The Explorer Baroness by Julia Justiss-Review & Giveaway

The Explorer Baroness by Julia Justiss-Review & Giveaway

 

 

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ABOUT THE BOOK: Release Date October 26, 2021

He’s the wealthiest nobleman

She’s a risk to his reputation!

Gregory Lattimer is well aware Charis Dunnfield is not the Society bride this Baron’s son needs to restore his family’s tarnished reputation. She is scandalising the ton – living mostly in Constantinople and running her father’s antiquities business! Gregory must settle for her friendship instead – and her help vetting other potential brides for him – until she voyages East again. But will any deb match up to Charis?

••••••••••

REVIEW:  Gregory Lattimer is eldest son of Baron Vraux, and he’s taken of the family reigns as Baron. His father is still very much alive, but has given up the Barony to pursue his love of artefacts.

Meeting the lovely Charis Dunnfield whilst clearing debts run up by his father, has Gregory at somewhat of a quandary! He’s totally enamoured with the miss, but she’s not the right kind of lady this Baron needs to socialize with, let alone think of courting!

Charis doesn’t worry what the social gossips thinks of her. She happier helping her father run his antiques business anyway! But meeting Gregory has her thinking she could be a little more lady like! But it’s too late anyway.

Friendship is better than nothing right? Well Gregory is totally in the “friend zone” and has to endure as more “suitable” ladies are sent his way to be vetted as the next Baroness!

Third book in this historical romance series, and I like this one the best. It’s easily read without the other two. Nicely written, plot easy to follow, low on angst and two characters you wanted to like and you do. Gregory is not a rake or a rogue, and hard working chap who has taken on the family name and mantle to give his father the chance to enjoy his “hobby”. Charis although a little self centred is a pretty decent young lady. There is a slow-slow-slow burn to this romance, but the plot carries it along quiet nicely, and as I’ve read this author a few time now, I wasn’t expecting fireworks.

So will Gregory and Charis remain friends? Will he watch as she sails away? Or will he grab what he so desperately desires?

Copy supplied for review

? Reviewed by Julie B

Award-winning historical romance author Julia Justiss has written more than thirty-five novels and novellas set in the English Regency and the Texas Hill Country.

A voracious reader who began jotting down plot ideas for Nancy Drew novels in her third grade spiral, Julia has published poetry and worked as a business journalist.

She and her husband live in East Texas, where she continues to craft the stories she loves. Check her website for details about her books, chat with her on social media, and follow her on Bookbub and Amazon to receive notices about her latest releases. For special subscriber giveaways, discounted books, character sketches and more, sign up for her newsletter at:

https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h7r3n5

Websitewww.juliajustiss.com
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Goodreadshttps://www.goodreads.com/author/show/63842.Julia_Justiss

Julia Justiss  is graciously offering an ecopy of THE EXPLORER BARONESS to TWO lucky commenters at The Reading Cafe.

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The Railway Countess by Julia Justiss-Review, Excerpt & Giveaway

The Railway Countess (Heirs in Waiting 2) by Julia Justiss-Review, Excerpt & Giveaway

Amazon.com / Amazon.ca / B&N / KOBO / Chapters Indigo / Google Play /

ABOUT THE BOOK:Release Date June

She didn’t want to marry

Least of all a Viscount!

Marcella Cranmore wants to avoid marriage and continue using her mathematical expertise to help her railway engineer father—but her mother insists on her having a season. At her first ball, Marcella’s relieved to see someone she knows, railway investor Crispin D’Aubignon. Conversing with the viscount is safe, for she’s as off-limits to him as he is to her…except that is only increasing the fascination!

Heirs in Waiting

One day these Oxford gentlemen will inherit estates, titles and wealth.

But for now, they’re forging their own paths in life…and love!

•••••••

REVIEW: Marcella doesn’t want, or need a husband thank you! Marriage will put an end to her passion of helping her father build and design trains. But promising her mother and grandfather to attend a season in London, is becoming a frightful bore! Why can’t she allowed to work in the field she loves? Oh yes, that’s right, she’s a woman! And women were for decoration and procreation only! To be seen and not heard! Not for Marcella, she wants a partnership or nothing.

Crispin is sick of his father wanting him to marry for money! Avoiding him at all costs is becoming rather tiresome! But if he doesn’t then his poor mother has to face her husband’s wrath! He likes to earn his money the honest way, to work for it! Whereas his father wants to inherit or for his son to get a dowry for his new wife!

So when they meet each other, an alliance is formed, a front will be provided for both parties. And when it’s all done, no one will be hurt, and everyone else will be none the wiser…..

In theory it sounds like a great plan, but neither expect to grow fond of one another. Neither expected more from this arrangement, but it does. So can Crispin woo the lovely young Marcella? And will she believe he wants her for her brain and not the dowry that comes with marriage? And if this other suitor puts his claim out there, who will Marcella choose?

I’ve read book one in this series. But it’s not necessary to read in order.

