The Brazen Beauties, Book 2
Regency Romance
Date Published: July 26th, 2022
He’s the dutiful guardian…
She’s the breath of fresh air he needs…
Olivia Poole knows her time for marriage has passed, so she accepts the position of governess to Mr. Grier’s ward. However, she cannot reject the vow she once made her sister – that she would live her life to the fullest. Armed with a list they created together, she determines to honor her promise. But being a governess and an adventuress isn’t so easy. Least of all when the only man she would ever consider for her last challenge happens to be her employer.
Although Grayson Grier mourns the loss of his rakish days, he is determined to do right by his ward. But when he meets Miss Poole, the prim and proper governess seeking employment, something about her begs to be challenged. Ignoring his better judgment for once, Grayson hires her on the spot – a decision destined to tempt him at every turn. For what he did not anticipate was her list, or the fact that his name would be on it. Right next to kissing…
Other books in the The Brazen Beauties series:
Mr. Dale and The Divorcée
The Brazen Beauties, Book 1
He’s a respectable barrister…
She’s the most scandalous woman in England…
Wilhelmina Hewitt knows she’s in for a rough ride when she agrees to help her husband get a divorce. Nothing, however, prepares her for the regret of meeting Mr. Dale on the eve of her downfall. No other man has ever sent her heart racing as he does. Unfortunately, while she’ll soon be free to engage in a new relationship, no upstanding gentleman will have her.
James Dale would never pursue another man’s wife. Or a woman reputed to be a deceitful adulteress. Furious with himself for letting the lovely Mrs. Hewitt charm him, he strives to keep his distance. But when her daughter elopes with his son, they’re forced into a partnership where passion ignites. And James soon wonders if there might be more to the divorcée than meets the eye.
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
Somerset, 1820
Numbed by the cold, by the final loss
that now gave her freedom, and the guilt this awareness stirred in her breast,
Olivia Poole stared at the head-stone before her. A frosty March drizzle
dampened her black cloak. The smell of wet leaves and dirt teased her nose.
Extending one hand, she traced the names adorning the uneven granite, the last
one freshly carved.
Jonathan Mathis Poole.
A tear or two would be expected – a
welcome relief even – but she had no more to shed. She’d spilled them all when
death had reached out for her beloved sister, Agnes, thirteen years earlier.
Her mother had died two years later, and now Olivia stood in the
churchyard again, bidding her final farewell to her father, the vicar.
Most men rushed to marry off their
daughters to reduce the financial burden on the rest of the family.
But Papa had been different. Instead of
considering daughters a disadvantage, he’d used them to plan for the future. A
vicar was after all installed for life. Retire-ment wasn’t an option unless he
had the means to hire a curate who could assist him with his duties. And since
Papa’s parish was poor and his salary meager, he’d worried about the cost,
which would be paid out of his own pocket.
Hands balled at her sides, Olivia
swallowed that thought and stared at the ground. Flowers, already drooping,
adorned the newly dug grave. Did she miss him? No. A twinge of renewed guilt
pierced her heart as she read his name. Distant, devout, and unforgiving,
Jonathan Poole had been a hard man to love. But there was one thing for which
Olivia would always thank him, and that was his insistence that she receive a
broad education.
As much as she’d loathed the strictness
with which each lesson had been delivered, she was grateful now for the
knowledge he had imparted to her. His reason for teaching her Latin, German,
and French, for ensuring she was mathematically skilled, no longer mattered.
For although she was now five and thirty, unmarried and without prospects, he
had, in his effort to save the cost of hiring a curate, given her the tools
with which to make something of herself.
Intent on making the fresh
start she not only needed but knew she deserved, Olivia picked up her
travelling bag and turned away from the past. With steady footfalls she
followed the wet gravel path out onto the street. It was time for her to live,
not only for her own sake, but for Agnes’s too.
She gripped her bag as she approached the
inn, hastening her steps when she spotted the coach. Water dripped from the
brim of her bonnet, and in her hurry she stepped into a puddle. The icy water
seeped inside one of her half–boots and soaked her wool stocking.
“Drat.”
Setting her jaw she ignored the
discomfort. Just a few more strides and she’d reach the coach. Her hand dove
into her pocket, retrieving the ticket she’d purchased the previous day.
