Julia Justiss‘ Guest Blog struck a chord with a number of you when she spent the day with us recently. We’re glad she was here and had so much fun with all of you.

One more time, a drumroll please!

The winner of Julia’s Society’s Most Disreputable Gentleman is Janet W.!

Congratulations, Janet. Please send your snail mail address to lighthousetagger at gmail dot com and I’ll contact Julia for you.

Hopefully you’ve read Julia Justiss’ Guest Blog with us today where she gives you some insight into Greville Anders, society’s most disreputable gentleman who has turned a new leaf after eight harrowing months with the Royal Navy, something those high born never experience. He now looks at nearly everything in life differently, even the enticing and beautiful Amanda Neville.

Will he truly be able to resist the temptation she presents to him?

Here’s a quick summary:

Greville, who was fired from his job as estate manager and then abducted and pressed into the Royal Navy, returns after 8-month’s service at sea a radically different man. Eager to obtain his release and pursue an honest career, he has little interest in the idle Society he used to frequent. But despite his vow to reform his rake’s ways, how could he help but flirt with his host’s beautiful daughter Amanda? For her part, Amanda Neville has dreamed since childhood of becoming a brilliant Society hostess. She’s not about to risk that goal by dallying with a younger son of little fortune, no matter how scandalously attractive he might be!

Now meet Greville at the beginning of his new life:

CHAPTER 1

A shake to his bad shoulder brought Greville Anders awake with a gasp. Through the stab of sensation radiating down his arm, he dimly heard the coachman say, “Here we be, now, sir. At yer destination. Ashton Grove.”

Trying to master a pain-induced nausea, Greville struggled to surface a mind he’d submerged in soothing clouds of laudanum to ease the agony of a long, jolting coach journey. The late winter air spilling through the door held ajar by a man in footman’s livery helped clear the dissipating mental fog.

England. He must be back in England. No place else on earth had this combination of chilly mist and scent of damp earth.

Like a tacking sail that suddenly catches the wind, his vacant mind filled. Yes, he was in England, at Ashton Grove, the home of Lord Bronning. The manor where, at the intervention of his noble cousin, the Marquess of Englemere, he was to stay after being transferred from his berth on the “Illustrious” to the Coastal Brigade, while the Admiralty sorted out the matter of his (illegal) impressment. And he finished healing.

Unfortunately, that also meant he must now attempt to convince his unsteady limbs to carry him from the vehicle into the manor, hopefully without having his still-roiling stomach disgrace him. Taking a deep breath, he staggered into the early evening dimness, then proceeded at a limping gait up to the entry and through a door held open by the butler.

Perspiration beading his forehead from the effort, he was congratulating himself on his success at reaching the stately entry hall when an older, balding gentleman walked forward and bowed. “Mr. Anders,” the man said, giving him a strained smile. “Delighted to welcome you to Ashton Grove.”

The gentleman’s expression was so far from delighted Greville bit back a smile before the unmistakable, swishing sound of skirts trailing over polished stone prompted him to carefully angle his head left.

That uncomfortable maneuver was rewarded by a vision lovely enough to raise a red-blooded sailor from the dead. A category into which, after the “Illustrious’s” action with that Algerine pirate vessel off the coast of Tunis, he’d very nearly fallen, he thought wryly before giving mind and senses over to the sorely-missed pleasure of gazing at a beautiful woman.

For the first time in a long time, parts of his body tingled pleasantly as he took in an angelic vision of golden hair and a petite form wrapped in a flattering gown, just a hint of décolletage tempting one to peek down at an admirably-rounded bosom. As he raised his gaze to the perfect oval of her face, large blue eyes stared back at him over a small, pert nose and plump rosebud-pink lips—that were currently pursed into a frown.

Greville suppressed a sigh. Angels generally did frown at him.

Long-inbred habits of gentility prompted him to attempt a bow, awkward as it was with the thick bandage still binding his chest and the fact that his equilibrium hadn’t yet adjusted to having a surface beneath his feet that remained firmly horizontal. “Lord Bronning, isn’t it?” he asked. And…”

“My daughter, Miss Neville. Welcome to our home. I trust Lord Englemere made your journey as comfortable as possible—under the circumstances, of course,” Bronning said, casting him a troubled glance.

The lovely daughter merely inclined her head, her frown deepening. Greville hadn’t seen his own face in a glass for months, but in his ragtag sailor’s gear, with an unkempt beard and what he supposed must be the pallor induced by his lingering fever, doubtless he looked nothing like the sort of gentleman Miss Neville was accustomed to receiving in her father’s grand hall.

“Miss Neville, my lord,” he replied, acknowledging the introductions. “Yes, Lord Englemere did…all that was necessary.” Given his already disreputable appearance, he thought it best not to mention that his passage from Spithead through Portsmouth and thence by coach to Ashton Grove had passed in such a laudanum haze that he had little memory of it. “I thank you, Lord Bronning, for receiving one so completely unknown to you.”

“Not at all,” Bronning replied quickly. “I’m happy to oblige Lord Englemere–and your sister, Lady Greaves, of course. Her husband, Sir Edward, is a valued acquaintance. But we won’t keep you standing here with the evening chill coming on! You must be exhausted from your travels. Sands will have a footman show you to your room.”

His room. A real chamber with a bed that didn’t sway with the roll of the ship, doubtless located in a private space he wouldn’t share with a score of noisy, tar-begrimmed, sweating sailors.

Heaven.

“I should like that, thank you,” he said, summoning his waning strength for the task of climbing the forbiddingly tall stairway toward which a footman was leading him.

“And Mr. Anders,” Bronning called after him, “Please don’t feel obliged to join us for dinner. Cook will be happy to prepare you a tray, if you’d prefer to remain in your chamber to rest and repose yourself after your long journey.”

Rest and repose. He clung to the notion as a drowning man clutches at a spar after a shipwreck. Rest to finish healing his battered body, repose in which to put his fever-dulled wits to examining the implications of his abrupt transition from deckhand on a man-of-war to guest at an elegant English estate.

“Thank you, my lord, I may do that,” he said, reflecting as he tackled the stairs upon the irony of greeting the notion of solitude with such pleasure, he who not so very long ago would have done almost anything to avoid the boredom of having only himself for company.

Gritting his teeth in determination, Greville made his way upward, Miss Neville’s soft floral fragrance still teasing his nose.

Disappointment and an entirely illogical sense of being ill-used replacing her initial shock, Amanda Neville stared after the newcomer now hobbling up the stairs behind the footman Sands had summoned.

Ever since Papa had told her they were to house a relation of the Marquess of Englemere, she’d been bubbling over with anticipation, hoping he would be someone she could meet again in London this spring when she made her long-delayed come-out – mayhap even a handsome young man who might be a potential suitor. She’d had Mrs. Pepys prepare the best guest bedchamber and instructed Cook to create a sumptuous meal for the night of his arrival.

Stunned into silence by the appearance of the man who’d limped over their doorstep, she’d barely been able to nod a greeting. That grimy, battered man dressed like a common sailor was their guest? she thought again, still aghast and scarcely able to comprehend such a conundrum. Whatever had Papa been thinking, to agree to house such a person?

Before she could utter a word, however, her father grabbed her arm and steered her down the hallway toward his study. “Don’t give me that look, puss, until I can explain,” he said under his breath. “That will be all for now, Sands,” he added, dismissing the butler who trailed after them, interest bright in his eyes.

“Really, Papa, I know better than to gossip before the servants,” she protested after he’d shut the study door behind them. “But when you told me you were to host Lord Englemere’s relative—why, he’s a Stanhope, head of one of the most prominent families in England! Are you sure this…sailor is truly his cousin?”

“He gave the name ‘Anders’ and arrived in a private coach, as I was led to expect, so he must be. Though I confess, I was as shocked by his appearance as you.”

After depositing her on the sofa, her father took an agitated turn about the room. “Now that I think on it, though naturally I assumed so, the note from his lordship’s secretary never precisely said Mr. Anders was an officer.”

“He looks more like a-a ruffian!” Amanda exclamed, still feeling affronted. “A drunken one, at that! How are we to go about entertaining such a person? Is he to dine with us, be presented to our acquaintance?”

Lord Bronning’s troubled frown deepened. “Dear me, I hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake, allowing him to come…” His voice trailed off and he grimaced.

“Now, Papa, you mustn’t upset yourself and bring on one of your spells,” Amanda said quickly, concern for her father, who had not been in the best of health of late, quickly overshadowing her irritation and chagrin. “Come, sit, and let me pour you some wine,” she urged, hopping up to guide her father to a chair and then fetch him a glass of port. “What precisely did his lordship’s note say?”

“Only that Mr. Anders had been serving on a warship and was being furloughed back to England after being wounded during a skirmish with privateers,” her father replied, easing back into the cushions. “Apparently naval men injured too severely to perform their duties are sometimes posted to the Coastal Brigade while they heal. Having learned that Ashton Grove was not far from one of their stations, the marquess begged me to offer his cousin accommodations while he recuperated. Naturally, one does not say ‘no’ to a marquess, especially one who writes so politely.”

Amanda bit her lip. “Nor, after installing this ‘Mr. Anders’ in the best guest bedchamber, will it be easy to move him elsewhere. In any event, he didn’t seem fit enough to appear in company, so for dining and entertaining, I suppose we shall wait and see.”

“That would be best, I expect. Besides, he is also brother to the wife of Sir Edward Greaves, and after that…unfortunate incident last spring, I should not wish to do anything that might offend Sir Edward.”

Amanda felt her face flush. “I am sorry about that, Papa.”

Smiling fondly, her father patted her arm. “Never you mind, puss. You can’t help that you are just naturally too lovely and charming for any sensible gentleman to resist.”

Though Amanda felt a pang of guilt, she didn’t correct her Papa. The truth was, she had quite deliberately sought to be at her most enticing when, after last year’s agricultural meeting at Holkham Hall, Papa had brought home to visit a man he’d often mentioned as being one of the most forward-thinking gentlemen farmers in the realm. She’d only thought to flirt a bit, seizing one of the few opportunities that came her way to practice her wiles on a single gentleman of noble birth.

Who could have imagined the quiet, rather stodgy Sir Edward, who had barely spoken to her of anything beyond a boring narration about crops and fields, would have possessed sufficient sensibility to become smitten?

She’d been surprised–and a bit ashamed–when Papa told her, after Sir Edward’s sudden departure, that the baronet had made him an offer for her hand. Thankfully, knowing well that the very last thing she wanted was to buckle herself to some gentleman farmer and spend the rest of her years immured in rural obscurity, Papa had spared her the embarrassing necessity of refusing him.

However, she reassured herself pragmatically, since Sir Edward had married within six months of his departure from Ashton Grove, she could not have wounded his heart too severely.

Still, she could not help but regret that her flirtation had put a rub in her father’s friendship with the man.

“Of course, Papa, I’m as anxious as you to make amends to Sir Edward and dispel any lingering…awkwardness. Have you any idea how long Mr. Anders is to be our guest? And…surely I am not called upon to nurse him!”

“Of course not!” her father assured her. “Even if it were not most improper, I would never ask you to do something so expressly designed to bring back…unfortunate memories.”

Abruptly, they both fell silent. Despite her Papa’s hope to avoid it, she found her thoughts sucked inexorably back to the terrible spring and summer just past. Nightmarish visions chased across her mind: Mama’s cheeks flushed with fever; Aunt Felicia thrashing in delirium; both faces fixed in the still cold pallor of death.

