#julialondon – Avonna Loves Genres

Feature Post and Book Review: The Viscount Who Vexed Me by Julia London

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE VISCOUNT WHO VEXED ME (A Royal Match Book #3) by Julia London.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!

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Book Description

Daring. Darling. Determined.

Next to the Season’s newest diamond, Harriet (Hattie) Woodchurch feels like a plain Jane. But that’s of no consequence, since Hattie’s plan for her future is to earn enough to live far, far away from her embarrassing family.

That is until Mateo Vincente, Duke of Santiava and newly minted Viscount Abbott, arrives in London. While the shy European’s spoken English is impeccable, his writing is less fluent. The ton is eager to meet the handsome bachelor, and so many invitations flood in that Mateo needs a correspondence secretary.

With her perfect penmanship and way with words, Hattie is recommended, and the two bond over books and the ton’s eligible ladies. But when Hattie’s friend Flora becomes smitten with the viscount, things get complicated. Flora is tongue-tied in his presence. To help, Hattie feeds her information about Mateo’s interests. Soon things turn around and Flora appears on track to become his duchess. Yet for Mateo, something’s not quite right. Conversation with Flora isn’t as scintillating as it is with Hattie…

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63028657-the-viscount-who-vexed-me?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=yMvc8S6f4R&rank=1

A Royal Match Series

Book 1: Last Duke Standing
Book 2: The Duke Not Taken
Book 3: The Viscount Who Vexed Me

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

THE VISCOUNT WHO VEXED ME (A Royal Match Book #3) by Julia London is another charming and witty addition to this historical romance series. Each book in the series has a royal who needs to find a mate and hopefully a love match with the help of a determined matchmaker and recurring characters working to assist. Each book can easily be read as a standalone with a complete HEA in each with the recurring characters introduced in each book of the series.

Harriet “Hattie” Woodchurch is determined to earn her own living and move very far away from her embarrassing family. While she has friends in society from her time in school, her father is a rich penny-pinching merchant and not a member of polite society and she realizes her life and circumstances will not be like her friends.

Mateo “Teo” Vincente, Duke of Santiava and now also the Viscount Abbott after the death of his mother’s father arrives in London to set his new inheritance in order. Society is excited about his visit and the knowledge that he seeks a wife, but he is not comfortable with the attention. When he needs assistance with his English correspondence, Hattie is recommended for the position. Teo soon finds he and his entire household are enchanted with his scribe.

As Mateo meets all the eligible debutantes, he finds that he is only truly himself with Hattie and Hattie is finding herself increasingly infatuated with the Viscount. The matchmaker still has a few things up her sleeve to assist this pair, if the Viscount is willing to find his voice and stand up for what he wants.

I adore this series not only because of the well written characters and situations that I never know how Ms. London will resolve them into a HEA, but also because the dialogue is always so witty and fun. Hattie is a determined young woman willing to work for everything she wants and yet she is also friendly and warm despite her difficult family, and it broke my heart every time her supposed friends hurt her. Mateo is complicated and a product of his father’s constant verbal abuse, but that makes it even more wonderful when he finally finds his own voice and power. I loved that his hobby and passion is baking. This book has no explicit sex scenes, but a steadily growing romance from the discovering of friendship to love.

I recommend this enjoyable historical romance and the entire Royal Match series.

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Excerpt

Suddenly, a woman entered the shop in such a hurry that she set all the bells above the door clanging. “Mrs. Perkins!”

Mrs. Perkins, the shopkeeper, burst forth from the curtains covering the entrance to a back room like she thought the shop might be on fire. “What is it? What’s happened?”

The woman rushed to the front window where Flora and Queenie were, forcing them aside. “What in heaven!” Queenie cried.

“He’s there!”

“Who’s there?” Queenie demanded—she’d never been shy about seeking answers.

“Here?” Mrs. Perkins gasped and sprang to the window like a gazelle. “Where?”

The woman pointed across the street, and Queenie grabbed Flora’s arm. “Look!”

“You’re hurting me,” Flora said.

“For once, will you do as I ask?” Queenie demanded. “Look!”

Hattie watched the four ladies in the shop window, leaning forward and peering out over the glove displays, confused about what was happening. “Oh my. Oh my,” Flora said, then gestured wildly for Hattie. “Come here, come here, you have to see!”

There was not enough room for the five of them, and Hattie had to stand on her tiptoes to see over Flora’s shoulder. “I can’t really see,” Hattie said.

The rest of them ignored her. “Where?” Mrs. Perkins demanded, sounding panicked.

Mrs. Perkins’s friend pointed.

Hattie tried to make herself taller. The only thing she could see was a haberdashery across the street. Three gentlemen stood before it, chatting. “Is that it?” Hattie asked and sank down onto her feet again.

“Not them,” the woman said. “The viscount.”

There had to be at least a dozen viscounts on Regent Street on any given day. “Which one?”

“Which one?” Flora repeated, and shot a disapproving look over her shoulder at Hattie. “Viscount Abbott, of course.”

