The Bittersweet Bride

The Bittersweet Bride

by Vanessa Riley
3.5 2

NOOK Book(eBook)

View All Available Formats & Editions
Available on Compatible NOOK Devices and the free NOOK Apps.
Want a NOOK ? Explore Now


The Bittersweet Bride by Vanessa Riley

Widow Theodosia Cecil needs a husband to help protect her son. The former flower seller turned estate owner posts an ad in the newspaper, and no one is more surprised than she when her first love, the man she thought dead, reappears.

Ewan Fitzwilliam has been at war for six years. Now, the second son of a powerful earl is back but his beloved Theo needs a husband and will not consider him. She believes Ewan left her—in desperate straits—so she denies the feelings she still harbors for the handsome, scarred soldier. Theo and playwright Ewan must overcome bitter lies and vengeful actions that ruined their youthful affair. Theo must reveal her deepest secret in order to reclaim the love that has long been denied.

Each book in the Advertisements for Love series is STANDALONE:
* The Bittersweet Bride
* The Bashful Bride

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781640634657
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication date: 01/29/2018
Series: Advertisements for Love , #1
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 200
Sales rank: 97,859
File size: 3 MB

About the Author

Award winning, Amazon Bestselling author, Vanessa Riley, worked as an engineer before allowing her passion for historical romance to shine. A Regency era (early 1800s) and Jane Austen enthusiast, she brings the flavor of diverse, eclectic peoples to her stories. The author of Madeline's Protector, Swept Away, Unmasked Heart, The Bargain, and Unveiling Love, she has won the Beacon Award, the Colorado Award of Excellence, and placed in the International Digital Awards for her Regency romances.

Read an Excerpt


You Have Mail & Memories

London, England, September 7, 1819

Theodosia Cecil dipped her head, hoping her gray bonnet would hide her tall form amongst the crowd of Burlington Arcade shoppers. Her heart beat a rhythm of fear as her brow fevered with questions.

Could it be him?

Why was he haunting her now?

She spun, praying her wobbly legs would support her flight from the ghost. Spying a path between a chatty woman and her admirer, Theodosia claimed it and swayed toward the open door.

Safe in the shop, she put a hand to her thumping heart. Seeing the face of someone dead ... It shook her, forced too many memories. The image of Ewan, her deceased first love, had to be a figment of Theodosia's conscience, nothing more. Why would this vision rear up now — questioning her resolve to be in town garnering letters offering matrimony from strangers?

Her hands trembled, puckering the stiff seams of her new kid gloves as she stuffed the sealed papers into her reticule. What if she'd dropped them in her mad dash? With all the people milling beneath the sparkling glass roof of the Arcade, the responses would've been lost, and with them, her dream of protecting her son. Hope in her plan slipped from her grasp, even with her onyx mitts. This time, there would be no kind Mathew Cecil to pick her up and wipe her clean.

She missed her late husband and his endless patience. He should be the only dead man in her head. Yet, there stood Ewan Fitzwilliam's ghost, vividly in her imagination. Perhaps it was her heart crying out at this unromantic way of finding a new husband.

"Ma'am, may I help you?"

Theodosia lifted her gaze from her gloves to a small cherry-red face.

"Our store has much to offer," the young girl said. "Did ye come for something special, Mrs. Cecil?"

Startling at the girl's use of her name, Theodosia raised her chin, then scanned from side to side at the pots. She took a breath and smelled sweet roses and lilacs. "What is this place? A perfumer?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cecil, and we use Cecil flowers to make the best fragrances."

The girl knew who she was, and the lilt in the young blonde's voice made Theodosia's lips lift. Respect always felt good.

A little less jittery, she nodded at the girl then turned to the walnut shelf and poked the lid of a greenish jar. The scent of lavender filled the air. Pride in her and her husband's accomplishment inflated her lungs. "Cecil flowers are the best."

The calm ushered in from the soft, sweet scents allowed her thoughts to right. Ghosts didn't exist. If they did, then it would be Mathew visiting her, guiding her, pushing her cold feet forward whenever she felt she couldn't do something, as he'd often done during their five short years of marriage. He had died almost a year ago.