Shaking her head to dislodge the images, she turned to Papa and saw, from the stricken look on his face, that he must be remembering, too. Anxiety instantly replaced grief; Papa’s own health had nearly broken under the strain of losing both wife and sister, and he was still, she feared, far from recovered.

Before she could hit upon some remark that might distract him, Papa said, “Of course, Mr. Anders is welcome to stay as long as he may need. Should it turn out that he requires further care, I shall consult with Dr. Wendell in the village to obtain a suitable practitioner. But do not worry, puss,” he reached out to pat her hand, “However long our visitor tarries, I promised your dear Mama I would let nothing else delay the Season for which you’ve waited so long and so patiently.”

Amanda smiled her thanks and tried to refocus her mind on that happy event. London, this spring! Dare she even hope this time, it would finally happen? The Season which she and her mama had planned and anticipated for so long had been delayed by such a series of unfortunate events that sometimes it seemed Fate itself was conspiring to prevent her having any opportunity to realize her dreams.

Still, with her last breath, Mama had made Amanda promise, too, that she would go this year, come what may. So perhaps the visit would take place after all.

Oh, to finally be in London, that greatest of English cities, where she would not have to pore over accounts of events already days or weeks old by the time the newspapers reached them. London, where her future husband, a man of substance and influence in his party, would sit in the Lords and help direct the affairs of the nation. Supported, of course, by his lovely wife, whose dinners, soirees and balls would bring together all the influential people of the realm, where policy would be discussed and settled over brandy and whispered about behind fans.

If no further disaster occurred to prevent it, in a few short weeks, she would be there. She could hardly wait.

Suddenly the study door opened on a draft of cold air and her cousin Althea dashed in. “Is he here yet? Have I missed him?” she demanded.

Amanda swallowed the sharp words springing to her lips about the decorum a young lady should employ when entering a room—after knocking on the closed door. As she’d learned all too swiftly after Althea joined them at Ashton last spring just before the death of her mother, Amanda’s Aunt Felicia, the cousin who had once followed her about like an adoring puppy now seemed to resent every word she uttered.

Ignoring, as usual, the girl’s rudeness, Papa only said mildly, “Missed who, my dear?”

His own bereavement had made him more indulgent than was good for the girl, Amanda thought a tad resentfully. Papa never offered her tempestuous cousin the least reproof, no matter how deplorable her speech or actions, though he was perhaps the only one who might be able to correct her highly deficient behavior.

“Why, Mr. Anders, the Navy man, of course!” Althea replied. “He has arrived, hasn’t he? I saw a rum fine coach being driven round to the stables, one done up to a cow’s thumb!”

The girl must have been hanging about the stables herself, to have picked up that bit of cant. Swallowing a reproof on that point, Amanda said, “I fear you’ve missed him. Mr. Anders did indeed arrive and has just gone up to his room.”

“Fiddlesticks!” Althea exclaimed. “I suppose I shall have to wait to meet him at dinner.”

A sudden foreboding filled Amanda, sweeping away her more trivial concern over their genteel neighbors’ probable reaction to having Mr. Anders thrust among them. What if Althea, who already seemed eager to seize upon anything of which Amanda disapproved, decided to befriend this low sailor? Considering her current behavior, it seemed exactly the sort of thing she would do.

Though normally she would never wish anyone ill, Amanda couldn’t help being thankful that, for tonight at least, Mr. Anders appeared to be in no condition to join them for dinner.

“I don’t think he will be coming down to dine. He appeared much fatigued from his journey.”

“Fatigued—from riding in a coach? What a plumper!” Althea replied roundly. “Not a Navy man! I’ll wager Mr. Anders has steered his ship for hours in a driving gale and survived for months on hardtack and biscuits! More likely, he’ll be sharp-set enough to eat us out of table.”

While Amanda gritted her teeth anew at Althea’s vocabulary, Papa replied, “Perhaps, but he was wounded and is still recovering.”

“Wounded in battle?” Althea demanded, her eyes brightening even further. “Oh, excellent! Where? When?”

“I believe it was off the Barbary coast, some weeks ago,” Papa responded.

“How exciting! He must be veritable hero! I cannot wait to have him tell us all about it. What a joy it will be to speak with a truly interesting person, someone who’s had real adventures, who doesn’t natter on and on about gowns and shops and London!” she declared with a defiant glance at Amanda—just in case she was too dim to understand the jab, Amanda thought, struggling to hang on to her temper.

“Uncle James, have you any books in your library about the Navy?” she said, turning to Lord Bronning. “Oh, never mind, I shall go directly myself and look!”

At that, with as little ceremony as she’d displayed upon her precipitate arrival, Althea bolted from the room.

In the wake of her departure, Amanda sent her father an appealing look. “Papa, you must warn her off about Mr. Anders. If we’re not careful, she’ll be painting him as another Lord Nelson!”

“And doubtless urging him to recite details of shipboard life in language not fit for a lady’s ears,” Papa agreed ruefully.

“I know you feel for her, having lost her mama so soon after her papa, but truly, you must counsel her about this. Heaven knows, I don’t dare say anything for fear she will immediately take that as a challenge to parade with him about the neighborhood.”

Papa nodded. “She does seem to take umbrage at everything you say. Which I find most odd, since during Felicia’s visits when you girls were younger, Althea used to hang on your every word and copy everything you did.”

Amanda sighed. A smaller but no less stinging wound to her heart this last year was the, to her, inexplicable hostility with which her cousin now seemed to view her. “Truly, Papa, I have tried to be understanding. I don’t know why she seems to resent me so. Perhaps I did criticize her conduct overmuch when she first arrived—I really can’t recall, but with Aunt Felicia so ill and the house in such an uproar, and then Mama falling sick–”

“There now, you mustn’t be blaming yourself,” Papa said, patting her arm. “You were a marvel through that trying time, taking over the household so your dear Mama need concern herself only with Felicia…” His breath hitched and his eyes grew moist before he continued, “So strong and capable, I couldn’t be prouder of you. But Althea is young, and perhaps chafed at authority being assumed by one she’d considered almost a peer. Distraught, and bereft, and grieving—not a felicitous combination for any of us.”

Amanda blinked the tears back from her own eyes. “Indeed not, Papa.” Papa might think her strong, but in truth she had barely managed to hold the household together and was still trying to recover her spirits.

Though her younger brother had lately arrived to add to her anxieties, Althea remained the most acute of her burdens. Her own feelings depressed and on the raw after Mama’s death, Amanda couldn’t help wishing she might be rid of the troublesome girl—a desire Althea probably sensed and which did nothing to ease the tensions between them.

All her life, she reflected with another pang of grief, she’d been wrapped in a protective cocoon of love and affection spun by her mother and grandmother, buoyed along the floodtide of events by a happiness and security she’d taken for granted until the catastrophes of the last two years—losing first Grandmama, then Aunt Felicia, then Mama—had stripped it from her. Her longing for supportive female company had been sharpened by her difficult relations with her cousin, the only female relative left to her.

Small wonder she yearned to reach London, where she would be staying with Lady Parnell, her mother’s dear friend whom she’d had known since childhood. Perhaps the affection of this companion from Mama’s own debut Season might ease her grief and fill some part of the void left by the last two year’s devastating losses.

Between her irresponsible brother and her sullen cousin and having to watch Papa drift around the halls and fields, a wraith-like imitation of his former hale and hearty self, was it any wonder she longed to leave Ashton and throw herself into the frivolity of London? Where the most difficult dilemma would be choosing what gown to wear; her most pressing problem fitting into her social schedule all the events to which she’d be invited. Where her day would be so full, she’d tumble into bed and immediately into sleep, never to lie awake aching and alone, yearning for the love and security so abruptly ripped from her.

Oh, that she might swiftly make a brilliant debut, acquire a husband to pamper and adore her, and settle into the busy life of a London political wife, seldom to visit the country again!

She only hoped, she thought as went to search out Cook and rearrange dinner, that their unwanted guest would not make the last few weeks before she could set her plans in motion even more difficult.

Life Changes and Insistent Characters

Writing is an odd occupation.  You start with an idea, or a germ of an idea, or in my case, usually with a character facing some crisis.  You ask yourself why and how they got there, what they really want, what keeps them from achieving it.  Sometimes you can’t figure it out until you walk with them for awhile.  If you are lucky, they are nattering in your ear the whole time, anxious for you to get their story right.

Inevitably, there are secondary characters who influence the main ones.  Often they are the stumbling blocks or the enablers that help your protagonists realize what they want and begin to discover the path to get it.  But sometimes, as they play their part in the ongoing story, something about them nags at you, and you know that one day, you will have to figure out their story, too.

Such was the case with the hero of my February release, Society’s Most Disreputable Gentleman.  Though he is never on-stage in his sister Joanna’s book, From Waif to Gentleman’s Wife, Greville Anders pays a key part in resolving Joanna’s story.  He started out just as a self-indulgent, selfish only son much indulged by his doting father and sisters.  His envy of his rich cousin, Lord Englemere, and lack of responsibility results in his allowing a subordinate to run the small estate, Blenhem Hill, which Englemere has given into his care.  When the subordinate embezzles money, it is Greville who is fired.  So when a destitute Joanna arrives at Blenhem Hill, thinking to take refuge with her brother, she must deal with the disapproving hero, Ned Greaves, instead.

Having served his purpose in getting hero and heroine together, Greville should have quietly faded away.  But I found he wouldn’t let me go.  Why had he allowed himself to be hoodwinked by the subordinate?  What had happened to him after he left Blenhim Hill?

By the end of Joanna’s story, I had discovered that, after some months of indulging himself playing “lord of the manor” and entertaining doxies and dissolute friends, Greville finally discovered the subordinate’s crime.  When he confronted the man, thinking to give him a chance to admit his guilt and make restitution, the villain smashed Greville over the head with a poker, stripped him of all identification and turned him over to a press gang.

I ’ve always been fascinated by stories of people who turn their lives around.  What motivates them to make a complete change?  What difficulties do they face in doing it?

When Greville’s story starts, he has just been returned to England to recover from wounds suffered in battle after serving nine months on a British man-of-war as a common sailor.  This man born into privilege and confident of his innate superiority was stripped of his authority, dragged from all that was familiar, and forced to perform humble and grueling service for a rigid and sometimes brutal taskmaster, the Royal Navy.

All his preconceptions of what makes a man worthy have been turned upside down.  All his ideas of what makes life worthwhile, and what a man should do with his life, have been called into question.  He knows the Greville who returned to England is no longer the Greville who left.  But who is he?

Only one thing is certain.  Having witnessed the heroism and sacrifice of “common” men, he can no longer look upon himself as superior or view a life of indolence as his due.  With the Society of which he’s always been a part no longer of interest to him, what is he to do with his life?

While he heals and tries to figure this out, he’s billeted as the guest of one of Lord Englemere’s friends.  Former rake Greville is immediately tempted by his host’s daughter, the beauteous Amanda.  But not only has he vowed to reform his rake’s ways, Amanda, who’s set her heart on marrying a man highly placed in government and becoming a great political hostess, is unable to conceal her shock and disdain when the guest foisted upon them by the Marquess of Englemere stumbles across her father’s threshold.  Not only is he merely a landless younger son—but he’s just served as a common sailor!

As amused as he is piqued by Amanda’s low opinion, Greville figures there’s no harm in teasing her with a bit of idle flirtation.  After all, she’s soon to depart for London Season, anxious to make a grand marriage and play a grand part in the society he now disdains.  As for Amanda, after apologizing for her lack of courtesy to her father’s guest, she tries to treat Greville with cool reserve.  If only he weren’t so handsome and fascinating!  But nothing can come of their attraction, for he is most definitely not the sort of husband she is seeking.

