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Flowers for His Lady

Simply Romance Posted on June 19, 2023 by Alina K. FieldJuly 6, 2023
Book Cover: Flowers for His Lady
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Shamed into spinsterhood by a fall from grace years earlier, Eleanor Gurnwood has found a home for herself in the tiny village of Upper Upton, and a quirky, sometimes annoying family in the villagers she’s been serving as her vicar-brother’s minion. Now, with his rising career, she’s faced with a choice: succumb to his pressure to keep house for him elsewhere or stay on in genteel poverty with her new “family”.

For now, she has only one goal in sight: to make this year’s Christmas service beautiful for the parishioners of St. Tancred’s—until the Christmas eve when a man from her past rides in on a white horse.

Major Sir Bramwell Huxley, late of his Majesty’s 95th Foot, has ventured on one last mission, a quest for a Christmas miracle: finding the lady he abandoned before leaving for Waterloo. With the help of the villagers of Upper Upton and a bit of Christmas magic, can Bramwell convince Eleanor to take a chance on love again?

Flowers for his Lady is a heartwarming tale of redemption, forgiveness, and the power of love to heal even the deepest wounds.

Previously published in Belles & Beaus, A Bluestocking Belles Collection.

Buy Links coming soon!

Genres:
Historical Fiction, Holiday Romance, Regency Romance

Tags:
Christmas Romance, Historical Romance, Second Chance Romance, Sweet Regency Romance

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About Alina K. Field

Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

View all posts by Alina K. Field

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Under the Harvest Moon

Simply Romance Posted on June 19, 2023 by Alina K. FieldJune 19, 2023
Book Cover: Under the Harvest Moon
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Editions:ePub: $ 0.99Kindle: $ 0.99
As the village of Reabridge in Cheshire prepares for the first Harvest Festival following Waterloo, families are overjoyed to welcome back their loved ones from the war.
But excitement quickly turns to mystery when mere weeks before the festival, an orphaned child turns up in the town—a toddler born near Toulouse to an English mother who left clues that tie her to Reabridge.
With two prominent families feuding for generations and the central event of the Harvest Moon festival looming, tensions rise, and secrets begin to surface.
Nine award winning and bestselling authors have combined their talents to create this engaging and enchanting collection of interrelated tales. Under the Harvest Moon promises an unforgettable read for fans of Regency romance.
Under the Harvest Moon includes Under the Champagne Moon, by Alina K. Field:

Orphaned as a child by the French Revolution, Fleur Hardouin’s road has not been easy. Homeless again, she seeks an advantageous marriage as a matter of security. But when she crosses paths with a handsome young captain who, years ago, came to her rescue, she must choose between her heart’s desire and practicality.

Saved from French troops by a French vintner, Gareth Ardleigh promised to find his rescuer’s granddaughter, Fleur, for a marriage that will unite two branches of the family business. But when he finds her, he must choose between honoring a promise or pursuing the woman he loves.

Pre-order today for 99 cents--Release Day is October 10, 2023

Available on: October 10, 2023
Editors:
Jude Knight

Cover Artists:
Mandy Koehler

Genres:
Historical Fiction, Holiday Romance, Regency Romance

Tags:
Bluestocking Belles Collections, Historical Romance, Regency Romance

Excerpt:

Excerpt from UNDER THE CHAMPAGNE MOON, by Alina K. Field

Gareth dipped his head her way and sniffed. “Mmm. Lilac?”

Her eyes turned a steely gray, and the slight wash of color creeping up her pale neck cheered him beyond reason. Fleur was a flower, but not a fragile one, and not one to blush easily at an importuning man’s flattery.

Or… he suspected that the cynical young girl had not grown into that sort of woman. What did he really know of her in the years since he’d last seen her?

She was still a Miss Hardouin, so she hadn’t married.

“Come along.” True to form, she quick-marched out of the library with him tagging along attached to her arm.

“Who is this Lady Dulcinea Ixworth?” he asked.

She sent him a side-wise condescending look, the sort you’d bestow on a child who’d asked a stupid question.

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Another grin tugged at his lips, and he swallowed a laugh. He’d always enjoyed young Fleur’s silent testiness, but in Fleur the woman? The challenge was as intoxicating as champagne.

A new thought nagged: would Etienne Marceau appreciate her?

“She’s a distant cousin to the Bicton-Morledges.” Fleur’s frosty tone pull him out of his reverie. “I’ve been serving as her hired companion.”

“Does she live at Bicton Grange?”

“No. Well, that is, we only just arrived from Staffordshire.”

“Staffordshire.”

“Yes.”

“How did you come to…” He thought of the sulking little girl Fleur used to be and outrage filled him. “Do you mean that Bicton-Morledge sent you away?”

COLLAPSE
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About Alina K. Field

Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

View all posts by Alina K. Field

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A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper

Simply Romance Posted on June 19, 2023 by Alina K. FieldJuly 6, 2023
Book Cover: A Wallflower's Midsummer Night's Caper
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Editions:Kindle: $ 2.99

A Midsummer Night’s masquerade at her family’s country home presents the Honorable Nancy Lovelace with the perfect opportunity for revenge against the man who ruined her first London season—a man she’s known since childhood, a man she’d once thought she loved.

Simon Crayding’s newly inherited properties are in disarray, and, thanks to his bad behavior, he’s no longer known to society as Captain Crayding but as the Swilling Duke. When an old school chum invites him for a Midsummer Night’s party, he jumps at the chance to lick his wounds among friends… as well as apologize to his friend’s sister, Nancy, because apparently, he’s done something to hurt her, he just doesn’t remember what.

It soon becomes clear that Nancy will not easily forgive. Never one to resist a challenge—or a beautiful woman—Simon vows to find out why. As the night unfolds and passions rise, will Simon be well and truly punished, or will Nancy be caught in her own game?

AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER- excerpt to follow soon!

A Wallflower's Midsummer Night's Caper is Book 15 in a 52 book, multi-author collection!

