By Emily Greenwood
The Scandalous Sisters, Book 1
Historical Regency Romance
June 2, 2015
ISBN: 9781492613657
$7.99 paperback
“A SIZZLING ROMANCE THAT TOUCHES THE HEART.” —Sally MacKenzie, USA Today bestselling author
A PICTURE SAYS A THOUSAND WORDS…
The ton is buzzing about The Beautiful One, a striking figure in a scandalous book of nude sketches. Only two men know the true identity of The Beautiful One, and they are scouring the countryside, determined to find her.
BUT NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT ONES
The unlikely center of the scandal, Anna Black is forced to flee home as disaster looms. Her tomboy’s heart and impertinent tongue serve her well when she meets the most brooding viscount ever to darken a drawing room. Will Halifax, Viscount Grandville, has his reasons for pushing people away, and when his tempestuous teenaged ward arrives on his doorstep, he presses Anna to take on her care. As Anna begins to melt the Viscount’s frozen heart, she knows the more she loves, the more she has to lose. For although Will cares nothing for what makes Society titter, he has yet to see The Beautiful One.
Thank you so much for having me here today! To celebrate the release of THE BEAUTIFUL ONE, the first title in my Scandalous Sisters series, I asked Anna Black, my spirited heroine, to answer a few questions so you can get to know a little about her and her love interest, Will Halifax, Viscount Grandville.
What is the craziest thing you’d do to prove your love for someone?
It would certainly be crazy for me to sing or try to play to the piano for someone I love, because unlike most young ladies, I can’t do either, and it would probably send them running with their hands over their ears.
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I could think of a lot of things that would answer this—a beautiful spring day, or a really nice dinner with friends—but considering the stress I’ve been under these last two months, I think a long bath and a good book to read while I’m soaking would be heaven.
What is your favorite physical feature of Will’s?
His hands. He’s a viscount, and you’d expect him to have the soft, white hands of a gentleman, but his are tan and nicked from use because he’s a man who loves to be busy.
Excerpt:
Rounding the edge of the wood at the back of Stillwell, he was startled to see his ward standing about. She was looking up at a tree in which, from the movement of its leaves and branches, some large creature seemed to be thrashing. A crow?
As he drew nearer to the oblivious Lizzie, he was almost certain he heard a woman’s voice coming from among the leaves. Lizzie stepped closer to the tree and lifted her hands upward, and he saw that on a thick branch perhaps six feet off the ground were perched two feet in past-their-prime dark ankle boots, and above them he was treated to a view of trim calves he could not regret. The surrounding leaves and branches mostly obscured the rest of his recently hired governess. In the instant before Lizzie became aware of Will, he saw that she held in her cupped hands a fluffy white ball.
Lizzie turned and saw him, her mouth forming into an “O” as a voice called from above, “Lizzie? I’m ready for the owlet.”
“Er,” said Lizzie, looking at him. In the clear afternoon light he noticed that her eyes were a different color blue than Ginger’s had been. But the shape was Ginger’s, as were the eyebrows. Not her fault, but he couldn’t go the route of compassion. It would only muddy what had to be. He looked past her and lifted a hand to rub his eyes.
“Miss Black,” he said, knowing he could not avoid asking, “what on earth are you doing?”
There was a pause as she absorbed his arrival and a shifting of the feet on the branch near his forehead as they drew together, perhaps in an attempt at modesty.
“Ah, my lord,” she said from above him. “Good afternoon. Lizzie and I are engaged in returning a fallen owlet to its nest. It was her idea. She is very caring toward animals.”
He could feel Lizzie’s big blue eyes on him though his own were still covered by his hand. He had no doubt as to whose idea it had been to climb the tree. He hadn’t truly expected Anna Black to be a typical sort of governess, had he?
“Come down at once.”
“If you will wait just a moment, my lord,” she said breezily, “I shall be down directly. Lizzie, the owlet.”
Lizzie cleared her throat. “Here.”
He tapped her on the shoulder before she could lift her arms farther. “Give me that creature, please.”
She looked uncertain, but she clearly didn’t want to displease him, and she handed over the motionless owl. He took it carefully from her and did not return her tentative smile. He could feel her eagerness for him to acknowledge her, but he let it flow past him.
The leaves and branches above them shook as Anna Black crouched down and extended her hand for the animal. Her bonnet, the same horrible blue one, had fallen on its strings around her neck again, and her hair, apparently loosened by her climb, curled crazily about her face as if she were some unkempt urchin, accentuating her pert nose and reminding him of her jack-in-the-box appearance from the coach.
Her pink lips pressed outward at the sight of him; doubtless she was annoyed by his arrival, but her expression didn’t draw an answering wave of annoyance from him. Instead, her lips were making him wonder, unaccountably, what it might feel like to be kissed all over by pink butterflies.
“The owlet, please,” she fairly ordered him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Get down this instant before you fall. I will return the owlet.”
“I am already positioned to do so. If you will just give it to me, I can put it back and then receive your displeasure properly on the ground.”
He grunted. Why did he keep finding himself in out-of-his-control conversations with this maddening woman?
In his palm the owlet’s heart beat with a rapid, stressed flutter. He reached up his hand, and she gently took the animal and disappeared into the foliage.
From above came a few rustling noises, then the angry screech of what had to be an adult owl and a yelp. Fearing Miss Black would fall, he stepped forward to catch her, but at that same moment she jumped neatly down, so that she landed right in front of him.
He grabbed her arms, a reflex to steady her. She didn’t need his help, but their eyes locked, and for a moment he read vulnerability there before it was replaced with the hard glint of independence. She smelled like sunshine and crushed leaves, and he felt the slim softness of her arms and his body’s yearning to hug her close.
She stepped away from him. It had all happened in the space of a few moments.
But as he watched her brush some leaves from her skirts with her head down, that vulnerability he’d glimpsed tugged at him. Who was this woman? Where had she come from? She was clearly educated and intelligent, and though she was too forthright and she dressed terribly, she was not rough, merely unusual.
That life-on-the-edge-of-propriety quality he’d observed in her the night before had suggested that she’d known some hardship, or that she had some burden she might trade for money. And yet today, in the company of his ward, she looked at ease, even if her eyes seemed to be hiding something.
Emily Greenwood worked for a number of years as a writer, crafting newsletters and fundraising brochures, but she far prefers writing playful love stories set in Regency England, and she thinks romance novels are the chocolate of literature. A Golden Heart finalist, she lives in Maryland with her husband and two daughters.
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My favorite thing about Regency novels is writers usually pay close attention to historical detail, as their readers are notorious for noting errors, and the writers often do extensive research so they can clearly understand and replicate the voice of the genre.
ReplyDeleteIt's a fascinating time period, isn't it?
ReplyDeleteI like the description of everyday life and how it is different from now.
ReplyDelete