It’s a sweet romance, so if your looking for smut, you won’t find it here. What you will find is a beautifully written story. With a strong female character and a hero who is willing to listen and be a modern man, rather than a chest thumping Neanderthal!

There is humour and quick wit. A rival for the fair Marcella’s hand, and parents that want what’s best for their children (even if the children don’t want it!)

I did like the scene where Marcella dresses as a man (unheard of in those days) but Crispin is having a hard time focusing on the task at hand ?

I also liked that Marcella had a brain and it was being utilised by her father. He saw her potential and nurtured it.

Click HERE for Julie’s review of book one THE BLUESTOCKING DUCHESS

?Reviewed by Julie B

Copy supplied for review

Bristol, England, March 1834

“If it can be done, it will certainly be a magnificent achievement,” Crispin D’Aubignon, Viscount Dellamont, murmured to himself as he stood reviewing his notes outside the office of Richard Cranmore, the engineer surveying the final leg of the proposed Great Western Railway.
With the substantial return he’d earned on his investment in the Liverpool & Manchester, he was always looking for other promising railway ventures. If he received the answers he anticipated from the engineering assistant he would be consulting in just a few moments, he’d be ready to sink some money into this new scheme.
Review completed, he walked in to find the bare outer office deserted. Not surprising, since the firm’s main headquarters was back in London and this suite of rooms had been rented only for the duration of the local survey. But the front door had been left unlocked, which indicated there should be someone on the premises.
Proceeding toward the inner office, he called out, “Hello! Is anyone here?”
He’d been about to add his name and the reason for his visit when he reached the doorway and stopped short.
Seated behind the desk of the inner office was a woman. Not just a woman, he realized as she looked up at him inquiringly, but a young and very attractive one.
Though her gown wasn’t as outlandishly elaborate as those in the first stare of fashion, he recognized the material as expensive and the cut and fit as expert. Glossy dark hair with glimmers of auburn glistened from the elaborate arrangement of curls pinned to her head, and the eyes turned up to him were a beautiful green, framed by long dark lashes. The pale skin of her face looked petal-soft, her nose aquiline and lovely. Lush lips and a temptingly curved figure produced an immediate jump in his pulse and a prickling awareness in the rest of his body.
No gently-born woman worked, and offices employed only male clerks. So what sort of woman could she be? The chere-amie of one of the engineers?
Before he could settle his rattled brain and produce speech, she said, “Can I help you?”
A little embarrassed to have been caught frankly staring at her, Crispin stammered, “V-viscount Dellamont. I’m here to consult with a Mr. Gilling?”
Surprise widened her eyes. “Lord Dellamont? Excuse me, but I was expecting someone…older. Most potential investors are,” she explained. “Austin—Mr. Gilling—should arrive shortly. Indeed, when I heard someone walk in, I thought it was him.”
She rose from behind the desk, her tiny waist emphasized by the wideness of her skirts. Though she was rather tall for a woman, the top of her head should just about reach his chin, Crispin thought. He could wrap both arms almost completely around that small frame, if he were to embrace her.
And ah, would he like to embrace her! Just who was this enticingly lovely woman?
“If you’d step back into the front room, you can wait there,” she was saying. “I apologize that our reception area is so…bare. Not expecting to be in Bristol long or to be receiving investors or clients here, my father didn’t consider it worth renting the quantity of furniture and comforts we have at the London office. Would you like a cup of tea? I can send Father’s assistant to the shop at the corner.”
“No, thank you.” Though the girl made a “shooing” motion, directing him toward the outer room, Crispin lingered, compelled to find out more about this lovely creature.
Then the significance of what she’d just said registered. “Your father?” he repeated. “You are…Richard Cranmore’s daughter?”
“Yes. Since there is no one to perform proper introductions, I’ll introduce myself. Marcella Cranmore, my lord.” She gave him a curtsey that was long on grace and exaggerated deference.
If she were truly the respected engineer’s unmarried daughter, that would make her a member of the rising merchant elite—who were known for their straight-laced morals. No chance of a casual, pleasurable encounter with a woman of that background, regrettably. The price of getting to know this young woman better would be marriage—which should prompt him to terminate the conversation immediately.
Just then, the outer door opened and a young man of about his own age bustled in. “Ah, Austin, there you are,” the young woman said, gifting the newcomer with a dazzling smile.
The engineer returned a fond one of his own. After sparing Crispin only a cursory glance, he said, “Sorry I’m late, Marcella. Some problems with the equipment at the site—it’s rather hard to access. But your father was insistent that I return as soon as possible, since he was expecting a visit by some fancy nob who’s already dropped a pile of blunt buying shares in other railroad ventures.”