 

Available on: June 11, 2024
Publisher: Havenlock Press
Cover Artists:
Mandy Koehler

Genres:
Historical Fiction, Regency Romance

Tags:
A Midsummer Night's Dream, Historical Romance

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About Alina K. Field

Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

View all posts by Alina K. Field

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Under the Harvest Moon →

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A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper →

LADY TWISDEN’S PICTURE PERFECT MATCH

Simply Romance Posted on January 29, 2023 by Alina K. FieldJanuary 29, 2023
Book Cover: LADY TWISDEN'S PICTURE PERFECT MATCH
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Editions:ePub: $ 0.99Kindle: $ 0.99

After years of tolerating her late husband’s rowdy friends, Honoria, Lady Twisden, has escaped to York where she can paint, investigate antiquities, and enjoy her freedom. Then her stepson appears with a long-lost cousin in tow, the perfect image of an ancestor whose fierce portrait made her shiver with mad imaginings.

Promised York’s marriage mart and the hospitality of his cousin’s doddering stepmother, Major August Kellborn is shocked to find that his fetching hostess is the one woman who stirs his heart. To win her heart and hand, however, he must convince her he’s not just a perfect image of his ancestor, but her perfect match.

Previously published in the Desperate Daughters Bluestocking Belles Collection

Published: January 17, 2023
Publisher: Havenlock Press
Excerpt:

As she crossed the battered black and white tiles of the hall, the knocker resounded.

Her blood spiked with a mix of apprehension and anticipation, and just a tad of annoyance. She had callers. Her painting must wait—and thank heavens they’d made the house presentable.

Meg was upstairs dusting. Mrs. Dunscombe was below stairs. Honoria smoothed her hair, ran her hands down the sides of her old day gown, and heaved the heavy door open.

“Mother?”

Wes was here, on her doorstep. Unexpected.

“Good heavens.” She mustered a welcoming tone. “What a surprise.”

“A pleasant one, I hope.” A grin split his handsome face.

He had his father’s blue eyes and dark blond hair, and none of his corpulence. She shoved the uncharitable thought aside and extended her hands.

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He reached her first and lifted her, planting a kiss on her forehead, with all the exuberance of the six-year-old she’d taken into her heart.

Laughing, she told him to put her down.

“Why ever are you answering your own door?”

Here comes the scold. Having reached his majority and taken over the responsibility of the estate, the dear lad had begun trying to manage her. That was but one of the reasons she’d left Twisden Manor.

“Where is the footman? We need him to fetch in our trunks.”

We?

Looking past the broad shoulder she saw another figure approaching and…

Good God. Heat swamped her and flamed in her cheeks. Dark eyes shot darts at her over a grimly set, thin-lipped mouth. The palpable sternness of Wes’s companion sent a shiver of awareness through her. It was a familiar shiver, one she’d indulged during her tedious days at Twisden Manor when she’d found herself fighting off mad imaginings.

Wes’s laughter shook her tongue loose. “My goodness, sir,” she said. “You bear an uncanny resemblance to—”

“Old Ebenezer Twisden,” Wes said. “Yes, it is as if the old Warden has come back to life, Mother. As soon as I laid eyes on him in Brampton, I knew he must be a relation. And do you know who he is, Mother?” He laughed again. “I’ve written to Granny to tell her. She’ll be in alt when she reads the news.”

A man of perhaps forty, he was about the same age as Wes’s ancestor, the Warden in the painting at Twisden Hall who’d been in the King’s service for many years when that portrait was done. This new incarnation of Ebenezer wasn’t a particularly tall man, not as tall as Wes, but he still towered over her.

Old Ebenezer cleared his throat.

“But of course,” Wes said. “Where are my manners? Mother, may I present my cousin, Major Augustus Kellborn. Gus, this is my dear stepmother, Lady Twisden.”

While she curtsied, managing not to wobble, he dipped his head, never taking his gaze away.

Good holy heavens.

“We had a good meal at the last inn stop,” Wes said, “but a cup of tea and a few biscuits wouldn’t go amiss while the servants ready our rooms.”

“Your rooms.” She blinked. Wes expected her to take in him and this handsome cousin who made her skin tingle but... There is no way. This was her home. It was true that Wes had stepped in and helped her with the estate agent when he fussed about leasing the house to a widow living alone, but she’d made it clear to Wes that she paid the rent. He knew, too, that she wanted…needed some time away. She’d explained all that when she concocted this plan to spend the season in York.

Sighing, she led them into the drawing room. “I fear I have no spirits to offer you, but I can bring up some of my elderberry wine, or if you have a flask, you must feel free to imbibe. Make yourself comfortable and I shall return directly.”

Fleeing the parlor, she paused on the backstairs, pressing a hand to her pounding heart. Augustus Kellborn was the stuff of every naughty dream she’d entertained about Ebenezer Twisden. Attired in his flowing dark wig, long coat, breeches and high boots, Ebenezer Twisden had pinned his gaze on her through countless dinners with Sir Melton and his endless stream of tiresome, rowdy guests. Long ago, Ebenezer had served one of the Border Wardens, rounding up rievers and imposing the Crown’s law. Family legend said he was a fierce and brutal warrior. One could see it in his eyes.

She had, at first, been intimidated by Ebenezer’s image, and then intrigued, and then she’d begun imagining the virile fighter stepping out of the painting and shoving his sword into Jeremiah Ripton’s belly. Repeatedly.

One could see a similar strength of will in Major Kellborn, and she knew of his heroism from tales told by her mother-in-law.

What a ninny she’d been, and what a ninny she was being now. She’d give the men tea and the names of the best inns in York. Cousin to her late husband though he may be, Major Ebenezer could not give her household of women countenance, and she’d rather he took his skin-tingling, heart-hammering, cheek-heating virile male presence elsewhere. It would be harder to turn Wes away, but she must at least try.