In measuring what Amanda values against what he has learned at sea, Greville gradually works his way toward determining what is important in his life.  And Amanda has to decide if the dream she’s cherished all her life is really worth more than the irresistible connection she feels for this most disreputable gentleman.

Do you know someone who’s had a complete turn-around in their life goals and values?  What brought them to make the change?  For one responder drawn at random, I’ll send a copy of Society’s Most Disreputable Gentleman.

Wendy the Super Librarian‘s review of Society’s Most Disreputable Gentleman (Wellingfords #6) by Julia Justiss
Historical romance published by Harlequin Historical 18 Jan 11

One of the reasons I spend entirely too much time online is that I like chatting with fellow romance readers.  And when I chat with them?  I manage to also get some listening done.  Enough listening to know that there are more than a few readers out there tired of “21st century people inhabiting supposedly historical romances.”  It was these readers I was thinking of even before I got done with the first chapter of Julia Justiss’ latest Harlequin Historical.

Warning: This review is going to contain spoilers for the previous book in this series, From Waif To Gentleman’s Wife.  Not a whole lot I can do about that, so stop reading now if that’s going to be an issue.

Greville Anders is finally, blessedly, back in England.  Thanks to the diligence of his sister, Joanna, it was discovered that he was “pressed” into naval service as a common sailor!  However, his release could not be secured before a skirmish with pirates left him wounded.  While his influential cousin Nicky (a Marquess) sees about getting him discharged, he’s arranged for Greville to recuperate at Ashton Grove, the country estate of Lord Bronning.

Miss Amanda Neville is Lord Bronning’s daughter and is now mistress of the house thanks to her mother’s untimely passing.  She’s an ambitious girl, hoping to one day marry a man of prestige and political connections, and has aspirations of becoming a premiere society hostess.  However, her come-out keeps getting delayed by tragedy. Although, finally, it appears the time has arrived.  She’s about to have her debut, thanks to her mama’s influential BFF, and nobody is going to stand in her way.  Certainly not the disreputable, unkempt, ::sniff:: common and coarse looking sailor that has just nearly collapsed in their entryway.

I’m hardly well-read in the particular subgenre, but I could not escape how much this story reminded me of a traditional Regency.  First, there’s the conflict.  While Justiss does bring in some small bits of external conflict to spur a few chapters along (Amanda’s brother out looking for kicks in the country, a notorious and dangerous smuggler operating in the area), the bulk of this story deals with society and the couples’ place in it.  Amanda is not only a true beauty, but charming as well.  She’s destined to make a huge splash once she debuts.  Likewise, she acts like one would expect any young lady of her station and time would act.  She’s, well, a little snobby.  She’s very proper.  However, she’s also a girl who has been asked to shoulder responsibilities before her time, and she’s also a girl who knows that her lot in life is directly tied to the man she’ll eventually marry.  It’s in her best interests to marry well or else?  She’s screwed….and not in a good way.

Greville was born a gentleman, but that’s really all he’s got going for him.  An accident of birth made his cousin the Marquess.  He was bitter about this for a long time, and used it as an excuse to be disreputable, rakish, and generally useless.  However, his time in the Navy has forced him to grow up.  He’s now ready to turn over a new leaf.  So while the old Greville would have entertained the notion of dallying with Miss Neville, the new Greville isn’t about to go there.  But that doesn’t mean our boy isn’t tempted.

Because of the nature of the conflict, the strong focus on class and society, and the lightness of the external conflict, I suspect some readers are going to find this story slow and…well…boring.  It is slow.  There’s no denying it.  The author takes the time setting the stage, introducing the players, really showing us what makes them tick.  And when she does that, something remarkable starts to happen…I get invested.  I’m so invested that by the time the Big Dramatic Declarations Of Lurve occur in the final chapters, I’m damn near choked up.

However, the reader does have to be willing to invest the time in the story.  This isn’t a book you can chuck after 20 pages.  No, you have to keep reading to get to The Pay-Off.  To get to those moments where the characters start to click.  For that reason, I suspect readers who have become accustomed, and enjoy, historical romances where the Regency Miss is getting debauched on some back stairway by Chapter Three are probably going to be bored out of their skulls with this book.  Hey, and there’s nothing wrong with that!  I like those books too!  But those readers who have grown a little weary of those types of shenanigans?  Those readers who don’t want 21st century women masquerading as 19th century young ladies who toss aside their virginity without so much as a by-your-leave?  Yeah, I’m thinking this will work well for them.

As for me?  I was charmed.  Plus, I’ll be honest, I’m happy Joanna’s brother finally got his act together.  He’s going to be an uncle after all….

Grade: B-

Summary:

Wounded in action courageously fighting pirates, the notorious Greville Anders returns to society with neither the dress nor conduct considered proper for a gentleman.

Even more scandalous is that well-brought-up debutante Amanda Neville finds this rogue irresistibly tempting….

It was her mama’s last wish that her beautiful daughter have a glittering London Season, shine on society’s stage and marry a lord. But now Amanda’s greatest desire is just one more secret rendezvous—with the most disreputable man in town!

Read an excerpt.

Other books in this series:

Liviania’s review of The Smuggler and the Society Bride (Regency Silk and Scandal, Book 3) by Julia Justiss
Historical romance released by Harlequin Historical 1 August 2010

Sometimes, reading historical romances, it seems like getting caught in a compromising position is just how people proposed two hundred years ago in England.  Therefore I found the premise of The Smuggler and the Society Bride intriguing because Lady Honoria Carlow did not marry the man who was caught compromising her.  They weren’t already in love or fell in love after their quick marriage.  They were just two people caught up in someone else’s revenge.  No, she was thoroughly ruined and fled to her aunt’s home in Cornwall.

Lady Honoria Carlow now goes by Marie Foxe.  She is adjusting well to life in Cornwall, though she is a bit put off by the region’s reliance on smuggling.  Yet when she tries to save a man from drowning, she meets the dashing Captain Gabriel Hawksworth.  Gabriel is a military man and a member of the Irish gentry, but he’s captaining a smuggling ship for a set amount of time as a favor to an army buddy.

Julia Justiss creates a wonderful sense of place and society.  Justiss even uses terms whose meanings have changed, like sensibility, correctly.  The history is integrated into the story instead of simply providing a colorful setting.  Sennlack, the Cornish village, is well fleshed out.  The villagers have a variety of motives, personalities, and beliefs.  Honoria feels out of place at first, since she used to be a Diamond of the Ton, but she quickly discovers ways in which she can fit into Cornish life and use her high society connections to help the poor girls of the village make their own money.

Gabriel is willing to think the best of Honoria once he realizes she was involved in a scandal.  In fact, he sets out to clear her name.  Even when he discovers she has a false name, he’s willing to give her a chance.  A hero who doesn’t automatically assume the worst about the heroine is always a plus.  In addition to showing off his loyalty to Honoria, the search for the man who framed her also allows Gabriel to show off his intelligence.

Gabriel and Honoria are both empathetic characters.  Their relationship is sweet and refreshing, though Justiss throws in some darker elements to keep The Smuggler and the Society Bride from becoming too fluffy.  (At the end of the day, The Smuggler and the Society Bride’s biggest problem may be that the hero and heroine are too good.)

I’m definitely going to read some more of Justiss’s books, and I may pick up some of the other novels in the Silk & Scandal miniseries.  As a side note, I know that they have silly costuming, but I really like the photo-with-bright-background cover style that has appeared on many of the recent Harlequin Historicals.  They’re eye-catching and attractive.

Grade: A-

Summary:
Lady Honoria Carlow, leading Diamond of the Ton, is in disgrace. Her spirited nature has led her too far this time and she is, in reputation at least, ruined.Indifferent to polite London society, Captain Gabriel Hawksworth is a gentleman in bandit’s clothing. On the storm-tossed coast of Cornwall, this smuggler is reckless, sexy and sinfully tempting….

Gabriel is luring Honoria right back to what she’s escaping—trouble! Only this time her impropriety won’t be quite so innocent…
Read an excerpt here.

Other books in the series:

Wendy the Super Librarian‘s review of From Waif To Gentleman’s Wife (Wellingford’s #5) by Julia Justiss
Historical romance released by Harlequin Historical 01 Oct 09

Over the years I have remained fiercely loyal to Harlequin Historical in part because of their willingness to publish stories set in locales currently not the flavor of the month.  Which means they offer more to readers than just Regency historicals about spies and Dukes.  They were literally my lifeline during a time in my reading life when I was so burnt out on All England All The Time that I would read maybe one Regency-set book a year.  Now that my crippling burn-out has begun to lift, I’ve been making up for lost time by discovering many Regency writers that other readers have known about for years.  This being my first book by Julia Justiss, I wasn’t all that surprised to discover that Harlequin chose to publish a Regency historical that actually felt different.  It was like opening up a window on a warm spring day after a very long, dismal winter.  You mean Regencies can be about more than Dukes and spies?  Wow.

Joanna Merrill is a young widow with few options.  Her soldier husband succumbed to a fever he contracted in India, her in-laws have washed their hands of her, her family is abroad, and she’s sunk.  So she takes a job as a governess, only to find herself thwarting the advances of her randy employer.  When the fine upstanding Lady of the household catches her husband accosting Joanna, she promptly fires Joanna.  What with it being all her fault for throwing herself at a married man.  Joanna is tossed out on her ear, with very few coins to her name.  Desperate, she decides to travel to Blenhem Hill where her brother, Greville, is employed as estate manager.

Sir Edward “Ned” Greaves has purchased Blenhem Hill from his good friend Nicholas Stanhope, Marquess of Englemere.  Nicky gave his distant cousin Greville the job of overseeing the estate, only to learn that he was doing a terrible job of it.  Firing Greville, he’s at a loss of what to do next.  Blenhem is out of the way of his other holdings and he’s loathe to leave his wife and young son.  So when Edward, being a bit of an agricultural nut, offers to buy it from him, he accepts.  On his way to take up residence though, Edward’s carriage is assaulted by Luddite hooligans.  To get to the bottom of the local unrest, Edward decides to pose as Mr. Ned Greaves, the new estate manager hired by Englemere, keeping his own noble lineage a secret.  Which is how Joanna Merrill comes to meet him when she literally collapses at his feet after finally arriving at Blenhem.  The turmoil of the journey, the shock of her current circumstances, and finding out her brother has been fired is just too much.

What follows is Ned and Joanna coming to an understanding.  He’s determined to get Blenhem Hill back on track, which means making repairs, amends and opening a school for the children.  In turn, with no other options available, having no idea where her brother is, and loathe to throw herself on the mercy of distant relation Englemere, Joanna accepts the job of being the schoolteacher.  Naturally as they spend more time together, Ned and Joanna are drawn to each other.  But what will happen when she learns who he really is?  And who is behind the unrest among the local farmers and textile workers?

While Justiss employs the common Big Secret trope, there was so much about this story that felt unique and refreshing.  Notably, the circumstances that Joanna finds herself in, and how realistically they are portrayed.  This is a woman who is smart and resourceful, but at the mercy of people with more power than she has.  You bleed for this woman as she arrives at Blenhem, after all the drama and turmoil, only to discover her last hope, her brother, has been fired and nowhere to be found.  She has to rely on the kindness of a stranger, and ultimately is drawn to Ned because of his kindness, work ethic, and the fact that she believes they’re in the same social stratosphere.

