The Grand Sophy

The Grand Sophy

by Georgette Heyer

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Overview

A reader favorite from the Queen of Regency Romance, The Grand Sophy is an utterly hilarious and completely endearing story of a charming young heroine and the outrageous lengths she goes to solve everyone else's problems, and the surprises in store for everyone!

When Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy is ordered to South America on diplomatic business, he parks his only daughter, Sophy, with his sister in Berkeley Square. Forward, bold, and out-spoken, Sophy sweeps in and immediately takes the ton by storm.

Upon her arrival, Sophy can see that her cousins are in a sad tangle: Ceclia is in love with a poet, Charles is engaged to a dour bluestocking, her uncle is of no use at all, and the younger children are in desperate need of some fun and freedom. They all need her help and it's providential that Sophy arrives when she does.

The Georgette Heyer Signature Collection is a fresh celebration of an author who has charmed tens of millions of readers with her delightful sense of humor and unique take on Regency romance. Includes fun and fascinating bonus content—a glossary of Regency slang, a Reading Group Guide, and an Afterword by official biographer Jennifer Kloester sharing insights into what Georgette herself thought of The Grand Sophy and what was going on in her life as she was writing.

What reviewers are saying about The Grand Sophy:
"The Grand Sophy was an exciting, charming read. The characters grab you and don't let go." —Anna's Book Blog
"Fun, engaging and hilarious, I cannot recommend it more highly. Sophy is a devilishly fine girl." — AustenProse
"The Grand Sophy is a very entertaining Regency romance with wonderfully eccentric characters and a very humorous plot."—Once Upon a Romance
"Georgette Heyer is the Queen of the Regency Romance. Long may she reign!" —New York Times bestselling author LAUREN WILLIG



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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781492688297
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Publication date: 09/04/2018
Series: The Georgette Heyer Signature Collection
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 384
Sales rank: 217,234
File size: 1 MB

About the Author

Georgette Heyer's novels have charmed and delighted millions of readers for decades. English Heritage has awarded Georgette Heyer one of their prestigious Blue Plaques, designating her Wimbledon home as the residence of an important figure in British history. She was born in Wimbledon in August 1902. She wrote her first novel, The Black Moth, at the age of seventeen to amuse her convalescent brother; it was published in 1921 and became an instant success.
Heyer published 56 books over the next 53 years, until her death from lung cancer in 1974. Her last book, My Lord John, was published posthumously in 1975. A very private woman, she rarely reached out to the public to discuss her works or personal life. Her work included Regency romances, mysteries and historical fiction. Known as the Queen of Regency romance, Heyer was legendary for her research, historical accuracy and her extraordinary plots and characterizations. She was married to George Ronald Rougier, a barrister, and they had one son, Richard.

Read an Excerpt

The Grand Sophy


By Georgette Heyer

Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Copyright © 2003 Harlequin Enterprises Limited
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0373835485


Chapter One

The butler, recognizing her ladyship's only surviving brother at a glance, as he afterwards informed his less percipient subordinates, favoured Sir Horace with a low bow, and took it upon himself to say that my lady, although not at home to less nearly-connected persons, would be happy to see him. Sir Horace, unimpressed by this condescension, handed his caped-greatcoat to one footman, his hat and cane to the other, tossed his gloves on to the marble-topped table, and said that he had no doubt of that, and how was Dassett keeping these days? The butler, torn between gratification at having his name remembered and disapproval of Sir Horace's free and easy ways, said that he was as well as could be expected, and happy (if he might venture to say so) to see Sir Horace looking not a day older than when he had last had the pleasure of announcing him to her ladyship. He then led the way, in a very stately manner, up the imposing stairway to the Blue Saloon, where Lady Ombersley was dozing gently on a sofa by the fire, a Paisley shawl spread over her feet, and her cap decidedly askew. Mr Dassett, observing these details, coughed, and made his announcement in commanding accents: "Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy, my lady!"

Lady Ombersley awoke with a start, stared for an uncomprehending moment, made an ineffective clutch at her cap, and uttered a faint shriek. "Horace!"

"Hallo, Lizzie, how are you?" said Sir Horace, walking across the room, and bestowing an invigorating buffet upon her shoulder.

"Good heavens, what a fright you gave me!" exclaimed her ladyship, uncorking the vinaigrette which was never out of her reach.

The butler, having tolerantly observed these transports, closed the door upon the reunited brother and sister, and went away to disclose to his underlings that Sir Horace was a gentleman as lived much abroad, being, as he was informed, employed by the Government on Diplomatic Business too delicate for their understanding.

