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Overview
FOR THE BACHELOR AND THE BLUESTOCKING…
Certain that no man wants a bluestocking for a wife, Miss Jane Lowndes is careful to wield her books and her spectacles as weapons against matrimony. Convincing her ambitious mama that she's content to stay a spinster is easier said than done, however. It's a good thing Jane is not above a bit of manufactured scandal if it will keep her from the altar, and the argumentative, contrary Lord Garrett Upton…
ROMANCE IS NEVER BY THE BOOK
With the war over, Garrett is determined to enjoy his bachelor's life while he can, even when it means attending a house party in celebration of a friend's wedding—and suffering Jane's notorious disdain. But when a masquerade ball leads to a mistaken kiss, he's surprised to learn that Jane's bookish exterior hides a truly passionate soul. When two such headstrong people are determined to remain unattached, can love lead to a happy ending?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466839441 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 05/05/2015 |
| Series: | Playful Brides Series , #3 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 352 |
| Sales rank: | 163,825 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
About the Author
Valerie Bowman grew up in Illinois with six sisters (she's number seven) and a huge supply of historical romance novels. After a cold and snowy stint earning a degree in English with a minor in history at Smith College, she moved to Florida the first chance she got.
Valerie now lives in Jacksonville with her family including her rascally dog, Roo. When she's not writing, she keeps busy reading, traveling, or vacillating between watching crazy reality TV and PBS.
Valerie loves to hear from readers. Find her on Facebook, Twitter, and at her website.
Valerie Bowman is an award-winning author who writes Regency-set historical romance novels aka Racy Regency Romps! Since her debut in 2012, Valerie's books have received starred reviews from Publisher's Weekly, Booklist, and Kirkus. She's been an RT Reviewers' Choice nominee for Best First Historical Romance and Best Historical Romance Love and Laughter. Two of her books have been nominated for the Kirkus Prize for fiction and New York Times bestselling author Lisa Kleypas calls them, "Too delightful to miss!"
Valerie has a B.A. in English Language and Literature with a minor in history from Smith College. By day, she is a technical editor at a computer software company. By night, she combines her love of writing, history, and romance to craft stories about people falling in love.
Originally from Rantoul, Illinois, Valerie lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her family including her two rascally dogs. When she's not writing, she keeps busy reading, traveling, or vacillating between watching crazy reality TV or PBS.
Read an Excerpt
The Unlikely Lady
By Valerie Bowman
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2015 Valerie BowmanAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-3944-1
CHAPTER 1
London, April 1816
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mrs. Cat, show yourself and let's get this over with, shall we?" Jane Lowndes wiped the dark, wet hair from her eyes. It was raining. Hard. The downpour had begun nearly five minutes ago and she'd been standing outside the mews behind her father's town house for nearly ten.
Jane could live with the rain herself. Who cared about hair or clothing being ruined? She could even stand the fact that her spectacles were foggy. But her book was getting wet and that was not acceptable. She'd tucked the leather-bound volume under her arm as best she could while she balanced a wooden bowl in her hands, but she truly needed to get the book inside and dry it by the fire.
Jane squinted into the gray mist. A soft meow signaled the arrival of the cat. The brown, mangy-looking animal must have heard her. The cat came running along the stone wall at the far side of the stables, heading straight toward Jane. Apparently, even rain wasn't enough to keep the feline from her free meal.
"There you are." A soft smile touched Jane's lips, despite her best efforts to stifle it. She didn't want to smile at this cat. She didn't want to be responsible for it at all, really, rain or shine. She'd noticed the thing a fortnight ago when she'd come to the mews after a mount to ride in the park, and then she'd had the misfortune to go and discover that the cat had kittens of all things. She'd seen one of the furry little things peeking from behind a bush in the alley, obviously awaiting her mother's return. A lone cat was one thing, but kittens were another matter entirely. Add to that the mama cat's scrawniness and obvious hunger, and Jane couldn't stop herself from making a trip to the kitchens to request a bowl of scraps.
Two weeks later and she and Mrs. Cat had a standing appointment here every morning. Today was the first time it had begun raining while Jane waited. She'd have to remember to leave her book inside next time.
Jane stooped and set the bowl near the wall, remaining in a crouched position. The cat licked her lips and charged toward it, hungrily plunging her face into the meal and gobbling.
