The "hero" Perry is peremptory to a fault, always assuming he knows best for the heroine no matter her own wishes or needs, or that he claims he thinks her intelligent. He seduces her to his house and takes her virginity like the worst sort of rake. Really, how many scholars do you know that would be good at jailbreaking? A shame this series had to end with this stirring tribute to the days of women as vapid chattel.

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He told me so himself. He cleared his throat. Quite different circumstances from our previous life at Combe Abbey. We were under no illusions, sir. The lawyer sighed. It was a damnable business. In essence, Sir Arthur had not had the courage to inform his daughters of the ghastly situation his own selfish actions had put them in.

And now it was up to his lawyer to do his dirty work for him. On such grounds, the marriage is dissolved as if it had never been, and all children of the union in the first two causes are declared illegitimate. Your father had your mother declared insane in absentia.

She looked at it in disgust. Unfortunately, Sir Stephen did not see the matter in the same way. She had never met this distant cousin, but her father had never had a good word to say for his putative heir.

She folded the bank draft and tucked it into the deep pocket of her muslin skirt. The signet ring and fob followed it as she rose to her feet. You must find gainful employment. Perhaps the seminary would employ you as a teacher, or maybe you could hire out as a governess in some respectable family.

Your education will stand you in good stead. I bid you good day. Chancery Lane was busy with traffic, iron wheels splashing through puddles, sending up sprays of dirty water from the kennel. For a moment, she stood, heedless of her surroundings, numbed by the prospect of a future that was no future.

She had been brought up to believe that her world would never significantly change, that she would tread the path well trodden before her by other young women of her position in Society. She had settled happily enough at St. Instead, they had been slammed shut. The sea surged through the horseshoe-shaped rock at the entrance to the cove in a flash of white water and then smoothed out as it rolled gently to the beach.

It was altogether a softer part of the world, and none the worse for that, he reflected. His weary horse raised his head and whinnied. It had been a long ride from London, three days in all. The gray stone building stood on a slight hill, easily visible from the road that wound across the cliff above the Solent. It was an impressive turreted building, with arched mullioned windows glowing in the setting sun.

Well-tended green lawns swept down to the cliff top, and a stand of tall pines served as a windbreak along the boundary of the grounds and the cliff. Perry felt a little surge of anticipation.

In that impressive building was a library, and in that library were treasures, some known, such as the Decameron, which set his literary juices running, and many, he was sure, unknown and equally priceless. His good friend Marcus Crofton had assured him that he could spend as long as he liked in the library. Its owner, Sir Stephen Douglas, had given him carte blanche to browse as much as he chose. Peregrine turned his horse through the gates, which were opened at his appearance by a robust gatekeeper.

Master Crofton told me to look out for ye. He was looking forward to this visit with his old friend, and not just because of the opportunity to see the library. Since his twin brother, Sebastian, had taken his new wife, the Lady Serena, on an extended honeymoon to the Continent, Perry had to admit that the house they had shared on Stratton Street seemed far too big, and very lonely. It had surprised him how lonely he had been.


An Unsuitable Bride

He told me so himself. He cleared his throat. Quite different circumstances from our previous life at Combe Abbey. We were under no illusions, sir. The lawyer sighed.


In the year , the author wrote several contemporary romance novels using the pseudonym Claudia Bishop. She attended Oxford University where she graduated with a degree in applied social sciences. Jane Feather later shifted to New Jersey together with her husband and children to work as a psychiatric social worker. The author began her writing career in after she relocated to Washington D.



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