By Grace Burrowes
Gwen Hollister, cousin to the Marquis of Heathgate, has shaped a lifestyles as a terrible relation, elevating her daughter Rose in rural obscurity and focusing all of her huge ardour and mind on stewarding the property they live to tell the tale. Douglas Allen, Viscount Amery, is distributed to Gwen through their mutual kin for classes in husbandry of the land. in simple terms simply because Douglas rescues Gwen’s daughter from convinced peril, does Gwen settle for the duty. As Douglas and Gwen locate universal flooring, after which mutual excitement, Gwen’s prior rises up within the individual of the robust Duke of Moreland, who’s bent on wresting keep an eye on of Rose from her mom, no matter if it capability Gwen needs to marry the Moreland inheritor.
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Additional resources for Douglas: Lord of Heartache (Lonely Lords, Book 8)
He grinned at his admirers—"Andrewes, don't you know, Regent Street, devilish expensive and worth every penny,"—and drifted away into the holiday throng. But the cocky grin faded as Marston strolled out of the youths' line of vision. Tracing a path through the crowd of high-spirited, well-dressed revelers, he seemed alternately to scan the faces about him and to withdraw into himself, as though afraid to encounter the object of his search. If any of his young imitators had seen him, they would have felt a measure of disappointment in their idol's ambiguous behavior; they might even have become troubled or confused by the occasional expression of yearning that flitted across his face.
Evidently refreshed by his journey, he'd won an impressive pile at Vivien's last night. David intended to call on him this afternoon to tell him that he was under surveillance by an enemy. Of course, he'd reassure him that, for now at least, the enemy had been cleverly and effectively distracted. Stokes had given up the chase somewhere short of the Lake District, much—as he'd told David yesterday—to Baron Bunbury's displeasure. He'd been sure he'd sighted Marston's carriage, but there had only been two old duffers in it.
Tracing a path through the crowd of high-spirited, well-dressed revelers, he seemed alternately to scan the faces about him and to withdraw into himself, as though afraid to encounter the object of his search. If any of his young imitators had seen him, they would have felt a measure of disappointment in their idol's ambiguous behavior; they might even have become troubled or confused by the occasional expression of yearning that flitted across his face. Because this evening—and for no discernable reason—this evening the normally unflappable Phizz appeared—well, there was really no other word for it—quite uncharacteristically ftuttery.