Tag: The Bridal Pleasures

Excerpt: The Duchess Diaries by Jillian Hunter

Posted March 12, 2012 by Holly in Promotions | 0 Comments

The Duchess Diaries by Jillian Hunter. Copyright February 2012. Published with the permission of New American Library, a member of Penguin Group (USA).

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Gideon wasn’t sure that he had accomplished anything during his brief encounter with Charlotte Boscastle except to make a nuisance of himself. He doubted that the time he’d spent with her had rendered her more desirable to other men. Or that he would have felt as comfortable teasing her if she hadn’t been Devon’s cousin.

But she hadn’t reminded him of Devon at all. There was a dreamy quality about her that set her apart from the rest of her family. She might have stepped from a watercolor painting that graced the wall of a country manor, her coolness an illusion. Her skin wasn’t an innocent white. It was sinful cream with a swirl of rose petals beneath the surface. Her smile had revealed an attractive slight overbite. The gold flecks in her eyes hinted at hidden fires.

He found himself wondering what she would look like if she unknotted the thick blond hair that sat primly on her nape. He had counted twenty tightly fastened buttons on the back of her modest dress. God only knew what a fuss she’d have put up if she had any idea that he had been wondering how fast he could undo them.

And yet if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that there was an immediate sense of intimacy between them. Which wasn’t possible.

They hadn’t exchanged a single world the day he had seen her at the emporium.

“There you are,” a male voice called from the vicinity of the French doors. “Confess all. What did you say to chase Charlotte into the garden, and don’t tell me you’ve made a secret assignation to meet her there because there are more spies planted outside than trees?”

Gideon snorted. “I’d prefer not to talk about it. I’m sure you will appreciate the fact that a gentleman does not discuss his dealings with a lady.”

“Did you offend her?”

“Probably, and it’s your fault.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Gideon said.

Devon looked skeptical. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” he repeated, and wondered why the admission felt like a lie.

“You asked her to dance?”

“Repeatedly.”

Devon shook his head. “And I thought that you were the most charming man at the ball.”

Gideon laughed. “I’m sorry to let you down. I tried. I failed.”

“You’re determined to pursue your life of decadence?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Devon nodded in grudging acceptance. “At least you gave it a go. Would you like to come upstairs to the gallery and drink a toast to your continued decline?”

“Not tonight. Other pleasures await. And I’ve promised to drop off a few friends on the way.”

“It’s just as well. Jane would probably corner you under the pretense of a friendly chat. She is unabashedly pursuing suitors for Charlotte.”

Gideon resisted looking back into the room. “Good luck to the man who can get past her guard. I couldn’t even convince her to lower the drawbridge.”

“Her brothers have written to Grayson announcing their intent to marry her off as soon as possible.”

“Thank you for the warning, after the fact. I knew I detected the scent of conspiracy in the air.”

“You could do worse for a wife,” Devon commented.

“I don’t disagree.” Gideon shook his head in amusement. “But I’m not in the market for one. I doubt I will in the near future, either.”

“That’s what I thought right before I met Jocelyn,” Devon said. “One minute I was on my way to a midnight assignation with another woman, and the next I was standing at the altar wondering what had happened.”

Charlotte nibbled at her salad and raised her champagne flute to the woman sitting two chairs down from her. Harriet lifted her own glass high. Her feathered turban listed on her head like a dying turkey, but nobody seemed to mind. All the girls were present and accounted for. A full compliment of young gentlemen had been flushed out of the gaming rooms to balance the room.

It was a rare event in Boscastle history—a party that had concluded without a scandal to make the morning news. Even Miss Peppertree, Charlotte’s prudish assistant, looked pleased. Weed, always a stickler for ceremony, had his underfootmen lined around the wall like wooden soldiers.

“To the Scarfield Academy!” Harriet called out over the happy chattering. And Charlotte felt an immense relief that the party was almost over. In fact, she was so sure the night would end uneventfully that she excused herself right after the supper and went upstairs to make arrangements for the girls to leave.

Jane always kept a suite of rooms available for family; Charlotte had spent the previous night here with Harriet and the girls to familiarize them with the ballroom.

Harriet trailed her through the upper corridor. “I need my cloak and reticule. The Duke of Wynfield is dropping me and a crowd at another party. I don’t suppose I could convince you to come?”

Charlotte smiled wistfully. She wouldn’t enjoy sitting in the duke’s carriage while he was anticipating holding another woman in his arms. It was going to be difficult enough saying goodbye in her diary.