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About Alina K. Field

Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

View all posts by Alina K. Field

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A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper →

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THE NABOB’S DESIGNING DAUGHTER

Simply Romance Posted on December 12, 2022 by Alina K. FieldJanuary 12, 2023
Book Cover: THE NABOB'S DESIGNING DAUGHTER
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Editions:Kindle: $ 2.99

A wealthy nabob’s daughter has designs on a handsome young doctor, but not the romantic sort, despite the one kiss he stole from her ages ago. The poor crofters she’s been tending behind her father’s back need more than a rich miss’s potions, they need a real doctor. And fortunately, she has the leverage to provide one.

Ripped from his prestigious London practice to deliver a Highland duke’s heir, a young doctor finds there are more snares awaiting than a risky birth, including a surprise—and worthless—bequest. There’s also his best friend’s cousin, who’s blossomed from mousey to heart-stirringly beautiful, with enough wiles to convince an ambitious man that his heart belongs in the Highlands.

Published: December 20, 2022
Publisher: Havenlock Press
Excerpt:

The weather the next morning had been as weepy as the mourners inside the respectable townhouse that was the home of the late Horace Beecham.

The funeral reception had ended; friends and business associates had left the widow and her large brood to their private grief. They’d all departed, except for himself, Errol Robillard, but then he was more than a friend or business associate. At Beecham’s behest and expense, Errol had attended a day school with the man’s two eldest boys, William and Peter, and, when not studying or laboring at his father’s inn, he’d worked hard at Beecham’s textile warehouse.

William Beecham was his best friend. Whether he was a good enough friend to continue paying Errol’s schooling was a question he hadn’t yet raised, and his university fees were due.

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He needed to speak to William, later, when Mrs. Beecham and the rest of the family had retired. But first, a breath of air, damp though it might be, was in order, before he made his vulgar but necessary inquiry.

In the garden, the herb-scented air filled his lungs but didn’t clear his head or comfort his heart. Beecham’s death followed too closely on his own father’s passing two years earlier. In fact, he still grieved his mother’s passing several years before that.

A rain-slicked flagstone path snaked through well-tended beds of herbs, vegetables, and flowers to the shed at the back, partially concealed by an overgrown elm tree. He moved toward a sheltered bench on the small patch of grass, passing the raised beds filled with vegetables and the medicinal plants the Beechams’ eccentric cousin, Ann Strachney, raised for her concoctions of tisanes and teas.

A plop of water landed upon his nose, and the heavens suddenly reopened with gusto. Before he could retreat inside a sudden cry from the vicinity of a tall elm had him rushing there.

A ladder teetered, a half-booted foot searching for purchase under a black skirt.

“Stay still.” He reached, but the ladder teetered again, and an armful of skirts plopped onto him, knocking him flat on his back, almost knocking the wind from him.

A grubby hand pushed back a wet tangle of light brown hair. Ann Strachney’s eyes widened, her already pink cheeks darkened, and her lips—just as pink, surprisingly lush—formed a perfect O.

Gad, she was lovely. An oval face, porcelain skin, and eyes the color of a stormy sea. How had he not noticed? Another lock of hair fell, she wriggled, and his male parts stirred. He clamped a hand on her to get her to stop.

“Oh,” she said, getting the word out. “I’m so sorry. I was…” She waved a hand. “The tree branch. The green house…”

He lifted his head and stopped her chatter, his lips soft against her own.

The wind gusted and glass exploded. He yanked her head down and cradled it in his hand and inhaled the scents of flowers and springtime, honey and bees. The hot breaths on his neck, the press of her breasts against his chest roused him more.

She mumbled, tickling him.

“What did you say?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

***

A battle raged within Ann Strachney, or a strange, unfamiliar mêlée of nerves and blood, tingles and shivers, and a hot pooling of… what was this? She was stretched atop a muscled chest, her nose buried against hot flesh that smelled of starch and shaving soap, and a large weight pressed against her back. A tree branch or… oh. It was a hand and it had started to move, and she didn’t want it to stop. Steam ought to be rising from her wet hair and gown. She ought to be melting.

Errol was holding her. Errol Robillard, the handsome, teasing boy who’d grown into a braw charming man. He was stroking her back. And a minute before he’d looked into her eyes and… what she saw there she didn’t recognize.

But she liked how it felt. She didn’t want it to stop.

“Are you injured?” he asked, sounding more himself.

Was she? How could she possibly tell when she was lying atop a gentleman…

“No,” she said, pushing herself up on her forearms. Errol grinned up at her, eyelids drooping wolfishly over eyes that had gone impossibly black. He’d lost his hat, and his tawny curls stuck out like the start of a lion’s mane.

Heat flooded her cheeks yet again. He was, as usual, impossibly handsome, but this was something more.

“I beg your pardon. But thank you for… for breaking my fall. Are you injured?”

He raised up on his elbows. “How could I be injured by you falling on me, Mouse?”

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About Alina K. Field

Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

View all posts by Alina K. Field

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LADY TWISDEN’S PICTURE PERFECT MATCH →

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The Impetuous Heiress

Simply Romance Posted on July 10, 2022 by Alina K. FieldJuly 10, 2022
Book Cover: The Impetuous Heiress
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Editions:Paperback: $ 5.99Kindle: $ 3.99ePub: $ 3.99

When dashing Fitzhenry Lovelace escorted sensible Mary Elizabeth Parker to a once in a lifetime meeting with her estranged grandfather, an unexpected romance bloomed that had nothing to do with her grandfather’s immense wealth. Throwing caution to the wind, sensible Miss Parker said a wholehearted yes to Fitz. But before they could finalize their nuptials, a family emergency called Fitz away. Then he stopped answering her letters.

Months pass and the Yuletide arrives, and Miss Parker faces the fact that her impetuosity has led to a Dilemma. Then word arrives that her ruthless mother and stepfather, suspecting a possible inheritance, are descending upon her with a horrid replacement for Fitz in tow. Miss Parker bolts, but her meddling cousin plans an unexpected stop on the journey.