Ned’s a nice guy, and one can understand his reasons for the deception, but his keeping the truth from Joanna for as long as he does is a bit hard to swallow.  Especially after he muses, quite often, how logical, forthright and intelligent she is.  He justifies his secrecy by saying it’s to protect her, but ultimately I was left with the impression that he obviously didn’t think her intelligent enough to be able to handle the truth.  When it all comes tumbling out at the end, it’s hard not to sympathize with Joanna, and the author handles these final chapters of heartbreak and redemption very well.

Part of the author’s long-running Wellingford series, this book stands alone extremely well.  It’s a quick, charming read, very much in the tone of a traditional Regency (well, expect this story has s-e-x in it!).  It’s also so refreshingly different from a lot of the other Regency historical currently cramming the shelves that it was hard for me not to be delighted by this tale.  I read it in one afternoon, and it was an afternoon well spent.

Grade: B

Summary:

When a destitute governess faints on Sir Edward Greaves’s threshold, chivalry demands that he offer her temporary shelter. However, the desire Ned feels when he catches her in his arms isn’t at all gentlemanly….

With her large, troubled eyes and slender frame, Joanna Merrill calls to something deep inside this guarded man. For one who has purposely shunned the conniving beauties of London society, just how much is Ned risking by having this intriguing woman under his roof…?

Read an excerpt.

Other books in this series:

Thanks to Julia Justiss for such a fun Duck Chat we had with her and for offering up a copy of the Stetsons, Spring & Wedding Rings anthology as a giveaway to our readers!

So are you ready??  Here’s the winner of Julia’s anthology, using my old friend, the handy-dandy random number generator:

***Cheryl C (9)***

Congrats, Cheryl!

Please send your snail mail address to lighthousetagger (at) gmail (dot) com and we’ll have your book on its way to you!

Welcome back to Duck Chat!

Today we’re chatting with Harlequin Historical author Julia Justiss. Julia has a wonderful backlist full of historicals such as The Wedding Gamble, Wicked Wager, The Untamed Heiress, and A Most Unconventional Match. (She has some of the best covers out there, too!) Her current release is a novella in the One Candlelit Christmas (which I read and thoroughly enjoyed) that was out last December for the holiday season. 

Julia is married and lives in East Texas with her family. She’s had a very interesting life which includes a lot of traveling before her husband retired from the Navy. Once they did settle in Texas, she was able to put all her energies into writing full time. She has won numerous awards for her stories, including a Golden Heart for The Wedding Gamble.

When reading Julia’s interview, keep in mind she’s giving away a copy of One Candlelight Christmas, which also features stories by Terri Brisbin and Annie Burrows, so leave a meaningful comment or question to be in the running!  Now let’s chat with Julia!

DUCK CHAT: You have a new addition to your Wellington family series coming out in October of this year, From Waif to Gentleman’s Wife. First can you give us some background on the series and then tell our readers about the new book?

JULIA JUSTISS: It isn’t exactly a series, in that there was never a “planned” number of books to come out in sequence. Sarah Wellingford, heroine of my first book, The Wedding Gamble, came from a large family and I’d always envisioned doing the stories of her siblings and her husband Nicky’s two best friends. As it turned out, my second novel featured some totally unrelated characters. In my third, The Proper Wife, I returned to the Wellingfords with the story of Sarah’s childhood love Sinjin and her best friend Clarissa. A number of books featuring other heroines and heroes then intervened, until the appearance last July of my twelfth book, A Most Unconventional Match, which showcased Sarah’s younger sister Elizabeth and Hal Waterman, one of Nicky’s best friends. In November 2008 “Christmas Wedding Wish” appeared in the anthology One Candlelit Christmas, telling the story of the second eldest Wellingford sister, Meredyth. My next book, From Waif to Gentleman’s Wife, out in October 2009, tells the story of Sir Edward Austin Greaves, the second of Nicky’s best friends.

That takes care of Sarah and Nicky’s closest friends, but Sarah still has some unattached siblings, so there may be more Wellingford stories in the future.

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

JJ: I don’t know that there is one. Except maybe “where do you get your ideas.” The answer to that is “everywhere.” From stories I like that I’d like to see with a different twist. Stories I didn’t like that I’d like to end or progress differently. People I like. People I don’t like. Current news stories. Historical events or characters. Those intriguing little bits of historical trivia that just beg to be expanded into a full-length story.

Writers are like the Pig-Pen character in the old Peanuts cartoon strip, who went around always surrounded by this cloud of dirt. Except writers are always surrounded by this dusty cloud of Ideas.

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

JJ: I’m an outline writer rather an a “pantser” (as in “seat of your pants,” meaning the writer goes where the story takes her, without planning it in advance). It helps reduce the panic when I sit down at the keyboard if I have an idea of where I need to go next and because my day job leaves me with such limited writing time, I can’t afford to write a scene I later decide I don’t need. But even with fairly detailed planning, stories seldom follow the outline exactly.

Characters you think will be important may turn out not to be; events that you think will go in one direction may veer off in another. When the story is really flowing, the dialogue just “comes.” So there are always surprises!

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

JJ: No arguments—because I listen to them. If they take the story in a direction that I hadn’t anticipated, I just follow.

DC: You have an interesting project with several other authors coming in 2010. Dubbed “The Silken Rope Scandals,” can let us know, first, how the idea for the project came about?

JJ: I’m enormously excited about this project, which represents several “firsts.” Although individual authors have created historical series, as far as I know, this is the first historical continuity by a North America publisher. As is usual in a continuity, the participating authors were invited by the editorial directors to take part in the project, but there was no editor-generated “bible” issued for the writers to follow. We were given complete freedom to develop the overall story arc, decide on the main characters, chose whose story we wanted to tell and devise its plot—subject, of course, to editorial approval. Fortunately, the editors loved our concept, accepted the outline of the overall arc and approved the individual story synposes (synopsi?) with very little alteration. Alas, our series working title, “The Silken Rope Scandals,” was ultimately retitled Regency Silk and Scandal.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

JJ: Like most writers, I have a hard time getting started. Sitting down is no problem; I’m always eager to check e-mail, visit the few blogs and review sites I follow and update the news on my website. What usually distracts me from moving on to the actual writing is research information, either tidbits posted on one of my historical author loops, on a blog, or in a website link. Historical writers are like magpies, always attracted to some shiny bit of obscure fact because who knows when it might be just the thing you need to flesh out a scene? So it must be read and then copied into the appropriate file.

Research will always distract me, which is why when I’m writing, I make up what I don’t know and only go back to check the facts after I’ve finished the book. If I stopped to check out background information as I wrote, I’d never get the book finished!

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved over your career? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

JJ: I don’t know that my “style” of character has changed. I’ve always written strong, independent women who see the hero as an equal, a complement to them, not as someone to support them or solve their problems or rescue them. I’ve written both alpha and beta heroes, but they always respect their women and are not threatened by a lady who can hold her own with a pen, a pistol, or a horse.

My stories are all character-driven, and I write about characters who interest me. The stories flow from them, not me—I just follow where they lead! However, I guess I could say that my characters now tend to be less the conventional Marriage Mart maiden or matron and more involved in less well-known locales and situations.

DC: Who are the other authors involved in “The Silken Rope Scandals”?

JJ: Louise Allen has the first and seventh books; Christine Merrill has the second and eighth; I have the third; Gayle Wilson the fourth (her first return to Regency historical after several years of writing contemp suspense, so I’m really excited about Book 4); Annie Burrows the fifth; and Margaret McPhee the sixth.

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

JJ: I’d like to do some contemps. My ideas range from the interesting-but-probably-not-marketable, like the crippled murder-mystery-solving bookstore owner heroine who teams up with the artificial-leg-ex-military hero who now runs a security firm. The possibly marketable romance set in East Texas where the big-city heroine inherits a ranch after the sudden death of her father, who bought the place at a tax sale as a retirement hobby—the ranch formerly belonging to the hero, who lost the land that had been in his family for generations after he was imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, who breaks out of jail to prove his innocence and get his land back. Then there’s the series I’d like to do on adventurous women, like the Navy fighter pilot; the rescue diver; the engineer-designer of the first practical laser handgun whose prototype gets stolen by the bad guys and she goes undercover to get it back, clashing with the government agent assigned to the case…

DC: LOL, well, after hearing that, I think you might make one of them work!  What advice would you give to your younger self?

JJ: Be more disciplined. Write faster. Get more books out.

DC: Your contribution to the project is titled The Smuggler and the Society Bride. Can you give us a smidge of a sneak peek, please?

JJ: The background of all the stories is a scandal in the father’s generation involving three friends and spymasters. One is having an affair with the wife of another; after angry words are exchanged, one man is found murdered, the friend with whom he’d quarreled supporting him, holding a bloody knife, by the third member of the team. Although the suspect insists he found his associate already stabbed and dying, he is tried, convicted of murder and hung—with a silken rope, as was the right of a peer of the realm. At the hanging, the murdered man’s gypsy mistress curses all those involved in her lover’s death. Someone in the children’s generation decides to implement the curse.

My heroine, Lady Honoria Carlow, is the daughter of the friend who let his best friend die on the scaffold despite his claims of innocence. She is set up to be ruined in such a way that she has no choice but to leave London. Angry at fate, life and the family that did not believe her, the victim of some diabolical scheme, she flees to a distant aunt in Cornwall. While mulling over her life—and trying to figure out who conspired to destroy her—she meets the intriguing captain of a local smuggling ship. Though he’s the last sort of man an earl’s daughter should find attractive, there’s something compelling about Gabriel Hawksworth—a man who has secrets of his own to conceal—that Honoria finds impossible to resist.

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

JJ: I’ve always wanted to run an indie bookstore in a college town that had a coffee bar by day and wine bar by night, with student art on consignment hanging on the walls, a little stage for poetry readings, one-act plays, concerts, and other entertainments.

DC: What else is on the horizon for Julia Justiss?

JJ: I’ve just completed the rough draft for the Harlequin Historical e-book Undone program, an e-book only, sexier short stories format similar to the Spice Briefs that are marketed from the eHarlequin website. This story features secondary characters from my upcoming Wellingford book and will be out in September. I’ve got three more books under contract, the next of which should be the story of Caroline, an independent young woman who has serious and somewhat unusual reasons for avoiding wedlock, and Max, the unrepentant rake she proposes to have “compromise” her so she’ll be considered ruined and safe from matrimonial pursuit. Except that Max discovers he has a conscience after all and isn’t sure he can ruin and then abandon this very intriguing young lady.

However, there are several secondary characters from the October Wellingford book who are calling out for stories of their own, so Max and Caroline might not be next after all. I’ll see what my editor thinks after I turn in the final draft of the Undone.