"My, you're a greedy one." Jane shook her head slightly. "Reminds me of the manner in which I used to eat when I was a child." She laughed. "I suppose I must continue to feed you so you can keep those babies healthy, but you certainly don't make it easy for me by arriving late in the rain."
She patted the cat's head, ignoring her thoughts of fleas or worse. She'd promptly wipe her hands as soon as she returned to the comfort of the house.
"How are the kittens?" Jane asked, raindrops sliding down her nose.
The cat's only answer was more hungry smacking.
"I imagine you're quite busy," Jane continued, readjusting her book under her arm. "I don't envy you. Having to keep food on the, er, table for your children with nary a paw lifted from Mr. Cat, I presume."
The cat continued to eat, steadfastly ignoring her provider.
Jane clucked her tongue. "I completely understand. Exactly why I intend to remain unattached and further the cause of women in Society, Mrs. Cat. Just like Mary Wollstonecraft."
The cat paused and eyed her askance, her green eyes narrowed, as if she understood what Jane had said.
Jane hiked her eyebrows. "I know what you're thinking. Mary Wollstonecraft was married. I know. Of course I know. But that doesn't mean I have to be. I rather think I'll accomplish much more for the cause if I'm not distracted by a man and his children."
The cat looked up from her meal and blinked at her. Was that judgment in the cat's eyes? Had this cat become acquainted with Jane's mother? Jane swiped the rain from her spectacles.
"Speaking of marriage," Jane continued, as the cat returned to concentrating on her breakfast. "My friend Cass is getting married and I am leaving today for the country to attend the wedding. I won't be around for a bit."
The cat swished her tail.
"Don't blame me," Jane went on. "I couldn't talk her out of it. It seems Cass is madly in love with Julian and some people apparently are meant to be together forever. Lucy seems to think so, too, and Lucy, of course, is a duchess now as a result of falling in love." The last three words were uttered with a fair bit of mockery.
"But don't worry," Jane said. "I've asked Anna, the cook's assistant, to check on you while I'm gone. She's promised to bring you all the best scraps and —"
"Miss Jane?" Anna's voice came floating through the rain and fog.
Jane quickly stood and turned toward the sound. "Anna, is that you?"
Anna soon materialized around the side of the mews. She held a newspaper over her head to shield herself from the rain as she squinted through the fog. "Miss Jane?" She stopped when she saw Jane. "There you are. I thought I might find you out here. Your mother is looking for you. She and Eloise are turning up the house searching."
Eloise was Jane's lady's maid. The poor woman was often taken to task if Jane's mother couldn't find her only child. "I'd better get back quickly then. Poor Eloise. Good-bye, Mrs. Cat. I'll see you when I return. And I hope to see your kittens fat and healthy. Anna will take good care of you. Won't you, Anna?"
Anna's smile spread across her plump cheeks. "Of course, miss."
The cat lifted its head and blinked.
Anna readjusted the paper atop her head. "Miss, I heard your mother tell Eloise it's quite important that she and your father speak with you before you leave for the house party."
Jane scrunched up her nose. Drat. An audience with her mother was never a good thing and if she was dragging Papa into it, it was serious. "I wonder what she wishes to discuss."
Anna stooped down and patted the cat on the head. "I heard her say something about Mrs. Bunbury."
Jane gulped. "Mrs. Bunbury?"
"Yes. She is your new chaperone, isn't she, miss?"
Jane blinked rapidly. "Yes. Yes, she is." Jane, the book still cradled under her arm, broke into a decidedly unladylike sprint back toward the house, heedless of the water splashing onto her skirts from the many puddles in the courtyard.
Mrs. Bunbury was indeed her new chaperone. The chaperone who would be accompanying her to Cass's wedding house party in Surrey. If her mother wanted to discuss Mrs. Bunbury, there might well be trouble.
For Mrs. Bunbury didn't exist.
CHAPTER 2Garrett Upton turned over the letter and stared at it. Hard. He let out a long breath. It contained what it always did, a bank draft, an inadequate message, a hefty dose of guilt.
"Sir, the coach awaits you."
Garrett glanced at the butler who stood at attention in the doorway to his study. The two roan spaniels lying on either side of his chair lifted their heads and wagged their tails.
"I'll be there in a moment, Cartwright."
Cartwright nodded once.
