Regency Improprieties. Diane Gaston

      To the ‘Roses’ in my life:

      My sister, Marilyn Rose

      (though she was never fond of her middle name)

      and my sister-in-law, Rosemarie

       Chapter One

       London—July 1817

      Vauxhall Gardens was not a place Jameson Flynn would have chosen to spend his night hours, but his employer, the Marquess of Tannerton, required his presence.

      To Flynn, Vauxhall was all façade. Mere wooden structures painted to look like Greek temples or Chinese pavilions. Revellers were equally as false, wearing masks to disguise whether they be titled, rich, respectable, or rogue, pickpocket, lady of ill repute.

      ‘Have some more ham.’ Tannerton handed him the plate of paper-thin ham slices, a Vauxhall delicacy of dubious worth.

      Rich as Croesus, Tanner—as he liked to be called—ate with as much enthusiasm as if he were dining at Carlton House instead of a supper box at Vauxhall. Flynn declined the Vauxhall delicacy but sipped his arrack, a heady mixture of rum and Benjamin flower that redeemed Vauxhall only a little in his eyes. It was not unusual for Tanner to seek Flynn out for companionship, but Flynn had no illusions. He was Tanner’s secretary, not his friend.

      To look at them, you might not guess which one was the marquess. Flynn prided himself on his appearance. His dark brown hair was always neatly in place, his black coat and trousers well tailored. Tanner, a few years older and lighter in colouring, took less care, often giving the impression he’d just dismounted from his horse.

      Flynn placed his tankard on the table. ‘You brought me here for a purpose, sir. When am I to discover what it is?’

      Tanner grinned and reached inside his coat, pulling out a piece of paper. He handed it to Flynn. ‘Regard this, if you will.’

      It was a Vauxhall programme, stating that, on this July night, a concert of vocal and instrumental music would be performed featuring a Miss Rose O’Keefe, Vauxhall Garden’s newest flower.

      Flynn ought to have guessed. A woman.

      Ever since returning from Brussels, Tanner had gone back to his more characteristic pursuits of pleasure in whatever form he could find it. Or, Flynn might say, from whatever woman. And there were plenty of women willing to please him. Tanner had the reputation of being good to his mistresses, showering them with gifts, houses, and ultimately a nice little annuity when his interest inevitably waned. As a result, Tanner usually had his pick of actresses, opera dancers and songstresses.

      ‘I am still at a loss. I surmise you have an interest in this Miss O’Keefe, but what do you require of me?’ Flynn usually became involved in the monetary negotiations with Tanner’s chère amies or when it came time to deliver the congé, Tanner having an aversion to hysterics.

      Tanner’s eyes lit with animation. ‘You must assist me in winning the young lady.’

      Flynn nearly choked on his arrack. ‘I? Since when do you require my assistance on that end?’

      Tanner

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