“Perhaps you’ll be able to persuade him not to go to Mrs. Watson’s later on,” Harriet teased her. “Jane and I watched the pair of you flirting—”

“It wasn’t flirting,” Charlotte said in dismay, pushing open the door to their suite. “Devon put him up to asking me to dance. What a mess in here.”

“It looked like flirting . . . oh, Charlotte, I know that you are drawn to him. I wish he— God above, look at the state of my turban.” Harriet confronted her reflection in the long cheval glass. “I can’t believe no one told me how hideous it looks. I don’t have time to do my hair, either. Where did I put my cloak?”

Charlotte didn’t answer. Harriet turned to her. “Are you all right?”

“No.” She bit her lower lip. “I think you should leave me alone. I might cry. It’s been a long, fraught evening.”

“Oh, no. What— It’s him, isn’t it?”

She nodded ruefully. “I’m a dreamer. I had always hoped, perhaps . . . He asked me to dance because he felt sorry for me. It’s over.”

Harriet knelt before her. “What’s over?”

“My love affair.”

“Well, it wasn’t real, was it?”

“Do you know what the worst part is?”

“Tell me.”

“I spent so much time dreaming about that man. And yet I know it’s time for that to come to an end. But I’ve discovered he has a conscience, and now he’s more attractive to me than ever. I’m so stupid, Harriet. Why didn’t you tell me that my writing was a waste of time?”

“Because it isn’t,” Harriet said. “The stories you read me were beautiful.”

Charlotte felt mournful. “Oh, but so much of my diary is make-believe. But now I can’t even dream about meeting him again. I’ll have to draw pictures of butterflies to pass the time.”

“Charlotte, I was a criminal. You gave me the gift of good books. There were thoughts in them that I had felt but never knew how to express.”

“You express yourself more eloquently than any lady I have ever met.”

“Even when I lapse into profanity?”

“Especially then.” Charlotte gave an unsteady laugh. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. A lady isn’t allowed to show her emotions. Nor should she use bad language.”

“You can trust me. Do you wish to talk about him?”

She shook her head. “Not now.”

“You’ve been working for weeks to train the girls for this graduation. Take a well-deserved rest, my dear.”

“I ought to see the girls off. I’d go with them but I have a few belongings to pack first.”

“Miss Peppertree is waiting in one of the carriages, Sir Daniel is riding behind them, and there will be enough footmen during the drive to fill a cricket field.”
Charlotte smiled. “It went well, didn’t it?”

“More than well. The young ladies have not only survived the night due to your dedication. They have thrived. Furthermore, remember that tonight you made history. It was a Boscastle event that didn’t end in scandal.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t—”

“Take a breath while I make myself presentable again. I could ring for some refreshment. I noticed you ate nothing at the table.”

“I couldn’t eat.”

“Later then.”

Charlotte sighed and opened the desk in which her diary was concealed inside a false drawer. Soon she forgot that Harriet was even in the room. She only had time to pen a sentence or two, but she had to purge her feelings for the duke while his impression was emblazoned in her mind.

Tonight I kissed the duke good-bye. Well, not really, but he asked me to dance, over and over, and I was dying to accept. If I had, we’d have danced until my slippers wore out and sunlight shone through the ballroom windows.

“I thought you had an assignation,” she whispered between his ardent kisses.

“I did.”

“What happened?”

“I met you.”

“Will your mistress be angry?”

“Does my future wife care?”

“Charlotte!” It was Jane at the door. “Miss Peppertree is leaving with the girls. See them off and then take a brandy with me and Chloe before Weed calls the carriage around to take you back. Harriet, are you joining us?”

“No. I told you we were going on a treasure hunt. Do you have another turban I can borrow?”

Charlotte arose, closed the desk, and hurried to the door to join Jane. “Enjoy yourself, Harriet.”

Harriet smiled at her distractedly from the dressing table where she had settled in an attempt to tame her hair. “I’ll ask him for a kiss to bring back to you,” she said under her breath.

“Don’t you dare,” Charlotte whispered. “I’d never be able to show my face again if you do.”

“Where is the turban?” Harriet asked Jane before she closed the door.

“Go through the closet and to my room. Ask my maid.”

Harriet turned from the mirror, giving Charlotte a look of sympathy. “I was only joking. I would never do anything to betray you.”

