Or should that read (because the hero is a duke): Grandma, Auntie, the Duke and I???
Or since my hero, the duke, looked differently than he does now when young, could the title be: The Frog and I?
Yes, I am writing romcoms these days for shorter works. And the title should fit, yes?
Tell me what you think of these!
His Merry Housekeeper
A novelette in Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent series
By Cerise DeLand
Word among the fashionable is that in that marvelous London crescent, Dudley to be exact, a new storm brews over the romantic interests of the lords and ladies who live there.
Lord Bettington in Number 42 is in need of a new housekeeper. It being Christmas and his house full of his three raucous motherless sons, he is in need of someone bold who can tamp down the chaos of his household—and his boys.
But the earl wants so much more. He has ordered his young chatelaine, Miss Winifred Mathers, up from his country estate to serve as his housekeeper. Could it be true that that particular servant who is the only daughter of a termagant barrister has pierced dashing Lord Bettington’s lonely heart?
He tells himself he wants his new servant to provide order and emotional succor for his poor (savage) little boys.
But can he control his yearning for his new employee?
And can Winn suppress her desire for the only man she's ever loved?
BUY LINK for MERRY BELLES, a box set by the Bluestocking Belles: https://www.amazon.com/Merry-Belles-Bluestocking-Collection-Friends-ebook/dp/B0FTQVYSKG
Be sure to read the current three novels about those who live in Dudley Crescent:
Her Beguiling Butler: https://books2read.com/u/bpjNZ6
His Tempting Governess: https://books2read.com/u/4jenz2
His Naughty Maid: https://books2read.com/u/3npn9B
BUY LINK: https://books2read.com/u/boxvz1 |
I hope you are reading this series which is getting so many readers' happy reviews! As one reader said of them, they are " not your average ballroom romance."
Try one and read them all for excitement, charm and the drama of falling in love with the one person who makes your life complete!
“…a fairy tale romance with lots of intrigue, danger and mysterious happenings.”
“…[I was} swept into the lives of those whose lives were in peril as Napoleon began his attempt to conquer Europe. The research is superb.”
“The attraction between the main characters sizzles…”
“An exciting, captivating, and well written historical romance with such beautiful historical detail. The drama, action, intrigue, suspense, and so many emotional issues, and plot twists that kept me very entertained.”
Here first is Stéphanie von Baden, niece of Josephine, whom Bonaparte adopted so that he could wed her to a ruler who was an ally of France. She became Grand Duchess Stéphanie von Baden (1789–1860), out living her husband.
They lived apart in the beginning of their marriage, but came together to have five children, three daughters and two sons. Both boys died in childhood.
Stephanie lived in Mannheim after her husband's death.
~~~~
Louise married the Tsarevich, Alexander, who later became Alexander I, emperor of Russia. They had no children.
In 1802 Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun painted this portrait of her. (Le Brun who lived in many countries after she fled Paris and the Terror, painted many rulers of Europe.)
Torture to be the man who loves her.
Amber St. Antoine flees Paris—and her role to spy on Bonaparte.
Ramsey must find her and keep her safe.
But the lady objects.
Stubborn, defiant and stunningly beautiful, Amber accepts Ram’s protection…even as she refuses to leave France.
What’s a man to do, if he’s determined to save her from herself…and is foiled at every turn?
Is he a fool to believe that love conquers all?
BUY LINK: https://books2read.com/u/brddrE
Excerpt, LORD RAMSEY’S RED-HEADED RUIN, Copyright, 2024, Cerise Deland.
“Scarlett Hawthorne definitely knows you,” Ramsey conformed with a shrug of indifference. “She showed me a watercolor portrait of you. A fine one.”
Whose painting could that have been? Only Augustine. For years, her best friend Augustine had refined her art by redoing Amber’s portrait in ink or pencil or watercolor over again and again. “I know you best,” Gus had often said when Amber complained. “It gives me joy.”
However, the gentleman before her was not joyful. He frowned at the door slats. “That portrait is how I have been able to track you in and out of town the past few days. Even in your men’s attire, to say nothing of your numerous changes of public carriages, hired coachmen—and haylofts.”
“I tracked you today,” she blurted at him as a ripple of despair shot through her.
“I know. A double play, eh?”
This man trailed her. Were there others? More whom she had not noticed? Were they from Scarlett or from Vaillancourt? What had she not seen? Who else was out there plotting her capture?
Her bravado was for naught. She clutched her arms around her middle. If she had had more space in this cramped closet, she would have doubled in distress.
“Come out, Madame,” her captor murmured with sweet appeal. “I long to meet you face to face. I have admired your courage.”
“And my stupidity to allow you to corner me?”
He waved a hand. “Curiosity was bound to snare you.”
That was true. “You allowed me just enough of you to lead me on.”
“Ah, well. Essential to one who wishes to meet you.”
“But sir, I have no desire to meet you.”
“You will.”