Having made a hash of his finances and neglected the lady he still loves, Fitz, now Lord Loughton, realizes he must make amends with the woman he still loves. But before he can act, Miss Parker arrives on his doorstep. He soon senses more is amiss with her than just his careless courtship. Can he uncover her secrets and win her back before he loses her altogether?

Previously published in the Christmas Kisses Holiday Regency Romance Anthology

Publisher: Havenlock Press
Excerpt:

“No, no, no, Mary Elizabeth.” Gregory Sawley’s cane hit the floor with each no, though the thick Turkey carpet rather muffled the dramatic effect. “It is not enough for you to have a knowledge about markets, compounding interest, and commodity futures, and a dependable stock jobber. The key is to have access to reliable information. The key is for you to make a proper marriage.”

Heavens.

“Marriage, sir?” Mary Elizabeth Parker—Mel to her late father and her cousin, Hermione—took in a quelling breath. “And hand over my inheritance to a nodcock of a husband who’ll dismiss all my ideas?”

She pressed her lips closed on an even sharper retort. If she wanted to be nagged and prodded about matrimony, she might have remained at Lady Clitheroe’s house party for today’s activity, a picnic, with her much older widowed cousin, Lady Hermione Gravelston and the other guests.

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Hermione had wangled their invitations to the Michaelmas marriage mart Lady Clitheroe was hosting, convinced that at five-and-twenty, there was still hope for Mel. For her part, she’d been glad to attend, but not for the purpose of meeting marriageable men. She’d escaped this day for the once in a lifetime chance to visit one of Lady Clitheroe’s not-too-distant neighbors, one of England’s most successful bankers, Gregory Sawley. Her grandfather.

After the solicitor managing her money bungled an investment, she’d decided that if her grandfather could rise from humble beginnings to become as rich as Croesus, she ought to be able to manage her own small inheritance herself. She had a plan, and it didn’t include matrimony, a risky endeavor even in the most optimistic of circumstances. After months of exchanging letters with her grandfather, she’d jumped at the chance to meet him and be tutored in person.

And he’d been altogether welcoming this day. He’d answered all her questions, and provided a very good luncheon, and then, having more to say, he’d escorted them to his expansive library. Two fireplaces, one at each end, warmed the room against the autumn chill. Above the nearby mantel, the late Mrs. Sawley, Mel’s grandmother, gazed lovingly at the golden-haired babe on her lap, the child who would grow up to be Mel’s headstrong mother. Amazingly, the artist had caught the willfulness in the wide blue eyes and bowed lips of his younger subject.

Outside, the day was advancing, heavy clouds obscuring the late afternoon sun. If they didn’t leave soon, they might have to stay the night.

Was that why her grandfather had required this parting lecture? Did he want her to stay? Pain lurked in his eyes, and his gray pallor and gaunt frame belied the strong voice, putting her in mind of her father’s last illness. She might never see him again, and though their acquaintance was short, she’d miss him, as she still grieved for her father, dead these two years.

“I said a proper marriage, one with proper contracts and settlements, to a man in the Commons, or a lord would do. Your stepfather likely has contacts, but you will not want to be under his thumb, I think.”

A shiver went through her. Upon Papa’s death, she’d dodged that thumb, and Mother’s broad hints at a betrothal to her stepfather’s nephew. She’d fled to Hermione in Hampshire while her mother returned to her husband-to-be in Kent. And the man her mother married would be no help at all to her financial plans. He was far too indolent to take up his seat in the Lords. He’d be nothing but her mother’s tool, and an utter hindrance.

“Aren’t such men often rather pompous and foolish, sir?”

Across the room, a throat cleared loudly.

Grandfather’s lips quirked and he tipped his head toward the interruption. “What about him?”

The him in question was seated on the far end of Grandfather’s spacious library, and apparently had perfect hearing.

Oh, he met Grandfather’s requirements in some ways. He had a seat in the Commons, and someday he would inherit and move on to the Lords. He was also unmarried, his wife having died in childbirth the previous year.

And breathtakingly handsome with rumpled golden hair, soulful blue eyes, and a wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped, long-limbed form that had at first sight sent her blood pounding. Fortunately, she’d had many years following the drum with Papa, and had seen enough well-formed men to master her baser urges.

She shook her head. “It is not that way between us, sir. In truth, I’m rescuing him today from marriage-minded mamas and their daughters.”

“What way must it be? You are a female. Your financial plans require social connections, ones that in your case can only be achieved by marriage. If you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Lovelace.”

Grandfather pointed the tip of his cane at the overstuffed wing chair placed near the opposite fireplace. Mr. Fitzhenry Lovelace, eldest son and heir of Baron Loughton, had retreated there and waited at his ease, allowing them a modicum of privacy whilst imbibing every word.

Mr. Lovelace wasn’t likely to agree with Grandfather on this subject, having that morning accosted her in Lady Clitheroe’s stables, begging the honor of conveying her here in order to escape two doe-eyed misses vying to be the first to be compromised by him.

Mel squeezed her hands together to prevent them from rubbing at the ache between her eyes. After forcing his presence upon her today, Lovelace might as well come and defend her desire to remain unmarried. “What say you, Mr. Lovelace?” she called.

He put aside his book and stood.

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About Alina K. Field

Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

View all posts by Alina K. Field

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THE NABOB’S DESIGNING DAUGHTER →

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The Comtesse of Midnight

Simply Romance Posted on January 27, 2022 by Alina K. FieldJanuary 27, 2022
Book Cover: The Comtesse of Midnight
Editions:Kindle

A Scottish Earl on a quest for the elusive Comtesse de Fontenay, rescues a French lady smuggler from the surf during a devastating storm and takes shelter with her. As the stormy night drags on, he suspects his companion knows the lady he’s seeking, the lady who holds the secret to his identity. When she admits she’s in fact the Comtesse Fontenay, just not the particular one he was seeking, she dashes all his hopes—and promises him new ones.

