Regency Anthology with Caroline Linden, Maya Rodale & Katherine Ashe

As society gathers at Kingstag Castle for the wedding of the year, matrimony is in the air. But who will be the bride? With swoonworthy lords, witty ladies, eccentric relatives, a gaggle of free-spirited girls, not to mention the world’s best high perch phaeton, it’s a recipe for mayhem — and romance. Award winning, best-selling authors Katharine Ashe, Caroline Linden, Miranda Neville and Maya Rodale serve up delectable Regency fun and a sexy contemporary twist in this anthology of original novellas. 
Four authors, four couples, four deliciously romantic surprises. When it comes to love, anything can happen… 
My story is 


Handsome, inarticulate Frank Newnham asks for his cousin Christian's help when he woos Rosanne Lacy by letter. Rosanne falls for Frank's delicious prose, but when they meet in person at the duke's wedding party, Rosanne can't understand why Frank seems so ... dull. And why is she drawn to the dark brooding Earl of Bruton, with his scarred face and air of melancholy?  ?
It is also available as a stand-alone ebook from the usual digital vendors.

A group of officers invaded the common room of the Horse Guards in a clatter of spurs, drawing Captain Christian Lord Bruton from the quiet pleasure of a good book.

That was the trouble with belonging to a fashionable regiment permanently stationed in the middle of London. Too many sprigs of the nobility and gentry, large and clumsy like a pack of half-grown dogs—though well-bred dogs—sucking the air from the room and braying about their tedious concerns to those who cared not a whit. Well-oiled by quantities of after-dinner port, they were off to make the rounds of the evening’s assemblies, followed by a visit to a house inhabited by ladies of lower birth and looser morals.

“Are you coming, Frank?” someone asked Lieutenant Newnham, the most popular man in the regiment, who’d been sitting quietly, minding his own business. “What about you, Bruton?” another fellow said, with much less enthusiasm and a note of doubt that indicated a modicum of intelligence.

Christian would rather be broken on a rack than expose himself to Lady Beaufetheringstone’s ball. “No, thank you. I’ll take in the last act at Drury Lane before my supper engagement with Miss Clara Morris.”

A solidly built subaltern of extreme youth loomed over him. “Nice for you, Lord Cicatrix, being able to afford the prettiest dancer in London.” His side whiskers, barely grown, twitched.