Blurb:
In an alternate universe, in the country of Angland, 1814, the
gentry live lives of culture and class. It is a time of courtships, marriages
of convenience, and titles, where scandal can ruin an entire family. Gender
lines are blurred, and making a good match is of utmost importance. Children
are born to men and women, which has led to the acceptance of same-sex
marriages.
Lady Lucien Timothy Hawthorne is shocked and angry when he is
betrothed against his will to Lord Heathcliff Eddington, III, the Duke of
Pompinshire. While drowning his frustration at a popular gentleman's club, he
meets "Robert," a gorgeous older man whom he sleeps with as
"Timmy" regardless of the potential damage to his reputation.
After their liaison, Lucien corresponds with Robert via letters
left at Remmington, and they decide to elope. Before they can get away, Lucien
meets his betrothed, Heathcliff, who he is surprised to discover is also his
beloved, Robert. Both men desire a marriage of the heart, but they find out that
sometimes a marriage of convenience can turn into love under the right
circumstances. But Lucien has a secret, and Tlondon isn't as safe as they once
thought.
Excerpt:
“Here we
are,” Rosemary announced, her voice louder than normal, with a false cheeriness
to it. Lucien’s eyebrows rose at his mother’s behavior, and he stopped her in
front of the closed doors, which once again let Lucien know something or
someone was behind those doors that his parents didn’t want him to know about
until they’d had a chance to explain it to him.
“Mother,
what is going on?” Lucien asked her.
Rosemary
looked at Lucien and shook her head. “Why, Luce, absolutely nothing. Why would
you ask me something like that?”
Lucien
was really concerned, as neither of his parents used his nickname. Ever. He
said nothing to her, just staring, unmoving.
Rosemary
removed her hand from Lucien’s elbow and raised it to the pearls hanging at her
neck to play with them a moment. Lucien was very aware of that gesture; it
meant Rosemary was nervous and trying to figure out just what to reveal. He
waited expectantly, confident she would let him know what was going on before
he had to face his maldy, but when Rosemary shook her head and squared her
shoulders, Lucien knew his ploy of silence wouldn’t work this time.
“All you
need to know, Lucien, is that everything we do, we do as your parents and
because we love you,” Rosemary told him. She raised a hand to his cheek and
stroked the skin gently, lovingly. “We were so happy when I gave birth to you
and discovered you were a girl. We had been surprised by the pregnancy, as the
doctors told me I was past my conceiving years, but you were a delightful
surprise. We always wanted a son, and we were finally given one.” She dropped
her hand from Lucien’s cheek and lifted it to her face to wipe away the tears
that had gathered in her eyes. “We do this because we care about you and only
want the best for you.”
Rosemary
turned back to the double doors of the red rose room and pushed on the handles
to open them. She grabbed the skirt of her morning gown in one hand and glided
into the room. Lucien stood in shock for only a moment before he followed her.
“Close
the doors, Son.” His maldy’s husky voice came from the direction of one of the
chairs next to the fireplace. Lucien nodded and, as he turned to close the
doors, saw the Duke and Duchess of Cumbria sitting on the loveseat across from
his maldy. He froze in shock for but a moment. Years of etiquette training
wouldn’t allow him to just stand in front of the door, but he had never seen
anyone in the red rose room who wasn’t family, and now here were two of the
most prestigious peers of the realm, not only in their home but in their
private family room. Lucien took a moment to compose himself. He smiled at both
of them and bowed slightly before turning back to close the doors. After he
released the handle, Lucien took a steadying breath and moved to face his
parents.
“Well,
have a seat, Lucien,” Annabelle directed him.
“Yes,
Maldy,” Lucien answered automatically. His maldy was a stern woman. Lucien
could only remember one instance where he had ever seen her be soft and loving,
though he wasn’t supposed to have. He had woken up in the middle of the night
when he was seven years old and had walked out of his room and down the family
wing toward his parents’ room. He knew he was too old to actually sleep in the
bed with them, but he had wanted comfort from a dreadful nightmare. Halfway
down the hall, he’d stopped, frozen in place as he saw his mothers pressed
together against the wall next to the bedchamber. They were dressed in evening
attire, Rosemary in a gorgeous dress of blue velvet, one hand holding a white
shawl, her black hair spilling down her back in a mass of curls. Annabelle was
pressed close to Rosemary’s body, her thick blond hair pulled back into a
harsh, unforgiving bun, her face pressed into the crook of Rosemary’s neck.