The lady’s smile wavered. “Viscount Dellamont?”
“Yes, that was the name.”
She inclined her head toward Crispin. “He’s already arrived.”
Gilling turned toward him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Lord Dellamont?”
“I have that honor,” Crispin said drily.
Though the young man’s face colored, he gave Crispin a quick bow. “Pleased to meet you, my lord. Austin Gilling, Mr. Cranmore’s assistant chief engineer. No offense meant, I assure you.”
“None taken.”
“If you would be gracious enough to wait a few minutes longer, I need to have Miss Cranmore record some of the measurements we’ve just taken. After that, I will be happy to answer any questions you might have.”
“Let me send for that tea, my lord. We’ll make you as comfortable as possible while you wait, and then Mr. Gilling will give you his full attention,” Miss Cranmore said, giving him a placating smile—as if he were a querulous child who needed soothing.
“If Mr. Gilling is going to be giving you pertinent figures about the approach slope, I’d like to sit in on the discussion.”
“The figures are of a highly technical nature. We wouldn’t want to waste your valuable time, boring you with mathematical details,” she replied.
“Whose significance I couldn’t possibly comprehend?” he suggested, not sure whether he was more amused or offended by her treating him like a rich, self-important, clueless dolt.
Her overly-gracious demeanor slipped a bit. “Are you a trained engineer then, my lord?” she asked with some asperity.
“No. But since I have, er, ‘dropped a good deal of blunt’ in several other railway ventures, I’ve made it my business to become more acquainted with some of the technical issues involved with constructing them.”
“I really can’t see why—“ Gilling began, but Miss Cranmore waved a hand, motioning him to silence.
“If it would please you to know the figures, you are certainly quite welcome to listen. We have no objection to our investors becoming more knowledgeable about the technical aspects of our engineering projects. It can only increase their appreciation and admiration for the work my father’s engineers accomplish.”
Giving Gilling a warning look, as if to remind him he was dealing with an investor whose plump pockets they needed to fund the project that would pay his salary, she said, “Do step back into the office, then. Mr. Gilling, will you bring another chair? And please let me send Timmons for that tea, my lord.”
“If you wish to have some,” Crispin said, curious about what was going to happen next.
And even more curious about why the daughter of a successful, well-known engineer would be sitting at a desk in his temporary office. Her father, he knew, had made a comfortable fortune building railroads and bridges. Even were it not highly unusual to have a female clerk in their office, the family was certainly well enough off that his daughter need do nothing more taxing than help her mother run the household, visit friends, and spend her father’s blunt on clothes and fripperies while her parents lined up prospective suitors.
The tea order dispatched to the assistant who ducked in when Miss Cranmore called him and an extra chair brought by Gilling to the desk, Miss Cranmore resumed her seat behind it, Gilling taking the one he pulled up beside her. While she extracted a notebook from the desk drawer, the engineer pulled a pad from his waistcoat pocket. Once she had taken out her nib pen and opened the inkwell lid, she nodded to Gilling.
“Have you and Father finished all the measurements of the slope leading up from the river?” she asked.
“We have one more section to complete—the slope is rather steep there, so the work goes slowly. We’re having to break the hundred-foot segments into many smaller increments for the forward tape man to be able to keep it level at his chest. Are you ready for the numbers?”
She dipped her nib in the ink. “Ready.”
For the next few minutes, Gilling read off a list of lengths while Miss Cranmore copied them into her log book.
“That’s all I have for now,” Gilling said. “After I speak with Lord Dellamont, I’ll head back out to rejoin Mr. Cranmore. We hope to finish the rest of the measurements today and then can begin figuring the angles necessary to construct the grade.”
The assistant arrived with tea, Miss Cranmore pouring while Gilling put away his notebook. “So, my lord, what would you like to know?” he asked.
“The countryside immediately outside London is flat enough, but as one journeys westward, especially after Chippenham, the land becomes increasingly hilly, with several rivers and a canal to cross. How do the engineers propose to deal with these?”
Gilling angled a look at him. “You are familiar with the terrain?”
“I’m not a professional surveyor, of course, but before investing in any venture, I prefer to ride the route myself. Evaluating the difficulties it may pose and therefore the chances of it being successfully completed. I have to admit, when I first looked it over, I was rather skeptical.”
“And are you still skeptical?” Miss Cranmore asked.
“That’s why I wanted to talk with Mr. Gilling.”
“The route is challenging,” Gilling admitted. “The stations at both Temple Meads and Bath will be elevated and require the construction of viaducts. In addition to bridges crossing smaller waterways, there will be a major bridge to carry the track over the River Avon. The Kennet and Avon canal will have to be diverted, and one major tunnel constructed through Box Hill outside Corsham, on the highest point of the route.”
