the gates of Vauxhall Gardens, he didn’t see the crush of people or the lights in the trees, or hear the music. He was thinking only of seeing his friend Orsini once again.
But first there was the show, which Orsini had raved about in his letter. Cosima was from his stable of talent, and Orsini had been insistent that his friend watch the most remarkable, exquisite and well-formed young lady to grace the continental stage.
And her adorable performing parrot!
Ambrose entered the pavilion where Cosima was to perform. He took his seat and, as he waited for the show to begin, found himself enjoying the hubbub of ordinary people around him. How nice it was to be back among the throng of humanity, without the smell of gunpowder or the roar of cannon or the parade-ground shout. He glanced about the audience, wondering if his friend was there, but Orsini was nowhere to be seen.
The quartet struck a note, and applause rang through the pavilion as the velvet curtain was drawn back. The woman who emerged was tall and slender but, as Orsini had promised, well-formed. Here in a summer London, her diaphanous gown and tumbling curls transported Ambrose instantly back to his youth in Italy, to a world of classical myth and striking women, yet none that he could recall were as striking as the creature who now tripped across the stage, one slender arm outstretched for the bright blue parrot that perched upon her pale wrist, the yellow and red feathers beneath its wings and at its breast shimmering.
A woman in Roman dress and a parrot… It was very Orsini, if nothing else.
There was likely nothing else quite like it in London that night as the magnificent Cosima ran through her repertoire of silly stories—just the right side of bawdy—and Italian songs, sometimes accompanied for the sake of comedy by the bird and sometimes, for the sake of entertainment, by the quartet. Every man in the audience was enraptured by her, enchanted by each flick of her auburn curls, each sly aside, and every woman became a confidante, laughing behind ladylike hands at some wry comment from the performer on the stage.
Wherever had Orsini found her? Ambrose wondered, though he knew instinctively that some of this material must belong to his friend, for it had that same devilish mischief so beloved by Amadeo Orsini. They claimed that she was his sister but Ambrose knew better, for he had met Orsini’s numerous siblings and none of them were La Cosima.
Yet she certainly could have been family.
The show ended with rapturous applause, Cosima curtseying to her admiring audience as the parrot took a small, proper bow. Reluctantly, Ambrose followed the crowd out of the pavilion and back into the balmy summer air. He would happily have watched Cosima and her parrot perform all evening, if not for his promised reunion with Orsini.
Off he went toward the Cascade, where they had arranged to meet. But he couldn’t see Orsini anywhere. Where was the young man Ambrose remembered, always decked out in silks? He certainly would have noticed him among the crowd—unless, and Ambrose thought it most unlikely, the great impresario had adopted a somber guise.
But wouldn’t he notice Orsini’s dancing eyes, and his knowing smile, and his—what the devil?
“Now, madam, please stop that!” Ambrose laughed politely—as politely as a man could with a woman’s hands over his eyes. He could smell her perfume and feel the lace of her gloves and hear her giggle. “You must have confused me for your husband, or your sweetheart!” Or a paying customer, but Ambrose thought it best not to voice that.
“Captain Pendleton,” came the singsong-voiced reply from close to his ear. “The great Orsini begs your indulgence, but, alas, he is detained by matters feminine. He asks that I escort you to supper tonight!”