A treat for those of you who have not read One Candlelit Christmas:

CHAPTER 1

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“Merry! Merry, they’re here! Come quickly!”
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From the dining room where she was supervising the footmen placing another leaf in the long table, Meredyth Wellingford heard her younger sister’s urgent voice summoning her to the entryway. “Coming, Faith” she called.
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A lilt in her step, Meredyth smiled as she walked to the front hall. How she loved the holidays! The scent of greenery adorning stairs and mantles mingling with the spicy tang of simmering wassail and the odor of roasting meat; mistletoe kissing balls and sharp-edged holly; carols sung around the hearth before the blazing Yule log. But especially, she loved having her family at home, the siblings gathered once again under Wellington’s roof as they had been for all their years growing up.
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The first to arrive should be her younger brother Colton returning from Oxford with his best friend Thomas Mansfell. Since Wellingford was on the way from university to his friend’s home farther north, Thomas was a frequent visitor, normally spending a few days with them each time the boys made their way to and from school.
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Just as Meredyth met her sister in the entry hall, they heard boots tromping up the front steps, followed by a sharp rap at the wide front door that Twilling, their old butler, hastened to throw open.
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“Faith! Merry!” Colton cried, sweeping them into a hug as they ran to greet him. “How good it is to be home!”
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“How good it is to have you,” Merry replied, an ache in her heart as she stepped back to inspect the youngest member of the Wellingford clan. With their mother having never really recovered after his birth, Meredyth and her older sister Sarah had tutored and cared for Colton all of his life before he left for school. In place of the smiling, eager boy she’d sent away to Eton now stood a young man taller than she was, his burnished brown locks highlighted with gold, his blue eyes glowing. Her little brother was becoming a handsome young man, Meredyth realized with a shock.
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“The hall certainly looks festive,” another masculine voice said, pulling her from her contemplation of Colton.
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“Thank you, Thomas, and welcome,” she said, turning her attention to her brother’s friend. “You are planning on staying for a few days before journeying home, I hope! I’ve had your usual room prepared.”
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“Oh, yes, do say you’ll be staying!” Faith interposed. “It is so agreeable to see you again.”
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“Good to see you too, brat,” Thomas replied, giving one of Faith’s gold curls a careless tug before turning back to Meredyth.
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“I should love to rest here for a few days before returning to the rigors of Christmas at the Grange. And I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of telling my brother Allen that he could stay here as well. He arrived from London to join us on the trip north just as Colton and I were leaving Oxford.”
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“Of course he’s welcome,” Meredyth replied. “You’ve spoken of him so often, although we’ve never met, I feel I know him already.” Indeed, over the years Thomas had frequently recounted the exploits of the older brother he admired, his expertise at riding and fencing, his service as a dashing young subaltern carrying messages for Wellington during the Waterloo campaign, the expertise with which he’d taken over the management of the family estates.
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Thomas grinned “I’m glad! It would have been most embarrassing to have to send him on his way alone! He stopped to see about the horses—but here he is now.” He gestured to a tall, dark-haired gentleman whom Twilling was just admitting into the hallway.
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“Ladies, may I present my brother Allen? Allen, here are Merry and Faith Wellingford, two of Colton’s sisters.”
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“Miss Faith, Miss Wellingford, a pleasure!” the newcomer said, bowing over their hands in turn. Addressing Meredyth, he added, “I’ve heard so much about Wellingford from Thomas, I’m delighted to visit at last—if you are certain, as he insisted, that having an extra guest foisted upon you without notice won’t be an inconvenience.”
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As the gentleman straightened, Meredyth barely suppressed a gasp. Unlike her fledgling brother, Allen Mansfell was a man already fully mature—and a strikingly handsome one. Though Meredyth was tall for a lady, the visitor towered over her. Sable brown locks brushed the forehead of his square-jawed, slightly smiling face, while eyes of an arresting green captured her gaze, making her feel for an instant as if the two of them were the only occupants of the hall.
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A bit disconcerted, she dropped her eyes, letting her appreciative gaze travel from his broad shoulders down a trim torso to muscled thighs well-displayed by his chamois riding breeches. When, cheeks pinking, she forced her eyes back up to his, a tingle of attraction sizzled through her, stronger than anything she’d felt since the death of her fiancé James a heartbreak ago.
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Shaking her head, she tried to re-gather her wits. “If you’ve listened to what Thomas says about me, I’m surprised you dared venture to the house.”
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He laughed, that disturbing, shiver-inducing stare still fixed on her. “I assure you, everything he recounted was most complimentary.”
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“I hope you left us some decorating to do,” Colton said, glancing around the garland-hung hallway. “After being cooped up with musty old books for a term, Thomas and I are keen to ride about the countryside.”
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“Faith and I began with the entryway, but haven’t progressed much further. We shall have need of you gentleman to fetch in more pine, holly and mistletoe. I thought we’d leave some of the gathering until Sarah, Elizabeth and Clare arrive with their clans. Riding out with you should amuse the children.”
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Colton grinned at her. “That’s Merry, already managing everyone and half the group aren’t even here yet.”
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“She is an excellent manager,” Thomas pointed out. “Viewing Wellingford now, Allen, you cannot imagine what it looked like when I first visited here! The manor in disrepair, cottages falling into ruin, fields lying fallow. Merry’s done a wonderful job of refurbishing the house and farms and seeing the land brought back under cultivation.”
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Were Thomas not almost as close to her as a sibling, Meredyth might have been embarrassed by his bald description of the sorry condition of Wellingford at the time of their father’s death. As it was, knowing that via Thomas his brother Allen would be fully aware of how badly their gamester father had neglected Colton’s inheritance, she felt no need to explain or apologize. “Time, a competent estate agent and an influx of funds can accomplish a great deal,” she replied.
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“Having wrestled with the upkeep of Papa’s properties, Miss Wellingford, I am well aware that it takes much more than those to keep a property in good heart,” Allan said. “The land and farms we rode through looked exemplary and this house is lovely. Your hard work is quite evident.”
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“Oh, indeed!” Colton interposed. “Merry is so excellent a manager, I believe I shall keep her on when I marry and return to Wellingford for good.”
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“I doubt your bride would care for such an arrangement,” Meredyth replied tartly, feeling her face heat. With the blunt insensitivity of a young man, she knew Colton didn’t realize he’d just branded her as his spinster sister, well and truly on the shelf. Which, of course, she was, but ‘twas not a fact she appreciated his pointing out in front of the very attractive Mr. Mansfell.
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Though some eight years senior to the seventeen-year-old Thomas, Allen Mansfell must still be at least two years younger than she. Her discomfort intensified by that lowering thought, Meredyth told herself sternly that she must get over the unseemly sensual response he’d sparked in her.
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Noting from her expression that her sister was piqued at being left out of the conversation—and conscious of a sudden need to escape Allen Mansfell’s too-compelling presence, Meredyth said, “Faith, why don’t you take our guests into the front parlor? I’ll have Twilling bring in some spiced wine while I see about preparing your rooms.”
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Turning to Mr. Mansfell, she added, “I’ll have your chamber ready shortly. If there is anything I can do to make your stay at Wellingford more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
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To her surprise, Allen took her hand and bowed over it. “I’m sure you will make me comfortable indeed,” he murmured, the warmth of his voice and the heat of his gloved hand sending another little shock through her.
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Hastily withdrawing her tingling fingers, Meredyth curtseyed and turned away, acutely conscious of his gaze upon her back as she ascended the stairs.
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Escaping from his view down the hallway, Meredyth proceeded to the guest wing to inspect the room she meant to assign Allen, needing to determine if anything more than fresh linens would be needed. As her gaze lingered on the large high bed, she recalled Mr. Mansfell’s velvet-voiced remark about how comfortable she would make him. A surprisingly intense flush of heat suffused her body.
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She was being ridiculous, attributing to his idle remark an innuendo a gentleman would never direct toward a gently-born spinster. ‘Twas bad enough she’d blushed like a schoolgirl under his gaze. She’d best get hold of herself around him before she did something that alerted him to the effect he had upon her. The thought of him realizing it and reacting with distaste-or even worse, pity–was too humiliating to contemplate.
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Fortunately, he would only be at Wellingford for a few days. With the rest of the family arriving any time now, she’d be too busy overseeing meals, lodging and entertainment for her sisters, their spouses and children to reflect on the mesmerizing effect of a pair of vivid green eyes or the quivering in her belly produced by a handsome face and a virile physique.
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It wasn’t as if she’d encountered no attractive men in the years since her engagement ended. What was it about Allen Mansfell that sparked her body to a sensual awareness she’d thought submerged for good after James’s death?
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The dull ache that had replaced the first searing pain of losing her fiancé throbbed in her chest. Swallowing hard, she drifted to the window, staring sightlessly down at the winter garden as the memories overtook her.
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How in love they’d been! How vividly she recalled the excitement of kissing him, the way she’d felt as if she were melting from the inside out when his tongue caressed hers and his strong hands fondled her breasts. Not for the first time, she regretted the sense of honor and responsibility that had made them curtail those thrilling explorations short of complete fulfillment.
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They’d have all the time in the world to enjoy each other when he returned from his posting in India, James had promised as he gently pushed her away. Drawing a finger over her kiss-swollen lips, he’d pledged to pleasure every inch of her once she was his bride, when they need no longer fear that their joining might create a child.
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That last night before he left she’d been tempted, oh so tempted, to draw him back into her embrace, rub her breasts against his chest, fit her body around the hardness in his breeches and coax his lips open, touching and teasing until his control broke and he took her then and there down the path to ecstasy. Only the knowledge that conceiving his child would mean disaster had stopped her.
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Faced now with the probability that she’d never bear a child of her own, she wasn’t so sure she’d made the right choice.
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It wasn’t that she’d set her face against marriage. Of course, for the first year or so after losing James she’d not thought it possible she would ever wish to wed anyone else, but time had worn away that certainty as it had muted her grief. In the intervening years, the necessity of remaining at Wellingford to tend her dying mother, followed by a succession of other needs and duties, had kept her here, far from the ballrooms of London where she might have found another love.
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Not that it was completely impossible she might yet marry. She’d go to London with Faith in the spring, accompany her little sister to all the events of the Marriage Mart. But by now almost ten years older than her sister and the other girls making their bows, she would likely be consigned to wearing caps and sitting with the dowagers.
.
Besides, unlike many of the maidens soon to join Faith in the drawing rooms of society, Meredyth cherished no dreams of wedding for wealth or title. She’d already sidestepped the rich neighbor who’d come wooing, wishing to join her dowry lands with his. Gently rebuffed an old family friend, a widowed viscount looking for a new mama for his clan. Possessed of a valued place among her family, a budding brood of nieces and nephews to spoil, land and a dower house in which to live once Colton brought home a bride to be the new mistress of Wellingford, she would not turn her heart, her worldly possessions and her future over to a husband in exchange for anything less than a love as powerful as that she’d felt for James.
.
Turning to give the bed one last lingering glance, Meredyth sighed and walked back out. Despite Allen Mansfell’s ability to make her senses zing, demonstrating that passion burned within her still, for a lady as long in the tooth as Meredyth Wellingford, finding true love again would take a miracle.
.
Savoring a glass of spiced wine in the parlor below, Allen Mansfell propped an elbow against the mantle and looked on indulgently as Miss Faith Wellingford tried—with no success—to flirt with his brother Thomas, who alternately teased and ignored her while discussing with Colton a proposed hunting expedition for the morrow.
.
A pretty enough child, Miss Faith resembled her older sister Elizabeth, said to be beauty of family, who’d recently married his friend Hal Waterman. With her lovely face and artless charm, Miss Faith would probably have little problem finding a suitable husband next spring when, as she earnestly informed him, she’d be making her debut.
.
At the thought, Allen suppressed a quiver of distaste. Next spring would probably find him back in London as well. Though after Susanna’s faithlessness, part of him recoiled at the thought of ever offering his hand and name to another lady, once his initial hurt and fury abated, he knew the reason he’d first sought her out—a desire to marry, settle down on his estate and delight his mama by providing her with grandchildren–would propel him back to Marriage Mart again. Not that he had any intention this time of risking his heart.
.
Unfortunately, the London season provided the most convenient and comprehensive gathering of maidens of suitable breeding and lineage from which a gentleman might find a wife. Though ‘twas ludicrous to think of choosing an infant like Faith.
.
It was Susanna’s confident self-assurance that had first caught his interest last spring. Unlike most of the other maidens, she was able to converse intelligently—and flirt alluringly–instead of falling into giggles or blushing at every word he uttered. To say nothing of the blatant promise of her lush body…
.
Angrily he thrust away the memories. He’d raged and mourned long enough. He would not allow her perfidy to cast a damper over his spirits any longer.
.
If he were compelled to wade into waters of Marriage Mart once again, he thought, Miss Faith’s sister Meredyth was much more to his taste. Tall, slender, her hair a paler blonde that the gold of her little sister’s, her eyes gray-blue rather than cerulean, she carried herself with a graceful elegance. Then there’d been that surprising spark of awareness accompanied by a jolt of warmth that fairly burned through his gloves when he’d foolishly uttered that naughty remark about how comfortable she could make him. Elegance and—unlike Susanna—integrity in one subtlety sensuous body made for quite an arresting combination.
.
Nor had he been mouthing empty phrases when he’d complimented her on the management of Wellingford. He’d been genuinely impressed by the well-tended fields, fences and cottages past which they’d ridden, their excellent condition all the more impressive considering in what a shambles the entire estate had been just a few years ago.
.
Randolph Wellingford’s profligate habits, addiction to gaming and shocking neglect of his estate had been quite the on-dit when Allen first left Oxford for London. Indeed, many at his club had murmured ‘twas a blessing for the family when the man met an early death, riding out half-foxed one cold winter morning in an attempt to win some ridiculous wager. Meredyth Wellingford must be intelligent, diligent and a thrifty manager to have accomplished so much at Wellingford.
.
The thought struck him then, as appealing as it was sudden. If he must marry—and marry he must–why not choose a more mature lady, one he knew by reputation to possess a sterling character and by personal observation to already have the skills necessary to be mistress of a large estate? An older lady who might be as amenable as he to a marriage based on similar tastes and mutual respect. A lady whose subtle attractiveness promised satisfaction of his appetites without the torment of lust and jealousy Susanna had roused in him.
.
A lady who just happened to be planning to accompany her little sister to London for the upcoming Season.
.
Allen swallowed the last of his wine and set down his glass, smiling. He’d use this few day’s sojourn at Wellingford to become better acquainted with his charming hostess. And if he continued to be as impressed—and titillated—by Meredyth Wellingford as he’d been upon their first meeting, he might just have found the answer to his marriage dilemma.