“Charlotte!” Jane stuck her head inside the room again. “Hurry up, dear. Everyone is waiting.”

“Harriet,” Charlotte said. “Shut the door after you leave. And please, please, whatever you do, don’t give away my secrets tonight.”

Harriet hadn’t even heard the chambermaid enter the room. “The duke’s carriage is waiting, Your Grace. He has asked that you hurry. There is quite a crush in the street.”

Harriet stuffed an escaped curl into the turban that she had denuded of its feathers and glanced around the untidy room. She hadn’t found another turban into which she could tuck her defiant hair. She knew she was forgetting something. What had Charlotte said?

Fans. Shoes. Her reticule. Where in the world had she put her cloak? Was it buried under the other articles of clothing that had been tossed willy-nilly on the chaise?

Gloves? She spotted her cloak neatly draped over the chair by the desk were Charlotte had been—she gasped. The desk front had fallen open, which wasn’t a surprise considering it looked as if it were at least ninety years old. Her gaze lit on the diary that Charlotte had carelessly left where anyone could read its scandalous contents.

In fact, the chambermaid’s stare was riveted to it as well.

Charlotte would be humiliated if anyone read her confessions. And Harriet had promised to protect her.

“The duke is waiting, Your Grace!” Weed announced imperilously from the door.

“I’m fetching my cloak, you old frog,” she called back, and she did, whisking the diary in its folds with a talent for larceny that she had perfected in her tender years. It wasn’t the ideal solution, but Harriet felt better carrying the diary with her than leaving it for the chambermaid to see. There was something off about that maid’s face. She looked—sneaky. And familiar? Harriet wasn’t sure.

Charlotte returned to the room with a sigh of relief. She had fulfilled her obligation to another class of girls and to the academy. Now she could savor her success. On any other night she might have sat at her desk and written to her heart’s content, pouring out secret urges she could never have revealed to anyone.

She had been in love with words since her father had allowed her into his library and she had decided with all her gangly being that the answers to life’s questions would eventually be given her by those who had taken the time to share their thoughts.

Of course no one would ever read what Charlotte had confessed in her diary. The story of her first heartbreak might have seemed tragically poetic when she was fifteen; it had devastated her to catch the boy she adored describing her to his friends as “that giantess with big teeth.” And then she had seen him with another girl.

She only felt a twinge of pain when she reread those pages now. She was tall, but she no longer slouched to hide her height in the presence of gentlemen. She had an overbite and it didn’t stop her from smiling. And she would have been miserable marrying an insensitive clod like Philip Moreland.

Perhaps she would tear out the pages in her diary that referred to him. The demon memory of his unkindness had been exorcised from her heart in the safest manner offered to a lady in her position.

She walked over to her desk, frowning as she noticed that Harriet had left the room a mess. And that—the diary was gone.

It couldn’t be. She must have hidden it and forgotten where. She’d done it before. She opened the desk drawer and rifled through the sheets of paper and fashion plates to no avail. Another drawer?

Think. The duke. The girls. The duke. Her diary. Her personal confessor.

She wouldn’t panic. There had been so many distractions that night. This is what happened to ladies who drank champagne like it was water.

She looked across the room. She had been writing at the desk while Harriet fussed with hair and complained about her turban. Slippers. Discarded mantles. The dress that Jane had tactfully suggested Charlotte wear instead of her simple white satin ballgown.

Perhaps Harriet had hidden it in the room before she left. Her heart gave a hopeful thump. Where was Jane? This was Jane’s house. She might have come in and recognized the diary for the dangerous article it was. She could ask the staff, or better yet, Weed. He knew all, saw all, heard all.

She ransacked the room, her anxiety increasing by the second. But she wouldn’t give in to panic. The diary could not have disappeared by itself.

“I’ve lost it,” she whispered. “Somebody help me. I need to stay— I’ve lost it!” she wailed at the top of her voice. “I’ve lost it! It’s gone!”

She turned as the door flew open and Jane rushed toward her, her face white, Weed at her heels. “I was on the stairs,” Jane said breathlessly. “I heard you screaming, but I hope I didn’t hear what I thought I did. Weed, stand at the door and make sure no one comes near. It isn’t true, is it Charlotte?”

Charlotte nodded miserably. “I’ve lost it, Jane. It’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone. Taken. Stolen. I don’t know. It’s gone.”