“Which, I understand, will be the longest tunnel ever attempted?” Crispin said.
“True. But the engineer in overall charge of the project, Mr. Brunel, worked on tunnels with his father, also a superior engineer. No one in England has more experience.”
“How steep will the gradient be?”
“For the majority of the line, no more than 1 in 1000. The Box Hill tunnel will be steeper, of course, but manageable.”
“What about the stone underlying the tunnel? Will it be able to support having so long a cavern carved out of it?”
“Mr. Brunel believes so. He intends to sink shafts along the route to examine the geology of the rock, of course, before the construction begins.”
“How about curves going up and down the grades?”
“No angles more acute than ten degrees, except perhaps in steeper areas where switchbacks will be necessary. But the engine’s speed will be slow enough in those instances not to pose a danger.”
Crispin nodded, the majority of his concerns alleviated. “I think that answers most of my questions.” He ought to head out himself, but he couldn’t quite master his desire to chat further with the intriguingly accomplished Miss Cranmore.
Giving in to that impulse, he said, “I know you’re anxious to get back and complete your work, Mr. Gilling, so don’t let me keep you any longer.”
Gilling nodded back. “The Great Western will be a boon for its investors, I assure you, Lord Dellamont. Mr. Brunel intends to create not only a direct link between London and Bristol, but by constructing of a fleet of fast, transatlantic iron ships, to New York as well.”
If Brunel were successful in doing all of that, an investor’s return on this venture could be huge, Crispin thought. “Thank you, Mr. Gilling. I shall keep it all in mind.”
“Will you be back in the office later, Mr. Gilling?” Miss Cranmore asked as the engineer put his tea cup back on the tray and then rose from his chair.
“I don’t know. It depends on how long the final measurements take.” Dragging his chair back against the wall, he added, “Your father said not to wait here for him, that he’d meet you back at your lodgings.”
“Perhaps you will join us for dinner, then?” she suggested, giving the engineer another of her lovely smiles.
“I would like that,” he replied, returning another smile of his own. “But I’ll need to make calculations on the data we collected today so I can recommend to your father the best way to proceed along the final approach while keeping the angle of rise within acceptable limits.”
“Father and I will be working on the figures as well. We could compare notes,” Miss Cranmore said.
He nodded—as if it were a common occurrence to have a lady figuring angles and slopes. “Thank you for the invitation. I shall certainly join you if I can.” Turning to Crispin with a bow, he said, “Thank you for coming by, Lord Dellamont. Mr. Cranmore is gratified by your interest in our project, as I’m sure Mr. Brunel will be also. My lord, Miss Cranmore.”
Giving them another bow, the engineer walked out. Miss Cranmore, Crispin noted, followed the engineer’s progress out of the office with a wistful look on her face.
Crispin found himself unaccountably annoyed—and a little bit jealous—of the engineer for the favor with which he was treated by this lovely young woman. Which made no sense. They were in no way competing for Miss Cranmore’s attentions. After this one meeting, he would never see her again.
But because of that fact, he meant to take advantage of this opportunity to find out what inspired a girl of her beauty to spend her evening solving geometric equations with her father.
“You needn’t rush, my lord,” she said, at last turning her attention back to him. “Please, finish your tea.”
“Thank you, I shall.”
“You seem…rather well versed in angles and gradients. Have you studied them?”
Crispin smiled. “My classics education at Oxford didn’t prepare me to evaluate the nuts and bolts of technological advances like railway engines—but they fascinate me. I’m convinced the new industrial age represents the future of wealth and economic expansion, and railways the future of transportation.”
“And so you are eager to invest in them.”
“I was fortunate enough to have a great aunt who left me a small bequest. After I left university, I travelled to the north to investigate the companies beginning the transition from using horse-drawn vehicles on rails to harnessing the new steam engines designed by Mr. Stephenson for the Stockton and Darlington. My modest investments in that and several similar ventures were rewarded. So I now follow rather closely the bills introduced into Parliament for the construction of new lines, riding the countryside myself to evaluate the proposed routes.”
“I have to admit, you seem much more knowledgeable than most of our aristocratic investors.” Her face coloring a little, she added, “I’m afraid I may have been…rather too dismissive upon first meeting you.”
“Thinking I was a useless fribble with more money than comprehension?”
“A dandy, anyway,” she added, her flush deepening. “If I gave the impression that my opinion of you was derogatory, I do apologize.”
Crispin suppressed a smile. She’d made it rather obvious that was indeed her opinion of him, but he wouldn’t embarrass her further by pointing that out—and risk having her speedily dismiss him. Because he was even more curious about her now than he’d been upon first meeting her, and wanted to know more.
For how long would he be able to lure her into talking with him?

