Because ifLady Annalise, a shy recluse with nary a prospect in sight, could become betrothed to the notoriously debaucherous Duke of Tennyson, well, what was to prevent Lady Olivia from doing the same?
“I… forgot something in the stables,” she said, crossing her fingers even more tightly together as she side-stepped her mother.
“Olivia,” the duchess began in a low, warning tone. “Olivia, don’t you dare – blast it all!” As the front door slammed shut behind her most willful daughter, her shoulders momentarily slumped in defeat… then rose with determination. Shewouldfind Olivia a husband if it killed her, which it very much could at the rate things were going. Not because she wanted her youngest out of the house. Oh, how she had cried when Jane left! And how she would cry when Bethany did the same. Quiet tears that only her devoted husband had been privy to. But because she wanted her daughter to find love, joy, and happiness in a partner who would lift her wings instead of wishing to clip them.
In a life rich beyond measure with all of the gowns, carriages, and jewels that a fortune could buy, the duchess had discovered long ago that her most important treasure of all was therelationship she shared with her beloved Albert. A man who had stood beside her in both troubled waters and calm. A man who had held her hand as she’d brought each of their three children into the world. A man who had slept beside her every single night since they’d said their vows some thirty years ago, neither of them without any concept yet of what true love was.
The sacrifices it would demand of them.
And the blessings it would bring.
How could she not wish the same for her daughters?
The same sense of fulfillment.
Of contentment.
Of peace in knowing that she loved and was loved in return.
Jane had found her husband when she was a young girl. She and Thomas had grown up together, and it was only natural that they would marry when they’d never had eyes for another living soul. Bethany had taken a bit longer. A year and six months to be precise, but Jacob had been consistent in his devotion, and he’d won her middle daughter’s hand eventually.
Which left Olivia.
Wild, willful, stubborn Olivia.
Not her favorite - as a general rule, mothers were not allowed to choose those - but the one she thought about the most. She worried about the most. She prayed for the most. If Olivia truly never wanted to marry, and instead live out her days running barefoot through fields of flowers, than the duchess wouldn’t stop her. But she knew, she felt in her very heart, thatifOlivia found find a man worthy of her, she would love more fiercely than both her sisters combined.
All the duchess had to do was find that man.
A task easier said than done.
***
Hoyt Culpepper was everything that the British nobility hated about Americans.
And that was just fine with him, thank you very much.
He was loud.
He spoke his mind.
He was, on occasion, crass.
He drank Kentucky bourbon.
He smoked Connecticut cigars.
He wore what he wanted.
He ate what he hunted.
But his most terrible sin was also the most unforgivable.
He was rich.
Filthy, stinking rich.
The worst part of all?
