Year of Folly Read online

  Special Offer

  Learn the origins of the Great Family!

  The Great Family was not always a great family.

  In October 1843, Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn all face problems, their hearts heavy with the challenges of life.

  This is the origins story of the Scandalous Scions series—the first great family gathering, where traditions that will last a generation are born and Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn meld into a single, united family.

  Find out how the couples of Scandalous Sirens learn that together, they are stronger.

  This novelette has not been commercially released for sale. It is only available as a gift to readers of the series, who subscribe to Tracy’s Newsletter.

  Click here to get your copy.

  http://tracycooperposey.com/free-copy-of-lost-at-sea/

  Table of Contents

  Special Offer

  About Year of Folly

  Praise for the Scandalous Scions series

  Title Page - Year of Folly

  The Great Families

  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

  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Year of Folly

  All Emma wants is to belong…

  Emma, the youngest daughter of the great family, cannot find acceptance among the peers of society despite four Seasons of pleasing everyone. She is banished to Inverness to avoid any scandal her anger might cause. Even in Inverness, she is an outsider, for her cousins, including staid and boring Morgan Davies, spend all their days working and thinking, for heaven’s sake!

  Having survived years of the family’s disasters, Morgan likes his quiet life and routine. Emma’s excesses and plain speaking disrupt his days. When Emma discovers politics and adopts as her cause women’s suffrage, the most outrageous scandal the family has yet to produce threatens to turn Morgan’s world inside out…

  This book is the twelfth in the Scandalous Scions series, bringing together the members of three great families, to love and play under the gaze of the Victorian era’s moralistic, straight-laced society.

  This story is part of the Scandalous Scions series:

  0.5 Rose of Ebony

  1.0 Soul of Sin

  2.0 Valor of Love

  3.0 Marriage of Lies

  4.0 Mask of Nobility

  5.0 Law of Attraction

  6.0 Veil of Honor

  7.0 Season of Denial

  8.0 Rules of Engagement

  9.0 Degree of Solitude

  10.0 Ashes of Pride

  11.0 Risk of Ruin

  12.0 Year of Folly

  13.0 Queen of Hearts

  A Sexy Historical Romance

  Praise for the Scandalous Scions series

  If you haven't started this series, start right now and you will fall in love with this very unconventional family during a time when rules, etiquette and unwritten rules had to be followed or the lack of them would bring scandal and ruin to an entire family.

  I love these books. Tracy creates these characters so well and with such care. I really recommend reading this series.

  I am overwhelmed by how much I have enjoyed this series so far. It was not superficial fluff as I thought it might be when I began. Cooper-Posey books have touched on so many universal themes.

  Her characters are admirable people who love their family and are capable of deep romantic love as well.

  I just love this series and the books just keep getting better and better. This series takes us on a romp through historical times, which I love.

  If you haven't read this magnificent series you must do so now; you will love each story, be moved by each of them, fall in love with the heroines and heroes, you will cheer for them and just as loudly boo the villains.

  Love this series and have bought them all.

  This entire series is filled with so much love for each other and family, that there is no way you cannot be emotionally drawn into each story.

  The Great Families

  Elisa and Vaughn Wardell

  Marquess of Farleigh, Viscount Rothmere

  1825 Raymond, Viscount Marblethorpe (stepson)

  1839 William Vaughn Wardell

  1839 John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes (fostered in 1846)

  1842 Sarah Louise Wardell (D)

  1843 Peter Lovell Wardell (January)

  1844 Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell (adopted in 1848)

  1844 Patricia Sharla Victoria Mayes (fostered in 1846)

  1849 Blanche Brigitte Colombe Bonnay (adopted in 1851)

  1853 Emma Jane Wardell (adopted at birth)

  Natasha and Seth Williams

  Earl of Innesford, Baron Harrow (Ire.)

  1839 Lillian Mary Harrow

  1840 Richard Cian Seth Williams

  1841 Neil Vaughn Williams

  1843 Daniel Rhys Williams (February)

  1846 Bridget Bronte Williams & Mairin May Williams

  1849 Annalies Grace Williams

  Annalies and Rhys Davies

  Princess Annalies Benedickta of Saxe-Weiden, of the royal house Saxe-Coburg-Weiden, Formerly of the Principality of Saxe-Weiden.

