Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo
Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo
Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo
Ebook206 pages3 hours

Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

4/5

()

Read preview

About this ebook

**TWO REGENCY NOVELLAS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!**

"Using wit and romance with a master's skill, Kasey Michaels aims for the heart and never misses." — Nora Roberts

Two novellas from New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels:

THE NINTH MISS NODDENLY (An Alphabet Regency Novella):
Miss Noddenly is in love, but her father has decreed that his daughters marry in the order of their birth. Unless Miss Noddenly wishes to be a spinster into her declining years, some whirlwind matchmaking for several of her sisters is the only answer.

MY AUNT GRIZELDA (a Regency with a hint of paranormal):
In this novella, author Kasey Michaels takes the kindly, scatterbrained witch's name from The Monkees' song, Auntie Grizelda. What follows is a light-hearted Regency romance, the sort that will put a smile on your face as you and Aunt Grizelda conjure up a happily-ever-after for two unsuspecting characters.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 1, 2015
ISBN9781311250742
Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo
Author

KASEY MICHAELS

USA TODAY bestselling author Kasey Michaels is the author of more than one hundred books. She has earned four starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and has won an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award and several other commendations for her contemporary and historical novels. Kasey resides with her family in Pennsylvania. Readers may contact Kasey via her website at www.KaseyMichaels.com and find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorKaseyMichaels.

Read more from Kasey Michaels

Related to Nine Brides and One Witch

Related ebooks

Short Stories For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Nine Brides and One Witch

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
4/5

6 ratings1 review

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Nine Brides had me in stitches. A really witty read of a man who takes charge when he is told he can't marry his beloved because her four elder sisters aren't married. Such a refreshing change to find a bunch of Regency women who say exactly what they think and feel without reservation and a lot of it is downright outrageous. One Witch is a fairy tale- but also something of a morality tale- which made it a little lackluster but it does have a certain charm.

Book preview

Nine Brides and One Witch - KASEY MICHAELS

Nine Brides and One Witch:

A Regency Novella Duo

Kasey Michaels

Publishing History

The Ninth Miss Noddenly

Copyright 1994, 2012 Kathryn A. Seidick

My Aunt Grizelda

Copyright 1992 Kathryn A. Seidick

Nine Brides and One Witch is a Regency Novella duo which includes the previously published digital edition of The Ninth Miss Noddenly as well as the new digital edition of My Aunt Grizelda.

Nine Brides and One Witch

Copyright 2013 Kathryn A. Seidick

Published by Kathryn A. Seidick at Smashwords, 2013

Cover art by Tammy Seidick Design, www.tammyseidickdesign.com

EBook design by A Thirsty Mind

All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dear Reader,

Not all of my novels are full-length. From time to time my editors will ask me to participate in novella collections with other authors. These works range from twenty to twenty-five thousand words, and authors either hate working with that length or love it. I happen to love it. There’s a real challenge in developing characters and stories that do everything done in a ninety thousand word novel, just in the shorter length. The reader still deserves a full story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, along with characters easy to love.

With the popularity of my Alphabet Regencies, I was asked for a novella for one of my alphabet ladies, and The Ninth Miss Noddenly was born. Miss Noddenly is in love, but her father has decreed that his daughters marry in the order of their birth. Unless Miss Noddenly wishes to be a spinster into her declining years, some whirlwind matchmaking for several of her sisters is the only answer.

And then there’s My Aunt Grizelda. I was asked to contribute to another novella collection, this time with hints of the paranormal in with the romance. I took my kindly, scatterbrained witch’s name from The Monkees’ song, Auntie Grizelda. As you’ve probably guessed, this is another light-hearted Regency romance, the sort that hopefully puts a smile on your face as you and Aunt Grizelda conjure up a happily-ever-after for two unsuspecting characters.

Both novellas were a joy to write, can be read in a few hours, and give you a pretty good idea of what all twenty of my Alphabet Regencies are: light-hearted love stories, romantic comedies, all set during the delicious English Regency.

Enjoy!

Kasey Michaels

Nine Brides and One Witch

The Ninth Miss Noddenly

My Aunt Grizelda

The Ninth

Miss Noddenly

Chapter One

Jonathan Wetherell, the fourteenth earl of Mayfield, was not a happy man.

He was rich, almost sinfully so, and always had been; so that wasn’t his problem.

He was handsome, most definitely sinfully so, and although he never gave much thought to his extreme good looks, certainly his physical attractiveness could not be blamed for his unhappiness.

He had scores of friends both male and of the gentler persuasion, enjoyed equally London life and his time spent on his various estates, had set up a stable of admirable quality, was well respected for his ability in whatever sport he graced with his participation, and had delighted in his carefree childhood that had left him with fond memories of his deceased parents.

His mind was sound, as was his body, none of his molars pained him, he could not so much as claim a slight case of the sniffles in a dozen years; and his hoots fit admirably well as he strolled down Bond Street on this late May day.