“Of course,” Hattie muttered. She didn’t know of any Viscount Abbott. Or why any of these women were interested in him.

“Who is also the Duke of Santiava,” Queenie said. Hattie blinked. Queenie rolled her eyes. “Why do you never know these things, Hattie? It’s as if you live in a cave.”

She never knew these things because she didn’t know anything. How could she? She didn’t exactly exist in the same social circles as Flora and Queenie. She knew what they told her, and they had not told her about this viscount.

Just then, Flora grabbed Hattie’s hand and gripped it so tightly that Hattie winced. Queenie pushed a display of gloves out of the way, and the four women surged forward, Flora dragging Hattie with her.

A man emerged from the shop, holding his hat in his hand. He was tall, with sun-drenched skin. His clothing fit him snugly, and it was apparent that he was trim with an athletic build. His dark hair brushed his collar, and when he looked up at something one of the other gentlemen said, he smiled. Only a little, but it was a smile that sparked through Hattie. That gentleman was quite possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life—elegant, strong, and astonishingly agreeable in looks.

No one spoke for a moment.

A carriage rolled in between the shops and stopped, blocking their view of the haberdashery. When it rolled away, the gentlemen were gone.

The ladies settled back. Queenie sighed and stepped away from the window, leaving the display of gloves knocked onto its side. The woman who had rushed in to announce the viscount sighting retreated to the back room with Mrs. Perkins. Hattie picked up the display and righted it in the window.

“You will be at the top of that list, Flora,” Queenie said with certainty.

Queenie was short and round, with soft gold curls that fell around her shoulders. She carried herself like a queen and acted like one on occasion, too. Flora was tall and lithe, her hair auburn. She was pretty by any standard. When Hattie was with the two of them, she often felt like the plain cousin come to town from the village. Her hair was a dull brown, her figure unremarkable.

Flora gave Queenie’s remark a high-pitched, breathy laugh that Hattie had never heard her make. “Don’t be silly!”

“Don’t be coy,” Queenie said. “You know that you will.”

“The list is quite long, I’m certain. What about Hattie? She might be at the top.”

“The top of what?” Hattie asked.

“Really, Hattie!” Queenie said, sounding annoyed. “How can you be so ignorant of all the news around town? The list of potential brides for the viscount, obviously.”

Hattie laughed. Loudly.

“I agree, it’s hardly a possibility,” Queenie said. “I don’t mean to offend, but he is the Duke of Santiava, and now he’s Viscount Abbott, as he is his English grandfather’s only living male heir. He’ll marry someone with a large dowry and from a titled family. Someone with proper connections.”

Santiava? Hattie vaguely recalled something about it. A duchy, she believed, on the Mediterranean Sea. Once a colony of Wesloria if memory served.

“He’s the sovereign duke, and quite rich,” Queenie continued. “But they say he’s a recluse. One must always be wary of the recluse.”

One must? Hattie hadn’t heard that rule.

“And unmarried, obviously,” Flora added as the three of them departed the shop.

“Won’t he choose a wife from Santiava?” Hattie asked as they walked toward Hyde Park.

“No!” Queenie scoffed, and Hattie was once again left wondering how her education could be so lacking. “He’s come here to claim his title and his fortune and, as everyone knows, be fitted with an English wife. It serves a small duchy to have an English or Weslorian duchess, you know, if they were ever to need the backing of a larger country in times of war or economic hardship. This would practically guarantee it.”

Queenie spoke with such authority about him that Hattie had to wonder if she’d consulted with the man himself. She was dubious that a marriage to Flora could guarantee anything of the sort. But she kept silent.

“Imagine, Hattie,” Flora said, “if you were the link to the might of the Royal Navy should that duchy need it.”

All Hattie could imagine was herself on a leaking, rickety boat. “I won’t be the link to anything, because I’m already engaged.” She smiled.

Flora and Queenie exchanged a look. “You haven’t told her?” Queenie said to Flora.

“Told me what?” Hattie asked, confused.

“Tell her. She can’t walk around without knowing,” Queenie said.

Hattie’s heart dropped. “Knowing what? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, Hattie… Mr. Masterson paid me a call,” Flora blurted. “I was going to tell you. I was waiting for the right time.”

“Well, this is hardly it,” Queenie drawled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just urged Flora to tell her.

But tell her what, exactly? That Rupert had called on Flora? How odd—they weren’t so well acquainted. “Mr. Rupert Masterson called on you,” Hattie repeated, to make sure they were indeed speaking of her Mr. Masterson, the owner and proprietor of the Masterson Dry Goods and Sundries Shop.

“He…he came to me in confidence.” Flora punctuated that remark with a look of sympathy.

Hattie’s gut began to do a strange bit of swirling. “Why?”

“He said…that he thought it best if you and he…” She paused, as if trying to find the words.

Elope? That was it! What other reason could he have for needing to speak in confidence to Flora? He must have sought her help. “Elope?” she asked at the same moment Flora said, “Should not pursue things further.”