 

Award-winning historical romance author Julia Justiss has written more than thirty-five novels and novellas set in the English Regency and the Texas Hill Country.

A voracious reader who began jotting down plot ideas for Nancy Drew novels in her third grade spiral, Julia has published poetry and worked as a business journalist.

She and her husband live in East Texas, where she continues to craft the stories she loves. Check her website for details about her books, chat with her on social media, and follow her on Bookbub and Amazon to receive notices about her latest releases. For special subscriber giveaways, discounted books, character sketches and more, sign up for her newsletter at:

https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h7r3n5

Website: www.juliajustiss.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/juliajustiss
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Amazon Author: https://amzn.to/2RK34RO
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/63842.Julia_Justiss

Julia Justiss  is graciously offering an ecopy of THE RAILWAY COUNTESS  to TWO lucky commenters at The Reading Cafe.

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The Bluestocking Duchess by Julia Justiss- Review & Giveaway

The Bluestocking Duchess (Heirs in Waiting 1) by Julia Justiss- Review, Excerpt & Giveaway

The Bluestocking Duchess
Heirs in Waiting #1
by Julia Justiss
Release Date: February 23, 2021
Genre: adult, historical, romance

Amazon.com / Amazon.ca / B&N / KOBO / Chapters Indigo / Google Play

ABOUT THE BOOK:Release Date February 23, 2021

Her good friend…

Is suddenly a duke’s heir!

Miss Jocelyn Sudderfeld is working at Edge Hall, indulging her love of translating ancient texts with her librarian father—and evading the need to marry! She’s always enjoyed a teasing friendship with estate manager Mr. Alex Cheverton. Until he unexpectedly becomes the duke’s heir. Now his first duty is to marry a suitable debutante, not consort with an earnest bluestocking like her… So where does that leave their friendship?

•••••••••

REVIEW: Jocelyn and Alex have been friends for what seems like forever, and Jocelyn has had a crush on Alex for just as long, but all that is coming to an end!!

Alex is about to become heir to Edge Hall and become Duke of Farisdeen. Well, he’s being groomed to take that position, being estate manager for his cousin the Duke was enough for Alex, and getting to tease Jocelyn is a bonus. But being asked (well commanded) to become the heir to the Farisdeen estate and title is a great honour. So why isn’t Alex happier?

Jocelyn translates manuscripts from Ancient Greek into English. That makes her too smart for this period of time (ladies should be doing needlepoint and taking tea with other ladies) she loves working with her father and brother, but the most frustrating thing about working with her family, is that her brother is being credited with her work! But it’s a work of love for Jocelyn, so she just has to put up with it!

Sharing a chaste kiss changed their friendship, both have agreed that nothing would change, and how can it when Jocelyn is promised to another (a friend of her brother) it’s not a love match, but he’s promised Jocelyn she can continue her “work” of helping her father and brother with the Greek manuscripts. So she is spoken for, and he is in line to become the next Duke of Farisdeen, but neither can forget the kiss…..And when his uncle finds out!! Then that’s where the trouble begins, Alex is threatened with being disinherited, and Jocelyn is harassed to give up both her work and her friendship with Alex!!

Can Alex and Jocelyn really be together? Or will the duties that have been pushed upon Alex break this couple up?

It’s hard for us to imagine not being able to chose our own life, to find our own path, but women of that era had no such liberties, married off usually not for love, but for political gain! And for a woman to hold an intellectual conversation just wasn’t done!! And sometimes the men of title didn’t have it much better either! Finding the right wife didn’t necessarily mean the best for you, it meant continuing the line with people of the same standing!

Lots of rules, and tons of etiquette to learn!!

It’s a lovely book to read if your looking for a gentle romance, a small amount of angst and chaste kisses and smouldering looks.

Copy supplied for review

?Reviewed by Julie

 

