Get ready to celebrate a white Christmas in October, complete with garlands of mistletoe, Christmas pudding, and even its very own holiday miracle in this latest romance from Grace Burrowes. Lady Joan definitely needs rescuing and Mr. Hartwell is in the right place at the right time to play knight errant.
Fate also lends a hand by putting them at the same holiday party in the wilds of Scotland, so that events can continue to proceed in the right direction. A wonderful cast of characters, some of whose stories have already been told in this series to date, with a bunch of really cute and precocious kids and a pair of multiplying rabbits. You won’t want to miss this delightful story, so head down to your nearest bookstore to get yourself your own copy of Christmas cheer.
Summary:
Lady Joan Flynn needs a husband—any husband—if she’s not to find scandal and mischief under her Christmas tree; Scottish wool magnate Dante “Hard-hearted” Hartwell needs an aristocratic wife to gain access to the financing that will keep his wool mills secure. Can holiday magic spin an expedient match into true love, and wary differences into trust?
Time to have some fun with Dante and Lady Joan…
Dante Hartwell has offered Lady Joan Flynn passage with his family on their private train car, but even civilities are proving a trifle awkward, when Dante’s own sister has abandoned him to the company of the titled lady….
“My sister is hiding from you,” Dante said, wondering how much his guest’s cloak had cost. Contrasted with Lady Joan’s red hair, the velvet was so purple, it shimmered in waterfalls and waves of light that had no visible source. A dark, luminous purple that shouted—quietly, mind—of warmth, pampering, and class, even as it made a man’s palms itch to stroke it.
“Miss Hartwell is hiding?” Lady Joan asked.
Miss Hartwell. Not, “m’ dear wee sister, Margs,” or whatever Dante had said when he’d introduced Margs to her ladyship. A powerful thirst came upon him, the same thirst he experienced whenever he was forced to prowl around the parlors and ballrooms of his betters.
And what a waste of time and fussy tailoring that had been.
“Aye. Margs is shy. May I offer you something to drink, Lady Joan?” Margs was scheming and determined too, which accounted for her pressing need to “see the children settled” in the other car.
“Have you any tea, Mr. Hartwell? I left Edinburgh in something of a hurry.”
Her very diction carried light and elegance, and yet bore a certain warmth, as did she. Dante owed this woman—and he always paid his debts—but he also liked her.
“Tea, we have, and we’d best drink it before it cools.” The train had yet to pull out of the station, so pouring would be little challenge—but for whom?
Lady Joan sat at the small mahogany table secured beneath the curtained window, while Dante prowled around the parlor car like a bear in a tinker’s wagon.
Did he sit across from her?
Ask permission to sit?
Serve her while standing, as if he were a bloody footman?
Would Father Christmas please bestow on one hardworking Scotsman some command of the manners necessary to move among those with titles and wealth?
“Do have a seat, Mr. Hartwell, and I’d be happy to pour out.”
Dante retrieved the tea service from the sideboard, set it down before her ladyship with a small “clank,” and wedged himself into the seat across from her. Train cars were built to the scale of fairies, though for all her height, Lady Joan looked comfortable enough.