No one said a word for a moment. Even Queenie kept her mouth shut. “What?” Hattie asked and stopped walking. This was stunningly incomprehensible. She pressed a fist to her abdomen to keep down the sudden swell of nausea. “What…what did…he…or you…say?” “Oh, Hattie, dearest.” They’d come to the park’s entrance, and Flora pulled her to a bench and sat her down. She took both of Hattie’s hands in hers. “I’m so very sorry, but there is no other way to say it, is there? He would like you to cry off your engagement. End it, I mean. He has come to the unfortunate conclusion that it must be done. But because he has the utmost consideration for you, he means to protect your reputation by having you write him and end it.”

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About the Author

Julia London is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty novels of historical and contemporary romance. She is the author of the popular Highland Grooms series as well as A Royal Wedding, her most recent series. Julia is the recipient of the RT Bookclub Award for Best Historical Romance and a six-time finalist for the prestigious RITA award for excellence in romantic fiction. She lives in Austin, Texas. Visit her at www.julialondon.com.

Social Media Links

Author Website

Facebook: Julia London

Twitter: @JuliaFLondon

Goodreads

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Last Duke Standing by Julia London

Hi, everyone!

I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on this HQN Books blog tour for the first book in a new historical romance series – LAST DUKE STANDING (A Royal Match Book #1) by Julia London.

Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author bio and social media links. Enjoy!

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Author Q&A

1. Tell us about your latest book. Who are the main character(s) and what can readers expect when they pick up Last Duke Standing?

Princess Justine Ivanosen is going to be queen of Wesloria sooner than she hoped—her father, the king, is dying from tuberculosis. Because he is declining, a marriage becomes very important. The Prime Minister is dead set against having a young woman ascend the throne without a man to guide her, and her mother is still smarting over Justine’s disastrous affair with a charlatan, the reveal of which has left her without great prospects at home. The Prime Minister convinces the queen that they ought to employ a matchmaker to make quick work of it. They can ship her off to England to apprentice with Queen Victoria, bring some suitors around to court her there instead of here, where all of Wesloria will be watching, and give strict instructions that she is to return with a fiance. The prime minister won’t leave the selection of the lucky fellow to chance, and persuades one of his old cronies to send his handsome son to London to keep an eye on the selection process.

William Douglas, the future Duke of Hamilton, has been flitting around Europe for ages. He’s met the princess before, but she was hardly more than a snippy girl who didn’t like losing parlor games. The last thing he wants to do is babysit that child. But he discovers the girl in his memory is now a very attractive grown woman. She’s still a challenge, however—she likes to be called Your Royal Highness a lot more than he likes saying it, and expressly forbids him from offering his advice. He’s one of those people—if someone says don’t do it, he’s going to do it. And he has some advice about every man that comes to meet her.

Lady Aleksander, the matchmaker, sees that these two might be perfect for each other. The only way to find out is to bring some gentlemen around that she knows will unite Justine and William. But they are too busy pretending they aren’t falling in love to even notice.

2. Who was your favorite character to write in THE LAST DUKE STANDING and why?

I like all the main characters. Justine and William were so meant for each other. Little sister Amelia has some growing up to do. Beckett Hawke and Donovan are back from A Royal Wedding series. But I really enjoyed creating Lady Aleksander, the matchmaker. She is the third point of view in this book, and her observations of what is happening is like the Greek chorus—she can see clearly what the leads can’t see. It liked that she’s in her forties, very much in love with her husband, and she just wants everyone to have what she has. She makes no apologies for who she is or what she does and she has the patience of Job. She also likes to eat. We have that in common.

3. What do you like about writing in the historical subgenre? What are the challenges?

I fell in love with historical fiction when I was a girl. Castles and princesses were a long way from a ranch in West Texas, but I loved the stories of balls and gowns and the idea of a rich gentleman. I was surrounded by farmers and ranch hands, so the idea of a pretty dress and fancy dinner had a fairy-tale appeal. I loved history in school, and I minored in British history. The fairy-tale appeal still persists—through the last election and the pandemic, it was a great relief for me to slip off to another world where people were genteel and the biggest problem they had was the strict rules of etiquette putting a damper on their moves. The challenge of writing historical romance today is to make it interesting for the new generation of readers. There is a lot more competing for their attention than there was for mine at a similar age. But a good love story is a good story, no matter the era.

4. Who are some authors you look to for inspiration?

One of the best romances I ever read was Here Be Dragons by Sharon Kay Penman. It is a history of Wales, and of King Llewellyn and his very young wife Joanna. The history is dark and bloody, but they truly loved each other.

I have also found a renewed admiration for Julia Quinn. I can look back at her Bridgerton series now and see how clever she was at giving us a large family with a lot of issues to enjoy for years. She must have taken excellent notes from her own books to keep up with all the twists and turns in that family.

5. What is your writing routine like? Do you have a specific place you write? Time of day?

My routine is to do it every day. I usually do some physical exercise in the morning, but once I’ve done that, and picked up the house, and done my Wordle, I get to work. I write every day. I have an office, but the pandemic has made me sick of it. So I move around the house now. I am done with the day’s work by the time school is out—I used to be able to keep my head in two places (the book and family) but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t know what happened to my ability to multi-task, but it has been obliterated. So I work as much as I can during school hours and then hit the wine fridge like any red-blooded working mom.