Jane stared at her in horror. “Your virginity?” she whispered, running back to the door and slamming it with a force that nearly extinguished the candles on the wall. “Listen to me.” She clasped Charlotte’s hand. “It’s bad enough that it happened, but there is no need to shout it across the whole of London. I assume it was the duke.”

“What?”

“Was it in this room?” Jane demanded, her temper rising. “When? I thought he’d left. If you tell me that he sneaked back to ravish you while—”

“It isn’t the duke.” Charlotte pulled her hand from Jane’s. “It’s my diary. I left it on the desk and it has disappeared.”

“Oh, my heavens,” Jane said weakly, falling back onto the chaise. “For a moment I had murder in my heart. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Get up, Jane, please. We have to find it.”

“I’m sure we will. Someone is bound to come across it—”

“No.”

Jane sat right up. “Pull yourself together this instant. I highly doubt that anything you have written is going to ruin you. Let us be honest. What could you recount that would do more than raise an eyebrow here or there, if even that? You have lived a circumspect life.”

“That’s what you think.”

Jane stared at her. “Are you saying that you confessed on paper some misdeed that could taint your name?”

Charlotte gave a soft groan of despair. “The contents of that diary could bring down me and the academy. Where is Harriet? I have to talk to her.”

“She left some time ago in the Duke of Wynfield’s carriage with a group of friends. They were all going to Mrs. Watson’s to meet up with another party. Their amusements do not begin until midnight.”

“I heard someone mention a treasure hunt.”

“I shall send Weed to find her straightaway. No, I’ll ask Sir Daniel when he returns from the academy. Who better than a former Runner to find Harriet? He apprehended her a few times in the past, didn’t he? In the meantime, you must remain calm.”

“You’ve never read my diary.”

“Then let us hope no one else does,” Jane paused to look at the door to the adjoining room. “Who is there?” she asked sharply.

“Just the chambermaid,” a reedy voice called out. “I wondered if Miss Boscastle wanted me to straighten the room before she retired. I couldn’t ‘elp overhearing that there is a crisis in the ‘ouse.”

Jane rose abruptly. “I don’t know your name. You must be new, and perhaps unaware that there are rules of employment. You do not listen at doors. Nor enter without permission.”

“Yes, milady.” She curtsied, backing to the door.

“And there is no crisis in this house.”

She must be one of the maids Mrs. Barnes hired for the party,” Jane said, closing the door on the retreating figure. “Perhaps I should have asked her and the chambermaids if they set the diary aside.”

“Or if they stole it,” Charlotte said bleakly.

“Stop acting as if the world hinged on your thoughts, Charlotte. Who would go to the trouble of stealing your diary when I have a fortune in jewels in my suite?”

The series:

This book is available from NAL. You can buy it here or here in e-format.


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Guest Author: Jillian Hunter asks Do You Keep A Journal?

Posted February 14, 2012 by Holly in Promotions | 5 Comments

Today we welcome bestselling author Jillian Hunter back to the site. Jillian’s latest novel, The Duchess Diaries, is available now from NAL.

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Happy Valentine’s Day to all! Thank you for inviting me to blog with you again.

Do you keep a journal? Have Facebook and Twitter taken the place of the old-fashioned recording our thoughts on paper? Are you less inclined to keep a family scrapbook or photo album now that social media has become so popular?

In my latest historical romance, The Duchess Diaries, Miss Charlotte Boscastle despairs of ever standing out in her family as an original. In Society’s eyes she is a paragon, the lead schoolmistress at The Scarfield Academy for Young Ladies in London. She is proud of the fact that her graduates manage to achieve remarkable success in the marriage mart. She adores her scandalous relatives. And she envies them all, her girls, her family members, for the ease with which they have found love.

But as time passes, Charlotte doubts Cupid will ever visit her except in the pages of the diary she keeps. She is the quiet one in the family, the dream-spinner, the least likely to cause scandal; this despite the fact that she has fallen desperately in love with the Duke of Wynfield.

It’s my opinion that whatever you write in a diary is your business. It doesn’t matter if it’s fact, fantasy, or as in Charlotte’s case, a blend of both. But if you’re unfortunate enough to let it fall into another’s hands, you have to be prepared to pay the price.

When I was growing up it was in vogue to keep a journal. Journaling was supposed to be a spiritual journey, which lead toward enlightenment. Perhaps it does. But having your secrets exposed is as embarrassing and ruinous to your reputation in current times as it was in Charlotte’s day.