Garrett's gaze returned to the desktop and the letter that had occupied his attention this morning. He finished sanding it, sealed it, and stamped it with the heated wax in front of him.
Garrett didn't have much time. The coach was waiting. He hadn't got much slept last night either, but that was nothing new. The dreams were always there, the nightmares, haunting him.
Garrett stared at the address.
Mrs. Harold Langford
12 Charles Street
London
Every two weeks Garrett sent a similar letter. He'd sent it like clockwork, ever since he'd been a young man of one and twenty, nearly ten years now. While it always included the same contents, conspicuously, there was no mention of Harold, his friend who had died in the war.
Garrett shook his head and pushed out his chair. The dogs scrambled up from their resting spots. He stood and made his way toward the door, the letter in his hand. He'd worked the last fortnight to catch up with his business matters to ensure he could enjoy the time in the countryside. Today, he was off to his friends' wedding house party in Surrey. The new Earl of Swifdon, Julian Swift, was finally marrying his bride, Lady Cassandra Monroe. The six months of grieving for the earl's older brother, Donald, had passed.
The wedding would be grand. The house party before the wedding, more intimate. Garrett's cousin Lucy would be there with her new husband, the Duke of Claringdon. Cassandra and Swifdon would be there, of course. Miss Jane Lowndes. Garrett rolled his eyes. Miss Lowndes usually exasperated him, argued with him, maddened him, or a combination of all three, but he could stand her company for a sennight, he supposed. Why Lucy insisted on remaining such close friends with that know-it-all bluestocking, he'd never understand.
Cartwright remained standing at attention near the door.
"Ensure this goes out today," Garrett said pointedly to the servant, handing him the letter.
"As you wish," the butler replied, taking it.
Garrett crossed back over to the large mahogany desk, pulled his coat from the back of his chair, and shrugged into it. The dogs watched him intently. Then he turned and strode out the door. The dogs followed close on his heels. He made his way past the butler, who fell into step behind him. He marched down the corridor and into the foyer. Cartwright scurried to open the front door for him as Garrett turned to pat each of the dogs on the head. Their tails wiggled vigorously.
"Take good care of them, Cartwright."
Placing his hat on his head, Garrett strode out into the street, where he climbed into the waiting carriage. He settled into the velvet seat and gazed out the window, taking one last look at his London residence.
It was a fine house. Garrett might be the heir presumptive to the Earl of Upbridge, but the town house in Mayfair and its servants and contents were currently paid for by money his mother had brought to her marriage to the second son of an earl, and an inheritance from his maternal grandfather. Garrett was a wealthy man in his own right.
The coach started with a jerk. Mr. Garrett Upton was off to spend a week at a country house party in Surrey.
CHAPTER 3"Young lady, I refuse to allow you to leave this house until you answer these questions to my satisfaction." Mrs. Hortense Lowndes's dark hair shivered with the force of her foot stamping against the carpeted floor in Jane's father's study.
Jane adjusted her spectacles upon her nose and stared at her mother calmly. Mama was in a high dudgeon today. She hadn't even mentioned the fact that Jane had arrived dripping wet upon her father's carpet and then hurried over to place her soggy book by the fire.
"Are you listening to me?" her mother prodded.
Jane glanced at her bespectacled father, who gave her a half-shrug and a sympathetic smile before folding his hands atop his desk and returning his attention to his book. Papa obviously wished this entire debacle was playing out elsewhere instead of interrupting his reading. Jane didn't blame him. She looked longingly toward her own book. I do hope it dries and the pages aren't adversely affected. Oh, wait. She should be paying attention to her mother.
"Of course I'm listening, Mama."
Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her suspiciously. "Why are you wet?"
Jane pursed her lips. "I thought this was about Mrs. Bunbury." Distraction. It always worked on Mama. Without taking his eyes off his book, Jane's father smirked.
"Yes. Mrs. Bunbury," her mother continued. "That's exactly right. I have several questions about her."
Jane took a deep breath. She carefully removed her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve. Stalling. A second tactic that usually worked on her mother.
"Mama, we've discussed this. I'm no longer a child. I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a bluestocking, a spinster." She refrained from pointing out that her mother's refusal to accept that fact was exactly why she'd had to invent this preposterous Mrs. Bunbury scheme. That would not be received well. Not at all.