  1835 Benjamin Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)

  1842 Iefan William Davies

  1843 Morgan Harrow Davies (October)

  1843 Sadie Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)

  1846 Bronwen Natasha Davies

  1848 Alice Thomasina Davies (adopted at birth)

  1849 Catrin Elise Davies

  And their children:

  Natasha and Raymond Devlin

  Viscount Marblethorpe

  1857 Vaughn Elis Devlin (Raymond’s heir)

  1861 Richard Seth Devlin

  Lilly and Jasper Thomsett

  1862 Seth Eckhard Thomsett (heir)

  1863 Elise Marie & Anne Louise Thomsett

  1864 George Jasper Thomsett (stillborn)

  Sharla and Dane Balfour + Benjamin Hedley (Davies)

  Duke of Wakefield

  1867 Jennifer Jane Balfour & Benjamin Dane Balfour (heir)

  1868 Alice Thomasina Balfour

  1871 John William Balfour

  Bronwen Natasha Davies and Archeduke Edvard Christoffer of Silkeborg

  1870 Christina Clara Elisa Bronwen

  John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes and Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell-Ryder

  Baron Guestwick, heir to the Marquess of Laceby

  1864 Jackson Vaughn Ryder

  1866 Stuart Theodore Ryder

  1869 Phillip Dane Mayes

  William Vaughn Wardell & Bridget Bronte Williams

  Viscount Rothmere, heir to the Marquess of Fairleigh

  1869 Elizabeth Anne Wardell

  1871 Vaughn Raymond Wardell

  1873 Mairin Elisa Wardell

  Iefan William Davies & Mairin May Williams

  1863 Adam Martel Davies (Adopted in 1874)

  1864 Daniel Martel Davies (Adopted in 1874)

  1866 Ève Martel Davies (Adopted in 1874)

  1868 Alicia Martel Davies (Adopted in 1874)

  Daniel Rhys Williams & Catrin Elise Davies

  1871 Alice Edwina Williams

  Chapter One

  Inverness High Street, Inverness,
Scotland. July 1873.

  Emma slammed the solid oak door shut against the angry mob on their heels and leaned against it with both hands. “Kosta, the bar. Quickly.”

  Prince Konstantin brushed at the tear in the sleeve of his long jacket with a grimace of distaste. “This is utterly outrageous!”

  The door flexed and trembled as fists pummeled on it from the other side. The volume of voices rose as the good people of Inverness pressed up against the windows and peered in, looking for their quarry.

  “Kosta, the bar,” Emma repeated. “Please help me. I don’t know what they will do to us if we let them in.”

  “These are your people,” Kosta pointed out. “Do they not know who you are? Who I am?” Above the black beard, his face worked with disbelief.

  “They don’t care a whit about that,” Emma snapped. “Kosta, please!”

  Hands slapped upon the glass in the window that Kosta stood beside. He flinched and moved over to pick up the thick timber bar propped against the wall. Awkwardly, he lowered it into the brackets on either side of the door.

  Emma backed away from the door. She watched it warily as it trembled with the blows and slaps being laid upon it. She gathered up her train so she did not trip over it, and discovered the ruffle on the hem was torn. It hung in a sad loop of black and white striped fabric. One lace glove was torn. Her parasol laid out there on the High Street, most likely trampled beneath stomping work boots.

  Emma glanced around the building they sheltered within. She was surprised to discover it was a shop, with a bow window displaying shaving equipment and all manner of male accoutrements. Where was the shopkeeper? He was not in the store.

  She glanced hopefully for a back entrance. There was none. Her heart sank. The only way out of the store was through the front door.

  Kosta examined his torn sleeve once more. “They actually laid hands on me…”

  Vexed, Emma rolled her eyes. “Could you please concentrate on finding a way out of this? We have stumbled into a dead-end and I don’t believe the people out there will leave very soon.”

  Kosta glanced at her. His black eyes flickered with anger. “This is all your fault. If you had not insisted upon having your way and visiting the town hall, we would not be here.”

  “I underestimated them,” Emma admitted. “I had no idea they felt so strongly about…about, well, all of it! Why are they threatened by me, Kosta? It is such a small thing I want to do.”

  “They will slaughter us both.” Kosta examined the people pressing up against the window, slapping their hands and knocking their knuckles against the glass. “They will break the window and we will be done for.”

  Emma tried to tuck back a lock of hair which had escaped its pin. Her fingers trembled too much.

  How had she arrived at this terrible place? How had it happened? She had arrived in Inverness a year ago, almost to the day. All she had wanted was to return to her beloved London, from where she had been cruelly ejected…

  Chapter Two

  Inverness Train Station, Inverness, Scotland. July 1872.

  As was often the case at Kirkaldy, everyone who lived in the old, rambling house found they had too much to do, and not nearly enough time in which to complete the work. The arrival of a wayward cousin from London was a minor matter compared to missing bolts of tweed, overlooked orders, fouled wool, broken jennys, and more. The sparkling summer day would ensure more than the usual handful of workers failed to arrive for their morning shift, too. Their absence must be covered if the day’s orders were to be completed on time for the evening train.

  As Morgan’s responsibilities usually did not throw up such dire emergencies—bookkeeping and finance rarely did—he volunteered to drive to Inverness to retrieve little Emma.

  Being required to sit in the open-topped carriage Bridget preferred forced Morgan to notice the beauty of the early morning. It was July, which meant all the highland wildflowers were in full bloom. Meadowsweet and spearwort carpeted the verges of the road into Inverness. There was no wind. Only the breeze stirred by the horse’s trotting pace brushed his face. Morgan took off his hat and ruffled his hair, for there was no one to see him in such disarray.