West Sussex, late February 1834If his Oxford friends could see him now…they might not think so highly of his choice of profession. Not that he’d really had one.
With a sigh of annoyance, Alex Cheverton, estate manager of Edge Hall, the Duke of Farisdeen’s principal country property, got down on hands and knees and crawled under his desk to retrieve his waistcoat button. Castigating himself for putting off the task of repairing it, he backed out carefully, not wanting to compound his annoyance by banging his head on the desk.
Rising back to his feet, he stared at the offending button. Might as well leave the correspondence on his desk and tend to it now. Besides, he’d been craving a hot cup of tea since returning to his office after the chill of inspecting the stable block and the State Rooms the staff had just finished cleaning.
Button in hand, he walked out of his office and headed down the corridor to another of the smaller, private family rooms located, like his office, in a separate wing that backed onto and mirrored the U-shaped formal entry wing of Edge Hall. A moment later, he reached the sitting room, appreciating as he entered the warmth emanating from the fire on the hearth and the sunlight streaming through the window.
He shared this pleasant space with a handful of staff whose birth, like his, elevated them above congregating in the servant’s hall, yet was not sufficiently grand to entitle them to use the State Apartments or the sumptuous salons, bedchambers and anterooms reserved for the Duke. Soon after taking up his post, he’d had a small stove added to the fireplace in the room so that he could prepare tea for himself whenever he wished, without having to send to the kitchen. With wine in the decanter on the sideboard, a tin beside it containing the bread and cheese Cook sent up daily with his breakfast, he had sustenance to keep him going throughout the day.
The sideboard also contained an assortment of everyday necessities like needles, thread, scissors and thimbles.
He’d fixed the tea, taken a seat at the long table before the hearth, threaded a needle and bent over to begin his chore when a disturbance in the air of the room, followed by the wafting of rose perfume, announced a new arrival. Jocelyn, he thought, his senses stirring.
“Ah, you’ve heated the kettle, I see,” the newcomer said.
“Yes. There should be enough hot water left to make tea for you and your brother, if you’d like.” Distracted by her presence, he looked up to smile at her—and jabbed himself in the thumb.
Giving an undignified yelp, he rubbed at the spot of blood on his finger, not wanting to drip it onto the waistcoat.
“What’s this? Have you injured yourself?” she asked, walking over to the table. “Let me see.”
“I think I’ll live,” he said, holding up the finger for her inspection.
She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped off his finger.
The pain of the pinprick forgotten, he savored the touch of her hands, acutely sensitive to the brush of fabric over his finger, the subtle scent of roses that clung to her. Guiltily aware that he shouldn’t be noticing it.
“Yes, you’ll do,” she said, releasing his hand. “Speaking of ‘do,’ whatever were you attempting here? “ She peered down at the thread, scissors, and waistcoat laid before him on the table. “Sewing on a button?”
“How very acute you are.”
“It’s my superior education. It allows me to rapidly evaluate a situation and discern the most salient points,” she tossed back, her beautiful dark eyes dancing.
He could stare into them forever, Alex thought. But of course, he wouldn’t. Trading barbs with Jocelyn Sudderfeld, the lovely, intelligent sister of the Duke’s librarian, who over the six years he’d worked here had grown from exuberant youngster into desirable young lady almost before he noticed it, was all he would allow himself. Especially now that he could no longer ignore how attractive her tall, graceful figure, gamin face, and fascinating eyes had become.
Fortunately, even if she didn’t view him merely as another pesky older brother, she was promised to another—or as close to promised as made no difference.
“Which begs the point,” she was saying, “of why the lofty estate manager of Edge Hall, cousin to the Duke of Farisdeen himself, is lowering himself to perform such a mundane task. Any number of housemaids could do it for you. Mary, in particular, would be delighted to be of assistance.”
“Which, if your understanding were as acute as you seem to think it, you would realize is exactly why I did not ask her—or any of the others.”
“Oh, my—has she turned love-sick, too? Well, what can a gentleman like you expect, when he is handsome, charming, intelligent—and cousin to a duke?”
“He expects to tread a very careful path away from love-sick housemaids,” Alex said with asperity, drawing a laugh from Jocelyn. “Although a little more respect from the sister of His Grace’s librarian wouldn’t come amiss.”
“Ah, but I’m not a lovesick housemaid.”
“No, you’re just an outspoken bluestocking whom I vainly hoped would have matured from the mannerless brat I encountered when I arrived six years ago”
“Perhaps, but a talented, outspoken mannerless brat,” she returned. “In fact, despite your cruel aspersions, which would have me bursting into tears, had I any sensibility, which fortunately I do not, I am still magnanimous enough to sew on that button for you. Can’t have you bleeding all over the parlor. If you’ll hand me the waistcoat and thread?”
Saying that, she seated herself at the table and held out her hand.
Quite happy to turn the task over to someone whom he didn’t have to worry about trying to sneak into his bed—much as he might welcome such a shocking but highly unlikely invasion from her—he offered her the threaded needle and handed over the waistcoat. “Are you sure you are able to sew on a button? Writing down your brother’s Greek translations all day doesn’t exactly qualify you as a seamstress.”
“Perhaps not, but since both he and Papa seem to shed buttons as freely as dogs do their winter coats in spring, I’ve plenty of practice doing that, too. You might cease insulting me and make me a cup of tea instead, while I mend your button. Preparing tea, I know you are competent to handle. Despite your lack of expertise with needle and thread, you’re not entirely the useless, idle cousin-of-the-Duke you were when you first arrived.”
“I’ll be happy to fix you’re a cup, if you will cease the cousin-of-the-Duke harassment. Since I am, as you very well know, merely the son of a country gentleman, just as you are. Only my father was content to occupy himself on his modest estate, rather than embrace scholarship, as your father and brother have.”
