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Chase Family Series
Regency Chase Family Series
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A MESSAGE FROM LAUREN…
It’s not common for an author to center all her novels around a single family, but by the time I began writing in the Regency period, I had fallen in love with the Chase family.
The Chases came to me all at once. For my first books, I wanted to write about people who were affected by their times, and 17th century England seemed like the perfect storm of political and social upheaval. So the Chase siblings were born: strong personalities forged through childhood experiences of war, exile, and tragedy.
After their 7-book series, I was ready for a new direction but I wasn’t willing to leave the Chases behind! They felt as real to me as my own family. So I created a new generation of Chases in the elegant Regency era. I had a lot of fun tying these characters together across the centuries. Though over a hundred years had passed, traces of the original Chases are woven into the Regency novels, hidden in old portraits, hereditary traits, and family legend (the truth of which astute readers will know better than the Regency Chases do!).
My daughter and I are now writing Chase books set in the Renaissance era, so the tradition continues. Will I ever write about a different family? I can’t say for sure, but I'm not ready to walk away from the Chases yet!
I love to keep in touch with my readers! Join my e-newsletter to receive free and bargain book suggestions each week as well as new release bulletins. And if you fall in love with the Chase Family, I'd be thrilled to see you in my Readers’ Group on Facebook, where I share sneak peeks and gather suggestions from my favorite readers.
There are so many great romance novels out there—thank you for choosing mine. I so hope you’ll enjoy Sean and Corinna’s (and Griffin and Rachael’s!) story.
Happy reading!
To see the Regency Chase Family Tree, click here!
For June Jørgensen Schelde-Mollerup,
who has been part of my family
for more than (gulp!) twenty-three years.
I cannot believe you have three
children of your own now!
PROLOGUE
IRISH WHISKEY CAKE
Take butter with sugar and put in this eggs and flour and a bit 'o coffee to make a nice flavour. Put in your pan and bake in your oven. Make a syrup of coffee with much sugar and a wee dram 'o whiskey and pour this into your cake. Bring to table with sweet whiskey cream and a sprinkle of nuts.
My mother used to caution, "Who gossips with you will gossip of you." Nonetheless, she surely did love to gossip. She used to serve this cake when the womenfolk came for tea. She claimed it loosened ladies' tongues.
—Deirdre Delaney Raleigh, 1819
Kilburton, Ireland
November 1806
ON A DAMP Tuesday shortly after he turned eighteen, life as Sean Delaney had known it ceased to exist.
First he received a letter, an event in itself. All of Sean's acquaintances lived in the village of Kilburton—nobody ever had reason to write him a letter. A very official letter it looked, too. As Sean watched the lad who had delivered it retreat down the lane, his mother came in from the sitting room where she'd been serving tea to some womenfolk from the parish.
"Was it not Mary McBride, then?" Ma asked. "She's late."
"It wasn't Mrs. McBride, no." Sean shut the door and turned to her, the single folded sheet clutched in a hand. "It's a letter. For me."
"For you?" Her pleasant, guileless face looked as surprised as he felt. "Well, open it, then, will you?"
He nodded and broke the seal.
"Who is it from?" she asked impatiently.
"A solicitor." Below the imposing engraved letterhead, he scanned down the page. "'On behalf of Mr. Patrick Delaney—'"
"Who's that?"
He shrugged. "One of Da's relations, I expect."
"Your father has no living relations." She frowned. "What is he wanting, then?"
"He's wanting…" He read further and gasped. "He's not wanting anything. He's dead. And he left ten thousand pounds. To me."
"Ten thousand pounds?"
To a vicar's wife like Ma, the number was all but incomprehensible—enough to support a villager and his family and a servant or two for fifty years. Staring at Sean, she slowly lowered herself to a plain oak chair. Muffled feminine voices tumbled from the sitting room—her guests were gossiping, no doubt. Uncharacteristically, she ignored them.
"Ten thousand pounds, Sean. Whatever will you do with so much money?"
"I don't know," he said.
But he did know. He'd known instantly. He just didn't want to tell her.
He didn't want to disappoint her, not yet.
"I'm after going for a walk." He grabbed a heavy wool cloak from the peg by the door. "I shan't be gone long," he promised softly before slipping outside.
It was raining, as usual this time of year. As usual all year, for that matter. Tucking the letter inside the cloak where it would stay dry, he hurried down the lane.
Such a vast amount of money, more than Ma had seen in her entire lifetime. She would want him to do good with it. Charitable works or some such. She was a vicar's wife, after all, and a very kindly one at that.
But Sean didn't want to do good. Oh, he'd pay the expected tithe. He was a vicar's son, perhaps not as devout as his father would wish, but no rebel either. The tithe would be an unprecedented boon