The shop girl came beside her, dusting the shelves. "Would you like some of the lavender, Mrs. Cecil?"

That beautiful name, the only last name she'd ever possessed — the repetition of it inspired questions. "You know me from the flower fields? Have we met?"

"Everyone knew Mr. Cecil. God rest his soul. And all the flower girls know you. If a Blackamoor ... Sorry, if a shop girl could be more, then we all can."

Theodosia, dark skin and all, an inspiration to others? If those shop girls knew the whole of things, they would be scandalized. Horrified at the things she'd done, Theodosia became teary-eyed. She'd received unmerited favor catching Mathew Cecil's eye and his mercy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean nothing."

Theodosia nodded and tugged at her sleeve, hitting her reticule against her buttons, which clinked like serving bells. Her fine clothes hid the past, the fatigue and hunger of living on the streets. She forced a smile. "Becoming more is the beginning."

"Yes, ma'am. Quite a good 'ne."

From the outside, it must look like that, but some secrets were best kept in the grave. She turned from the almost-hero worship look in the shop girl's eyes and counted the brightly colored decanters in hues of salmon and cobalt blue lining a near table. "This is a lovely place. Have you done well since the shop's opening?"

"Some days. Some mornings, we're good and busy. Others, slow and easy. So much different than selling on the streets."

That worn-out heart of Theodosia's started moving within her chest. She caught the girl's shy gaze and said, "Slow days mean no money, but they can give ease to the back." With her palm, she cupped her mouth. "I meant selling flowers ... long days." There were worse things for the back than an honest day's work selling flowers. Her mother's work at a brothel — that had been hard.

The younger woman nodded, but frowned as a shadow engulfed her.

A thick, portly fellow wearing a heavy burlap apron stepped from behind them. "Do ye belong here, m-m-miss?"

Theodosia blinked then stared at the man who stood with arms folded, disapproval flexing each meaty muscle. "Are you sure you're supposed to be here? Black servants don't come unattended. Blackamoor or whatever you are?"

"Sir, this is Mr. Cecil's widow," the shop girl said as her gaze dropped.

The man gawked as he glared at Theodosia. After an eternity of seconds, he said, "Oh ... that Mrs. Cecil."

The pride she'd felt at hearing the Cecil name slipped away. It fell to the floor, ready to be trampled by her own short heels. With silk ribbons trailing her bonnet and an onyx walking dress stitched with heavy brass buttons, he still saw her as low. Was he thinking, as she often did: mistress, half-breed, by-blow, whore?

No matter what Theodosia felt about her past, she'd not let the sour shop clerk, or anyone else, stuff her into one of those names. She was a widow to a good man. "I'm not a servant, sir. In fact, you are one of the many vendors who use my family's wares for your livelihood." She took a step closer to the man. "I'm your business partner."

The man turned a lovely shade of purple, darker than fallen bee orchid buds. The veins on his neck pulsed.

As wonderful as it was to make him uncomfortable, it was never good to leave a bull enraged. Mathew had taught her that. She jangled her reticule, letting the tink-tink sound of clanging coins speak for her. "I'd like to be a patron."

The man harrumphed over his glasses. "We have many items." He pivoted to the shop girl. "Sally, go dust in the back. I'll take care of Mrs. Cecil."

The young woman nodded. "Good meeting you, ma'am." She offered another smile then pattered away.

Theodosia forced her shoulders to straighten and paced around the man. As a free woman and a proper widow with money, she could shop here. A glance to the left helped her settle on a practical item. "I'd like to purchase some soap."

The man nodded and pointed her to a table skirted in crimson silk. He dogged her footfalls, following close behind, as if she'd steal something.

She sighed. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to become used to this treatment again. The last year of grieving had protected her from outsiders, and the years of having her late Mathew's guidance had almost made her forget.


She pressed her gloved fingertips against a jar colored lapis blue. "What type of soap is inside?"

The clerk pushed up his thick spectacles that had slid down his condescending nose. "A fine lavender. Very expensive, about four shillings a piece. Not so much for Cecil's widow."

