Estimates for the number of prostitutes in nineteenth century London vary greatly, but even if you believe the conservate numbers, there were still a shocking number of people, men and women, who earned their money as sex workers.
While I strive for historical accuracy, this is first and foremost a romance novel. If you are interested in any of the places, people, or events mentioned in my books I always recommend you consult a primary or reliable secondary source if you wish to learn more.
What am I working on next? Well, I have a full schedule ahead for the next year. In addition to writing another ACADEMY OF LOVE novel, the last book in THE MASQUERADERS, a third book in my LIGHTNER AND LAW series, I am also starting a new series for Kensington Publishing. It is called THE WILD WOMEN OF WHITECHAPEL and will feature three Regency ladies who work at Farnham’s Fantastical Female Fayre, an all-female circus.
The first book in the series is THE BOXING BARONESS, a book with—you guessed it—a heroine who is a professional boxer. You can look out for that in 2022.
I love hearing from readers. Is there a character you’d like to know more about? Questions about this story? Upcoming stories? Stories you think need to be written? If so, you can drop me an email or leave a comment on my website. Or just pop in to say ‘hello’.
As always, I ask that you take a moment to write a quick review—even just a few words—if you liked my work. I don’t pay for reviews, so I rely on my lovely readers to share their genuine opinions and help browsing readers decide to give my books a try.
Until my next book, I wish you all the best and lots of great reading!
S.M. LaViolette
Keep reading for a sneak peek at THE FOOTMAN …
Chapter One
London
1802
Iain Vale was examining a marble statue of some poor armless bloke when the door beside it flew open and a whirlwind in skirts burst into the hall.
“I will not!” the whirlwind yelled before slamming the door, spinning around, and careening into Iain. “Ooof.” She bounced off him and stumbled backward, catching her foot in the hem of her dress in the process.
Iain sprang forward, reached out one long arm, and caught her slim waist, halting her fall. He looked down at his armful of warm female and found surprised gray eyes glaring back at him. Her mouth, which had been open in shock, snapped shut. Iain hastily righted his bundle and took a step back.
“Who the devil are you?” the girl demanded, brushing at her dress as though his gloved hands might have soiled it.
“I’m the new footman, Miss.”
The gray eyes turned steely. “Are you stupid?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m not a Miss. I am Lady Elinor, your employer’s daughter.”
Iain’s face heated under her contemptuous eyes. He’d been spoken down to many times, but never quite so . . . effectively.
“You are welcome, Lady Elinor.”
“What?” she demanded. “What did you say?” Her eyes were so wide they looked to be in danger of popping out of their sockets.
“I said, ‘you are welcome, my lady.’”
She planted her fists on her slim hips. “I’m welcome for what?”
“For saving you from a very nasty fall,” he retorted, unable to keep his tongue behind his teeth even though he was breaking every rule in the footman’s handbook. If such a thing existed.
The unladylike noise that slipped from her mouth told Iain she was thinking the same thing. “You are an intolerably insolent boy. Not to mention the most ignorant footman I’ve ever known.”
Iain couldn’t argue with her on that second point.
“Besides,” she added, looking him up and down, “I wouldn’t have needed your clumsy rescuing if you’d not been listening at keyholes.”
Listening at keyholes? Why the obnoxious little—
Iain had just opened his mouth to say something foolish and most likely job-ending when the door Lady Elinor had exited so violently opened and Lady Yarmouth stood on the threshold. Her gray eyes, much like her daughter’s, moved from Lady Elinor to her newest footman and back again.
“What is going out here, Elinor?”
The girl scowled. “I have just asked our new footman to run away with me, Mama.”
Iain’s jaw dropped.
Lady Yarmouth’s lips thinned until they were pale pink lines. She raked the younger woman with a look designed to leave her quaking in her slippers. Her daughter glared back, un-quaked.
“Come back inside this instant, Elinor.” The older woman turned and retreated into the room without waiting to see if her daughter obeyed.
Lady Elinor gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes at her mother’s back before limping toward the open doorway. She stopped and turned back to Iain before entering the room.
“You’ll catch flies if you don’t close your mouth.” She slammed the door in his face.
Bloody hell.
◆◆◆
Iain yawned. It was almost three in the morning and the festivities showed no sign of abating. Other than his encounter with Lady Elinor earlier, the evening had been quiet. Disappointingly quiet not only for his first ball, but also his first day as footman.
The only other entertainment had been watching an overdressed dandy cast up his accounts on his dancing slippers while trying, and failing, to make it to the men’s necessary.
Iain adjusted the lacy cuffs of his fancy new shirt and examined the stranger who looked back at him in the ornate mirror. The black livery made him appear taller than his six feet and the well-tailored coat spanned his shoulders in a way that made him look lean and dangerous rather than scrawny and puppyish. His wiry red hair had been cropped to barely a stubble and was now concealed by a white
