Alexandria agreed with is assessment, and was very relieved to see him move out.
She sat on the wicker chair and placed her paper, pen, and ink on the table. The large tree beside her gave the shade she needed, and the peaceful outdoor setting helped her creative juices considerably. It thrilled her that Julian was so supportive of her writing and he believed in her.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and sighed. Lately, her story ideas leaned away from mystery and more toward romance. She giggled. She had her husband to thank for that blessing.
“There you are, my love!”
Julian’s voice boomed through the stillness in the yard, startling her. She looked in the direction she’d heard his voice. He ran toward her, holding a missive in the air, waving it.
He reached her and stopped, kissing her lips briefly before handing the letter to her. “This is for you,” he said breathless.
She opened the letter and scanned the contents. Her heartbeat quickened with each sentence. “What is this?” she muttered. “You sent a publisher one of my stories, and he likes it and wants to buy it?” Excitement jumped inside of her as she met Julian’s happy expression. “Am I dreaming?”
“This is real, my love.” He knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. “Roland had connections with this particular publisher, and that’s how he was able to get your story in front of an editor. Roland told me the publisher wanted money up front, but he assures me that you’ll be reimbursed in abundance when the book starts selling.”
“Does this man know the writer is a woman?”
Grinning, Julian nodded. “He does, and he’s still very interested in your stories.”
Tears of happiness spiked her eyes and she threw her arms around her husband’s neck, giving him a bear hug. “You are truly amazing. I am so blessed to have you as my husband.”
He captured her mouth in a heated kiss, moving his hands in circles on her back, warming her up quickly in more ways than one. As he pulled back, a twinkle lit his eyes.
“I’m the one blessed. I ended up with a treasure when I captured the wrong sister.” He winked.
Sighing, she stroked his strong jaw. “You did more than steal the duchess, you stole my heart.”
“Then I was repaid well, because you stole mine just as quickly.”
As he leaned in to kiss her once more, she pushed him to the ground and fit in his arms more comfortably. She loved many things about this man, but the one thing she loved the most was that they could have fun together—whenever and doing whatever they wanted.
She hoped for the right time to let him know he was going to be a father soon, but right now, she’d just enjoy their passionate moment and look forward for more to come.
Author’s Bio
Marie Higgins is a best-selling, multi-published author of Christian and sweet romance novels; from refined bad-boy heroes who make your heart melt to the feisty heroines who somehow manage to love them regardless of their faults. She’s been with a Christian publisher since 2010. Between those and her others, she’s published 30 heartwarming, on-the-edge-of-your-seat stories and broadened her readership by writing mystery/suspense, humor, time-travel, paranormal, along with her love for historical romances. Her readers have dubbed her "Queen of Tease", because of all her twists and turns and unexpected endings.
Visit her website / blog to discover more about her and many of her other published stories – http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com
Find her on Facebook – facebook.com/marie.higgins.7543
And Twitter - @MarieHigginsXOX
First Impressions
Elizabeth Johns
Copyright © 2015 by:
Elizabeth Johns
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Cover Design by Wilette Youkey
Edited by Tessa Shapcott
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
Dedication
To Wilette. Without you my First Impressions would be lacking indeed.
Chapter 1
Geoffrey Bryant, Earl of Rutherford, still needed an heir. He had done the uncomfortable acts of courting and marrying once, and they’d not been good enough. His daughter, Lucy, would soon reach three years of age, but she was motherless, and he was still heir-less. Why could his title not be one that was passable down through the female line? He adored his daughter. In fact, he would not mind more children. The only problem was that would require a wife, and that would require courting, which meant talking to blubbering adolescents and scheming dowagers—including his own mother dearest.
His mother had been on his case, and in her defence, he did need a wife. It was her methods he objected to. He had no desire to go to London and pick from the latest young virginal crop. The poor girls were never given a chance, being led straight from the schoolroom to the sophisticated Society of the ton. He’d vowed to raise Lucy differently. However, his mother threatened to bring her selection to him if he did not go—and she would do it. The thought of the impending invasion of his sanctuary sent him promptly to his feet to make arrangements to leave for London.
Could he not have been so fortunate as to have a reasonable looking, sensible, educated governess fall on his doorstep, as occurred in novels? No, Lucy was not old enough for a governess, and Miss Higgins the nursemaid was…well, it was unthinkable.
He looked at his comfortable chair in his comfortable library, out of the window at the beautiful sea, and groaned out loud. He would miss this. He would give London a few weeks, and that was it. This time would be different: he refused to lose his heart, and he would choose a wife for different qualities entirely than he had the last. He knew better than to fall for a pretty face again.
His biggest indecision was Lucy. He wanted to take her with him, but his mother had warned against it. She felt she would be a distraction, a deterrent. He certainly did not feel that way about his daughter, and any female he would consider marrying could not find a child a burden. However, he did not plan on being away very long, and a journey from Wales would be difficult for a small child. Reluctantly, he decided to leave her with her nurse and a household of adoring servants.
