The best regency romance novels from Next Chapter [March 2023]
Regency romance is a popular book genre that has gained a lot of attention in recent years. The genre typically features stories set in England during the Regency era, which lasted from 1811 to 1820. These stories often center on the romantic relationships between members of the aristocracy, and explore the social norms and expectations of the time period.
One of the most notable features of Regency romance is the focus on manners and etiquette. The characters in these books are often very conscious of their social status, and are expected to adhere to strict rules of behavior. This can lead to some interesting conflicts and misunderstandings as characters navigate the complex world of high society.
Despite the historical setting, Regency romance books are often very modern in their themes and outlook. Many authors use the genre as a way to explore issues of gender, power, and identity. Whether you're looking for a lighthearted romance or a thought-provoking exploration of the human condition, there is sure to be a Regency romance book out there that will capture your imagination.
Below, you’ll find some of our best regency romance novels as of March 2023. If you enjoy one of the stories below, please don’t forget to leave the author a review! Don’t agree with our choices? Please leave a comment and let us know your favorite :)
Novels featured on this page
Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1) by Simone Beaudelaire
The Handfasters (Lowland Romance Book 1) by Helen Susan Swift
Storm Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 5) by Helen Susan Swift
Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1) by Simone Beaudelaire
Book excerpt
“Good Lord, Bennett,” Cary mocked as he opened the door and admitted Christopher into the familiar parlor. “Late again? For your next birthday, I'm buying you a pocket watch.” This time he offered a glass of hot, spiced wine, perfect for a chilly evening.
“Sorry, Cary. I've been busy lately,” Christopher replied, cradling the warm beverage in his icy hands as he took his customary seat on the sofa. He had lost his gloves somewhere and was freezing. “Father and I are making several improvements to the machines at the cotton mill. We don’t dare risk another injury to one of our workers. Thank the Lord Mr. Smythe recovered quickly.”
Cary nodded.
“Where's Colin tonight?” Christopher asked. While he liked Cary well enough in a group, he was not as close a friend as Colin, whom Christopher had known since childhood.
“Meeting with a potential creditor,” Cary replied grimly. “The tenant houses on his estate are falling into ruin. He's hoping to get a loan to improve the buildings so people will stay and work the land.”
“I must say, the aristocracy's in trouble,” Christopher commented.
“They are,” Cary agreed. “Poor Colin. He's too stubborn to admit defeat.”
“What choice does he have?” Christopher asked.
“None,” Cary agreed, “but the land on his estate is so overworked, he'll never grow enough to earn a prof-it. As it is, he can barely pay his taxes, let alone the debts his ancestors incurred.”
Both friends shook their heads at their friend's woes.
“So, what did you find to read tonight?” Christopher asked, changing the subject.
Cary grinned and swallowed his mouthful of wine. “Well, I recall you enjoyed the first Browning poem, so I found you another.”
“Lovely,” Christopher said sarcastically. “What's this one called?”
“‘My Last Duchess.’” Cary replied, waving his familiar folio.
“Good Lord, the nobility again? All right, let's hear it,” Christopher urged.
So, Cary read it, and then he looked at his friend, puzzled. “What happened? I don't understand.”
The Handfasters (Lowland Romance Book 1) by Helen Susan Swift
Book excerpt
You may be used to the Highlands being lauded and Highlanders being treated with respect equal to people in any other part of this kingdom, but you must remember that this was 1811, before Queen Victoria chose to bless Caledonia with her presence. There were still memories of the rising of 1745, and in my time, Highlanders were reckoned as of no more account than Irishmen or Africans. They called us Donalds, among other less savoury things, and told tall tales of our backwardness and savagery, despite the many thousands of Highlandmen who were even then fighting their wars for them. For Lady Catriona to remark on my Highland blood was tantamount to a terrible insult, and one to which I could not reply, for it was only the truth. I had been born and raised among the mountains of Badenoch and was as Highland as peat.