A Sequel to Fated Hearts

Published: February 15, 2022
Publisher: Havenlock Press
Excerpt:

The Scotsman, however, was dead on his feet. She could almost feel sorry for him. He was far from home, and had been traveling for several days. His neckcloth was limp, his cuffs soiled, his coat wrinkled. His boots, well and carefully crafted, if not by Hoby then by some equally fashionable bootmaker in Edinburgh, had not been properly polished in the last few days.

He’d shaved though, probably very early that morning, because a delicious dark stubble had sprouted along his strong jaws.

Did he have a razor in his interesting valise? She wouldn’t molest him, unless he thought to do the same to her. If it came to that, and she prayed that it wouldn’t, she would use her own blade and not some unfamiliar shaving instrument.

“Is this one of your imports?” he asked, swirling the amber liquid. “It’s very good.”

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His words stirred her out of her imaginings about handsome young men, and she realized she must manage the conversation else she’d slip into sleep, or perhaps something more inconvenient, without thinking.

The Comte had always succumbed to sleep when they’d conversed, no matter the topic. She must soothe this fine-looking and very fatigued man the same way.

Outside, the thunderstorm had moved on, and the rain pounded in a comforting downpour. With the warm fire, and the heavy blankets, and the sleeping dog, it was quite cozy.

But what to talk about? Most certainly not the free trade. It would be far too diverting to put him to sleep, and besides she had no idea what he would do with the knowledge.

The countryside? She might slip and drop a hint about her home at Bloodmoor Hill.

She thought back to her time on the fringes of a London society that she’d found unbearably dull.

The weather.

“I am glad you are enjoying the brandy,” she said. “But I daresay you are not liking this weather. It is quite the worst storm in many seasons, people are saying. Normally at this time of year the sea has quietened.” A lie, of course, but how would he know?

He sipped his drink, eyeing her over the glass.

Oh. Given that it might remind him of her activities that evening and spark questions, the sea was an inappropriate topic, whether or not one was fudging a weather report. “Winters, however are generally mild.”

He yawned, and she went on, discussing the number of rainstorms in March and going back to February, and then January, and making up the story as she went along, until his eyes drooped and the empty glass fell into his lap and lodged itself next to his fall.

Warmth uncurled in her. His trousers were tight in the usual fashion for gentlemen, outlining masculine endowments that sparked her interest far too much. Retrieving the fallen tumbler was out of the question.

She set down her own glass and fought the urge to join him in slumber.

 

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Claims of the Heart

Simply Romance Posted on December 27, 2021 by Alina K. FieldApril 19, 2022
Book Cover: Claims of the Heart

Since a perilous fall, Lucie Macbeth has been seeing more than a settled future as the heiress to a Scottish barony. The visions plaguing her include a man—one far above her class and breeding, and English to boot. Also, engaged to a duke’s granddaughter, and thus wholly inappropriate. Though she can’t marry him and she won’t become any man’s leman, when the Sight presents threats of danger to him, her conscience, and her heart tell her she can’t walk away.

Since his return from Waterloo, Major Lord Rudgwick has been rusticating in the country teaching himself how to live as a man with only one hand and pondering how to end the engagement he contracted before his world turned upside down. But then a letter arrives from an old army comrade, requesting he aid his daughter, Lucie Macbeth, the woman he met one year earlier, the woman whose claims on his heart he can’t deny.

Excerpt:

April 1816

Near Hunstanton, Norfolk

 

“Two letters arrived for you, my lord.”

Tristan Hamilton Howton, Earl of Rudgwick, Major in His Majesty’s Horse Guards and a decorated veteran of the Peninsular campaign and Waterloo, extended his arms for Darby to pry the wet coat from his shoulders and ease it over the lump of wood at the end of his right arm.

The valet’s disapproving clucks both amused and annoyed him. Mother had tracked down his late father’s valet and hired him away from the rich cit he’d been serving. Upon Rudgwick’s return from Flanders, Darby had been waiting at Rudgwick Abbey, the ancestral pile in Cambridgeshire, happy to be back serving nobility, yet missing his favored Savile Row haunts.

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In Darby’s view, Rudgwick Abbey was paradise compared to their present abode, Thornview Farm. With four rooms below, four bedchambers above, and a few small attic rooms for the housekeeper, cook, and two maids, Darby had been sleeping on a cot in the dressing room. His friend, Lord Jeremy Bolton, who had inherited the estate late the previous year from an aunt, was in alt, declaring himself perfectly happy with the cozy cottage and the small income that came with it. And it wasn’t entirely a bachelor establishment; Jeremy, too kind and dutiful to ever be a true rake, had offered shelter to another female relative, an elderly cousin and her even older companion.

He stepped into clean trousers and held up his arms for Darby’s assistance, annoyance niggling at him. He needed a man to tend to his boots, keep his clothing in order, and button his left cuff. Otherwise, he preferred dressing himself, even, or especially, during his time in the army.

“I fear I won’t get the salt stains out of those—”

“Yes, yes,” Rudgwick said. “A fair day for sailing it was, though, Darby. Are you not glad we’re back from touring all the byways of Norfolk?” He’d left Darby behind while he and Jeremy rode hither and yon for the last few weeks, making do with help from inn servants. “Had we supplies on board today we would have made for Inverness.”

Jeremy’s new home had come with a yacht, a smallish one, in truth, too small for a comfortable journey to Scotland. An old school friend and former naval man, Jeffrey Musbury, had traveled up from his cottage on the River Ware to assess the craft, pronouncing it sound for short days of sailing, and inviting them to join him in summer on the two-master he’d been refurbishing.

Darby made a grumbling noise in his throat and fetched the letters. “A brandy, my lord?”

“Yes.” He sighed. There’d be another nagging missive from his fiancée’s grandfather, and a lamenting one from his steward.