In short, there was no earthly reason why the earl of Mayfield should feel as if he had acquired his own personal thundercloud, one which hung just over his head night and day, robbing him of his usual good humor and making him wish, generally, that he had stayed in bed rather than take on another day in London society.

No earthly reason indeed, unless one considered the fact that Jonathan Wetherell, fourteenth earl, etc., etc., was for the first time in his three and thirty years, deeply, madly, and—or so it appeared—hopelessly in love.

"Jonathan? I say—Jonathan!"

Mayfield became aware that someone was calling his name and stopped, frowning, for he did not wish to speak with anyone at the moment, or in any time soon. He was busy, damn it all anyway, busy feeling sorry for himself, and the last thing he needed was for one of his friends to greet him, say something funny, and ruin his self-pity.

God’s teeth, Johnny, I’ve been calling after you for nearly a block. Out of breath, now, you know, for I detest running. Sets up a cursed burning in m’lungs, which can’t be good, can it? What’s the matter? Someone dear to you die? You look ready to cry.

Sir Pitney Fox. Mayfield paused before turning around, caught between the knowledge that the last thing Lord Fox could ever be accused of was trying to cheer someone else’s spirits and the realization that it was just that same thought that was even now bringing a smile, unbidden, to his lips.

Pitney, old man, he said as he turned, holding out his hand, half-afraid Lord Fox would otherwise throw himself into his arms, panting for air. How grand to see you up and about. I could have sworn I’d heard you were at death’s door. Or was that last week?

Lord Fox, a short-ish, thin-ish, blond-ish, bland-ish man—the most thoroughly ish person in all of England, in point of fact—had the further distinction of being known far and wide as the sick-ish creature in creation.

Always ailing, constantly doctoring, perpetually complaining of his ill health, Fox had the pale color of the invalid, the deep pockets of an only, orphaned son, the personality of a turnip, and the appetite of a full regiment of fighting men.

If Lord Fox did not soon drop dead of one of his many imagined ailments, he would most probably be the cause of several suicides within his beleaguered staff and more than a few deaths by terminal boredom of his unfortunate partners at the dinner table.

Lord Fox waved off what was surely his dear friend’s concern for his welfare, innately incapable of recognizing a joke at his own expense. Never fear for me, Jonathan, he pleaded, releasing Lord Mayfield’s hand and quickly wiping his fingers with a clean handkerchief—to ward off contamination, you see. I am once more stout as a barrel, if it weren’t for this small, distressing rash I have discovered on my—

Please, Pitney, spare me the details, Mayfield broke in hurriedly, no longer amused by Lord Fox’s usually distracting presence. I am laboring under some small indisposition myself at the moment and would rather, quite frankly, be alone.

Lord Fox prudently backed up a pace and raised the handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth. Oh, do say you aren’t contagious, Johnny, he pleaded earnestly from behind the crisp white linen, once more calling Lord Mayfield by that most loathed pet name from their days at Eton.

I can’t be sure, Pitney, Lord Mayfield replied, one side of his mouth lifting in a self-deprecating smile as Lord Fox only slowly returned his handkerchief to his pocket. Is love catching?

The moment he had spoken Lord Mayfield wished the words back. Clearly he was heading for a sad decline, to be so overset that he would stoop to speaking personally with Lord Fox, who was, although an acquaintance of many years, never to be considered one of his lordship’s set.

Love, is it? You, Johnny? Lord Fox all but chortled. Oh, don’t tease me so, else I’ll have palpitations. You’ll never fall to Cupid’s dart—not you, Johnny. Why, I have it on good authority that our friend Wiley is in the book for a monkey, saying you’ll never wed.

The fact that Sir Wiley Hambleton was, first-off, not a bosom chum of either Lord Mayfield or Lord Fox and was, secondly, an unreformed rake well past the age where rakes could be considered either romantic or dangerous, rankled Lord Mayfield more than he would wish Lord Fox to know.

I hadn’t known Wiley to be so absorbed in the happenings of my life, Lord Mayfield said, stepping back, tipping his hat, and bowing politely as Lady Hertford and her maid passed along the flagway.

Wiley? Lord Fox inquired, his expression revealing his disbelief that Lord Mayfield could put forth the notion that Sir Wiley Hambleton was not interested in everything to do with such a respected member of the ton. Indeed, the man dined out on his vast store of gossip, where his checkered youth and spotted middle age otherwise could have caused his name to be dismissed from the invitation list, especially if there was a marriageable daughter in the house. Oh, on the contrary, Johnny. The subject of marriage is very much on Wiley’s mind these days, yours or anyone else’s, I suppose. Haven’t you heard?

Lord Mayfield was fast regretting having not lost his hearing due to his exposure to cannon fire on the battlefields with Wellington. Would this fool never shut his mouth and let him be on his way? No, Pitney, he answered, sighing. I haven’t heard. Or have I? I suppose there is nothing else to do but for you to tell me what you’ve heard, and then I shall know for certain.