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate?   – Dark
- smooth or chunky peanut butter?    – Chunky
- heels or flats?    – Really high FMP for going out; flats and barefoot for home
- coffee or tea?    – Coffee
- summer or winter?    -  Cool not cold; don’t like heat (and I live in Texas—how smart is that?)
- mountains or beach?    – Both. Love walking by the water (not laying out tho) Love mountain trails and woodland streams.
- mustard or mayonnaise?   – Mayo
- flowers or candy?    – Flowers
- pockets or purse?     -  Pockets; not big on bags but oh, get me some SHOES!
- Pepsi or Coke?    – Coke
- ebook or print?    — Print. My eyes bother me after reading on a screen for awhile.

And because we’ve had fun with them so far:

1. What is your favorite word?   – faith
2. What is your least favorite word?     – Camaraderie, because I can never, ever spell it right
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?    – Calm serenity in my personal life
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?    – Anxiety, esp about family or my kids
5. What sound or noise do you love?   – Flowing water: fountain, waves on a beach, etc.
6. What sound or noise do you hate?    – “background noise” tv or music
7. What is your favorite curse word?    -  Damn—it’s mild enough to use liberally
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?   – Fighter pilot; I love to fly but I get motion sickness.
9. What profession would you not like to do?    – **Anything** that deals with numbers
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? – “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

DC: Thank you so much, Julie, for being with us today!

Sandy M’s review of One Candlelit Christmas by Julia Justiss, Annie Burrows, and Terri Brisbin
Historical Romance Anthology released by Harlequin 1 Nov 08

I really enjoyed this anthology.  The three stories are full of love and hope during the season of miracles.

Christmas Wedding Wish by Julia Justiss

Meredyth has accepted her fate of not finding love again since the death of her fiance years before, but she still has faith in the Christmas season.  She knows she’ll be the one to stay on with her younger brother when he inherits his title, so her future seems sealed as chatelaine of Wellingford Hall.  Then she meets the older brother of her sibling’s best friend, a man younger than herself.  Though he shows an interest in her for his wife, she can’t bring herself to accept his proposal that doesn’t contain the love she hopes to experience again.

Allen has just come out of the throes of angst and depression after finding out the kind of woman his former fiance truly is.  Knowing he must marry anyway, he’s pleasantly surprised when he finally meets Meredyth.  He knows they share an attraction and feels they have enough in common on which to build a mutually satisfying relationship for the future.  Then he’s more than surprised when she rejects his logical offer.

This story abounds with hope for both the main characters, even though they’re looking at it from very different points of view.  They enjoy a very nice flirtation, one thinking it’s a beginning toward a new life, the other believing it can only be taken for what it is in the moment.  It’s also full of family, brothers and sisters, good friends all being brought together again for the holidays.   Very enjoyable!

Grade: B+

Summary:

Disenchanted with empty-headed society debutantes, dashing gentleman Allen Mansfell decides that, if he must marry, he will choose a lady whose mind and heart he’ll have to win over—a lady like Miss Meredyth Wellingford. But for Merry, finding true love will take a miracle…

Read an excerpt.

The Rake’s Secret Son by Annie Burrows

Young Harry asks God for a father for Christmas, a man who must be better than his own father who left his mother to the wolves of society, who left Harry himself to be ridiculed and labeled a bastard.  By the time he returns home from the church where he made his prayer, God has already answered it.  Unfortunately, that prayer is what neither he nor his mother had in mind.

Carleton has returned from the dead and Nell knows her life is about to get worse than it’s been in the five years since she found out her young, arrogant husband, who left her on the tails of his making sure she’d be branded a harlot, had died.  Carleton himself can’t believe he’s ended up in Nell’s home, he swore to have nothing to do with her ever again.  But as they get to know one another during Christmas, they learn how the manipulation of others shaped their lives and how much they lost because of it, but how much they do have now is a miracle.

Another touching story of a little boy’s prayer being answered but just not the way he wanted.  It was nice seeing Harry getting to know his father, though, after all the details begin to emerge about Carleton and Nell’s wedding, the time when everything went wrong.  The dichotomy of Nell knowing she can live with her son and husband and do without all the amenities of the nobility while that is Carleton’s background even though he’d been away from it for a while in horrendous circumstances is a conundrum they have to overcome.  A lovely story.

Grade: B+

Summary:

Before Carleton Tillotson left Nell, the rebellious rake broke her heart. Now he is back, just in time for Christmas, and Nell can’t hide her secret any longer—Carleton’s the father of her son!

Read an excerpt.

Blame It On the Mistletoe by Terri Brisbin

This novella is my favorite of the book.  Julia and Iain knew each other as children when she visited his Highland home.  It’s been a number of years since they’ve seen one another and in that time Iain was in a carriage accident in which he lost his parents and other relatives and was gravely injured.  He still suffers mightily, he’s in constant pain and endures his body’s imbalance due to his injured leg and hip.

Julia is the younger sister of Anna, who is now a countess, and she’s always made sure Julia has had the best of everything. Her current goal is to see Julia in a proper marriage.  But Julia has eyes only for Iain, though he knows there can be nothing between them.  Blaming the mistletoe hung around the house keeps their stolen kisses within social parameters, but that’s not nearly enough for them.  Determined not to ruin Julia’s life because he can’t keep her safe, Iain rejects her offer of love and suddenly the world is a very dim place for them both.

A very moving story of love and longing, duty and integrity.  The scene at the lake when Iain rescues Julia is simply heartrending.  You feel the helplessness each character when forced to do the right thing and their hearts want something else.  It was also a very poignant moment when Iain finally decides to take that first step toward hope, faith, and trust.  And that was without the mistletoe!

Grade: A-

Summary:

Julia Fairchild has loved Iain MacLerie forever-but the boy she once knew is now a hardened and aloof man. Amid the festivities and warm cheer of yuletide, can Julia melt Iain’s guard and ignite the spark that continues to burn between them…? Read an excerpt.

Overall Grade: B+

TGTBTU has the pleasure of presenting (three or four) up coming Harlequin Historical anthologies for you to add to your ‘I WANT’ list:

Hallowe’en Husbands: “Marriage At Morrow Creek,” “Wedding At Warehaven,” “Master Of Penlowen” by Lisa Plumley, Denise Lynn, Christine Merrill (we will have their guest posts this weekend as well).

The Magic Of Christmas: “A Christmas Child,” “The Christmas Dove,” “A Baby Blue Christmas” by Carolyn Davidson (sniff don’t think she is coming), Victoria Bylin (guest 6/25/08), Cheryl St.John (guest 6/23/08)

Both of these novels come out in Oct 08 and we will be posting excerpts from Hallowe’en Husbands this weekend as well.

One Candlelit Christmas: “Christmas Wedding Wish,” “The Rake’s Secret Son,” “Blame It On The Mistletoe” (Harlequin Historical Series) by Julia Justiss, Annie Burrows, and Terri Brisbin

And we know that Jillian Hart will be in an HH antho in the spring of 2009 with Rocky Mountain Courtship (Joseph’s story). I don’t think we have the name yet or the other authors in the antho… or did we? Anyone? anyone?

My question to readers are do you like the Harlequin anthologies? Have you ever purchased one? Have you tired one from the Harlequin Historical Line?

If you are an author have you ever written an anthology? Tell us about it. Did you enjoy it? Did the story turn out like you wanted or were you disappointed in it? And of course if you are a Harlequin Historical author and have written one you MUST answer and tell us all about it .

And a question for anyone (wearing any hat: reader or author ) – it the response I liked it but wanted MORE or it ended too quickly… is that the sign of a good novella or poor execution of the story type. Should we be left always wanting more?

by Julia Justiss

Okay, so I stole the idea from Karen Templeton’s very informative description of SSE. I’ll get ready to duck and run for cover on this one, but I have to say it:

I am bored, bored BORED by the plethora of (admittedly, alas) very popular current historical romances in which the hero/heroine (even a virginal one who has no experience with sex) meet and, with little regard for historical accuracy, hop into bed and return there. And return there. And RETURN THERE. Well, maybe there’s a garden bench or an unoccupied library table in the mix, but you get my drift.

I realize the whole trend was sparked (if you will) by the erotica/paranormal craze and that fantasy is a big aspect of it… probably most women don’t actually want to experience a ménage-a-trois with a hunky guy and a werewolf. However, even as a kid I was never interested in fantasy. Nope, no Lion, Witch and Wardrobe for me. **I** read about World War II submarines and Egyptology.

Besides my underdeveloped fantasy genes and lamentable preoccupation with real life, I’m just not into spectator sports. Not that I begrudge the success of fellow authors, some close friends, who write the hotter books — I cheer for them happily while I try to weasel invitations to lunch. It’s just I miss, well, REAL stories about believably REAL historical people.

As a writer, what makes ME passionate is weaving tales about the emotional relationships between heroes and heroines who have family and friends as well as lovers. Who have tragedies to overcome and difficulties to shoulder that can’t always be solved by a little hot sex. But who discover that, despite their problems, their faults, their doubts and their fears, having a deep abiding love for one special person can make any situation bearable and illumine one’s life with joy.

Such is the case with my upcoming Regency historical, A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH. Elizabeth Wellingford Lowery has just lost her husband, an older man she sincerely loved, who treated her as a precious object, taking care of all the details of everyday life so she could immerse herself in her painting. Suddenly thrust unprepared into bitter reality, left with no one to turn to as all her family is currently abroad, she is floundering when Hal Waterman arrives at her door.