Though she had the money to buy most things, years of thrift and haggling still pumped in her blood. She poked at the glass, tilting its heavy lid. The fragrance, honey-like, wafted from the pressed bars, stroking her nose. Surely, they had been made from Cecil spike lavandin — for nothing else could hold such strong perfume.

This had to be a sign from Mathew. He must approve of her actions to marry again in order to protect the son he'd so loved. She must buy the soap. She stroked the jar. "I'll take two pieces, and wrap it in paper. Make sure the scale is clear of fingers. I'd hate to pay more than what's necessary."

The man picked up the container. His head bobbed up and down as if it had taken this long to see past her face to her wealth. "I'll weigh this out ... ma'am, without a finger on the scale."

Half watching the clerk, half watching the window glass, she decided the store front was more interesting than the man's balding head. She filled her vision with the sea of sleek top hats and crisp bonnets passing through the Arcade. None of them an apparition. She sighed again, the tight grip of apprehension further loosing from her spine. The vision had been her nerves.

Slowly, carefully, and in full view of the clerk, she dipped her fingers into her reticule pulling out the foolscap letters she'd retrieved from the stationer. She flipped to the first, a thin sheet of light gray paper, and mouthed the address. This was the second correspondence from a man with the rank of squire to her marriage advertisement. Though his crisp writing of her name, Mrs. Cecil, denoted elegance, their meeting last week had been far from elegant. It had been dull, lifeless, and made worse by his obvious discomfort in talking with her. He hadn't even had the courage to hold her gaze.

Surely, between the folds sat a polite no, and for that she'd be grateful. Theodosia was in want of a man's protection, but a new husband needed to be like Mathew, a Boaz protector. Yes, one of those gentlemanly fellows who cherished family above everything and who'd never be ashamed to be seen with her son.

What if it was a yes? She tapped the second letter to her bosom. If she had another offer she'd get her friend Ester to help pen a rejection to the squire. Ester's chaste brain had to be filled with clever ways of saying no.

Chuckling silently, she switched to the next response. This one addressed her advertisement number not her name. A first correspondence. New air filled her chest.

The primrose-colored paper felt thick beneath her fingers, and the thick glob of red wax sealing the note held an indentation of a crest. Could it be from a gentleman? Maybe someone titled? Maybe this could be the man who would stand up for her boy. The notion of such decency lifted her lips, even the bottom one she chewed when nervous or frightened.

"Mada ... Mrs. Cecil." The shopkeeper's impatient voice sounded, cutting through her woolgathering. "I've more paper in the back. Another minute."

The heat from her kid glove made the wax melt a little. She should open it now and read the particulars, his age and situation, but having her dearest friends' dueling perspectives would help make sure she wasn't getting too excited. All the money in the world could not make a man want to father a sickly child and wouldn't help fight for the boy's interests.

Loud voices sounded from the backroom. The door opened and a shaking Sally came out. The blonde twisted her hands within her long apron. The stocky clerk passed in front of her and stood behind the counter. "That will be eight shillings."

Theodosia shoved her letters under the crook of her arm and fished out a half guinea.

The bright shine of the gold coin reflected in his widened eyes. They bulged like greedy hot air balloons. "Is there anything else you wish to buy?"

She shook her head and waited for two shillings and sixpence change. Everything her late husband had told her was true — money trumped questions. Pity all men weren't like her honest Mathew, or dreamers like her apparition. No, most were manipulative, lying as soon as they opened their mouths.

She picked up her package, shifting the treasure between her palms, and looked at the hurt painting the shop girl's face. She looked like Theodosia had used to look, contemplating the wrong choices. That couldn't happen. She flicked the edge of her parcel, making a hole. "Sir, might I have more paper? I don't want to lose these."

The man slapped the counter. "Aye. Picky. Seems money makes you the same as the rest."

Theodosia bit her tongue, then her lip, to keep a tart reply inside her mouth. She needed a moment alone with the girl.

As soon as the clerk headed into the back, Theodosia came alongside her. "Sally, was it? If you ever need an honest job, where you will be paid fairly for a good day's work, come visit Cecil Farms. Tell them Mrs. Cecil said to hire you. Whatever you decide, come to our Flora Festival in a few weeks." She dipped into her reticule and gave her three shillings to pay for transportation. The farm was a post ride out of London.