There was no reprieve from such a pronouncement of rejection. In my youth, you see, we did not question the wisdom of our elders and betters. Indeed, we dared not, for the consequences could be … well, I will leave that to your imaginations but.
It was unpleasant to be banished in disgrace, but to be honest I had experienced quite enough of Lady Catriona's ball. My anticipation had been disappointed, my hopes dashed and my lips assaulted. In truth, I was not unhappy to climb inside the padded and very ornate sedan chair and have the stalwart Highland chairmen lift me. I would have preferred to travel by coach, but I do not believe that Lady Catriona would have countenanced such luxury for somebody she obviously considered a blackguard and an out-and-out rogue. I also knew that I was in disgrace, and wondered what Lady Elspeth would say about the situation when I arrived back in her house. However much I reasoned that such things were probably not uncommon in such a cosmopolitan city as Edinburgh, and if I were home first, I would have the first opportunity to state my side of the argument, I knew that it was natural for Aunt Elspeth to take her daughter's side against me.
Such thoughts occupied me as the chairmen ported me up the wynd and into the bustle of the High Street. Tears were not far from my eyes as I considered Lady Elspeth's reaction, for I knew that Louise would put all the blame on my shoulders, and I would be doubly disgraced. I had no ideas what penalties her ladyship would inflict, but I suspected they might be grievous. She may even send me back to Badenoch, where my chances of finding a suitable husband were limited in the extreme.
However, events in the High Street soon chased the tears away and gave me much more serious matters to worry about than the displeasure of an eccentric old crone such as Lady Catriona and my stern but probably fair aunt.
I heard the roar before I saw anything untoward, for a sedan chair does not have the best of visibility and I was engaged in a monumental sulk, combined with great self- pity both for my present position and the niggling pain of what I was sure was a blister developing on the large toe of my left foot. So when the front chairman let his poles go with a thump, I only complained a little before I opened the door and peered out.
The Earl’s Captive by Lorna Read
Book excerpt
Lucy had never fainted before. She came to and found her mother hovering anxiously over her while her sister bathed her forehead in cool water from a basin held by Binns, the young maid.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout her, ma’am. She be herself right soon enough,” said Binns reassuringly. Lucy could have embraced her for her honest country forthrightness, but Binns, for all her commonsense, could not smooth the worried furrows from her mother’s brow.
“My dear, are you all right? It is very hot today. You’re not catching a fever, I hope?”
Helen’s small, square hand in its cuff of pale blue lace touched Lucy’s forehead, then her temples, and finally pulled down the lower lids of her eyes, making Lucy jerk back and blink in alarm. “The boys had a summer sickness some weeks ago,” Helen explained. “They went quite, quite pale under the lids. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I wish there was,” moaned Lucy fervently. “I’d sooner waste away and die than be married to that old . . . goat!”
* * *
Ann Swift drew a deep breath and chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. How she wished her younger daughter was as docile as Helen had been. She had gone to the altar with John Masters without a murmur and, indeed, the marriage seemed to be working. Helen had her boys and a good allowance and a husband who didn’t beat her, even if he did sometimes respond rather over-enthusiastically to attractive members of the opposite sex.
At least this philandering tendency kept him from eternally bothering Helen with his attentions. He had done his duty, fathered twin heirs, and now Helen was free to attend to her duties of lady of the house and follower of fashion, something that pleased her far more than her husband’s twice-monthly drunken fumblings in her bedroom. Even love-matches couldn’t be relied upon to be perfect, as Ann knew to her cost. Yet, for Lucy, that is exactly what she would have wished – the perfect love-match for her beautiful, unruly, headstrong younger daughter.
* * *
“I won’t do it,” announced Lucy, mutinously, waving away Binns’s proffered glass of water. “I refuse to allow myself to be incarcerated in that damp prison of a rectory with that revolting, ugly, nasty-minded old man. ‘Man of God’ indeed! I would never take a young, sensitive child to hear one of our dear vicar’s sermons. To hear him ranting about the terrible punishments God has in store for us all if we dare to defy His will or take His holy name in vain, makes me think that worshipping the Devil would be the easier option.”
