Romance Me, Viscount

Sold By : Kate Archer

One Fanciful Lady and One Fed Up Lord.

A VERY FINE MUDDLE Book One

Lady Beatrice Bennington, the eldest of five daughters of the Earl of Westmont, is poised to take her place among the ton. The Benningtons are on their way to Portland Place and Beatrice is coming prepared. Her dear aunt, Miss Eloise Mayton, a lady who has raised them since their mother’s passing, has been exceedingly helpful in directing her efforts.
Beatrice has composed a well-considered list of requirements for any would-be suitor. He must have the courage of Beowulf, the strength of Hercules, the derring-do of Robin Hood, as gallant as Sir Gawain, the depth of feelings of Shakespeare, and the stalwart heart of Henry the Fifth. He must be violently in love, tearing his hair out, and challenging other suitors to a duel.

He might even threaten to do a violence to himself. Though, Beatrice would prefer only threats to do a violence to himself. She is not unreasonable.

Matthew Lawson, Viscount Van Doren, is the Bennington’s closest neighbor. And, as far as he can see, the closest person approximating any sort of rationality and sense. He has spent years attempting to counter Miss Mayton’s wild ideas and bizarre stories of romance. It has been a losing battle and now he follows the Benningtons to Town. All he can do at this point is be prepared to pick Beatrice up when she is knocked down by her own wrong-headed ideas.

At least, that’s what he thought he would be doing. As it turns out, Beatrice is surrounded by hopeful lotharios, including a particular duke. Matthew is certain they are all after Beatrice’s dowry and, therefore, they must all be driven off.

Beatrice Bennington is set on finding herself a lovesick lunatic, and she just might get one.

A Very Fine Muddle
Romance Me, Viscount
Be Daring, Duke
Stand With Me, Earl
Sweep Me Up, Baron
Write for Me, Marquess
Convince Me, Viscount

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Categories: Adult, Historical, Regency and Victorian

By the time I was eleven, my Irish Nana and I had formed a book club of sorts. On a timetable only known to herself, Nana would grab her blackthorn walking stick and steam down to the local Woolworth’s. There, she would buy the latest Barbara Cartland romance, hurry home to read it accompanied by viciously strong wine, (Wild Irish Rose, if you’re wondering) and then pass the book on to me. Though I was not particularly interested in real boys yet, I was very interested in the gentlemen in those stories—daring, bold, and often enraging and unaccountable. After my Barbara Cartland phase, I went on to Georgette Heyer, Jane Austen and so many other gifted authors blessed with the ability to bring the Georgian and Regency eras to life.

I would like nothing more than to time travel back to the Regency (and time travel back to my twenties as long as we’re going somewhere) to take my chances at a ball. Who would take the first? Who would escort me into supper? What sort of meaningful looks would be exchanged? I would hope, having made the trip, to encounter a gentleman who would give me a very hard time. He ought to be vexatious in the extreme, and worth every vexation, to make the journey worthwhile.

I most likely won’t be able to work out the time travel gambit, so I will content myself with writing stories of adventure and romance in my beloved time period. There are lives to be created, marvelous gowns to wear, jewels to don, instant attractions that inevitably come with a difficulty, and hearts to break before putting them back together again. In traditional Regency fashion, the action happens in a drawing room, rather than a bedroom.

As I muse over what will happen next to my H and h, and wish I were there with them, I will occasionally remind myself that it’s also nice to have a microwave, Netflix, cheese popcorn, and steaming hot showers.