Never Fall for Your Fiancee
- Автор: Heath Virginia
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
Электронная книга - «Never Fall for Your Fiancee». Краткое содержание книги:
**
Virginia Heath's fun characters and situations will have you laughing out loud! Don't miss this wonderful read! - Sabrina Jeffries, *New York Times* bestselling author**
**
The first in a new historical rom-com series, a handsome earl hires a fake fiancée to keep his matchmaking mother at bay, but hilarity ensues when love threatens to complicate everything.**
“I suppose I could sing a few of the arias…”
“Yes, the arias! Mother’s favorites! Sing all of them! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“Really?” Lucretia was beside herself with joy at the chance of a solo performance in front of a reluctantly captive audience. “Well, in that case … perhaps I will partake of a little sherry, Mr. Peabody … to lubricate my voice.”
Twenty minutes later and Lucretia was murdering yet another aria, this one from The Magic Flute. Her singing brought a new meaning to the term “soprano” because she certainly hit notes Hugh had never heard in his life and had no desire to ever hear again. Some brought actual tears to the eyes, and not tears of joy at the beauty of the music. It was so bad, Diana, Vee, and Jeremiah had stopped pretending not to giggle.
Not that Lucretia noticed. She was fully immersed and had become a frustrated opera singer with every fiber and sinew of her being. It was so bad, his mother had skipped several passages in the hope it would speed the actress up and was blatantly scowling more with each spirited stanza.
It was so bad, it almost stopped Hugh obsessing about Minerva’s mystery beau who had cruelly left her brokenhearted. Not quite bad enough, though, because he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him.
For probably the twentieth time, he allowed his gaze to wander to her. For some unknown reason that spoke volumes about the strength of her character, Minerva managed to listen intently to the racket without grimacing or sniggering once. Occasionally, her concentration was so intense she seemed lost in it—unless the unexpected reminder of that faceless Romeo from her past had set her thinking about him to the exclusion of all else—including the exuberant Lucretia?
Did she miss him?
Had she loved him?
Had they been hopeful flirts, innocent sweethearts, or—and this one really stuck in his throat—lovers?
During Hugh’s singular but memorable foray into intimacy with Minerva, he had not, he realized now, thought her kisses either clumsy or untutored. Which surely they would have been if Romeo hadn’t introduced her to the sport first? Alongside the unstoppable surge of furious jealousy, this thought also beggared the question as to how Hugh had measured up. For if Minerva’s had surpassed every other kiss in his extensive experience, it now seemed tragic his might not have had a similar effect on her. Something primal, wholly male, and visceral demanded his should have eradicated all future thought of Romeo’s from her pretty head forever.
“Should we rescue your mother or make her suffer a little longer?” Jeremiah was doing another round with the sherry. “Bearing in mind we all get to suffer alongside her.”
“I’m all for her suffering all night.” And he wouldn’t feel bad about it. “She deserves nothing less.”
“Fair enough. In which case, I call dibs on you carrying Minerva’s mother up the stairs when she collapses in a heap on the floor.” He waved the almost-empty decanter in front of Hugh’s face. “That voice of hers apparently needs a lot of lubricating, and seeing as her performance is getting worse by the second, there is every chance she is now well on her way to being drunk.”
“She is?” He took a long hard look at the actress for the first time since she had taken her place at the piano. Her face was flushed. There was a manic look to her expression. She was clasping her enormous bosom with more fervor than usual and leaning on the instrument in a manner that suggested standing straight was now much too much effort. “Oh dear.” Sober, Lucretia DeVere lacked all social awareness; drunk, there was no telling what she might do. “Perhaps we should intervene?”
Chapter Seventeen
They waited till the final verse before both erupting in simultaneous applause. “Mrs. Landridge—that was splendid.” As the host and her employer, Hugh realized it was his job to extricate Lucretia from the piano. He strode across the room and grabbed her hands, practically yanking her from where she had taken root. Behind her, with impressive speed, his mother gathered up every sheet of music, her eyes shooting daggers at him as she did so, before turning to Minerva.
“Minerva—please. Indulge us in a song. I shall play anything but Mozart?”
“Oh no! Really. I cannot sing.”
“She really cannot.” Diana was quick to back her sister.
“Nonsense, my dear. Hugh raved about your voice last Christmas in Boston. He said you sang like a nightingale.”
Now Minerva was shooting him daggers, too.
“As has been proved time and time again, Olivia, your son has grossly embellished my talents. Believe me, nobody wants to hear me sing.”
“You can’t be any worse than your mother,” mumbled Jeremiah under his breath.
“I could sing another?” Lucretia yanked her arm from Hugh’s.
“No! No…” His mother only just remembered her manners. “You have delighted us enough, Mrs. Landridge, and I don’t want you to strain that marvelous voice of yours. Minerva will sing. I absolutely insist.”
“I always did an encore at Drury…” Hugh rudely interrupted before the actress dropped them all in it.
“Please, Minerva. For me?” He pleaded with his eyes as he took another firm hold on Lucretia. “Your dear mother deserves a rest after her efforts.”
“I really cannot stress enough how badly I sing…” Trapped, Minerva stood, as both Vee and Diana stifled unladylike snorts at the prospect and Hugh manhandled Lucretia to a chair. “We could play cards instead. What about whist?”
His mother wouldn’t be deterred. “What would you like to sing, dear?”
“I don’t really know many songs.”
“Seeing as it is almost December, what about a Christmas carol? Surely you know a Christmas carol?”
“Not many.” Minerva was walking to the pianoforte like a condemned prisoner on the way to the gallows.
“How about ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’? Everybody knows that one.” She played a few bars encouragingly. “What key?”
“Off,” said Diana, earning her a jab in the ribs from the youngest sister before they both sniggered again.
“Any,” said Minerva miserably. “It will make no difference.”
The music began again, and his fake fiancée seemed to shrink into a shadow of her former self. “Hark! The herald angels sing…”
She was flat. Dreadfully flat. Her normally animated and lovely voice was nasal and unpleasant.
“Glory to the newborn King…” The “King” was off-key. Badly off-key. “Peace on earth, and mercy mild…”
“I will never understand the English sense of humor.” Jeremiah sat heavily next to Hugh on the sofa. “But yours is even more warped than your mother’s—and that is saying something.” They both winced at Minerva’s failed attempt at a high note. “I assume you knew your fiancée was completely tone deaf?”
“Of course I knew!”
Good grief, it was awful. So awful it bordered on the marvelous. He felt his lips twitching.
“But purely to torment your mother, you sacrificed the woman of your dreams to complete humiliation. Her sisters are openly laughing at her.” Vee and Diana were practically hysterical. “She’s going to strangle you later.”