The diplomatist, meanwhile, warming his coat-tails by the fire, refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff and told his sister that she was putting on weight. "Not growing any younger, either of us," he added handsomely. "Not but what I can give you five years, Lizzie, unless my memory's at fault, which I don't think it is."

There was a large gilded mirror on the wall opposite to the fireplace, and as he spoke Sir Horace allowed his gaze to rest upon his own image, not in a conceited spirit, but with critical approval. His forty-five years had treated him kindly. If his outline had thickened a little, his height, which was well above six foot, made a slight portliness negligible. He was a very fine figure of a man, and had, besides a large and well-proportioned frame, a handsome countenance, topped by luxuriant brown locks as yet unmarred by silver streaks. He was always dressed with elegance, but was by far too wise a man to adopt such extravagances of fashion as could only show up the imperfections of a middle-aged figure. "Take a look at poor Prinny!" said Sir Horace to less discriminating cronies. "He's a lesson to us all!"

His sister accepted the implied criticism unresentfully. Twenty-seven years of wedlock had left their mark upon her; and the dutiful presentation to her erratic and far from grateful spouse of eight pledges of her affection had long since destroyed any pretensions to beauty in her. Her health was indifferent, her disposition compliant, and she was fond of saying that when one was a grandmother it was time to be done with thinking of one's appearance.

"How's Ombersley?" asked Sir Horace, with more civility than interest.

"He feels his gout a little, but considering everything he is remarkably well," she responded.

Sir Horace took a mere figure of speech in an undesirably literal spirit, saying, with a nod: "Always did drink too much. Still, he must be going on for sixty now, and I don't suppose you have so much of the other trouble, do you?"

"No, no!" said his sister hastily. Lord Ombersley's infidelities, though mortifying when conducted, as they too often were, in the full glare of publicity, had never greatly troubled her, but she had no desire to discuss them with her outspoken relative, and gave the conversation an abrupt turn by asking where he had come from.

"Lisbon," he replied, taking another pinch of snuff.

Lady Ombersley was vaguely surprised. It was now two years since the close of the long Peninsular War, and she rather thought that, when last heard of, Sir Horace had been in Vienna, no doubt taking mysterious part in the Congress, which had been so rudely interrupted by the escape of that dreadful Monster from Elba. "Oh!" she said, a little blankly. "Of course, you have a house there! I was forgetting! And how is dear Sophia?"

"As a matter of fact," said Sir Horace, shutting his snuff-box, and restoring it to his pocket, "it's about Sophy that I've come to see you."

Sir Horace had been a widower for fifteen years, during which period he had neither requested his sister's help in rearing his daughter nor paid the least heed to her unsolicited advice, but at these words an uneasy feeling stole over her. She said: "Yes, Horace? Dear little Sophia! It must be four years or more since I saw her. How old is she now? I suppose she must be almost out?"

"Been out for years," responded Sir Horace. "Never anything else really. She's twenty."

"Twenty!" exclaimed Lady Ombersley. She applied her mind to arithmetic, and said: "Yes, she must be, for my own Cecilia is just turned nineteen, and I remember that your Sophia was born almost a year before. Dear me, yes! Poor Marianne! What a lovely creature she was, to be sure!"

With a slight effort Sir Horace conjured up the vision of his dead wife. "Yes, so she was," he agreed. "One forgets, you know. Sophy's not much like her: favours me!"

"I know what a comfort she must have been to you," sighed Lady Ombersley. "And I'm sure, dear Horace, that nothing could be more affecting than your devotion to the child!"

"I wasn't in the least devoted," interrupted Sir Horace. "I shouldn't have kept her with me if she'd been troublesome. Never was: good little thing, Sophy!"

"Yes, my dear, no doubt, but to be dragging a little girl all over Spain and Portugal, when she would have been far better in a select school -"

"Not she! She'd have learnt to be missish," said Sir Horace cynically. "Besides, no use to prose to me now on that head: it's too late! The thing is, Lizzie, I'm in something of a fix. I want you to take care of Sophy while I'm in South America."

"South America?" gasped Lady Ombersley.

"Brazil. I don't expect to be away very long, but I can't take my little Sophy, and I can't leave her with Tilly, because Tilly's dead. Died in Vienna, couple of years ago. A devilish inconvenient thing to do, but I daresay she didn't mean it."

"Tilly?" said Lady Ombersley, all at sea.

"Lord, Elizabeth, don't keep on repeating everything I say! Shocking bad habit! Miss Tillingham, Sophy's governess!"

"Good heavens! Do you mean to tell me that the child has no governess now?"

"Of course she has not! She don't need a governess. I always found plenty of chaperons for her when we were in Paris, and in Lisbon it don't signify. But I can't leave her alone in England."

(Continues...)



Excerpted from The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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