“If it earns me a hot cup of tea, I suppose I can desist.” Abandoning her teasing for a more normal tone, she asked, “How are the repairs going on the stable block?”
“Slowly,” he replied as he extracted tea leaves from the tin, put them into a pot and poured simmering water over them. “Although the local stone used in the original construction is a beautiful color, it doesn’t last well. There is chipping and cracking on almost every one of the carved cornices. Now that we’re reasonably sure there will be no further frost to exacerbate the cracks, the mason thinks he can start on it. But he expects it will be a lengthy and extensive project.”
“No riding with the hunt for you, then,” she said, pausing to accept a steaming cup.
“No, alas. Not that I ride with them often, anyway.”
“I know they are always pleased to welcome you when you do. And the Duke’s hunters do require exercise.”
“They do indeed. In fact, I’m planning to make a circuit of the tenant farms on the west side of the estate tomorrow, to inspect for any winter damage to cottages and barns and make sure the farmers have sufficient equipment and seed. All the weather indications promise it will be a fine, sunny day. Would you and Miss Morrison like to ride with me?”
“Emily is still tending her Papa as he recovers from a putrid cold, but I’ll send a note and ask her. Speaking for myself, I’d be delighted to ride. As long as I can choose which of the Duke’s hunters I get to exercise.”
“Knowing you, it will be the most skittish and ungovernable one in the stable,” Alex said.
“No, just the fastest. After all, the hunters do need to be galloped to keep up their stamina. So they can give the Duke and his guests a good run, if he should bring a party down to hunt. Do you think he will?”
“Since he’s waited this late, I doubt he’ll come now. He’s been attending a house party in the north with some political associates, and with Parliament to reconvene soon, I don’t think he’ll come all the way to Sussex before heading back to London. All is in readiness, of course, if he should turn up. I just looked through the State Rooms, and they are immaculate—not that I expected anything less. Still, I told Simons to pass my compliments on to the staff.”
“They have all been working like Trojans, getting the house ready. Farisdeen usually does come to Edge Hall to hunt before Parliament reconvenes. I imagine some will be disappointed to miss having the excitement of a grand party visit the house. You, I expect, will not.”
Alex laughed. “Disappointed not to add the work of housing, feeding and entertaining the Duke and a hunting party of anywhere from ten to fifty guests for several weeks, while at the same time helping the tenants prepare for spring planting and supervising the never-ending task of repairs and upkeep on the Hall, the stables, all the other outbuildings, and the tenant cottages? Not one bit. Though I expect that means I shall receive instructions shortly to meet the Duke in London and give him my spring report there.”
“Papa will be disappointed. He’d hoped to show His Grace all the progress Virgil and I—well, Virgil–has made on the translation of the Euripides tragedies. With the Duke of Portland having commissioned a new set of Aristotle translations from his chaplain, Reverend Owen, Papa knew Farisdeen hoped to have Virgil complete his work first.”
“Winning the first-to-the-finish competition among patrons sponsoring the translation of Greek classics into English?”
“Something like that. Just as well that His Grace won’t descend on us. Virgil is much happier with his nose buried in Greek text than he is presenting a report to the Duke–a prospect which always sends him into a state of high anxiety.”
“Speaking with Farisdeen often has that effect on people,” Alex said drily. “If Virgil is in such a hurry to finish, will he allow you to ride tomorrow?”
Jocelyn laughed, a delightful tinkling sound that always made Alex smile. “You must realize that ‘finish’ is a relative term. I doubt either Virgil—or the Duke of Portland’s chaplain—have any expectation of completing their projects for years yet. I think my brother can spare having me here to record his pristine words for an afternoon. Besides, I can tell him I’ll be helping Reverend Morrison by checking on his parishioners while he is laid up. ” She angled her head up at him, her dark eyes dancing. “Despite being mounted on the Duke’s fastest hunter, I promise not to outrace you…too often.”
“Only if you also promise not to sulk if I outrace you.”
“Easily done—since there’s little chance of that happening.”
Alex laughed, as she meant him to. Sometimes, when she challenged him to a gallop or to a game of chess, she seemed once again the vibrant, saucy girl who’d shocked him when he first arrived by riding the feistiest horse in the Duke’s stables—clad in her brother’s breeches. Unconventional, outspoken, endlessly curious about everything around her.
Her manners had improved—and she no longer rode about in breeches. But sometimes he’d catch a whiff of her rose perfume…or a glimpse of her in profile, her lushly rounded figure definitely no longer that of a child.
It had certainly been easier when he could think of her only as an engaging brat. But despite the temptation she presented, even if it were possible, he wasn’t sure he’d opt to return her to her girlish state of six years ago–and thereby forfeit the pleasure of appreciating the beauty and allure that both enticed and bedeviled him.
Fortunately for the maintenance of his control and good character, she lived with her little family in the Dower House. No chance of running into her in her night rail as she came down to the kitchen to prepare her wakeful father a glass of warm milk. He saw her only in the public rooms at Edge Hall, or out riding and walking the fields and farms, often with her friend Miss Morrison, the vicar’s daughter, accompanying them.
Tomorrow, he could rely on her desire to outrace him and her delight in meeting with the tenants, as well as the presence of Miss Morrison, to reinforce his control over the annoying amorous impulses she seemed to inspire in him of late.
Not that he really needed any help to avoid crossing the lines of propriety. After the searing experience in his late teens that had seen him secretly engaged and then summarily rejected by the young lady’s father, he’d become very good at reining in both unruly emotions and amorous impulses.
Besides which, though they might both be offspring of obscure country gentlemen, lowly members of the gentry whom the ton in London might consider beneath notice, he was a gentleman, and she was a lady. He liked and respected her too much to abuse her trust.