Annabelle wore a slim dark green evening gown, embroidered in onyx gems under
her small bust and around the hem. As Lucien continued to watch them, he saw
Rosemary lift her leg and circle it around Annabelle’s waist, while Annabelle
dropped a hand beneath Rosemary’s skirts. Lucien’s eyes had widened, and he’d
turned to leave, not in the least bit interested in watching his parents
copulate in the middle of the corridor. It was something he only knew about
because he’d overheard his sisters speak of it and because he’d sneaked into
the servants’ quarters many times and seen the same thing occurring among the
servants. Just as he started to turn away, he saw Annabelle lift the hand that
had been pressed against the wall on the side of Rosemary’s head and tenderly
stroke Rosemary’s cheek. She had leaned close and kissed Rosemary’s lips gently
before lifting Rosemary’s leg higher. It was Rosemary’s gasp and harsh groan of
Annabelle’s name that had spurred Lucien to turn and race down the hallway to
his room.
So while
one part of him was happy to know his maldy had a gentle side, the
self-preservation side of him tried not to remember how he knew that.
Lucien
settled himself on the edge of the chaise next to the loveseat where the duke
and duchess sat.
“I
believe you know the duke and duchess?” Annabelle said, smiling thinly up at
Rosemary, who stood and began pouring tea for all of them. Lucien crossed one
leg over the other, balanced his teacup and saucer on his knee, and sat
straight up—something else he’d learned how to do in his etiquette class—and
nodded.
“Yes,
Maldy. So nice to see you again, Your Graces,” Lucien said with a smile at two
of the highest-ranking members of society. The Duke of Cumbria was a
harsh-looking man. His skin had a healthy tan from spending a great deal of
time outside, no doubt riding his horse or hunting, like most titled members of
the gentry. It was a luxury Lucien wished he would have once he married, but
one he believed he would have to go without once that occasion happened upon
him.
The
duke’s black hair was brushed back from his face and pulled into a queue at the
back of his neck; gray had seeped into the dark strands and colored his
temples. His eyes were a mesmerizing shade of light gray, almost silver, his
chin pointed, a dimple resting in the middle of it.
He had
broad shoulders shrouded in a brown morning coat over a startling white dress
shirt with a white cravat and a black vest. He wore black breeches, which could
barely contain his large thighs, and black boots on his feet.
Next to
him, the Duchess of Cumbria wore a morning gown of yellow that caused her pale
skin to look sallow. Her red hair, cluttered with gray strands, was pulled back
in a bun, tendrils escaping to curl around her rounded face.
Lucien
admired the fact that the Duchess had not felt the need to buy a wig of blonde
or black hair that would make her much more fashionable. She no doubt felt she
didn’t have to, being a superior member of the gentry. Her bonnet rested on her
lap, and Lucien wondered if perhaps she had just removed it moments before he’d
entered. Where his mother Rosemary had foregone heels for slippers, the Duchess
wore a beautiful pair of white heeled shoes with lace and embroidery over the
front of them. Her eyes were a deep jade color, and she smiled brilliantly at
Lucien when his eyes fell on her.
“And it
is indeed a pleasure to see you again, young Lucien,” the Duchess, Jane, if
Lucien remembered her Christian name correctly, said, her voice light and
melodious.
“I am
sure you are wondering why you were summoned to the family home when we did not
have a scheduled meal,” Annabelle stated, and Lucien gave the Duchess a final
smile before turning his attention to his maldy.
“The
thought had crossed my mind, yes, Maldy,” Lucien admitted.
“Well, my
dear, we have taken it upon ourselves to make a decision about your life that I
am sure you will find not only agreeable but practically miraculous and
fortuitous,” Annabelle stated with a pointed look.
That look
Lucien knew quite well. Even if he didn’t find the decision “miraculous” or “fortuitous,”
he was being ordered to pretend he did in front of the duke and duchess.
“Thank
you, Maldy. I am sure that I will,” Lucien agreed. He wondered if he had been
offered to be a companion to the Duchess. While it wasn’t at all a notion he
would have chosen for himself, it was inherently better than what he thought
he’d been summoned to the estate for.
“Your
mother and I have decided to accept the suit offered by the Duke and Duchess of
Cumbria,” Annabelle told him before calmly lifting her teacup to her lips and
taking a sip.
“Suit?”
Lucien questioned, looking back and forth between the two couples.
“Yes. You
are to wed Heathcliff Eddington III, His Grace, the Duke of Pompinshire,
Marquess of Manchester, Earl of Southerby, Viscount of Berkinstock, Baron of
Hempstead, heir to the Dukedom of Cumbria, in six months’ time.”
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