Still, it was a fact in Regency and Victorian times, as it is today, that people are fascinated by the private thoughts of others. Politicians and great literary writers flocked to purchase lurid publications—as well they would in case their own names were mentioned. Even Sir Walter Scott was not immune.

I destroyed my last diary some years ago, the pages of youthful angst, heartbreak, and adventure.

It’s only recently that I wish I’d kept the incriminating evidence of my youth. I’d love to read it one more time, to cringe, to laugh, and I’m sure, to be grateful that most of the dreams I once held hear never did come true.

Jillian Hunter is the author of twenty-one published novels.  Her books have been printed in twelve languages and have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestseller lists.

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The series:

This book is available from NAL. You can buy it here or here in e-format.


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Guest Review: A Duke’s Temptation by Jillian Hunter

Posted November 2, 2010 by Book Binge Guest Blogger in Reviews | 0 Comments

Judith‘s Review of A Duke’s Temptation (The Bridal Pleasure Series, Book 1) by Jillian Hunter.

Samuel Charles Aubrey St. Aldwyn, Duke of Gravenhurst, is a radical rogue and champion of unpopular causes. No one would dream that he is also the author of a bestselling series of dark historical novels, a writer accused of corrupting the morals of the public, and a master seducer who counts among his passionate fans wellborn Miss Lily Boscastle. But Lily is no stranger to disrepute.

When her engagement to another man ends in a tarnished image and public disgrace, Lily is forced to seek employment outside London–as housekeeper for Gravenhurst himself. Her sharp wit and sensuality appeal to his wicked instincts–and she is a perfect match for every beguiling move he makes. Yet there is more to him than Lily imagined–a secret known to few living souls, ghosts from the past that haunt both of their futures in ways too dangerous for even the duke to have invented.

This is a full-length novel that is complicated, multi-layered, stories within a story, and characters that are unusual, fascinating, droll, secretive, prejudiced, and close-minded. The main characters are from two entirely different worlds–yes Miss Lily Boscastle is from a family that is deemed acceptable to high society but is nevertheless on the fringes. Her fiance is a war hero and well-thought-of, but has his own weaknesses and secrets that ultimately end up hurting Lily personally and trashing any chance for their marriage and putting serious dirt on her reputation–she claims to have seen a murder–she is deemed to be a liar/weak-minded/hysterical/unfit for marriage to a fine military officer.

Lord St. Aldwyn is one of high societies oddities–a man who has more money than God, who can pretty much do anything he wants, has shunned marriage successfully for years, and is really the nameless author of dark, sensual, suspense-filled novels that are the rage of London but which starchy ton matrons declare to be “dirty books.” He comes to be known as “Lord Anonymous” to his fans and the general public. He gives his charitable donations to causes that are strange and virtually unknown to many. Yet because of his wealth and lofty social status, he can pretty much put his money wherever he wishes without anyone thinking him daft.

The early chapters are the beginnings of the stories of each of these characters, how their worlds intersect, and how they are ultimately brought together. The duke meets and is captivated by Lily. However, he is aware that she is to be married in two weeks. He has tried his best to find a way to keep her from marching down that wedding aisle. Due to Lily’s own difficulties, the marriage is called off–literally the morning of the wedding and her family virtually disowns her. The duke receives this news and through a series of behind-the-scenes arrangements through his “solicitor” he manages to snare Lily for his housekeeper. It is from this point in the book that their story comes together.

Ms Hunter has written a fascinating and mind-engaging novel that will be well-received by readers who don’t want pages and pages of fluff. This is solid writing, solid story-telling and draws the reader into an intellectual and emotional experience. This is historical fiction that has more to it than many lighter weight novellas and novels. The characters have an edge to them–real, needy in some ways, searching for their niche in life–even though they think they have already found it–living vicariously through their own fictional creations while trying to hide from past secrets that threaten their peace of mind and possibly their future happiness. This novel is clear evidence that Jillian Hunter knows how to put a very good historical novel together and make it interesting from page one.

I am also captivated by the social issues that are either addressed directly or hinted at in the narrative. Certainly Lily’s insistence that she saw a crime committed brings to the surface the real attitude toward women that was alive and well in that culture–women can’t be trusted to testify of what they see; they are weak, mentally incompetent, hysterical, and easily influenced by silly penny novels. Lily was victimized by all this. There are also the cultural realities that make finding employment for women in Lily’s sort-of-okay social class very difficult. It is housekeeper, governess, dancing teacher, and not much more that is respectable. That Lily was not trained or prepared to earn her own living never even influenced her family’s response to the embarrassment calling off her wedding caused. They were prepared to put her out on the street. This situation was not as rare as we would hope. I appreciate fiction writers who do their historical research and bring these kinds of inequities to light. Need I remind us all that such sensitivity to the social well-being of persons without funds or influence is writing that is in the mode given us by writers like Charles Dickens.