Amber eyes smiled at her. "Thank you, Mrs. Cecil."

The man returned, harrumphed, then settled the jar between them on the shelf. "Here's your paper, ma'am."

Theodosia took the blue material and carefully wrapped her soaps. Feeling good at being able to help another, she turned to the door. "Thank you, sir." Keeping another woman from making mistakes would honor Mathew's memory. Even Ewan's ghost would smile, if the shop girl could find a way to dream.

As she stepped back into the crowded throughway, her letters slipped and landed near a man's boot. She bent to retrieve them, but the fellow grabbed them first and held them out to her.

"Thank you." The words crawled out slowly as her gaze traveled up his bottle-green waistcoat and broad chest, past his lean cravat and thick neck, to a familiar scar on his chin. She didn't need to see his thick, wavy, raven hair. She stopped at his eyes, the bluest eyes, bluer than the sky stirred clean by a thunderstorm.

"It is you, Theo," said the man.

Her heart ceased beating. Theodosia looked down to see if it had flopped outside of her stiff corset. Ewan Fitzwilliam stood in front of her. He wasn't dead. Didn't look the least bit distressed or deceased from the war. And he was no ghost, unless hell made apparitions look this good.

* * *

Six years had passed since Ewan Fitzwilliam had seen this beauty. The last time, the locks of her long, straight hair — a gift from her father, an Asian junk sailor, who'd been portside long enough to purchase companionship — had been free about her shoulders. Her deep bronzed skin, a blessing of the negress mother she'd barely known, had been exposed at her throat from a hastily put-on blouse. Her wide almond-shaped eyes, onyx pools of decadent wonder, had been afraid, like now. "Theo, the Flower Seller."

Chewing on her bottom lip, she nodded and blinked her lengthy, silky lashes, hiding the largest irises he'd ever seen. Before, those eyes had captivated him. He'd thought them passion-sated, but now, he knew them to be big with avarice, another of her deceptive guises. "It's been a long time, Theo."

She nodded and maybe took a breath, but still said nothing.

One look at her expensive frock, the tailored obsidian-colored walking dress that sculpted her hourglass form, and any doubt of her greed left his jaded heart. The sands of time had been good to her curvy form, and Theo had used her womanly wiles to attain wealth. Despite her humble background, she was no different than the ladies Ewan had met at the balls his mother forced him to attend. All were young women seeking advancement or larger purses, something a second son didn't possess. "Six years and you have nothing to say to me?"

"You died." Her alto voice dropped lower. "You are dead. An apparition."

"Very much alive. You look to be breathing, too. Barely."

She squinted and shifted the ribbons of her bonnet. "Whatever you are, can I have my letters? Then you may return to being dead."

Playfully, he waved the sealed papers fanning his chin. "Can you, or may you? A woman should know her capabilities. You know, like the ability to deceive."

He waited for her to respond. His Theo would offer a stinging retort, something with fire.

But this woman stood still, her fingers hovered inches from his as if she were afraid to take the letters. This wasn't his Theo.

Nonetheless, when she bit her lip again, he knew the folded notes held some importance for her. Out of habit, he swept them farther away, tucking them close to the revers of his tailcoat. Would this new Theo reach for something that was hers?

The woman glanced to the left and then to the right, but did not move. Part of him soured even more. Yes, she'd been shy when they'd first met, but never this cautious, not with him. This wasn't the girl he'd ruined himself over. Perhaps she had never existed, just a novel characterization his playwright mind had invented. "Are you sure these belong to you? Let me check for a name."

He read the markings on the folded papers and burned at the written name, Mrs. Cecil. "It doesn't say Theo the Flower Seller, but Mrs. Cecil. Is that you?"

She put a hand to her hip. "Yes. Give me those letters."