~*~
Another insipid conversation about his new pair, his latest race or breeding his sheep. These dandies were all the same song, different verse. Helena Foster’s face hurt from the false smile that was plastered to it. She only had a few weeks left to make it through the Season, when she could return to her happy place—anywhere but here. She was the eldest daughter of a baronet, who had four daughters and one son. Her mother had hopes for a grand match that would ease the way for her other sisters.
Helena held other ideas. A great aunt had left her a modest fortune, and she planned to finish her agreed one Season still a maid after this sad sampling of suitors. She did her best not to portray the boredom she felt. Not a single witty parry to any of her clever set-ups. They all sailed right past their ears. Did no one read anymore? She blamed her father. He had ruined her for other men. If only she could find one worthy sparring partner to alleviate her tedium, perhaps she would be more optimistic.
She was being called the diamond of the Season, a modern-day Helen. Very original. She had to bite her tongue when she heard such things. She hated the inferences, and the fact that her mother encouraged—no insisted—she act like beauty was her only asset. She was fortunate her tongue was still in one piece. She rarely argued with her mother, but she wanted her to repress her true identity! Who wanted a false match? But she had been able to convince Lady Foster to agree to only one Season if she complied. It was likely to kill her.
Unfortunately, being the pretty one was often a recipe for loneliness. The other debutantes looked upon her with envy and none had befriended her. Her family was respectable in birth and fortune, but did not hold a high enough place to demand civilit
y from her competition. She would gladly trade places with any of them.
She had taken to naming each of her beaux after a figure from antiquity to ease her boredom. Turnabout was fair play, so she returned the favour—if only to herself. It amused her more than it should. They probably had little notion what Helen of Troy represented, other than beauty. She had no idea what the fuss was all about, and the nickname could not have been more insulting to her. No one back at Amberley ever sang sonnets to her splendour, or wrote prose for her prettiness. In fact, looks were of little consideration amongst her family, and they would have laughed themselves silly could they see her now.
She looked at Lord Godwin as they met in the centre during the chassé of the quadrille. This one she had named Adonis, too pretty for his own good. She was not being judgmental, she told herself, only naming for first impressions. However, she would be delighted were Adonis to surprise her with some intelligent discourse.
Next, it was Sir Anthony’s-Hercules's-turn for a dance. Poor fellow—so named for his brawn—not that Hercules himself was only brawny. Sir Anthony was rather a sweet person, but intellectually his mind was only on his cattle—and how quickly he could race them.
As they danced, she considered her situation. She had come to London hopeful of finding her match—what girl did not—but those hopes faded quickly once she had met the pool of available men. She looked toward the heavens and said a prayer of thanks that she had other options and did not have to make a match this Season as many young ladies did. She would not settle and sacrifice her happiness.
She spied Nero across the ballroom, and the hairs on her neck stood at attention. She would prefer anyone to him. The Duke of Waverly fit the persona of Nero to a tee: young, powerful, excessive. He was incapable of understanding why he was detestable to her. He had made it his mission to conquer her but she refused to comply. She searched for somewhere to escape his notice. The closest hiding space was a screened alcove and she made a dash for it.
~*~
Geoffrey needed a reprieve. He could take no more. He ducked behind a screen that had been placed there to hide the dirty trays of glasses. Let the servants stare. Between his mother’s parading every single miss in front of him and being labelled the Elusive Earl, he was unable to find a moment of peace anywhere else. His mother had promised he only had to attend one ball and the remainder would be small gatherings. How else would he see the available misses, she’d reasoned? He’d had no response at the time, but right now he could think of hundreds of other preferable ways.
This Season was even worse than he remembered the last as being. There was a reason why he swore he would never return to another. The debutantes were younger and he felt old. Ancient. Perhaps he needed to look elsewhere, for someone more mature, a widow even. He scanned the ballroom, but only saw widows of the non-remarrying variety. There had to be someone that was more mature in this sea of Society.
He eyed the wall of don't-touchables with envy. He would give an eye tooth with pleasure to sit in anonymity amongst them, or to join the men in the card room, but his mother was standing gatekeeper to that pathway to freedom. To their right were the matrons, dowagers and chaperones. He considered trying the wall anyhow; occasionally a tolerable spinster might be found there who by chance had been overlooked due to lack of fortune or beauty. He had no need for either. In fact, he would prefer a more plain-looking wife if it meant she could carry on a conversation about someone other than herself. He had made that mistake last time, and he knew better now. If only he could look without his mother’s notice. Who was he fooling? She was in league with every single one of the old quizzes; he would be found out if he so much as glanced that direction.