6. What’s next for the Royal Match series?

I am just finishing The Duke Not Taken. It’s about Princess Amelia, who is also sent to England under Lady Aleksander’s care to find a husband. Amelia really wants a husband and a family. Her problem, however, is she’s too much of a straightshooter for most people. And she’s not willing to settle. Enter the Duke of Marley, who has to be the only man in one hundred square miles who is not the least interested in a beautiful, rich, young princess. He has his reasons…

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Book Summary

When Crown Princess Justine of Wesloria is sent to England to learn the ropes of royalty, she falls under the tutelage of none other than Queen Victoria herself. She’s also in the market for a proper husband—one fit to marry the future Queen of Wesloria.

Because he knows simply everyone, William, Lord Douglas (the notoriously rakish heir to the Duke of Hamilton seat in Scotland, and decidedly not husband material), is on hand as an escort of sorts. William has been recruited to keep an eye on the royal matchmaker for the Weslorian Prime Minister, tasked to ensure the princess is matched with a man of quality…and one who will be sympathetic to the prime minister’s views. As William and Justine are forced to scrutinize an endless parade of England’s best bachelors, they become friends. But when the crowd of potential grooms is steadily culled, what if William is the last bachelor standing?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57893626-last-duke-standing?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=LezVsRslxO&rank=2

THE LAST DUKE STANDING

Author: Julia London

ISBN: 9781335639868

Publication Date: February 22, 2022

Publisher: HQN Books

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

LAST DUKE STANDING (A Royal Match Book #1) by Julia London is a charming enemies-to-lovers historical romance story start to a new series. I look forward to historical romances by Julia London for the witty dialogue and endearing characters and this one did not disappoint.

Crown Princess Justine of Wesloria is sent to England with her younger sister to find a suitable husband before her sick father, the king, dies. Justine not only has to put up with a matchmaker, she believes is incompetent, and servants always reporting back to her mother the Queen, but a gentleman from her past she is not happy to see again shows up to be an escort of sorts.

William, Lord Douglas has been recruited to spy on the Crown Princess and her prospects by the Prime Minister of Wesloria to make sure her new Prince Consort will be sympathetic to his views. William met Justine eight years previously, but the Justine he is sent to escort is a woman now and the more he discovers about her, the more intrigued he becomes. As their friendship grows, so do the faults of Justine’s suitors.

When it appears William may be the perfect match and the last bachelor standing, a scandal from his past may ruin any chance for a Happily Ever After match.

This is a fun and entertaining read with delightful banter between William and Justine and an entertaining plot that has a great twist at the end. William is an endearing hero throughout. Justine was a little more difficult to warm up to until you realize how her whole life has been manipulated and one small mistake in judgement as a young girl has led to constant supervision. All the secondary characters were fully fleshed, and I will be looking forward to meeting some in future books in the series.

I enjoyed this historical romance and I will be looking forward to reading more in this new series.

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Excerpt

PROLOGUE

1844

When Justine was fourteen, her father took her to the mountainous north country of Wesloria. He said he was to meet with coal barons because they were restless and in need of appeasing. Why? Justine had wondered.

“Because coal barons are always restless and in need of appeasing, darling,” he’d said, as if everyone knew that.

She’d imagined large, heavily cloaked men, faces covered in soot, pacing their hearths and muttering their grievances. But the coal barons were, in fact, like all well-dressed Weslorian gentlemen with clean faces.

They peered at her with expressions that ranged from disgust to indifference to curiosity.

“Don’t mind them,” her father had said. “They are not modern men.”

Justine and her father were housed at Astasia Castle. It was a fortress that jutted out forebodingly from a rocky outcropping so high on the mountain that the horses labored to pull the royal coach up the steep drive. It was purported to be the best of all the accommodations in the area, afforded to Justine and her father by virtue of the fact Justine’s father was the king of Wesloria, and she was the crown princess, the invested heir to the throne.

Justine said the castle looked scary. Her father explained that castles were built in this manner so that armies and marauders could be seen advancing from miles away, and runaway brides could be seen fleeing for miles.

“Runaway brides?” Justine had been enthralled by the idea of something so romantic gone so horribly awry.

“Petr the Mad watched his bride run away with his best knight, and then watched his men chase them for miles before they got away. He was so angry he burned down half the village.” Her father did not elaborate further, as the gates had opened, and the castellan had come rushing forward, eager to show the king and his heir the old royal castle he proudly kept.

Sir Corin wore a dusty blue waistcoat that hung to his thighs, the last four buttons undone to allow for his paunch. His hair, scraggly and gray, had been pulled into an old-fashioned queue at his nape. He kept a ring of keys attached to his waist that clanked with each step he took.

