NEW RELEASE
Title: Miss Mayfair's
Dilemma
Author: K. G. McAbee
ISBN: 978-1-62420-060-1
Genre: Regency Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level:
Miss Patricia Mayfair is a
wealthy, orphaned Regency bluestocking. While in London for the Season, Miss
Mayfair spends more time buying books than ribbons, to the despair of her more
conventional friend. Begrudgingly attending a dinner party, Miss Mayfair meets
Lord Andrew Aragon, who fancies himself tired of London and the ton and never expects to fall instantly
head-over-heels. But Lord Andrew is a notorious gambler, and Miss Mayfair has
vowed she will never marry a man who indulges in such a vice. Can the leopard
change his spots or the rake his habits?
EXCERPT
"My dearest Patricia, you must
allow your hair to be done, I vow, or you will never be ready in time, and I
don't know what Sir Everard will say," muttered Leticia Warren around
a mouthful of hairpins that threatened to impale her plump cheeks with every
word. A silver-backed brush hung from one delicate, rounded hand, shining
bright against her pale green silk skirts.
Patricia Mayfair looked up from the book that engrossed her to the
exclusion of all else--a most common affair with Miss Mayfair, as any of her
friends would swear--and gave a distracted smile in the general direction of
her companion.
"My dear Leticia," Patricia replied with a cheerful, mocking
grin, "as I have been invited to the beautiful Lady Christabel Russell's
house, no one will notice whether I have hair or not, much less how it
is arranged. So settle yourself, do, Letty, and let me finish this chapter, I
pray you."
Leticia gave a sniff which spoke volumes then waited with exaggerated
patience, tapping one tiny, slippered foot on the rosy Aubusson carpet. A
cheerful fire burned in the grate, warming the high room, even though two
windows were open to the fresh air. As
fresh as one could expect, at least, in London, Leticia thought with another metaphorical sniff.
As if hearing this unspoken comment, Patricia said, without lifting her
eyes from her book, "Letty, we've only got another week in London. Do try
to enjoy it, won't you? Why, any other girl your age would be in raptures over
the experience."
Leticia cast a glance out the open window, where the setting sun was
casting its last benevolent glow upon the great capital city, and gave a slow,
sad shake of her head. Her dark brown hair was smoothed back into a tidy bun,
with no tendrils allowed to escape from their careful bondage, and her bright
brown eyes suffused for an instant with unshed tears. She pulled a dainty lace
handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at one moist eye in an irritated and
peremptory fashion. The desired effect was somewhat ruined, sadly, by the
cluster of hairpins still in her mouth. She removed them with what dignity she
could manage.
"He's probably missing you as much as you're missing him, you know,
my dear," said Patricia, her eyes still on her book. "And he couldn't
leave, not while the corn needs getting in, nor would you wish him to, so there
now. Do dry your eyes, my dearest, do."
Leticia Warren wandered across the room and plumped down on the low
settee that stood before the window. She cast a wondering glance towards
Patricia, still reading--how does she
always manage to know what I'm thinking, she wondered idly--and gave
herself up to thoughts of the stalwart young gentleman farmer who would soon
claim her for his bride.
Some moments passed in glorious silence, as each young lady was
engrossed in that which pleased her most.
At last, Patricia shut her book with a satisfied nod. "There now,
Letty, chapter all done. My head is at your complete and total disposal, to do
with as you will."
Letty rose gracefully from the settee and pattered across the carpet to
pounce on the proffered head. She spent some enjoyable moments running the
horsehair bristles through the shining masses of dark auburn curls and twining
them about each other, jabbing hairpins in place with a determination that
would have graced a general.
"It is a fascinating book, I take it?" Letty asked as she
maneuvered a particularly recalcitrant curl into proper position with the ease
of long practice.
"Letty, you're as little interested in books as I am in having my
hair done," Patricia laughed up at her companion and friend. "A good
thing for your Thomas, no doubt, since you'll be a treasure for him about the
house. Indeed, you'll be as useful as I would be a burden to a husband."
Letty smiled at the mention of her betrothed, dropping a hairpin onto
the thick carpet as an evidence of her delight. "Well, I do know a bit
about running a house, and that will be of benefit for him," she simpered
to herself and her friend in the silver-backed mirror. Then the expression on
her pretty face changed to one of concern. "But I'm sure that you'll find
a man who is reasonable about your books, truly, Patricia. Do not worry about
it, my dearest."
Patricia laughed as she regarded her friend's intent look in the
dressing table mirror. "Do not let it put you into a pother, Letty, my
dear. As you know, I have all the money I'll ever need, and a husband is the last thing on my list of bits and bobs
to acquire."
"But, Patricia," said Letty, stopping her ministrations in mid
stroke, "of course you must marry.
Why, what about children?"
"Children! Why, what about them, Letty? Useless, puling,
distracting things, and besides, they'd get in the way of my studies,"
said her friend then relented at the expression this remark drew on the rosy
face above hers in the mirror. "Now, Letty, don't frown at your old school
chum so, pray. Why, look at what it does to your pretty brows, dragging them
together like a witch's. Thomas will give me a sound thrashing for vexing you,
you know, and more importantly, you'll get wrinkles."
Letty allowed herself to be cozened out of her frown. Then, finishing
her hairdressing in record time, she stood back to admire her work.
"There, Patricia, I'd vow you couldn't have received better from a
professional hairdresser, be he French at that."
Patricia eyed herself in the wavy glass. She knew herself to be no
beauty in the current fashion, which was all for slender elegance, golden
curls, trailing draperies and pink cheeks. Still, the dark reddish tints in her
thick hair brought out answering tints in her deep brown eyes, and her olive
complexion looked well against her simple, white, Empire-style dress, with its
low cut neck, short, puffy sleeves and long, narrow skirt.
"Well, Letty, once again you've worked your miracle. I shan't make
anyone run screaming in terror, at the least, though I would far rather be
wearing my riding habit or some comfortable dressing gown. And perhaps I'll be
lucky enough to have someone to talk to at a private dinner such as this, instead of these endless balls full of
vapid young lords or bluff army men with ruddy faces and thick hands, all
talking at the tops of their lungs about horses and shooting."
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