On further consideration, maybe that wasn't the worst thing that could happen. He had danced every dance unwillingly. He would only agree to meet ladies in small gatherings henceforth. He could feign an injury and sit out the next few dances in the chairs along the wall...he turned to head that way when he ran into a debutante sneaking behind the screen. Blast! Had he been seen? He refused to be found and forced into a compromising position.
“Pardon me, miss, I was just leaving,” he said as he tried to move himself out of her way.
“Please do not tell anyone you saw me,” she said worriedly, almost out of breath. Her hushed voice was earnestly pleading. If she was trying to trick him, she was a superb actress. It was too dim behind the screen to tell what colour her eyes were or make out her features, but he thought she was handsome.
“Why would I give you away when I find myself doing the same thing?” Or to highlight that they were hiding behind a screen to the entire gathering?
She smiled with relief and relaxed, but kept glancing at the entrance.
“It's just difficult to...” She appeared to struggle to find a way to express her words and gestured with her hand.
“Breathe? To speak your mind? To have a meaningful conversation?” He finished her sentence, speaking freely in the dark.
“Precisely!” The young lady nodded her head in vehement agreement.
“I would prefer to remain in my comfortable chair in my library in the country, but my mother threatened to invade my sanctum with her choices, should I not come to town.”
She shuddered in sympathy. “Yes, it is my duty to marry well for my sisters’ sakes.” She echoed her mother’s words. “My face hurts from smiling and nodding. I've been forbidden from speaking about topics other than the weather, my family or the lovely garden.”
“Is this universally taught to debutantes?” he asked, not hiding his astonishment.
“I believe so.” She gave a slight shrug of a shoulder. “Though I am not entirely sure deeper topics would not be above their reach.”
“That explains much. I've had more conversation with you these five minutes than the whole of the evening.”
“Have we been hiding for five minutes already? I do not want to go back out there so soon, but I cannot stay here,” she said worriedly, looking about.
“Yes, servants talk. Who are you hiding from? I can look out for you,” he offered.
“Is it so obvious?” she said wide-eyed. He wished he could tell what colour those expressive eyes were.
“When you keep glancing around looking for someone, it is.”
“Nero,” she said under her breath.
“Pardon? I am not familiar with a Nero, save the narcissistic emperor.”
“Did I say that out loud?” She said in a mortified voice as her hands flew to her cheeks.
“Now you must confess. I am intrigued.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Why could he not be this relaxed with other debutantes?
“No,” she shook her head. “It is a horrid naming game I have concocted to stave off my boredom. My mother would disown me if she knew. I must go! Please don't tell anyone,” she pleaded.
“That you name your suitors for their antique counterparts?” He laughed amusedly. “Your secret is safe with me. Miss?”
She was gone before he could improperly ask her name.
Chapter 2
“There you are, dear.” Helena’s mother approached. “I have been looking everywhere for you. The Duke is making a fuss about dancing with you. You must get out there quickly. I also secured the supper dance for you with the Earl of Rutherford.”
“The Elusive Earl, Mama? Isn’t he an old widower with a child?” Not that she had anything against children, but he had to be old if he had a child.
“He is not more than thirty, Helena. And you know he is dearest Edie’s son. You have shown little interest in anyone else. I am running out of options.”
Helena stared at her mother, unmoved. Thirty sounded almost old, and she had forgotten the Earl was son to Lady Foster’s dearest friend, Edie.
“His mother is my oldest friend and I promised her the supper dance. He is reserved and does not enjoy meeting new prospects.”
They had that in common, at least.
“He is a dea
r boy.” She paused. “He studied classics at Oxford…” she taunted. Helena’s weakness. “And there is much to be said for a man with…experience.”
“Very well,” Helena said, resigned. “As long as you have no expectations and do not encourage them in his mother.” Perhaps he can carry on a conversation, she thought hopefully, as her mother led her to Nero. She looked longingly back toward the screened alcove, wishing she knew with whom she had been conversing so pleasantly with in the dark. Why had he been seeking refuge behind the screen? She had been so worried about avoiding Nero she hadn’t thought to ask.
“Rutherford is one gentleman I would not mind you speaking more openly with, to a point,” her mother continued as they walked.
“You mean it?” Helena was shocked.
“Evidently, he is also quite bookish and loathes the Marriage Mart. It is quite true that he has a child, but Lucy is still young and motherless.” Lady Foster emphasized the last word to pull at Helena’s conscience.
The thought of entering a marriage with a child was the last thing Helena wanted to be thrown into. Visions of wicked step-mothers danced before her. Could she love a child who was not hers? She loved children, but being the oldest of five meant she’d done a great deal of parenting already. She wanted a little time without responsibility. However, the thought of a real discussion and being herself appealed to her, so she decided to be agreeable. She did not have to marry him, anyway. She planted a smile—nay, a grimace—on her face as she came face to face with Nero.
Sweet Summer Kisses Page 35