He was a student of history, he’d said, and could answer any question they might have about Astasia Castle, and proceeded to exhibit his detailed knowledge of the dank, drafty place with narrow halls and low ceilings. A young Russian prince had died in this room. An ancient queen had lost her life giving birth to her tenth child in that room.

Sir Corin showed them to the throne room. “More than one monarch’s held court here.”

Justine was accustomed to the opulence of the palace in Wesloria’s capital of St. Edys. This looked more like a common room of a public house—it was small and dark, the king and queen’s thrones wooden, and the tapestries faded by time and smoke.

Another room, Sir Corin pointed out, was where King Maksim had accepted the surrender of the feudal King Igor, thereby uniting all Weslorians under one rule after generations of strife.

“My namesake,” her father said proudly, forgetting, perhaps, that King Maksim had slaughtered King Igor’s forces to unite them all.

They came upon a small inner courtyard. Stone walls rose up on three sides of it, but the outer wall was a battlement. Sir Corin pointed to a door at one end of the battlement that led into a keep with narrow windows. “We use it for storage now, but they kept the prisoners there in the old days. Worse than any dungeon your young eyes have ever seen, Your Royal Highness.”

Justine had never seen a dungeon.

“Is this not where Lord Rabat was beheaded?” her father asked casually. To Justine, he said, “That would have been your great-great-uncle Rabat.”

“Je, Your Majesty, the block is still here.” Sir Corin pointed to a large wooden block that stood alone, about two feet high and two feet wide. It looked to have been weathered by years of sitting in hard sun and wretched winters.

“Oh, how terrible,” Justine said, crinkling her nose.

“Quite,” her father agreed, and explained, with far too much enthusiasm, how a person was made to kneel before the block and lay their neck upon it. “A good executioner could make clean work of it with a single stroke. Whap, and the head would tumble into a basket.”

“If I may, Your Majesty, a good executioner was hard to come by. More miners in these parts than men good with broadswords. Fact is, it took three strikes of the sword to sever Rabat’s head completely.” Sir Corin felt it necessary to demonstrate the three strikes with his arm.

“Ah…” Justine swallowed down a swell of nausea.

“Three whacks?” her father repeated, rapt. “Couldn’t get it done in one?”

Sir Corin shook his head. “Just goes to prove how important it is to keep the broadsword sharp.”

“And to keep someone close who knows how to wield it,” her father added. The two men laughed roundly.

Justine looked around for someplace to sit so that she could put her head between her legs and gulp some air. Alas, the only place to sit was the block.

“Steady there, my girl. I’ve not told you who ordered the beheading,” her father said.

Sir Corin clasped his hands together in anticipation, clearly trying to contain his glee.

“Your great-great-aunt Queen Elena!”

Queen Elena had beheaded Lord Rabat? “Her husband?”

“Worse. Her brother.”

Justine gasped. “But why?”

“Because Rabat meant to behead her first. Whoever survived the battle here would be crowned the sovereign.”

“Ooh, a bloody battle it was, too,” Sir Corin said eagerly. “Four thousand souls lost, many of them falling right off the battlement.”

Justine backed up a step. A quake was beginning somewhere deep inside her, making her a little short of breath. Her knees felt as if they might buckle, and her skin crawled with anxiety, imagining the loss of so many. “Could she not have banished him?”

“And have him slither back like a snake?” Her father draped his arm around her shoulders before she could back up all the way to St. Edys. “She did the right thing. Why, minutes before, she was on the block herself.”

“Dear God,” Justine whispered.

“But at the last minute the people here saved her,” her father said. “She sentenced her brother to die immediately for his insurrection and stood right where we are now to watch his traitorous head roll.”

“Well,” Sir Corin said. “I wouldn’t say it rolled, precisely.”

The two men laughed again.

“Don’t close your eyes, darling,” her father said, squeezing her into his side. “Look at that block. Elena was only seventeen years old, but she was very clever. She knew what she had to do to hold power and rule the kingdom. And she ruled a very long time.”

“Forty-three years, all told,” Sir Corin said proudly.

“Queen Elena learned what every sovereign must—be decisive and act quickly. Do you understand?”

“I don’t…think so?” Justine was starting to feel a bit like she was spinning.

“You will.” Her father dropped his arm. He wandered over to the block to inspect it. “We almost named you Elena after her. But they called her Elena the Bi—Witch,” he said. “And your mother feared they might call you the same.”

“You said she was a good queen.”

“She was an excellent queen. But sometimes it is difficult to do the things that must be done and keep the admiration of your people at the same time.”

The spinning was getting worse. She gripped her father’s arm. “Why?”

“Because people expect a woman to behave like a woman. But a good queen must sometimes behave more like a king for the good of the kingdom. People don’t care for it.” He shrugged. “No king or queen can make all their subjects happy all the time.” He suddenly smiled. “You look a bit like Queen Elena.”

“The very image,” Sir Corin piped up.

Later that day Justine saw a portrait of Queen Elena. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t appear completely unpleasant. She simply looked…determined. And her dress was elegantly pretty, with lots of pearls sewn into it.