"You most certainly are not!" Her mother stamped her foot again. "Why, I cannot believe my ears." She whirled toward Jane's father. "Charles, are you listening to this?"
Jane's father's head snapped up. He cleared his throat. "Why, yes. Yes, of course. Bluestocking spinster, dear."
"No!" her mother cried. "Jane is not a bluestocking spinster."
"No, of course not," her father agreed before burying his head in his book again.
Hortense turned back to face Jane. She pressed her handkerchief to her lips. "We've spent a fortune on your clothing and schooling. We've ensured you've received invitations to all of the best parties, balls, and routs. I do not understand why you cannot find a husband."
"I don't want a husband, Mama. I've told you time and again."
"If you'd merely try," Hortense pleaded.
As usual, her mother refused to listen. Hence, the need for Mrs. Bunbury.
Jane carefully replaced her spectacles. "I'm going to the house party, aren't I?" Logic. It usually served to placate her mother, if temporarily.
Her mother made a funny little hiccupping sound. "You won't enjoy yourself. I know you won't. I think I should come with you and —"
"No." Jane could only hope she successfully kept the panic from her face. If Mama came to the house party, it would be a disaster. It was bad enough that she would be arriving at the end of the week for the wedding itself. "Of course I won't enjoy myself, Mama. Not the party part, at least. I'm bringing a great many books and I intend to —"
Her mother tossed her hands into the air. "Books, books, books. That's all the two of you ever talk about, ever think about." She turned sideways and glared accusingly back and forth between her husband and her daughter.
Jane stepped forward and put a comforting arm around her mother's shoulder. She felt a bit sorry for her. The poor woman hadn't given birth to a daughter who loved people and parties and clothing and fripperies like she did. Instead she'd given birth to a girl who took after her intellectual father. A man who'd been knighted by the Crown for his genius at economics, having successfully invested a great deal of money for the royal family. Jane even looked like her father. Dark hair, dark eyes, round cheeks, round face. The slightly round backside may have been more due to her love of teacake than her father's doing, but that hardly mattered. In all things important, Jane took after Sir Charles Lowndes.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Jane murmured. She hugged her pretty mother. Hortense was sweet and kind and meant well. It was hardly her fault that she'd had the terrible misfortune to have a bluestocking for a daughter.
Hortense blinked at her. "Sorry for what?"
Jane let her arm fall away. "Sorry I spend my days reading Socrates instead of La Belle Assemblée, reading the political columns instead of shopping for fabric and fripperies with you, attending the theater instead of visiting with friends."
Her mother's shoulders drew up and then just as quickly relaxed. She worried the handkerchief in her hands. "Oh, Jane, if you'd only try."
Jane sighed. She'd tried. Oh, how she'd tried. How many times had she wished she was petite and beautiful with good eyesight, someone who loved nothing better than to attend parties? It just wasn't her, and it never would be. The sooner Mama accepted that fact and let go of her dream of Jane making a splendid match, the better the two would get on.
Her mother had left her no choice. Today's little episode notwithstanding, Hortense had shown few signs of giving in. Hence, Jane was about to employ her secret weapon: one Lady Lucy Hunt, Jane's closest friend. Lucy had promised Jane she would use her considerable talent with words to convince Lady Lowndes that Jane should be left in peace. Jane wanted nothing more than to live out her days reading, studying, lobbying for the rights of women, and hosting the occasional intellectual salon. She wanted to be free, to no longer be forced to attend an endless round of social events that made her feel anything but social.
To that end, Jane had employed the second-best weapon in her arsenal, her new chaperone, Mrs. Bunbury. The idea had been inspired by Jane's other friend Cassandra Monroe's unfortunate incident last autumn when Cass had been obliged to pretend she was a nonexistent young lady named Patience Bunbury. It had been unfortunate only because in so doing, Cass had been forced to deceive the man she had desperately loved for the last seven years and ... well, the entire charade had been a bit questionable after Captain Swift had discovered Cass's duplicity. It had all ended well enough, however, hence Jane's journey to their wedding festivities today and her subsequent need for a fictitious chaperone.
"I'm going to the house party, Mama. As for Mrs. Bunbury ... didn't Lucy write and tell you all about her?" Jane stepped closer to the door.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Unlikely Lady by Valerie Bowman. Copyright © 2015 Valerie Bowman. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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