No matter how much her beauty and spirit might speak to him.
“There!” she said, pulling him from his thoughts as she held up his waistcoat. “Button firmly reattached. With, I’ll have you note, perfect, fine, even stitches of which even your Mama would approve.”
He took the garment, a shock of awareness zinging through him as, for a moment, their fingers touched.
Maybe it would be better if she were to regress to being a saucy sixteen-year old, he thought with a sigh.
“Very fine stitchery,” he said, recovering his wits. “My Mama, a notable needlewoman, would approve.”
“Mine was, too,” Jocelyn said, her teasing look fading and a distant expression coming over her face. “She was so patient, teaching me, restless and irritated as I often was with the lessons. She knew I’d far rather be with Papa in his study, learning Greek and Latin and French and Italian, than sewing samplers and practicing embroidery.”
“She despaired of having so unnatural a daughter?” he teased.
“No, she was proud of Papa’s scholarship, proud enough to defy her family and marry him in the teeth of their disapproval. A Randall of Innisbrook should have done much better for herself than to wed a former Oxford don whose chief goal in life was finding a patron to support his translation projects. She was pleased that I shared his interests, pleased that my aptitude for languages allowed me to assist him.”
“You copied out the translations for him, even before you began doing it for your brother, didn’t you?”
“Yes. It began as an exercise, when he was teaching me Greek. Then, when he developed rheumatism in his hands and writing became difficult, he found that I was able to take down his words as quickly and accurately as he could dictate them. So I was already quite accomplished by the time he passed the work on to my brother.”
“Still an unusual occupation for a female.”
She grinned. “Ah, but I am a very unusual female. Now, if I am to go riding tomorrow, I’d better get that tea for my brother and get back to work. Shall we meet at the stables around one? Emily can meet us there.”
“One would be fine. I need to work on the ledgers in the morning.”
“I’ll have the Dower House Cook make us up some provisions,” she said as she added more tea leaves to the pot and poured in some additional hot water. “If the tenants don’t press too much food and drink upon us, we can picnic on top of Trethfort Hill. If it is as fine and sunny as you claim it will be, we’ll get a wonderful view over the South Downs, from Edge Hall village all the way to Charleton.”
Extracting a tray from a drawer in the sideboard, she put her cup and saucer on it, added another set and the teapot, then poured a bit of milk into the cups. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Shall I carry the tray to the library for you?”
“Thank you, but I can manage. You’d better get back to your reports. Besides, it wouldn’t do to have His Magnificence, the Duke’s cousin, carrying a tea tray like a lackey.”
“Minx!” he threw at her as, laughing, she hefted the tray and walked out of the room.
She was set to marry a curate, a friend of her brother’s from university, once the young man secured a living sufficient to support her, he knew. Alex wondered how this lively, intelligent, unusual lady who loved galloping hunters and spending her days transcribing ancient Greek would fare as a vicar’s wife serving a small rural parish. Where hunters, and scholarship, were likely to be thin on the ground.
He would certainly miss her when she did marry. That liveliness and intelligence and her always-unexpected view of the world brightened his days as much as her beauty attracted him. Her brother was polite enough, but not even his doting sister would describe him as “lively,” and her father, though a fine gentleman, was rather garrulous, with a tendency to ramble on and on about his work. Except when the Duke was in residence, bringing along his secretary, like Alex a gentleman from a modest but respected family, Alex had no other company of his station.
He knew he was welcome to visit the Squire and the handful of gentry families who lived in the area. But as a bachelor—the Duke had made his remaining unmarried for at least ten years a condition of his employment, a restriction, after his previous unpleasant experience, Alex had embraced–he couldn’t return the hospitality. And since that stricture was not generally known, neither did he wish to visit any of the local families with marriageable daughters with enough frequency as to give rise to any marital expectations.
Should he be foolish enough to wed, thereby forfeiting his position, the small competence he thus far managed to save from the salary the Duke paid him wouldn’t allow him to support an independent household. While he knew his father would receive him and his bride back at Wynborne, he’d witnessed first-hand with his younger sister’s marriage how unpleasant it could be to have a wife and a mother-in-law under the same roof. Nor did he want to add to his father’s burdens the necessity of supporting both him and a wife. Removing the drain of his expenses from the family purse had been the main reason he’d accepted the estate manager’s job to begin with.
All of which meant he attended only the celebratory events or holidays for which the whole neighborhood was invited. Dinner or cards with the Sudderfelds provided the majority of his evening entertainment, and with Jocelyn the most dynamic member of her family, life after she married and left Edge Hall would lose much of its sparkle.
For now, he thought as he doffed his coat, shrugged on his repaired waistcoat, then replaced the outer garment, he would continue to enjoy her company—and hope that her vicar took his time finding a living.

 


 

Award-winning historical romance author Julia Justiss has written more than thirty-five novels and novellas set in the English Regency and the Texas Hill Country.

A voracious reader who began jotting down plot ideas for Nancy Drew novels in her third grade spiral, Julia has published poetry and worked as a business journalist.

She and her husband live in East Texas, where she continues to craft the stories she loves. Check her website for details about her books, chat with her on social media, and follow her on Bookbub and Amazon to receive notices about her latest releases. For special subscriber giveaways, discounted books, character sketches and more, sign up for her newsletter at:

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