Later still, when her father and his men had retired to smoke cigars and talk about coal or some such, Justine returned to the courtyard alone. No one was there, no sentry looking out for marauders or runaway brides. She looked up at the tops of pines bending in a relentless wind, appearing to scrape a dull gray sky. She walked up the steps to the battlement and gazed out over the mountain valley below the castle. She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes and turned her face to the heavens.

That was the first time she truly felt it—the pull from somewhere deep, the energy of all the kings and queens who had come before her, rising up to the crown of her head, anchoring her to this earth. She felt the centuries of warfare and struggle, of the people her family had ruled. She felt the enormous responsibilities they’d all carried, the work they’d done to carve a road to the future.

Her father had often said that he could feel the weight of his crown on his shoulders. But Justine felt something entirely different. She didn’t feel as if it was weighing her down, but more like it was lifting her off her feet and holding her here. She didn’t believe this was a conceit on her part, but a tether to her past. She would be a queen. She knew that she would, and standing there, she felt like she should be. She felt born to it.

A gust of wind very nearly sent her flying, so she came down from the battlement. She paused just before the block and tried to imagine herself on her knees, knowing her death was imminent. She imagined how she would look.

She hoped she would appear strong and noble with no hint of her fear of the pain or the unknown.

Being queen was her destiny. She knew it would come.

But she hadn’t known then it would come so soon.

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Author Bio

Social Media Links

Author Website

Facebook: Julia London

Twitter: @JuliaFLondon

Purchase Links

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Princess Plan by Julia London

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing the Feature Post and Book Review for Julia London’s first book in her new A Royal Wedding series – THE PRINCESS PLAN.

Below you will find a book summary, an excerpt from the book, my book review and the author’s bio and social media links.

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The Princess Plan

London, Julia

FICTION/Romance/Historical/Victorian

Mass Market | HQN Books | A Royal Wedding

On Sale: 11/19/2019

9781335041531

$7.99

$10.99 CAN

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Book Summary

Princes have pomp and glory—not murdered secretaries and crushes on commoners

Nothing gets London’s high society’s tongues wagging like a good scandal. And when the personal secretary of the visiting Prince Sebastian of Alucia is found murdered, it’s all anyone can talk about, including Eliza Tricklebank. Her unapologetic gossip gazette has benefitted from an anonymous tip about the crime, prompting Sebastian to take an interest in playing detective—and an even greater one in Eliza.

With a trade deal on the line and mounting pressure to secure a noble bride, there’s nothing more salacious than a prince dallying with a commoner. Sebastian finds Eliza’s contrary manner as frustrating as it is seductive, but they’ll have to work together if they’re going to catch the culprit. And when things heat up behind closed doors, it’s the prince who’ll have to decide what comes first—his country or his heart.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

London 1845

All of London has been on tenterhooks, desperate for a glimpse of Crown Prince Sebastian of Alucia during his highly anticipated visit. Windsor Castle was the scene of Her Majesty’s banquet to welcome him. Sixty-and-one-hundred guests were on hand, feted in St. George’s Hall beneath the various crests of the Order of the Garter. Two thousand pieces of silver cutlery were used, one thousand crystal glasses and goblets. The first course and main dish of lamb and potatoes were served on silver-gilded plates, followed by delicate fruits on French porcelain.

Prince Sebastian presented a large urn fashioned of green Alucian malachite to our Queen Victoria as a gift from his father the King of Alucia. The urn was festooned with delicate ropes of gold around the mouth and the neck.

The Alucian women were attired in dresses of heavy silk worn close to the body, the trains quite long and brought up and fastened with buttons to facilitate walking. Their hair was fashioned into elaborate knots worn at the nape. The Alucian gentlemen wore formal frock coats of black superfine wool that came to midcalf, as well as heavily embroidered waistcoats worn to the hip. It was reported that Crown Prince Sebastian is “rather tall and broad, with a square face and neatly trimmed beard, a full head of hair the color of tea, and eyes the color of moss,” which the discerning reader might think of as a softer shade of green. It is said he possesses a regal air owing chiefly to the many medallions and ribbons he wore befitting his rank.

Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies

The Right Honorable Justice William Tricklebank, a widower and justice of the Queen’s Bench in Her Majesty’s service, was very nearly blind, his eyesight having steadily eroded into varying and fuzzy shades of gray with age. He could no longer see so much as his hand, which was why his eldest daughter, Miss Eliza Tricklebank, read his papers to him.

Eliza had enlisted the help of Poppy, their housemaid, who was more family than servant, having come to them as an orphaned girl more than twenty years ago. Together, the two of them had anchored strings and ribbons halfway up the walls of his London townhome, and all the judge had to do was follow them with his hand to move from room to room. Among the hazards he faced was a pair of dogs that were far too enthusiastic in their wish to be of some use to him, and a cat who apparently wished him dead, judging by the number of times he put himself in the judge’s path, or leapt into his lap as he sat, or walked across the knitting the judge liked to do while his daughter read to him, or unravelled his ball of yarn without the judge’s notice.