Possessed of a demanding, Society leader Diamond of a mother, Hal has always carefully avoided Beauties, particularly Elizabeth Wellingford, sister-in-law of his best friend Nicky, to whom he had an immediate, instantaneous attraction when they first met seven years ago. But with her family out of reach, when he hears of Elizabeth’s loss, he feels obligated to call and offer his assistance in Nicky’s stead. He intends to help her settle her financial affairs and make a quick exit…until he encounters her little boy, desolate with a grief that Hal, who lost his own father at an early age, recalls only too well.

So cautiously begins the dance of attraction between a gruff man’s man and a china-doll beauty who initially seem to have nothing in common…but come in time to realize they are each other’s perfect complement. I hope readers will agree.

And yeah, there is some pretty hot sex. (Don’t want you to think I don’t know how.)

So tell me what you think: am I the only coyote howling in the wildness on this issue? Do you want more, more, more of the hot stuff…or would you like to see a larger variety of stories not so preoccupied with the physical?

BTW, I have a monthly contest on my website where you can win books and other cool prizes, so stop by.

Our guest today is Julia Justiss and she has a very interesting post that will go up at 11am you should make sure you come check out.

She has one book and one novella coming out, A Most Unconventional Match is her full length July Harlequin Historical and is a sequel to The Wedding Gamble. If I remember the notes correctly.

As well as she will have a Christmas novella, Christmas Wedding Wish, in the November Harlequin Historical One Candlelit Christmas. I don’t have any info on this yet but read on for the summary and an excerpt from her July HH.

A Most Unconventional Match by Julia Justiss

Hal Waterman’s calling on the newly widowed Elizabeth Lowery is the caring act of a gentleman. And with her household in turmoil and a young son to support, she is certainly grateful for his help. Hal finds Elizabeth even more lovely than when they first met, but
knows that she will only ever see him as a kind and often taciturn friend.

Elizabeth finds comfort and companionship in Hal’s caring of her. But then a tantalizing desire starts to simmer. His reassuring strength and presence have become so very attractive…so alluring….

Leaning one broad shoulder against the wall, Hal Waterman exchanged an amused glance with Sir Edward Austen Greeves as they watched the bridegroom pacing in front of the hearth. “Wearing out the carpet, Nicky,” Hal pointed out. “Give the bride’s family a distaste of you. Best get the ring on her finger first.”

Nicholas Stanhope, Marquess of Englemere and Hal’s best friend since their Eton days, sent him an irritated look. “I can’t imagine what’s taking so long. The priest arrived half an hour ago.” Halting before a side mirror, he straightened the white rose in his buttonhole and tugged on his cravat.

“Adjust that once more and you’re going to ruin it,” Ned said. “I expect the ladies will be here shortly. Patience, my man! Every bride wants to look beautiful on her wedding day, even if she’s being married by special license in a parlor instead of in church after a calling of the banns.”

Nicholas swung his gaze around to glare at Ned. “Don’t you dare imply there’s anything havey-cavey about this! You both know—“

“We do,” Hal interrupted. “Mortgage foreclosure and all that. Had to rescue her. Great lady, Sarah. Good choice.” He nodded approvingly.

“Must be eagerness for the wedding night that makes you so testy,” Ned said. “You know we fully support your marrying Sarah and understand the necessity to do so immediately. And her family’s parlor might not be a church, but it’s just as handsomely appointed.”

Ned gestured around the room, indicating the side tables covered with lace cloths surmounted by silver candelabra, the large vases filled with greenery and white roses set beside the rows of chairs facing the fireplace, the mantel where a cross flanked by candles and more rose sprays created an improvised altar. “The ladies have outdone themselves.”

Though he’d resumed his nervous pacing, the tightness in Nicholas’s face loosened. “I want this day to be beautiful—for Sarah.”

“Great lady,” Hal repeated. “Wouldn’t mind marrying her m’self. If I wanted to marry. Don’t,” he added.

“Your mama still after you with her latest heiress in tow?” Ned asked. “As much as she disparages you, you’d think she wouldn’t be so eager to try to drag you into the parson’s mousetrap.”

“Wants to ‘improve’ me,” Hal said glumly. “Escaped her house, live in rooms, can’t work on me. Thinks a wife could.”

Nicholas halted long enough to thump Hal on the shoulder. “As if you needed improvement! You’re already the most stalwart companion a man could want.”

“Hear, hear,” Ned seconded and then shook his head. “Women.”

Giving his loyal friends a grateful smile, Hal gazed up at the altar. If he were forced to marry, Nicky’s soon-to-be bride would be almost his ideal choice, he thought. Lovely but not terrifyingly beautiful, competent, accomplished—and kind, Sarah Wellingford never made him feel clumsy, tongue-tied and thick-witted like the sharp-eyed, disdainful Diamonds of the ton his mother kept trying to foist on him.

Like his beautiful, self-absorbed, Society leader of a mother still did.

Since he had no intention, if and when he ever married, of wedding the sort of woman his mother preferred, he supposed he was fated to remain a disappointment to her. He shrugged off the dull ache produced by that old hurt.

“Ah, here they come at last!” Ned exclaimed as the parlor door opened.

The three men turned to watch as, led by the priest, the bridal party entered. First came the bride’s sisters, all adorned in white gowns trimmed with gold ribbon and cream rosebuds.

Meredyth, Cecily, Emma, Faith, Hal silently counted them off as they entered, trying to match faces to the names Nicky had given him. He’d just caught a glimpse of Nicky’s Sarah, resplendid in a gown of shimmering gold that made her silver-blond hair glow, when the last sister in line turned toward him after easing the bride’s long skirt through the door.

Elizabeth, Hal thought, before his breath whooshed out and his brain stuttered to a halt.

She was an angel come to earth. Nothing else could explain such perfection, the beauty radiating from her so intensely, as if she were lit from within, that Hal could feel the warmth of it all the way across the room.

His stunned senses took in the pure spun gold of her hair, the pale coral of her cheeks, the rose-petal-soft look of her skin, the pink bow of a mouth with its full lower lip. A slightly pointed chin imbued her face with character, saved it from a mere oval’s bland symmetry.

And her eyes—blue as the summer waves of the lake on his country estate, they impelled him to approach, as if he might discover the purpose of his life mirrored in the depths of those indigo pools.

An angel, his numbed wits repeated, or the reincarnation of the Botticelli Venus he’d seen in his well-traveled tutor’s pastel sketches.

Without conscious volition he walked toward her. She turned to him and smiled. A shock raced along his nerves from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

She was the loveliest thing he’d ever beheld. Flawless. More beautiful even than his mother. His senses clamored to touch her, taste her.

The realization halted him in mid-stride.

Beautiful. Like his mother.

Lord in heaven, what was he thinking?

“Hal, you escort Elizabeth,” Ned murmured at his shoulder.

Escort her? Panic filled him and a cold sweat broke out on his brow, dampened his fingers. “Can’t!” he replied in a strangled voice. Turning on his heel, he hurriedly paced to the farthest corner of the room.

CHAPTER 1

Seven Years Later

Elizabeth Wellingford Lowery stood in her studio, brush in hand as she focused on the play of light across the flower in the vase on her worktable.

If she blocked out everything but the change of hues painted across the flower’s surface by the ebb and flow of the clouds in the sky outside her window, she might be able to keep out of consciousness for a bit longer the bitter awareness that her life had crumbled into pieces.

She should be able to concentrate. She always painted this time of the morning, while the northern light remained steady, often becoming so absorbed in her work she forgot to stop for nuncheon.

How often had Everitt had to knock at that door and come in to collect her? Her heart squeezed in another spasm of grief as she recalled how he’d approach her, a teasing smile on his careworn face as he coaxed her to put down her brush and join him and their son David for a light midday meal.

She needed sustenance lest she slip away, as ethereal as the angel she appeared to be, he’d tell her, giving a loving tug to whichever strand of golden hair had escaped from the careless chignon into which she always twisted it.

But he was the one who had slipped away unexpectedly, taking her secure world with him.

She didn’t want to leave her studio, didn’t want to emerge into the tangle of duties beyond that door where she would have to face how much everything had changed. Even after a month, it was still too much to deal with, losing the kindest man who’d ever lived, who’d cared for her as if she were a precious object too fine and delicate for life on earth. Having Amelia Lowery, his elderly cousin who’d run their household with great efficiency, so incapacitated by the shock of Everett’s death that despite her own dismay and grief, Elizabeth had insisted the older woman give up her work and rest. Having been therefore compelled to supervise tasks she’d never before had to oversee, and all of that with her entire family gone on a long-delayed Grand Tour of the continent barely a week before Everitt’s untimely death.

Aside from Amelia, Everitt had no other close relations, so with her own family out of reach, she’d had no one to turn to, no one to help her bear the agony and the crushing responsibility. The only thing that made life endurable was being able to escape for a few hours every morning into this haven where she might blank from her mind all but the task of capturing with her brush the shape and substance and hue of the subject on her worktable.

Leaving David confined upstairs with his Nurse. Her chest tightened again with grief and guilt. He was suffering too, her precious son, missing the Papa who had doted on him as lovingly as he had doted on her. How could she help him when she couldn’t even help herself?

Tears welled in her eyes. Angrily she dashed them. Enough! She must pull herself out of this mire of grief and self-pity.

Someday soon she would do better, she promised herself. She’d wake in the new day without the constant, crushing weight of sadness on her chest. But for now, she would fix her mind only on the pure intensity of the hue in the flower before her.

A soft rap sounded at the door. For an instant, her spirits soared before the realization settled like a rock in her gut. It couldn’t be Everitt. It would never again be Everitt.

She took a deep breath as Sands, her butler, bowed himself in. “Sorry to disturb you, mistress, but…well, ‘tis nearly a month since the beginning of the quarter and none of the staff have yet been paid. I’ve tried to stifle their grumbling, knowing how overset you’ve been, but it would be best if you would take care of compensating them.”

Elizabeth stared at Sands as if he’d been speaking in tongues. “Compensating them?” she echoed blankly.

“Normally the staff are paid at the start of every quarter,” he explained patiently. “From a cache of coins the master kept in the locked chest in the bookroom.”

Naturally the servants would be wanting their money. But she’d had no idea about quarter day, nor had she the faintest notion what amounts were owed to the various members of her household.

Where could she find such information?

“Mistress?” Sands prompted, recalling her attention. “I suppose I could go ask Miss Amelia—“

“No, you were right to come to me,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Miss Lowery must have absolute rest, the physician said, if she is to recover from her attack. Of course everyone must be paid. Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.”

His task accomplished, the butler turned to leave. “Oh, Sands!” she recalled him. “Are there…any coins in the master’s chest at present?”

“I have no idea, ma’am.”

“Very well. And…do you know where my husband kept the key?”

“I believe it is in the top right drawer of his desk, Mrs. Lowery.”

“The…the amount of each person’s salary,” she continued, painfully embarrassed by her ignorance. “Where might I find that?”

“I expect it would be recorded in one of the ledgers on the master’s desk. Or his man of business might have a list. Would you like nuncheon served in an hour?”

Numbly she nodded. “In an hour. Yes, that would be fine.”

Sympathy in his eyes, the butler bowed again and went out, softly closing the door behind him. Elizabeth put down the brush she was still holding and sank into a chair.

What if she could not find the right ledger? What if there was no more money in the chest? How was she to obtain more? Oh, she did not want to deal with this!

