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Prelude for a Lord

Book One in the Gentlemen Quartet series

An awkward young woman. A haunted young man. A forbidden instrument. Can the love of music bring them together . . . or will it tear them apart?

Bath, England—1810

At twenty-eight, Alethea Sutherton is past her prime for courtship; but social mores have never been her forté. She might be a lady, but she is first and foremost a musician.

In Regency England, however, the violin is considered an inappropriate instrument for a lady. Ostracized by society for her passion, Alethea practices in secret and waits for her chance to flee to the Continent, where she can play without scandal. 

But when a thief’s interest in her violin endangers her and her family, Alethea is determined to discover the enigmatic origins of her instrument . . . with the help of the dark, brooding Lord Dommick.

Scarred by war, Dommick finds solace only in playing his violin. He is persuaded to help Alethea, and discovers an entirely new yearning in his soul. 

Alethea finds her reluctant heart drawn to Dommick in the sweetest of duets . . . just as the thief’s desperation builds to a tragic crescendo . . .

"This very enjoyable book will appeal to fans of Jane Austen and Linore Rose Burkard." —CBA Retailers + Resources

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What's up with the Gentlemen?

I wrote Prelude for a Lord, the first book in my Gentlemen Quartet series, in the same year that I wrote The Spinster's Christmas, the prequel book to my Lady Wynwood's Spies series.

Since then, I've been working on the next Lady Wynwood's Spies series books, but I do intend to go back to the Gentlemen Quartet and continue writing books for that series. If you belong to my email newsletter, you'll be sure to hear when the next book (Lady Wynwood or Gentlemen Quartet) is available.

Extras

Read an extended excerpt below.

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A coach-and-four barreled down the street, much too fast for the narrow way. Several people leapt out of the way of the horses with cries of alarm, but the crowds forced the coachman to finally slow his headlong dash, right where Alethea stood pressed against a shop wall.

“Why are we slowing?” a deep male voice demanded from the depths of the coach.

Alethea had been breathless on account of being forced to the side, but now the air stopped in her throat. It couldn’t be him. Not here, in Bath.

She glanced up just as a man from within the coach looked out—and met her eyes.

Dark eyes, shadowed, solitary. He had always reminded her of a hawk, its power and beauty, its lonely existence. But she now noticed that there was a dark pain, something that had aged him beyond the eleven years since she’d seen him last.

— Excerpt from Prelude for a Lord by Camille Elliot
I took this picture at Newstead Abbey in England. This is where I envisioned my heroine finding the spiritual solace she'd been craving.

I took this picture at Newstead Abbey in England. This is where I envisioned my heroine finding the spiritual solace she'd been craving.

Excerpt