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:
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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**
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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.**
In her quest to drink in every last second with Hugh, she hadn’t noticed the butler reappear carrying a huge basket. “Your mother is up, my lord, but fortunately I was able to intercept her. You will be pleased to know she is currently sipping chocolate in the breakfast room with Mr. Peabody.”
“Excellent, Payne. You can break the bad news to her in approximately twenty minutes.”
“Where is Lord Bellingham?” Minerva craned her neck, but there was no sign of him in the stable yard.
“Still absent without leave.” Hugh wiggled his hands into gloves. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I thought we were supposed to be eloping.”
“Not today, you’re not. Today you are running away with me.” To her complete surprise, he hauled himself up onto the seat beside her and grinned. “We deserve a day off.”
“Your mother will be furious.” Payne looked unimpressed as he passed his master a second thick blanket. “She had plans for today.”
“Which she will just have to follow without Minerva. Her sisters and Lucretia can accompany my mother to the Standish Ladies’ Society—they have too much free time. Do inform my dear mama we shall be back in time for dinner. Probably.” With that, he snapped the ribbons and the two spritely grays set off.
For several minutes Minerva was lost for words.
Aside from not entirely understanding what was going on, the palpable relief of not leaving had her feeling decidedly off-kilter—because the depth of her sorrow at saying goodbye to Hugh had felt like a death, one she had already begun to mourn. But the elation that followed, the way her heart seemed to swell inside her chest with the sheer joy of it, forced her to consider something she hadn’t considered before.
She had feelings for Hugh.
Deep, romantic feelings for Hugh.
He turned to her, smiling, his mischievous blue eyes alight with excitement, golden hair mussed by the wind as they turned out of the long driveway of his estate and onto the winding country lane. “I thought we should have an adventure. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?” Everything with him was an adventure.
“You might have been looking forward to the Standish Ladies’ Society and be annoyed at me for ruining your plans.”
“They were hardly my plans.”
“Which is exactly why I am stealing you away. It occurred to me last night, you have been doing everything for everyone, and absolutely nothing for yourself. Today shall hopefully rectify that. For the duration, you are relieved of the chore of pretending to be my Minerva, my mother’s future daughter-in-law, mother to your sisters, and chief diplomat in any crises. Today, you just get to be you.” She could feel her silly heart swelling some more, so much she feared it might burst. “Hence I have kidnapped you because you simply cannot be you back there.”
“But Hugh—what if something happens while we’re absent?” As lovely an idea as this was, there could be serious complications for him.
“Sometimes you have to embrace the fickle finger of fate and accept the what-ifs to let the cards fall where they may. We cannot predict the future, and more often than not, we cannot direct it either. In which case, why fight it?”
“A very lofty philosophy all of a sudden, but hardly practical.” But wonderful nevertheless.
“If it all goes wrong in our absence, then I shall face the music like a man and do what needs to be done.” He shot her a typically mischievous look. “Which means we shall both run as fast as our legs can carry us to the waiting carriage Payne will have had the good sense to organize, hightail it to Portsmouth, stow away on a ship to the Continent, and live out the rest of our days as exiled fugitives on a sunny beach somewhere in Italy. You could paint portraits to earn enough to keep us in wine and I shall work the land myself to grow our food.” He nudged her, looking smug. “I really did read all those newfangled books on farming you saw in the library, so everything will work out perfectly well if we do have to make a dash for it.”
It sounded perfect. “Well … if we have a contingency plan already in place, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to escape for a few hours.”
“That’s the spirit. Set all that other nonsense out of your mind for now and enjoy your day. When was the last time you had an entire day to yourself?”
“I don’t remember.” Years and years. Since before her mother died.
“A travesty which needs to be addressed. What would you like to do?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never had an entire day off.”
“Are you prepared to entrust me with the itinerary?”
“As I have been kidnapped, what other choice do I have?”
“A very good point.” He steered the curricle around a tight bend, and a long, straight road stretched tantalizingly before them in the winter sunshine. “Hold on to your bonnet, Miss Merriwell. Tightly. As I intend to drive you very, very fast. Adventures should always take your breath away.”
He was true to his word. They flew as the scenery whipped past, the well-sprung curricle skipping over the bumps in the road and the frigid winter air buffeting their cheeks as they swiftly ate up the miles between them and Standish House. The speed and wind made conversation impossible, so she relaxed as much as she could into the seat and simply enjoyed the ride, snuggled under the thick blanket he had had the good sense to bring.
Eventually, after what had to be almost an hour, he slowed. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” In her premature grief, Minerva had barely nibbled the toast her maid had brought her. “But we appear to be in the middle of nowhere.” She scanned the horizon for any signs of habitation. “Is that a village over there?” She pointed to the faint wisps of smoke that could be seen emanating from its chimneys. “Perhaps there is an inn?”
“What a lack of imagination you have! Breakfasts at inns are too pedestrian. Our breakfast is packed in that basket and I know just the place to eat it.” Although, it was clear he had no intention of sharing the destination with her. Instead, he turned onto another narrow winding lane that inclined slightly uphill as it wended its way through dense trees.
Eventually, the trees parted and the jutting ruins of an ancient building came into view, its vast arched windows festooned with ivy. “That’s Netley Abbey.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Too beautiful, I am afraid, as it has been newly discovered by those prone to tour or needing inspiration to write poetry.” Hugh made a face of distaste. “But at this unfashionable hour we are guaranteed to have the place to ourselves.”
He pulled up alongside a tree, nimbly jumped down, and secured the ribbons to a low-slung branch before helping her down. “I hope you are wearing walking boots. It takes a bit of effort to get there.”
Minerva picked her way over the uneven ground, following Hugh, who strode ahead carrying the enormous basket. When they finally reached the abbey, he left her to marvel at the lacy remnants of the roof, which seemed to be suspended above them with nothing but ivy. He then laid a cloth over the base of what must have once been grand columns that supported the huge structure.
“As this is the sort of place which demands a history lesson, I shall tell you it is medieval. Or at least most of it is. After the delightful despot Henry the Eighth dissolved the monasteries, it enjoyed a brief stint as a nobleman’s grand house before it lapsed into rack and ruin.”
“I can see why it inspires poets.” She ran her palm over the cold, rough stone of a window frame, the stained glass long gone. “If I had my inks and brushes with me, it is exactly the sort of thing I should like to draw.”