Excerpted from "The Bittersweet Bride"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Vanessa Riley.
Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

The Bittersweet Bride 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 2 reviews.
Candace-LoveyDoveyBooks More than 1 year ago
In my experience, historical romance has never been as diverse as Vanessa Riley's The Bittersweet Bride. Theodosia Cecil is a widowed, former flower girl, now the owner of a successful flower farm. Because of her late husband, Matthew Cecil, Theo is left with a home and money to care for herself and her son for eternity. Still, she faces resentment and unfair treatment because of her background and skin color. This is especially so when it comes to Ewan Fitzwilliam. Ewan and Theo fell in love, but his family were completely against the relationship. Off Ewan goes to war and a mix up sends false notification of his death. Theo was the only one who didn't know he actually survived, but she's still left with a baby on the way and no place to call home. Fast forward six years, Ewan and Theo are reunited and Theo is looking for another husband to stand as protection for her son. The set up of the story is spectacular with bold characters and colorful landscape. The one thing that holds me back from absolutely loving this story is the slow build up and repetitious dialogue that never really evolves from Theo and Ewan talking about their past. It is a point of contention between them, but it's never taken further or explored in deeper context. On the other hand, Theo's friends offer enlightening conversation that paints a wide view of the society Theo lives in and her character. Out of tragedy comes hope for a better future for Theo and her son. She is one fierce heroine who knows what she deserves and you'll be rooting for her all the way. Vanessa Riley offers readers a romance that will appeal to fans of Alyssa Cole and Beverly Jenkins! *ARC provided in consideration for review*
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Theo is between a rock and a hard place. With her beloved husband dead, and her mourning period nearly at an end, she knows she must marry again to protect her young son. The last thing she needs is for a ghost from her past to appear and bring back all her carefully buried regrets. Ewan – once believed dead due to an army mixup – is finally back in England, and is shocked to discover his first love is now his cousin’s widow. Can they both let go of their feelings about the past and make a new future together? “We said, ‘Respectable young widow of means looking for honorable family man of good character for matrimony.’” The grimace on Frederica’s supple features was comical. Her nose wriggled as if she smelled dead fish. “Oh. I forgot we went the mind-numbing route. We should write back with more color. Something clever.” Trying not to turn back to the patio, Theodosia crossed her arms. “What should I have said? Blackamoor beauty with babe and loads of baubles, needs beau?” Theo’s life is hemmed in by her “Rs” – what she calls regrets – and those Rs are in some ways more harmful to her than all the racism she faces for being black and the circumstances of her low birth. The root of all her regrets – though perhaps not the most painful one – is that she trusted Ewan enough once by agreeing to elope with him. Theo still loves Ewan, but he’s failed her before by not being strong enough to stand up to his father. Theo has had to make some hard choices, but she owns them. Ewan, on the other hand, at times seems years younger than Theo, despite having been away in the army for more than half a decade. Ewan’s constant jumping to conclusions and willingness to believe the worst of Theo got old. Ewan believes she’s prideful and would never admit she’s wrong, and constantly accuses her of lying, gold-digging, etc. At heart, I think, he’s a good person, but it’s obvious that, had they eloped as intended, their marriage would never have lasted. As he spends more time with Theo, Ewan realizes the story he’s constructed about what happened – the story that his family has encouraged – is missing some major pieces. “Resigned, she smoothed her thick cuffs and steeled her spirit with Mathew’s words. Theodosia, you are a light rising from obscurity. When you focus on helping others, the darkness you think you have will be like the noon sun.” There is a lot of conflict and angst: Theo and Ewan’s unresolved romance, Theo’s guilt over Phillip’s illness, Ewan’s conflict with his family, Lester’s scheming to win control of the Cecil estate, plus, of course, their difference in race and class. It was, at times, an exhausting read, because at one point it was very hard to imagine how they were going to end up together given everything stacked against them. Regardless, I think, it is a hopeful book, as Theo is strong, determined, and willing to do what needs to be done. There are some Christian themes running through it, as well as some Bible quotes, which works well with the themes of redemption, though I don’t think it would be overly noticeable to a secular reader. Theo’s friends were lovely, and I’m hoping that they are supposed to be the heroines of the next few books. I also loved Pickens, the butler! Overall, I enjoyed this book, and I’m very much looking forward to the next in the series! Recommended for anyone who loves second chance romances, with a well-drawn back story, and lots of conflict! I received this book for free from NetGalley