If only, after her marriage to Everitt, she had insisted upon taking over some of the housekeeping duties Miss Lowery performed so well, she wouldn’t be this lost and unprepared. But one look at Amelia’s anxious face as she curtsied to Elizabeth when the newly-wedded couple arrived in London, the elderly spinster’s fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her gown as she assured Elizabeth she quite understood the new bride would want to assume the management of her own household, and Elizabeth knew she could never wrest away from her husband’s poor relation the task which gave her such satisfaction. Especially not after Everitt confided to her that, the Lowery family possessing few close kinsmen, Amelia Lowery really had nowhere else to go.

Which brought her back to her present problem. She drew a shuddering breath.

It was only a list of employees. It was only a supply of coin. She could manage this. She could.

She’d look in the bookroom later. After nuncheon. For now, it was still painting time. She would remain here in this tranquil space for just a little longer. Smoothing her dull black skirts with a trembling hand, she rose and walked to her easel.

Before she could pick her brush back up, there was another knock at the door and Sands peeped in. “Sir Gregory Holburn to see you, mistress. Do you wish to receive him?”

Her immediate response was to refuse, but she bit it back. She’d not met her late husband’s closest friend since the funeral more than a month ago, an event that, transpiring as it had in a blur of shock and misery, she scarcely remembered.

She hadn’t stepped a foot outside the house after returning from the interment. And since Everitt had cared more for collecting his antiquities than for mingling with society and she had cared about mingling in society not at all, with her family out of England, she’d not had any callers.

Sir Gregory had always treated her kindly, almost like an avuncular uncle. He would worry if she refused to meet him.

With a sigh she stripped off the full-length apron she wore to save her gown from the worst of the paint spatters. “Very well. Show him to the blue salon and tell him I’ll join him shortly.”

She walked to the small mirror over her workbench, frowning as she scraped back the loose strands of hair and tucked them into the chignon. Her face was pale, her eyes dull. Everitt would say she looked like she was going into a decline.

And so I am, without you, my dear, she whispered softly. Gritting her teeth against another swell of useless grief, she forced a smile to her lips and headed for the blue salon.

Sir Gregory jumped to his feet as she entered. A tall, well-built man in his fortieth year, his light brown hair as yet showed no trace of gray…unlike the silver-tinted locks of Everitt, who’d been five years his senior. Friends from their youth, the two men had grown up in the same area of Oxfordshire and attended the same college.

His light brown eyes lighting with pleasure, Sir Gregory took the hand she offered and kissed it. “How have you been getting on? I’m sorry not to have come sooner; estate business at Holburn Hall kept me tied up longer than I’d expected.”

“I hope everything is going well there,” Elizabeth said politely. Absently she wondered how Everitt’s neighboring property, Lowery Manor, was faring. Since their marriage, they’d spent little time there, her husband preferring to reside in London where he might more easily acquire items for his collection.

“Some difficulties with the planting, but well enough.” Eyeing her more closely, he shook his head. “You look tired and care-worn. Is Miss Lowery still confined to her bed and unable to assist? My poor Lizbet, I knew I should have come back sooner to check on you!”

“How kind of you,” Elizabeth replied, acknowledging his concern. “I’m afraid Miss Lowery is so far from recovered she must not even think of returning to her duties. I get on well enough, I suppose, though it is…difficult.” She attempted a smile. “So many things to do! Reviewing menus, inspecting linens, checking silver, ordering coal—I had no idea how much was required to run a household. Did you know there are at least seventeen different recipes for preparing chicken?”

“Seventeen?” He chuckled. “Who would have thought?”

“And where does one obtain the coin to pay one’s servants?” She shook her head and sighed. “Miss Lowery and Everitt spoiled me dreadfully, I’m discovering.”

Holburn took her hand and patted it. “Dear lady, you are too young and lovely to trouble yourself with such trivialities! Now that I’ve returned to London, I do hope you’ll allow me to lift some of those burdens from your shoulders.” Letting go her fingers, he extracted a small purse from the pocket of his coat. “How much coin do you need for the servants?”

Tempting as it was to transfer all her tiresome duties into his willing hands, Elizabeth hesitated. Husband’s best friend not withstanding, there was no link of kinship between them whatsoever. She could not but feel it went beyond the limits of what was proper to accept any of his kindly-offered assistance. Without doubt, she knew she must not take money from him, even as a temporary loan.

“That won’t be necessary, Sir Gregory, although I do thank you for offering. You must ignore my hen-hearted complaining! I shall learn to manage soon enough.”

“You are sure?” When she nodded, he continued, “Very well, I shall do nothing—this time. But my offer stands. I should be honored to assist you in any way, at any time.”

As the mantle clock chimed the hour, she rose. David would be waiting for her, anxious for his nuncheon. “Should you like to join us for some light refreshment?”

“You will take it with your son?”

“Yes. By noon he’s grown quick peckish.”

“I fear I must decline. Another time, perhaps?”

“Of course.” She escorted him from the parlor, secretly relieved he’d refused the invitation she’d felt obligated to offer. But Sir Gregory did not enjoy children—and David, perhaps sensing as children often do the attitude of the adults around them, most decidedly did not like Sir Gregory.

Sometime this afternoon, she still must solve the riddle of paying her servants. Turning her visitor over to Sands, with a longing glance in the direction of her studio, Elizabeth walked upstairs to find her son.

In his bachelor quarters on the other side of Mayfair, Hal Waterman frowned at the notice printed in the newspaper. Having returned to London just last evening after spending two months monitoring a new canal project in the north, he was still sorting through the journals and correspondence that had accumulated in his absence.

Carrying the paper with him, Hal dropped into the chair by the fireplace where his valet Jeffers had left him a glass of wine, gratefully settling back against its wide, custom-designed cushions. Taller and more powerfully built than most of his countrymen, after his sojourn in assorted inns over the last weeks, he was thoroughly tired of trying to sleep in beds too short for his long legs and sit in wing chairs too narrow for his broad shoulders.

Scanning the notice again, he sighed. Mr. Everitt Lowery, it read, of Lowery Manor in Oxfordshire and Green Street in London, unexpectedly expired in this city on the seventh inst.–almost six weeks ago now. Surviving him are his widow, Elizabeth nee Wellingford and one son, David.

Elizabeth. Even now, seven years after his first glimpse of her at the wedding of his friend Nicholas to her sister Sarah, the whisper of her name reverberated through his mind, exciting a tingling in his nerves and a stirring in his loins.

Despite knowing Nicky’s wedding service had been about to begin, he’d barely been able to keep himself from bolting from the room that long-ago day. As it was, drenched in panic, he’d had to station himself as far from the enchanting Elizabeth as the confines of the parlor allowed, remaining at the reception afterwards only until he deemed it was politely possible to excuse himself.

Until he encountered Elizabeth Wellingford, armored by a lifetime of scornful treatment at the elegant hands of his beautiful mother, he’d thought himself immune to those pinnacles of perfect female form who so easily enslaved the men around them. Which, for Hal, made Elizabeth Wellingford the most dangerous woman in England. Even knowing what she could and probably would do to him, he’d still been…mesmerized.

The only sensible response was to stay as far away from her as possible. Over the intervening years, keeping that resolve turned out to be easier than he’d first feared, given that her sister had married his best friend. A few months after Nicky’s nuptials, shunning a Season, Elizabeth Wellingford had chosen to wed a family friend she’d known all her life, a gentleman more than twenty years her senior.

So fortunately for his piece of mind, the bewitching Elizabeth had never joined the ranks of the hopefuls on the Marriage Mart, that small section of ton society in which his mother took greatest interest. Each Season Mama inspected the new arrivals, choosing those she deigned to honor with her friendship—and whom she would then parade before her son in the hope, mercifully thus far unrealized, of enticing—or coercing—him into marrying some woman of fashion who might be trusted to try to remake her overly tall, totally unfashionable, monosyllabic only child.

A hopeless task, if Mama would just cease stubbornly refusing to concede the fact. In a society that prized dark, whipcord slender men like that lisping poet Lord Byron, Hal was too big, too fair-haired, and from his years of fencing and riding, too thickly muscled to ever to be considered one of ton’s dashing young blades.

Prizing comfort and utility above all, he had no patience for coats that required a valet to wrestle him in and out of them, shirts with points so high and stiff they scratched his chin or fanciful cravats that threatened to choke him whenever he swallowed.

And though, with Nicky’s help, he’d overcome the stuttering that had made his school years a misery, he would never be capable of uttering long flowing phrases full of the elegant compliments so beloved by ladies.

He sighed. He would always be an embarrassment to Mama and there was nothing to be done about it.

Shifting his gaze to the matter at hand, he looked back at the funeral notice he still held. So Elizabeth was now a widow. Too young and lovely a lady to be wearing black, he thought, a touch of sadness in his chest at the premature loss she had suffered. Then a startling, highly unpleasant realization brought him out of his chair and sent him rushing to his desk.

Impatiently he flipped through the papers until he found Nicky’s note. As he reviewed it, a scowl settled on his face.

Hell and damnation! He had remembered the dates correctly. Nicholas, Sarah, their children and all the rest of the Stanhopes and Wellingfords—all of Elizabeth’s family–had departed for Europe, it appeared, barely a week before Everitt Lowery’s passing. The family party was not due to return to England for another three months at the earliest.

There was no help for it. Despite his vow never to willingly place himself again in the same room with the lady who had so shaken his world, that lady was Nicky’s sister-in-law. With her family out of reach, Nicky would expect Hal to call on the widow, insure that her husband’s lawyer and man of business had her financial affairs well in hand and, in Nicky’s stead, offer to assist her with anything she required.

Going back to his chair, Hal sighed and downed a large swallow of the wine. Please heaven, let Lowery have left a decent will and employed a competent man of business. The Wellingfords had been nearly penniless when Nicky married Sarah, so Hal knew Elizabeth probably hadn’t brought much of a dowry to her marriage. He hoped Lowery’s finances were such that he’d been able to leave his widow a comfortable jointure.

Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t easily run herself into dun territory. As Hal recalled, a woman’s response to both joy and calamity involved the acquiring of a large number of new gowns, bonnets, pelisses, footwear and the nameless other fripperies females seemed so fond of. That had always been his mother’s way and he had no reason to expect that a woman as stupendously beautiful as Elizabeth Lowery would react any differently.

With it having been six weeks since her husband’s demise, he’d best gird himself to call on Mrs. Lowery immediately to make sure she wasn’t already having to outrun the constable. Lowery’s fatherless son didn’t need to have his mama land them in debtor’s prison.

Taking another deep draught of wine, he recalled sardonically the bulging armoires in his mother’s several dressing rooms. Only the gigantic size of his father’s fortune had allowed Hal to achieve his majority—and assume control of his mother’s finances– with that lady still possessing a sizeable portion. Unless Lowery had tied up his funds carefully and appointed a vigilant trustee, if she spent her blunt as freely as Letitia Waterman, Lowery’s lovely widget of a wife could swiftly exhaust a modest competence.

Fulfilling his duty as Nicky’s stand-in shouldn’t be that burdensome, he reassured himself. He’d probably only need to visit the widow once, after which he’d be able to deal directly deal with Lowery’s man of business. Besides, it had been a very long time since he’d seen Elizabeth.

Having weathered seven Seasons’ worth of Beauties posing, posturing and pouting before him, he was doubtless no longer as impressionable as he’d been that long-ago afternoon. Besides, ‘twas likely that over the years, memory had exaggerated the incident. Wary as he was of winsome women, surely when he met Elizabeth now he’d experience only a mild appreciation for her striking loveliness.

After all, a man could appreciate a masterpiece of art without aching to possess it.

Hal took a deep breath. He could do this. And he would…tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he would meet Elizabeth Wellingford Lowery again.

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