Darby set a full glass before him. “Shall I break the seals for you, my lord?”

“Why not read them as well,” he snapped.

Darby blinked in that way that mother did before she straightened her shoulders and walked away from his churlishness. The valet was of an age with Mother, and, like high-born ladies, he’d learned patience and forbearance in the face of surly noblemen.

“Apologies, Darby.” It wasn’t Darby’s or Mother’s fault that a French mortar had blown off his hand at Waterloo. “That was uncalled for. Thank you. I shall manage.”

Darby dipped his head and left, carrying off the wet and soiled garments.

Rudgwick took a healthy swig of the drink. They’d found cases of spirits in the manor’s storeroom, good French brandy, and gin from the Lowlands. It seemed that the free trade reached even the west coast of Norfolk. As pillars of society, he and Jeremy would be expected to support the increased efforts against smuggling, but they had no qualms about availing themselves of Jeremy’s late aunt’s stores.

He closed his eyes and let the drink ease the phantom throb in the hand that was no longer there. Then he shuffled the letters one-handed.

One fat missive and one thin. Both had been sent to London, where he was supposed to be in residence, and forwarded on. He broke the seal on the thin one and read.

Sir Thomas Abernathy, a baronet attached to the Home Office, inquired about his health, and asked about his availability to assist with a matter of interest to the Crown. A reply at his earliest convenience would be appreciated.

His interest was piqued, but he couldn’t help wondering if Mother knew Sir Thomas and if she had put him up to it to orchestrate his return to town.

The second, heftier letter was addressed in a man’s scrawl and sent post-paid from Edinburgh.

He hastened to break the seal and flipped to the signature, laughing out loud when he saw who had signed it.

Colonel Finnley Macbeth, Baron of Calder, had written him. His wife, Greer Macbeth, corresponded with Mother, but the Colonel had never done more than send greetings via those letters.

That called for another dram of brandy.

And then he began to read. A lengthy passage reviewed the Colonel’s recovery (he was mending apace), reported on his cousin, Lord Menteith (still in France), and discussed the plans for the two boys Macbeth had taken charge of, his late cousin Banquo’s sons. That had all been a prelude for an important request.

Your lady mother informs me that you should be in London by now, and so if it would not be an inconvenience to you, I would be much obliged to ask a boon from you. There’s a solicitor by the name of Stephenson in the City who has knowledge of Banquo’s business matters. He’s failed to reply to several letters, and I can only assume he’s ignoring them. I’ve asked Lucie to pay a call on the man. Lady Fiona has offered help from her man of business, and I’ve sent Hyde along to London with Lucie.

Lucie. The name all but leapt from the page. Lucie was in London.

However, of late I’ve had misgivings and worries that, given Banquo’s criminal nature, this Stephenson may be a shifty character. Lucie being Lucie, she’s likely to find the danger an enticement and plunge ahead. Plus, I know that a title can often open doors that would otherwise remain closed.  If you could see your way to offer her assistance, if your new bride has no objections, I would be most grateful.

He read through the letter again and then pulled the bell. As he returned to his seat the door opened.

“That was quick.” He turned and saw that it was not a servant, but his host.

Jeremy was a younger and handsomer version of his brother, the Duke of Northam. A handsomer version of Rudgwick as well, with the same height, dark hair, and gray eyes, though they were completely unrelated.

“At your service, my lord,” he joked. “The servants are busily preparing for dinner.”

“Will you pack my trunk, then?” Rudgwick teased. “Ah, there is Darby, poking his head in behind you. Darby, we are leaving for London in the morning.”

“We are?” Jeremy said.

“You may come as well if you wish. I’ve been summoned to go to the aid of the Crown.” And Lucie Macbeth.

COLLAPSE
Reviews:N.N. Light on N.N. Light's Book Heaven wrote:

Claims of the Heart is a sweeping historical romance that'll take your breath away. From the very first page, I was hooked. I couldn't stop reading it until the very end. Alina K. Field is a research genius, and it's one of the reasons why she's one of my one-click authors. With Claims of the Heart, she took a historical time period with a familiar literary family and added a paranormal twist I thoroughly enjoyed. I particularly relished the added dimension of an injured hero and how he overcomes it. The plot moves at a terrific pace with plenty of suspense, romance, and intriguing plot twists to keep the reader invested. The characters, though, are what drive the plot. There's a full cast of characters and they left a lasting impression on me, especially Lucie. If you're a Regency reader, you'll love Claims of the Heart. If you're a fan of historical paranormal romance, you'll want to read this brilliant story. If you're a historical romance reader, you'll be swept away by Claims of the Heart. Highly recommend!


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Desperate Daughters

Simply Romance Posted on December 13, 2021 by Alina K. FieldMarch 9, 2022

A Bluestocking Belles With Friends Collection

Book Cover: Desperate Daughters
Available on
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Includes Lady Twisden's Picture Perfect Match, by Alina K. Field

Pre-order today for the May 17, 2022 release!

Love Against the Odds

The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage.

The young dowager Countess’s one regret is that she cannot give Seahaven's dear girls a chance at happiness.

When a cousin offers the use of her townhouse in York during the season, the Countess rallies her stepdaughters.

They will pool their resources so that the youngest marriageable daughters might make successful matches, thereby saving them all.

So start their adventures in York, amid a whirl of balls, lectures, and al fresco picnics. Is it possible each of them might find love by the time the York horse races bring the season to a close?

Lady Dorothea’s Curate: by Caroline Warfield

Employed at a hotel, Lady Dorothea Bigglesworth had no use for a title. It would only invite scorn, or, worse, pity. Plain Miss Doro Bigglesworth suited her fine. Ben Clarke dedicated his life to helping the neediest. It gave his life meaning. He tended to forget the younger son of a viscount went by “Honorable.” Neither saw the need to mention it to the other, until they were formally introduced— in a ballroom in York. Shocked.