“Will you be passing through Varney?” she
asked a man who was in the process of loading bags. She wanted to verify that
she had the right coach. Having never left Treadmire before and with only a few
funds at her disposal, she’d no desire to end up in the wrong part of the
country.
He shoved a trunk into the boot, then
peered at her from beneath the wide brim of his hat while raindrops slid over
his shoulders, glossing the capes on his greatcoat. “Aye.”
“And you’re one of the coachmen?” Just to
be sure she’d approached the right person.
“That I am.”
Olivia took a step forward and held out
her ticket, the paper sagging between her wet fingers. “Will
you be able to drop me off at Sutton Hall?”
He nodded and glanced at her bag. “I can
pack that in with the rest if ye like. Or ye can keep it in yer lap.”
Olivia paused to consider. Her stomach
twisted at the idea of letting her only belongings out of her sight.
“I’ll keep it in my lap.”
“Suit yerself.” The man pulled the brim
of his hat a bit lower and strode to the front of the coach where he placed one
foot on the step. “Ye’d best get in if ye want to come with us.”
Propelled by a mixture of dread and
excitement, Olivia pulled the door open. Four passengers, crammed inside the
confined space, greeted her with varying degrees of curiosity. Recognizing the
Brennants and Mr. Marsh, all parishioners, Olivia offered a smile in the hope
they’d be willing to make some room.
“You can squeeze in next to me,” Mrs.
Brennant offered after a moment. She was a robust woman, roughly twenty years
Olivia’s senior. Her husband, a broad–shouldered fellow, flattened his mouth
but said nothing. Olivia was grateful, for although Mr. Marsh and the younger
man who occupied the bench across from the Brennants were slimmer, Olivia would
much prefer sitting next to another woman.
“Thank you.” Olivia climbed inside,
squeezed herself into the tiny slot of a space she’d been allocated, bag in
lap, and barely managed to shut the door before the conveyance rocked into
motion.
“Where are you off to, Miss Poole?” Mrs.
Brennant inquired while Olivia clasped her chilled hands to her
mouth, attempting to breathe warm air onto them.
“To Varney,” Olivia told her.
“Varney?” Mr. Marsh frowned. “What’s in
Varney?”
“Opportunity,” Olivia said, realizing
belatedly that she’d rather not share her dire circumstances with the Treadmire
townsfolk. She sighed in response to the unspoken expectation that she
elaborate further. “I plan to seek a position advertised in the paper.”
“But…” Mrs. Brennant’s voice faltered.
She shifted her shoulder, pressing Olivia into the side of the coach as it
rounded a corner and picked up speed.
Water droplets on the glass hampered
Olivia’s vision when she glanced toward the river where she and Agnes had
learned to swim. Her heart gave a squeeze as the coach clattered across the
bridge.
“Your father was a vicar,” Mrs. Brennant
added. “A gentleman, by all accounts.”
Torn away from the view at those words,
Olivia clutched her bag more fiercely. These people, save the stranger of
course, had been at the service. They’d offered their condolences and had
welcomed Papa’s replacement who’d arrived last week. But even though the Pooles
had been a part of Treadmire for well over thirty years, they’d mostly kept to
themselves. Neither the Brennants nor Mr. Marsh could know what life had been
like behind the vicarage doors.
Olivia swallowed. “Social rank doesn’t
always constitute wealth, Mrs. Brennant.”
“No, I don’t suppose it does.”
Thankfully, nothing more
was said on the matter.
About the Author
USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She's lived in five different countries, on three different continents, and speaks Danish, English, French, Spanish, and Romanian with varying degrees of fluency. But, most impressive of all, she's been married to the same man three times—in three different countries and in three different dresses.
When she's not busy dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, swimming, cooking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.
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Wonderful excerpt, Mr. Grier and the Governess sounds like a book that I will enjoy! Thanks for sharing it with me and have a terriifc day!
ReplyDeleteThe cover is lovely and I enjoyed reading the excerpt that you have shared, Mr. Grier and the Governess is a must read for me and I am looking forward to meeting the characters. Thank you for sharing the author's info and book details
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