Lord Fox was clearly enraptured with the notion that he knew something Lord Mayfield did not. Wiley has to marry, of course, he whispered confidentially, his watery blue eyes dancing. His great-aunt, Miss Earlene Hambleton, has decreed it, else she will leave her fortune to some worthy society for rehabilitating whores. Or was that schoolboys? He gave a dismissing wave of his thin, long-fingered hands. Either way, Johnny, Wiley will be all rolled up if he doesn’t find a young lady of good family to bracket his ramshackle self to within the year.

And that is when the sun came out. Oh, it had risen above the horizon hours earlier, but this was the first Jonathan Wetherell, fourteenth earl of Mayfield, had noticed its golden glory. "Wiley must wed?" he asked, his heart pounding so that Pitney, had his own heart beat half so fast, would have sat straight down on the curbing, sure his time on this mortal coil had run out and he was about to be called to his fathers.

Then you don’t know after all, Lord Fox proclaimed, happy to be the bearer of such delicious news. "I would have thought the only person in all of Mayfair still without that knowledge would be Knox—whom everyone knows does not know anything of any importance. Poor Knox. The man has so little conversation, don’t you agree, even if he talks incessantly, prosing on and on and on about the minutiae of life until, I swear, a man could—Johnny, why are you looking at me so strangely? Oh, dear, that’s right. You’ve told me you’re in love. Such a coup. I shall be like Wiley, and dine out on this story for a sennight—if only you will tell me the details, Johnny, the details. But hurry, do, for I have an appointment with a new doctor here in Bond Street at two, and would not like to be above ten minutes late. He’s just down from Edinburgh, and said to be ever so clever. I think I will show him my rash. Yes, I do think the rash would be an excellent place to begin."

Lord Mayfield was beginning to feel a crushing headache squeezing at his temples. Lord Fox seemed to be in the process of doing a creditably stultifying imitation of Knox Bromley, the man Lord Fox had mentioned in passing, the man who could occupy himself and bore his audience for a quarter hour just in saying hello.

Would you and Knox and Wiley care to join me in the country next week for a small house party, Pitney? he asked quickly as Lord Fox stopped to take a breath. I will tell you then about my descent into love’s clutches, and we will have a bruising time, I promise. Damn it all, you may even bring your Edinburgh quack if you so desire. I am feeling particularly congenial, Pitney, but do hurry and answer, before my better self reminds me how very little I like any of you.

Lord Fox was momentarily speechless, clutching at his chest in amazement—and to assure himself his heart still beat in its dreadfully calm way, just as if he wasn’t daily at death’s door. "You—Wiley—Knox? Why, Johnny, I never thought... I never imagined... but of course, we shall all be delighted! Next week, you say? At Mayfield? I have never been, you know. You’ve never invited me. Must I bring Knox and Wiley?"

Lord Mayfield smiled blightingly. They are your ticket of entrance, dear Pitney, he said bracingly. Can you achieve this small feat, as I don’t in the normal course of events see either of them? It might help if you told Wiley that I shall have an array of eligible young misses there for his delectation. As for Knox, just tell him I wish to hear his opinion on Prinny’s Pavilion in Bath. That should give him conversation enough to keep his jaw well oiled for the fortnight I plan.

Lord Fox was all a-quiver, his unfortunately long nose twitching as he apparently took up the scent of intrigue. You’ve got something a-foot, don’t you, Johnny? Something to do with this tumble into love you’ve taken? Oh, yes. I sense a fine tale here somewhere, some deep machinations. Dare I ask?

No, Lord Mayfield said cheerfully. You may not. Only know that you shall be well entertained. Now, Pitney, if you don’t mind, I do believe I must be off. He looked Lord Fox’s ill-fitting ensemble up and down, ending, I suddenly feel like a long visit with my tailor. You don’t as a rule deal with Weston, do you?

Weston? At his outrageous prices? Indeed, no. I have discovered a tailor just off Piccadilly, who makes up my clothes from designs I draw him myself.

How you comfort me, Pitney. He gave the man a slight bow. You will, naturally, seek your own transportation to Mayfield. Arrive on Monday morning, if you please, prepared for a fortnight’s stay. Toodle-oo, Pitney, old friend, and thank you. You have truly made my day.

Lord Fox waggled his fingers at Lord Mayfield’s departing back, not knowing if he should be delighted at his lordship’s invitation or frightened by the intense, assessing look the man had given him before he took off down the flagway, a definite lilt in his step.

But then, as the hour of two was fast approaching, and his rash was now plaguing him in a place where polite gentlemen did not, in public, scratch, he pushed any misgivings from his mind and went off to visit his new doctor, who would most certainly tell him if country air would do his pesky nasal drip any good.

Miss Virginia Noddenly sat on the window seat in her small bedchamber, the one overlooking the mews, and wondered how fate could be so cruel.

Aged eight and ten, with fiery red hair and skin so fair it had been compared to finest marble, Miss Noddenly was still charmingly unaware of her beauty, which also included wide, green eyes as calm and serene as the sea at dawn, a small, pert nose, a delightful heart-shaped face, and a petite, trim figure many debutantes would willingly sacrifice their

Enjoying the preview?
Page 1 of 1