Concerto: By Mary Lancaster

At the age of 27, Lady Barbara has long accepted her position on the shelf. She is thrilled to put aside her music-teaching in order to help her beautiful young sisters find eligible husbands. But then, a chance encounter with an unconventional and mysterious young piano tuner has her heart in a spin. Can she trust him? And can she save him from the lethal threat hanging over them both?

The Butler and the Bluestocking: By Rue Allyn

On arriving in York to visit his godmother, the honorable Malcolm K. Marr did not expect to find her house locked and empty. Nor did he expect to have to break in to the house to find shelter. Least of all did he expect to be awakened at mid-day after the break in to find a woman with the bearing of an Egyptian goddess demanding to know what he was doing in her house.

The Four-to-One Fancy: By Elizabeth Ellen Carter

Fate has given twins Ivy and Iris Bigglesworth a season in York. They vow to marry only brothers so the sisters will never be apart. But what are the odds of finding and falling in love with two eligible brothers? Hearts race when they meet two handsome cousins who are betting their future on a risky racing venture. Soon the twins learn there are more than fortunes to be lost on a four-to-one fancy.

I’ll Always Be Yours: By Ella Quinn

All her life Miss Harriett Staunton believed she was the natural daughter of an earl. In the merchant society in which she was raised, that only garnered improper proposals. Knowing she would never wed, she moved to York, far away from her London family.

Lord Sextus Trevor needs to wed. Unbeknownst to him his father has arranged a marriage. But before he is even told about the betrothal, he’s whisked off to York, where he meets Harriett Staunton and must find a way to defy his father.

Lord Cuckoo Comes Home: By Jude Knight

Dom Finchley only came to York as a favor to his half-brother, who asked him to attend a meeting there. After a devastating break with the Finchley family followed by ten years at war, he is keen to get the favor done and then leave to build the home he’s never had. A place to call his own.

Then he meets Chloe.

Chloe Tavistock is past the age for the marriage market, and unfashionable in her shape, her opinions, and her enthusiasms. She is not going to find a husband in York, whatever her fond brother might think.

And then she meets Dom.

Two people who have never fitted in just might be a perfect fit.

Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match: By Alina K. Field

After years of putting up with her late husband’s rowdy friends, Honoria, Lady Twisden has escaped to York where she can paint, investigate antiquities, and enjoy freedom. Then her stepson appears with a long-lost relation in tow.

Promised York’s marriage mart and the hospitality of his cousin’s doddering stepmother, Major August Kellborn is shocked to find that his fetching hostess is the one woman who stirs his heart.

A Duke For Josefina: By Meara Platt

Lady Josefina would much rather spend her time studying plants and their healing properties, but her father, the Earl of Seahaven, has died and left the family impoverished. Marriage seems her only alternative until she meets the handsome Duke of Bourne in an apothecary in York’s ancient Shambles. He offers her an intriguing proposition, a fake betrothal and a king’s ransom as reward if she returns with him to his estate and finds a cure for his sister’s illness. But will the true reward be his heart?

A Countess to Remember: By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes love finds you when you least expect it…

Patience, the young Dowager Countess of Seahaven cares for a bevy of stepdaughters, and a Season for each to find husbands seems out of reach. There's been no chance for romance herself but fate intervenes in the form of Richard, Viscount Cranfield, in York for his sister's Season. Will Patience allow herself time for love?

Published: May 17, 2022
Excerpt:

Lady Twisden's Picture Perfect Match

He’s not just a perfect image of a soul-stirring hero, but a perfect-for-her match.

Major August Kellborn, late of his Majesty’s army, beat back an impulse to seize young Sir Westcott Twisden by the neckcloth and shake him.

He’d had long experience beating back that sort of urge with the young nodcocks he’d shaped into officers. He could do so now as well.

Gus paced to the window and looked out a sparkling clean pane onto the narrow street. Their traveling chaise wasn’t visible, but Sir Sancho stood unaccompanied, busily watering a lamppost.

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Gus had been in his cups the day he’d met Twisden at a horse market in Brampton, else he wouldn’t have allowed the young pup the informality of his first name, respectable though Wes was. The malaise of his first long winter’s sojourn at Whitlaw Grange, his new estate near what was once the Debatable Land, had made him more sociable than was his wont.

Still, he’d found the friendly lad more sensible than most his age, and the family connection had intrigued him. His late mother had written frequently about the Twisdens, the jovial late baronet and his amiable wife. He knew of their mutual ancestor, Sir Ebenezer Twisden as well, and so, he’d jumped at the chance to visit Twisden Hall. His very resemblance to the old warrior was astonishing, and Gus had been impressed with the well-run estate. Much of it the late baronet’s sensible widow’s doing, Gus’s valet had learned.

And so, when Wes proposed visiting his stepmother and attending the York races and then sweetened the deal with the notion of a marriage mart—it had been a very long, lonely winter—Gus agreed to this sojourn in York.

He turned back to his young erstwhile host. “Practically doddering, you said.”

Wes looked up from pouring spirits from a flask into a tumbler. “What?” His blue-eyed innocence was genuine. Wes saw his stepmother as an ancient, when she could scarcely be much beyond thirty. He ought to have paid more attention to his mother’s descriptions of the Twisdens.

“I cannot stay under your stepmother’s roof, Wes.”

“Whyever not?”

“She is not by any means doddering. She’s a widow, and one young enough that even with you here some of the time…” Wes had planned to depart for several days to visit his Grandmother in Harrogate. “The presence of a single man in her household might stir gossip.”

“She’s three and thirty and is known to be very proper. Plus…” He glanced back at the closed door and lowered his voice. “Though she’s clever and good, she’s plain.”

Gus gazed back at the now empty street. Perhaps plain was the right word to describe each of Lady Twisden’s entirely unremarkable features. But taken as a whole, he would call her appearance amiable, moving, and in fact… pretty. The spark in her eyes when she spotted him, the color rising in her cheeks, those had stirred him as well.