The only other potential impediments to his health were his daughters—Eliza, a spinster, and her younger sister, Hollis, otherwise known as the Widow Honeycutt. They were often together in his home, and when they were, it seemed to him there was quite a lot of laughing at this and shrieking at that. His daughters disputed that they shrieked, and accused him of being old and easily startled. But the judge’s hearing, unlike his eyesight, was quite acute, and those two shrieked with laughter. Often.

At eight-and-twenty, Eliza was unmarried, a fact that had long baffled the judge. There had been an unfortunate and rather infamous misunderstanding with one Mr. Asher Daughton-Cress, who the judge believed was despicable, but that had been ten years ago. Eliza had once been demure and a politely deferential young lady, but she’d shed any pretense of deference when her heart was broken. In the last few years she had emerged vibrant and carefree. He would think such demeanour would recommend her to gentlemen far and wide, but apparently it did not. She’d had only one suitor since her very public scandal, a gentleman some fifteen years older than Eliza. Mr. Norris had faithfully called every day until one day he did not. When the judge had inquired, Eliza had said, “It was not love that compelled him, Pappa. I prefer my life here with you—the work is more agreeable, and I suspect not as many hours as marriage to him would require.”

His youngest, Hollis, had been tragically widowed after only two years of a marriage without issue. While she maintained her own home, she and her delightful wit were a faithful caller to his house at least once a day without fail, and sometimes as much as two or three times per day. He should like to see her remarried, but Hollis insisted she was in no rush to do so. The judge thought she rather preferred her sister’s company to that of a man.

His daughters were thick as thieves, as the saying went, and were coconspirators in something that the judge did not altogether approve of. But he was blind, and they were determined to do what they pleased no matter what he said, so he’d given up trying to talk any practical sense into them.

That questionable activity was the publication of a ladies’ gazette. Tricklebank didn’t think ladies needed a gazette, much less one having to do with frivolous subjects such as fashion, gossip and beauty. But say what he might, his daughters turned a deaf ear to him. They were unfettered in their enthusiasm for this endeavour, and if the two of them could be believed, so was all of London.

The gazette had been established by Hollis’s husband, Sir Percival Honeycutt. Except that Sir Percival had published an entirely different sort of gazette, obviously— one devoted to the latest political and financial news. Now that was a useful publication to the judge’s way of thinking.

Sir Percival’s death was the most tragic of accidents, the result of his carriage sliding off the road into a swollen river during a rain, which also saw the loss of a fine pair of grays. It was a great shock to them all, and the judge had worried about Hollis and her ability to cope with such a loss. But Hollis proved herself an indomitable spirit, and she had turned her grief into efforts to preserve her husband’s name. But as she was a young woman without a man’s education, and could not possibly comprehend the intricacies of politics or financial matters, she had turned the gazette on its head and dedicated it solely to topics that interested women, which naturally would be limited to the latest fashions and the most tantalizing on dits swirling about London’s high society. It was the judge’s impression that women had very little interest in the important matters of the world.

And yet, interestingly, the judge could not deny that Hollis’s version of the gazette was more actively sought than her husband’s had ever been. So much so that Eliza had been pressed into the service of helping her sister prepare her gazette each week. It was curious to Tricklebank that so many members of the Quality were rather desperate to be mentioned among the gazette’s pages.

Today, his daughters were in an unusually high state of excitement, for they had secured the highly sought-after invitations to the Duke of Marlborough’s masquerade ball in honor of the crown prince of Alucia. One would think the world had stopped spinning on its axis and that the heavens had parted and the seas had receded and this veritable God of All Royal Princes had shined his countenance upon London and blessed them all with his presence.

Hogwash.

Everyone knew the prince was here to strike an important trade deal with the English government in the name of King Karl. Alucia was a small European nation with impressive wealth for her size. It was perhaps best known for an ongoing dispute with the neighboring country of Wesloria—the two had a history of war and distrust as fraught as that between England and France.

The judge had read that it was the crown prince who was pushing for modernization in Alucia, and who was the impetus behind the proposed trade agreement. Prince Sebastian envisioned increasing the prosperity of Alucia by trading cotton and iron ore for manufactured goods. But according to the judge’s daughters, that was not the most important part of the trade negotiations. The important part was that the prince was also in search of a marriage bargain.

“It’s what everyone says,” Hollis had insisted to her father over supper recently “And how is it, my dear, that everyone knows what the prince intends?” the judge asked as he stroked the cat, Pris, on his lap. The cat had been named Princess when the family believed it a female. When the houseman Ben discovered that Princess was, in fact, a male, Eliza said it was too late to change the name. So they’d shortened it to Pris. “Did the prince send a letter? Announce it in the Times?”

“Caro says,” Hollis countered, as if that were quite obvious to anyone with half a brain where she got her information. “She knows everything about everyone, Pappa.”

“Aha. If Caro says it, then by all means, it must be true.”

“You must yourself admit she is rarely wrong,” Hollis had said with an indignant sniff.

Caro, or Lady Caroline Hawke, had been a lifelong friend to his daughters, and had been so often underfoot in the Tricklebank house that for many years, it seemed to the judge that he had three daughters.