Did he toy with her? Rather carefree, wasn’t he? Yet his discovery of her was so dire a challenge to her. “Huh! You think very highly of yourself.”
“I think very highly of you, Madame. You are quick, nimble, thoughtful in your escapade. Add to that, you are lovely from afar. I can only imagine how stunning you are closer.”
She snorted. “I am no imbécile who will welcome your compliments or your protection in exchange for my obedience.”
His jaw, square and blunt as it was, went rigid with his displeasure. His pale eyes grew eerie. “Madame, you test my good nature. I do not want you servile. I am here on a mission. You are my quest. I have found you, and now you will do me the courtesy of appearing without further ado. This delay grows tiresome. We have much to say, more to plan.” He extended one hand toward the closet and waggled his fingers at her. “Come out, I say.”
Out, she had to go. With a huff and a shake of her skirts, she emerged into the golden candlelight of his presence.
She stood, toe to toe with him. But that was all that matched. Her breasts came to his ribcage. Her chin was level to his throat. Her gaze took in his mouth, generous and strong. His own eyes, in the fuller light now afforded her, could have sent her to her knees. How could a man possess such an erotic gaze of Nordic blue with long brown lashes so sweeping she could envy them herself?
“Yes,” he pronounced the word in a long low draw that had her sensing his bass voice down through her stomach to her loins, “I see one reason why Vaillancourt pursues you. T’is not simply your hair. The red does claim the eye, burn the mind. It is your demeanor.”
“Far from it!”
The fellow shot up a hand to make her pause. “You are rare.”
“Not at all.” How unique, she dare not say.
“I disagree. No freckles. No blemishes. No girlish whimsy. No frailty of bone or eye or gumption.” He grinned, broad and nigh unto evil in his praise of her.
Praise. Hunh. She would have no more of this. She spun to one side and strode toward his sideboard. “Have you whisky in that decanter?”
“I’m surprised you did not pour yourself a draught.”
She flashed him a withering gaze. “That would have been poor manners. Besides, I was not here long enough to sample it. I do gather you clocked how long I’ve been here.”
“Upstairs?” He fished his watch from his waistcoat pocket and noted the time with a swift dash of humor. “Eight minutes. Perhaps not long enough for your particular taste.”
She availed herself of the decanter and one earthen cup. A strong dose of spirits would be just what she needed to endure this inquisition. She downed it and the warmth sank through her limbs. With her cup empty but still in hand, she spread her skirts and sat upon the edge of his firm wide bed. The sumptuous fell off it had her spine easing. She smiled in relief but killed the expression for this man would not need to know how she desired the comfort of his bed. “Now that you have me, what do you propose to do with me?”
“I hoped you would readily see the value of my company.” He offered her a brilliant sample of his most pleasant bow.
“Fit for the Tuileries, you certainly are.” She lifted her cup in fake homage.
“I’m thrilled you see it that way,” he said with sarcasm. “But we both know you do not wish to return. Frankly, I don’t blame you. I have been there and I did not find the court’s questionable charms amusing.”
She snorted. “Touché. So then, regale me with your solution.”
“We travel together.” He said it with such finality that it left little room for her objections.
“You are presumptuous.”
With a theatrical sigh, he turned on his heel and claimed the only good chair in the room.“I am prudent.”
Whatever she might think, he would argue against. From his commanding position near the door, he watched her like a king on his throne. At his leisure, so easy in his skin, he ran his large blue eyes over her as if she were a diamond to regard, measure and seize. She was no man’s. But she tipped her head and said, “Do enlighten me.”
“You are in a precarious situation. A woman alone. Fleeing not merely one man, albeit one who is the second most capable of detaining anyone in the country, but eluding his entire cadre of underlings. You have limited resources. Money goes only so far for so long, then you must return home to Reims or to Paris to get more. Under disguise and in the dead of night, too. That carries dangers of discovery. Alternately, you could try to live France and go to the coast, Britain, or south to Spain or one of the Italian states. But they are far and require a long journey, perilous and hot. Going to one of the German duchies on the Rhine is not a good idea, either. They, after all, are beholden to Vienna.”
“Not for long, from what I hear.”
“Right you are. For once they are officially aligned with France, you cannot find succor there. Plus, one thing more.” He lifted a finger. “You do not speak any German.”
She sat taller. “You have done quite a bit of research about my background.”
He smiled. It was perfunctory. “I have.”
“So then you offer me your presence, your protection, and your funds. I am shocked, sir. Do you not offer me, as well, your prayers?”
“If you wish.” Humor warmed the cool self-confidence in his gaze.
“I have no need of them.”
“Because you are on the right side of your quest?”
She nodded.
He gave her the sharp regard of a predator about to attack prey. “Never in this country or in any other on this green earth, did being right assure one of victory.”
BUY LINK: https://books2read.com/u/brddrE
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| Attend here! |
Fifi drained her own brandy, put the glass to the table and inched up her skirts to her knees. "Enough?"