So I recommend this novel to serious lovers of historical fiction. It will be a joy for the mind and a literary experience that will be very satisfying to the whole person. I give this novel a rating of 4.25 out of 5.

This book is available from Signet. You can buy it here or here in e-format.

You can read more from Judith at Dr. J’s Book Place.


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Guest Review: A Duke’s Temptation by Jillian Hunter

Posted November 2, 2010 by Book Binge Guest Blogger in Reviews | 0 Comments


Lori’s review of A Duke’s Temptation (The Bridal Pleasure Series, Book 1) by Jillian Hunter

Samuel Charles Aubrey St. Aldwyn, Duke of Gravenhurst, is a radical rogue and champion of unpopular causes. No one would dream that he is also the author of a bestselling series of dark historical novels, a writer accused of corrupting the morals of the public, and a master seducer who counts among his passionate fans wellborn Miss Lily Boscastle. But Lily is no stranger to disrepute.

When her engagement to another man ends in a tarnished image and public disgrace, Lily is forced to seek employment outside London – as housekeeper for Gravenhurst himself. Her sharp wit and sensuality appeal to his wicked instincts – and she’s a perfect match for every beguiling move he makes. Yet there’s more to him than Lily imagined – a secret known to few living souls, ghosts from the past that haunt both of their futures in ways too dangerous for even the duke to have invented.


This is the first book in a new series, although it still featured a Boscastle. Lily Boscastle is about to announce her engagement to her childhood friend, Jonathan Grace. She wonders if they haven’t become too comfortable with each other. One evening before they are to announce their engagement, she goes to a masquerade, where she is on the lookout for the infamous Lord Anonymous, author of a bestselling gothic series that she absolutely loves.

While Lily doesn’t meet Lord Anonymous, she does meet the mysterious Duke of Gravenhurst and enjoys a night of flirting outrageously with him. She is attracted, but knows that she will marry Jonathan, and so moves forward. Shortly before the wedding, she witnesses Jonathan murder someone in the streets of London and immediately moves to report it. Given that the body is missing, nobody is inclined to believe her, and she is ruined, so she leaves London to pursue a career as a housekeeper. Turns out that she is to be the new housekeeper for Samuel, the Duke, who fell in love with her at the masquerade. But Samuel has another secret – he is Lord Anonymous.

I found that it took me a little longer to get into this novel that the previous Boscastle books, but once I did, it was a fun book. This look into the life of an author was really interesting – full of characters talking to him day and night, cutting himself off from his family while on deadline, invoking the servants to assist acting out scenes. I got the impression that this was far more Samuel’s book than Lily’s. As the book progressed, it became very clear that it takes a special kind of person to be the spouse of an author. Samuel was constantly distracted, often behind closed doors, and irritable. But he was a terrific man. He treated his servants wonderfully; in fact, they were among the very few who knew his identity. More like family, really. We are given some insight into Samuel when it’s revealed that all his servants were ruined by some scandal or another, and he took them in.

I had a big laugh when Lily discovers that there are mice in the house, because she follows a trail of mouse droppings and starts screaming. Everyone comes running, only for her to discover that they were apple seeds, lined up as soldiers to help Samuel work out a scene. I laughed when Samuel, who was irritated that his soldiers were disrupted said, “The soldiers were apple seeds, not turds.” You’d have to live in my house to know why this was so funny, but trust me, in context, I laughed at the entire scene.

This was a different romance than I’m used to, but it worked for me. Different in that Samuel is so caught up in his writing, even as he’s totally distracted by Lily. They managed to have a lot of both spirited and romantic interaction despite his deadline, and were delightful together. She totally got him, which I loved. And at the same time, he understood her as well, and wanted to both protect and love her. As I closed the book, I had to wonder if any of the situations were somewhat autobiographical in terms of explaining the life of an author. Things were certainly never dull!

3.75 out of 5.

This book is available from Signet. You can buy it here or here in e-format.

You can read more from Lori by visiting I Just Finished Reading and Living in the House of Testosterone.


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