  Emma could not have chosen a more awkward time to arrive in Inverness, he decided. The last of the winter season orders needed to be filled in the next few days, before the mills would be retooled for the spinning and weaving of the finer tweeds for next summer. There was the purchase of the factory in Nairn to be dealt with, the week’s wages to be calculated…well, it was a long list.

  He drummed his fingers upon his knee, wishing the journey was done and that he was back at his big desk, and not forced to deal with another family disaster. The facts surrounding the scandal that had forced Aunt Elisa to send Emma north were unknown—first class telegrams rarely revealed private details.

  This family! It seemed incapable of moving through a single year without having to navigate one emergency or another. If not for the scrapes and adventures of his brothers and sisters and cousins, Morgan’s life would be perfectly peaceful and content.

  The train had arrived early. He could see the billows of steam above the station building and spotted the last third-class carriage at the end of the long platform. The platform had been extended six years ago by one hundred feet, and already the townsfolk spoke of extending the platform once more. A roof had been added, so the center portion of the platform was sheltered from the rain and the sun.

  Morgan leapt from the carriage almost before it came to a full halt. “I’ll be but a moment, George,” he told the driver.

  “Right ye are, Mr. Davies.”

  He hurried through the station building and onto the platform, weaving through disembarking passengers fussing over their trunks and luggage, or waiting patiently for a porter. Most of them looked tired and bedraggled. The train provided bunks for sleeping away the overnight journey. Morgan had learned from a great many journeys to and from London that the bunks did not provide a completely comfortable night’s sleep.

  Morgan looked for a girl with dark brown hair and a sulky expression, for that was all he remembered of Emma. She was the youngest cousin in the family and Morgan could not remember the last time he had spoken to her directly. Possibly at one of the family gathers at Innesford. As he had not attended one of those for some years, it still put the date rather far in the past.

  The train must have only just arrived, for it was still chuffing steam in great clouds all over the platform. Morgan waited for the mist to dissipate, so he could scan the north end of the platform where the engine sat, the hot metal ticking.

  Figures formed in the mist and grew clearer as it dispersed. The driver stood with his cap in his grubby hands, speaking to a woman who looked as though she belonged to the grand drawing rooms of London.

  She wore a gown that ladies called traveling suits. Morgan had picked up rather more about ladies’ fashions in the last few years than he ever thought he would learn, thanks to the Kirkaldy tweed mills.

  Her suit was not a sensible, plain brown or black ensemble designed to hide the stains of travel. Instead, it was a creation of deepest purple and dark green, which glowed in the early morning light. There was barely a hint of a train and a modest bustle. The dark green skirt was looped and draped and finished with a small line of purple ruffles upon the hem. Large, deep green bows held the drapes in place on either side.

  The purple jacket fitted perfectly, displaying a trim waist and slender arms. Lace peeped at her sleeve and throat. Emeralds glittered at her ears. Her dark hair was looped up and curled and pinned at the back of her head. A dark green hat perched upon the top, with a purple bow hanging from the back.

  One gloved hand rested upon the handle of a folded parasol—also green. The ferrule rested upon the ground by her hem. She smiled at the driver, who shuffled awkwardly in the presence of such a lady. For Inverness, the woman was an exotic orchid among daisies.

  She laughed, her wide mouth revealing even, whit
e teeth.

  With a jolt, Morgan realized he was looking at Emma. It had to be her, for no other single woman travelers waited upon the platform. Only, could it really be her? There was nothing of the little girl he remembered. Even her height was more than most ladies’. Her head would be above Morgan’s shoulder, when most ladies’ heads did not reach it.

  He moved toward the pair on the platform, his heart thudding in a hurried way, which bothered him. Why would he feel embarrassed about not knowing if this creature was Emma? It had been years…

  The woman glimpsed his approach and gave one last word to the driver, who nodded, donned his cap and touched it and climbed back into the engine.

  She turned to face Morgan, the parasol and her skirt twisting with the elegant movement. “My, look at you. You have become rather staid and sober, haven’t you, Morgan?” Her voice was pleasantly low, with a burr in it.

  “Someone must compensate for the family’s excesses,” Morgan replied. “I understand you have contributed significantly to that side of the ledger, of late.” He gave her a short nod of the head. “Cousin Emma.”

  “Cousin Morgan,” she intoned, then laughed. “Oh, so polite!”

  “This is not London,” he said shortly. “People here are more conservative than you are used to.”

  Her amusement faded. “I am mortally aware of that fact,” she said, her tone just as snippy as his. “Did I disrupt your affairs, Morgan? I would apologize, only I had little choice in the matter, either.”

  Morgan tamped down the irritation which tried to rise. “Then we are both at sixes and sevens. Where are your trunks?” He looked around. Only one stack of trunks and bags was left on the platform. “I will have the porter take them out to the coach. This way.”

  He stood aside and waved toward the station building.

  Emma’s hand clenched over the handle of the parasol. Then, with a lift of her chin, she swept passed him, a flutter of ribbons and lace and the soft whisper of sateen and gabardine, and beneath, silk.