 

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Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field writes historical romance.

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Christmas Kisses: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology

Simply Romance Posted on May 19, 2021 by Alina K. FieldJuly 8, 2021
Book Cover: Christmas Kisses: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology
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The holidays are a time of magic, promise, and new love. Anything could happen...and it all begins with Christmas Kisses—an anthology of original Regency romances coming in 2021. 

Stories by Cheryl Bolen, Heather Boyd, Collette Cameron, Alina K. Field, and others.

Includes my novella, a sequel to Convincing the Countess:

The Impetuous Heiress

Dashing Fitzhenry Lovelace, now Lord Loughton, has made a hash of his finances and, after his rushed betrothal at an autumn house party, he's neglected his fiancée, Miss Parker. Now it’s the Yuletide and Fitz realizes he must make amends. But when a distraught Miss Parker arrives unexpectedly on his doorstep ready to throw him over, he senses more is amiss than just his carelessness. Can he uncover her secrets and win her back before he loses her altogether?

Published: October 12, 2021
Excerpt:

25 September, 1822

The Sawley Estate, Bedfordshire

“No, no, no, Mary Elizabeth.” Gregory Sawley’s cane hit the floor with each no, though the thick Turkey carpet rather muffled the dramatic effect. “It is not enough for you to have a knowledge about markets, compounding interest, and commodity futures, and a dependable stock jobber. The key is to have access to reliable information. The key is for you to make a proper marriage.”

Heavens.

“Marriage, sir?” Mary Elizabeth Parker—Mel to her late father and her cousin, Hermione—took in a quelling breath. “And hand over my inheritance to a nodcock of a husband who’ll dismiss all my ideas?”

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She pressed her lips closed on an even sharper retort. If she wanted to be nagged and prodded about matrimony, she might have remained at Lady Clitheroe’s house party for today’s activity, a picnic, with her much older widowed cousin, Lady Hermione Gravelston and the other guests.

Hermione had wangled their invitations to the Michaelmas marriage mart Lady Clitheroe was hosting, convinced that at five-and-twenty, there was still hope for Mel. For her part, she’d been glad to attend, but not for the purpose of meeting marriageable men. She’d escaped this day for the once in a lifetime chance to visit one of Lady Clitheroe’s not-too-distant neighbors, one of England’s most successful bankers, Gregory Sawley. Her grandfather.

After the solicitor managing her money bungled an investment, she’d decided that if her grandfather could rise from humble beginnings to become as rich as Croesus, she ought to be able to manage her own small inheritance herself. She had a plan, and it didn’t include matrimony, a risky endeavor even in the most optimistic of circumstances. After months of exchanging letters with her grandfather, she’d jumped at the chance to meet him and be tutored in person.

And he’d been altogether welcoming this day. He’d answered all her questions, and provided a very good luncheon, and then, having more to say, he’d escorted them to his expansive library. Two fireplaces, one at each end, warmed the room against the autumn chill. Above the nearby mantel, the late Mrs. Sawley, Mel’s grandmother, gazed lovingly at the golden-haired babe on her lap, the child who would grow up to be Mel’s headstrong mother. Amazingly, the artist had caught the willfulness in the wide blue eyes and bowed lips of his younger subject.

Outside, the day was advancing, heavy clouds obscuring the late afternoon sun. If they didn’t leave soon, they might have to stay the night.

Was that why her grandfather had required this parting lecture? Did he want her to stay? Pain lurked in his eyes, and his gray pallor and gaunt frame belied the strong voice, putting her in mind of her father’s last illness. She might never see him again, and though their acquaintance was short, she’d miss him, as she still grieved for her father, dead these two years.

“I said a proper marriage, one with proper contracts and settlements, to a man in the Commons, or a lord would do. Your stepfather likely has contacts, but you will not want to be under his thumb, I think.”

A shiver went through her. Upon Papa’s death, she’d dodged that thumb, and Mother’s broad hints at a betrothal to her stepfather’s nephew. She’d fled to Hermione in Hampshire while her mother returned to her husband-to-be in Kent. And the man her mother married would be no help at all to her financial plans. He was far too indolent to take up his seat in the Lords. He’d be nothing but her mother’s tool, and an utter hindrance.

“Aren’t such men often rather pompous and foolish, sir?”

Across the room, a throat cleared loudly.

Grandfather’s lips quirked and he tipped his head toward the interruption. “What about him?”

The him in question was seated on the far end of Grandfather’s spacious library, and apparently had perfect hearing.

Oh, he met Grandfather’s requirements in some ways. He had a seat in the Commons, and someday he would inherit and move on to the Lords. He was also unmarried, his wife having died in childbirth the previous year.

And breathtakingly handsome with rumpled golden hair, soulful blue eyes, and a wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped, long-limbed form that had at first sight sent her blood pounding. Fortunately, she’d had many years following the drum with Papa, and had seen enough well-formed men to master her baser urges.

She shook her head. “It is not that way between us, sir. In truth, I’m rescuing him today from marriage-minded mamas and their daughters.”

“What way must it be? You are a female. Your financial plans require social connections, ones that in your case can only be achieved by marriage. If you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Lovelace.”

Grandfather pointed the tip of his cane at the overstuffed wing chair placed near the opposite fireplace. Mr. Fitzhenry Lovelace, eldest son and heir of Baron Loughton, had retreated there and waited at his ease, allowing them a modicum of privacy whilst imbibing every word.

Mr. Lovelace wasn’t likely to agree with Grandfather on this subject, having that morning accosted her in Lady Clitheroe’s stables, begging the honor of conveying her here in order to escape two doe-eyed misses vying to be the first to be compromised by him.

Mel squeezed her hands together to prevent them from rubbing at the ache between her eyes. After forcing his presence upon her today, Lovelace might as well come and defend her desire to remain unmarried. “What say you, Mr. Lovelace?” she called.

He put aside his book and stood.

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