“Leave the room, Binns. See how Cook is faring with the roast pork,” ordered Ann, terrified lest Lucy’s blasphemies be prattled about all over the village.
But Lucy wasn’t done. “Reverend Pritt has a very twisted idea of what God is really like. I think something very terrible must have happened to him in his life to make him turn his good Lord into the kind of enemy he would have us believe God is, someone who isn’t kind and just and forgiving at all, but is a cruel tyrant – rather like Father.”
Helen clutched her sister’s arm in the hope of distracting her from her subject, as it was obviously upsetting their mother, who was standing by the window, fanning herself agitatedly. But Lucy was not so easily deterred.
“I am sorry, Mother,” she continued, a softer note creeping into her voice. Lucy loved her mother dearly and the last thing she wanted to do was upset her, but, on the subject of her own life, with her whole future at stake, she felt she had to express her feelings, even if it meant coming out with a few home truths.
Hidden Between The Lines by Sally A. Laughlin
Book excerpt
Edith cleared the patch of cover in the forest and raced the carriage to the main road. After she was sure that Rachel was totally out of sight, she pulled the reins in and slowed the horses down to an easy gait.
“If I get back too soon they might be able to figure out which way they went,” she spoke to the horses, as if they understood what she was saying. “I think we should pick some berries on the way. It will give me time to think of something to tell them. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
As if on cue, one of the horses neighed, causing Edith to smile, “Me, too.” She pulled the team onto a grassy knoll where the strawberries were hanging in vivid clusters.
Edith climbed down from the buggy and tethered the two horses to a slender tree. She fumbled around the back of the buggy to find some place to put the berries. Finding an old bonnet that had been smashed by Rachel’s trunk, she shook the dust off of it, and walked leisurely toward the bright, red fruit.
Edith purposely took a very long time to fill the bonnet, inspecting each berry individually. Finally, she stood, stretching her aching back, and looked up. “Oh, Mr. Sun, you are sitting high in the sky. I am quite hungry, so it must be near afternoon tea.” She straightened her back twisting her body left and right to try to ease out the discomfort. “I do not think my back could take picking another berry.”
Edith untied the horses from the tree and climbed into the buggy when she heard the pounding sound of horses off in the distance. She placed the bonnet on the seat next to her and took the reins in hand. The thundering noise was closer now. She hoped it wasn’t someone intent on finding Rachel. Unhurriedly, she turned the horses toward the sound. It was coming from the direction of Brekmore Manor.
Over a slight hill crest, a large carriage pulled by four horses raced toward her. She recognized the men riding ahead of the carriage as two of Lord Symington’s henchmen. Edith’s heart began to race. “I hope my story will be believable. Believable enough for Rachel and Phillip to sail out of port,” she sighed softly.
The carriage and riders pulled up alongside of her. Lord Symington burst opened the carriage door. “Where is she?” He screamed.
“Why, I thought she was with you?”
“What do you mean?” His blackened mouth twisted into a sneer. The blanket over his lap slid down as his hands clutched the side of the carriage door.
Sarah’s Story by Helen Susan Swift
Book excerpt
Something had wakened me, although I did not know what. I slipped out of bed and opened the shutters for light. The mist had cleared, maybe chased away by the cannonade, and there was moonlight above the sea. It glinted on the smooth waves that eased northward to hush on the broad sands of Chale Bay and surge up the narrow St Catherine Chine, the narrow gulley- like passage that allowed access from our inn to the shore.
A single strand of moonlight slipped into my room, glinted on the blue pitcher that stood on my table and allowed enough light for me to see by. Do you remember a few short moments ago when I told you that I was curious and intended finding out more about the mysterious Mr Howard? Well that was exactly what I intended to do.
Moving as quietly as a mouse skirting a wakeful cat, I lifted the latch of my door and entered the creaking corridor that connected the rooms in the upper floor of the Inn. I paused here to listen but save for the constant surge and suck of the sea there were no sounds. I stepped out and froze.
'Is that you Sarah?'
Mother had appeared at her door like a ghost, except this spectre was fully dressed in boots and long cloak and carried a couple of canvas sacks over her arm.
'Yes, Mother,' I whispered. I thought quickly. 'I heard a noise.'
Luckily Mother chose to believe my tale. 'That would be me,' she said. 'Throw some clothes on and come outside. Hurry girl, else I will give you a right spat.'
I did not ask further but dressed as quickly as I was able. Mother followed me into my room and watched me to make sure I remembered how to complete the complex procedure of putting on my clothes in the correct order 'Hurry girl,' she repeated, and although I obeyed her as best I was able she gave me the promised spat, which rang bells in my ears. 'Take a bag,' Mother ordered, and threw one across to me. Made from tarred canvas, it was sufficiently deep to hold a whole host of contraband, if that had been Mother's intention.
I was still unsure where we were headed as Mother lifted a lantern from its hook against the taproom wall and we led us out of the inn. The night was clear and cool, with a westerly breeze that carried the hush of the surf to us as we descended the chine to the beach below. Light from Mother's lantern bounced to illuminate our path, as our feet slipped and slithered on the chalk path. I held the hem of my skirt away from the fringe of damp grass, wondering what mother had in mind.
'You'll see, Sarah,' Mother read my mind and told me.
Storm Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 5) by Helen Susan Swift
Book excerpt
I lay in bed that night with images from the previous days flashing through my brain. I heard Baird’s words again and again: “I mean to have you as my wife.”
Well, my brave Adonis, I thought, I am already spoken for and have no intention of altering my affections for Baird MacGillivray or anybody else. However, coupled with Mother Faa’s warnings about Kenny, I was more than a little concerned.
The events passed through my mind in a constant procession, repeating endlessly, as I tossed and turned in my narrow bed. I saw again the old man carrying his sticks, Mother Faa with her wise, wrinkled face, Baird MacGillivray and his parents and the luxury of Mysore House.
“I can’t make sense of it,” I said as my mother came in to see what was troubling me.
“You can’t make sense of what?” she asked, and I poured out the entire story, not sparing her any details. Mother listened without interruption, nodding at all the right places, although she had been far from well ever since Father died.
“So he wants you for a wife, does he?” The last year had aged Mother so that she looked worn compared to Mrs MacGillivray, although they must have been of similar ages.
“That’s what he said, Mother.”
Mother pursed her lips. “I’ll wager Kenneth Fairweather will have something to say about that!”
I said nothing. I would love my Kenny to go riding to Mysore House like a knight on a white charger, slapping Baird with his gauntlet to challenge him to a duel. However, I knew that would not happen. Kenny was not that sort of man and besides, I had rather liked Baird, for all his faults. I pondered for a moment. What sort of man was Kenny? Had Mother Faa been correct; was I not entirely happy with my betrothed? Did I think he lacked something?
“Choose carefully,” Mother Faa had said, and: “This man will help you see your Kenny as he truly is.”
If Baird was the mysterious “man” how would he enable me to see Kenny as he truly was? I did not know, and when I asked my mother, she sighed and sat beside my bed.
“All right, Catriona,” Mother said. “This Baird MacGillivray fellow might be all hot air and bombast. Forget him and concentrate on what you know. Kenneth Fairweather is a good man, and the chances are you will never see Baird again. After all,” she continued, glancing around the tiny room, “it’s not as if he’s in our social circle.”
There you have it - the best regency romance novels from Next Chapter in 03/2023. We hope you enjoy the stories - and if you do, please leave a comment below, or a review in Goodreads or your favorite store. It would mean a lot to us!
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