Caroline was the only sibling of Lord Beckett Hawke and was also his ward. Long ago, a cholera outbreak had swept through London, and both Caro’s mother and his children’s mother had succumbed. Amelia, his wife, and Lady Hawke had been dear friends. They’d sent their children to the Hawke summer estate when Amelia had taken ill. Lady Hawke had insisted on caring for her friend and, well, in the end, they were both lost.

Lord Hawke was an up-and-coming young lord and politician, known for his progressive ideas in the House of Lords. He was rather handsome, Hollis said, a popular figure, and socially in high demand. Which meant that, by association, so was his sister. She, too, was quite comely, which made her presence all the easier to her brother’s many friends, the judge suspected.

But Caroline did seem to know everyone in London, and was constantly calling on the Tricklebank household to spout the gossip she’d gleaned in homes across Mayfair. Here was an industrious young lady—she called on three salons a day if she called on one. The judge supposed her brother scarcely need worry about putting food in their cupboards, for the two of them were dining with this four-and-twenty or that ten-and-six almost every night. It was a wonder Caroline wasn’t a plump little peach.

Perhaps she was. In truth, she was merely another shadow to the judge these days.

“And she was at Windsor and dined with the queen,” Hollis added with superiority.

“You mean Caro was in the same room but one hundred persons away from the queen,” the judge suggested. He knew how these fancy suppers went.

“Well, she was there, Pappa, and she met the Alucians, and she knows a great deal about them now. I am quite determined to discover who the prince intends to offer for and announce it in the gazette before anyone else. Can you imagine? I shall be the talk of London!”

This was precisely what Mr. Tricklebank didn’t like about the gazette. He did not want his daughters to be the talk of London.

But it was not the day for him to make this point, for his daughters were restless, moving about the house with an urgency he was not accustomed to. Today was the day of the Royal Masquerade Ball, and the sound of crisp petticoats and silk rustled around him, and the scent of perfume wafted into his nose when they passed. His daughters were waiting impatiently for Lord Hawke’s brougham to come round and fetch them. Their masks, he was given to understand, had already arrived at the Hawke House, commissioned, Eliza had breathlessly reported, from “Mrs. Cubison herself.”

He did not know who Mrs. Cubison was.

And frankly, he didn’t know how Caro had managed to finagle the invitations to a ball at Kensington Palace for his two daughters—for the good Lord knew the Tricklebanks did not have the necessary connections to achieve such a feat.

He could feel their eagerness, their anxiety in the nervous pitch of their giggling when they spoke to each other. Even Poppy seemed nervous. He supposed this was to be the ball by which all other balls in the history of mankind would forever be judged, but he was quite thankful he was too blind to attend.

When the knock at the door came, he was startled by such squealing and furious activity rushing by him that he could only surmise that the brougham had arrived and the time had come to go to the ball.

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My Book Review

RATING: 3 out of 5 stars

THE PRINCESS PLAN (A Royal Wedding #1) by Julia London is the first book in a new historical romance series. A Cinderella styled romance with a mystery subplot.

Prince Sebastian of Alucia is in London to officially close a trade deal with England as well as secure a noble bride. The morning after a masked ball, the personal secretary and most trusted friend of the Prince is found murdered in his bed.

Every tongue in London is wagging, but no one seems to know who is responsible. Prince Sebastian is told that a ladies’ gossip and fashion gazette has printed a rumor implicating a member of his entourage. He and his brother seek out the author.

Eliza Tricklebank is a spinster firmly on the shelf after a scandal in her youth. She lives with and assists her blind father who is a judge on the Queen’s bench. With her widowed sister, Hollis and their best friend, Carolyn, the three produce the gazette the princes seek.

Prince Sebastian does not know what to make of this commoner who has no regard to his status, but he is also intrigued. Sebastian finds Eliza frustrating, but also helpful in his quest. As they work together to uncover a killer, their attraction grows. As everything comes to a head, Sebastian will have to choose between his country or his heart.

I enjoyed Sebastian and Eliza and their banter. I also enjoyed Eliza with her sister and friend as the three always supported each other. I did feel that this story had some problems with being in the historical genre and would have been better suited in a more modern setting. No matter how enlightened, I had to suspend historical belief on the way Eliza dealt with the Prince, also at a ball when Eliza ran into the man who caused her young scandal because he was with his pregnant wife, which in no way would happen; women stayed at home when pregnant.

This is a fun, fluffy and fast read, but not my favorite by this author.

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Author Bio and Social Media Links

AUTHOR BIO

Julia London is a NYT, USA Today and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of historical and contemporary romance. She is a six-time finalist for the RITA Award of excellence in romantic fiction, and the recipient of RT Bookclub’s Best Historical Novel.

SOCIAL LINKS

www.julialondon.com/newsletter

www.facebook.com/julialondon

www.twitter.com/juliaflondonwww.instagram.com/julia_f_london

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BUY LINKS

Book Review: Seduced by a Scot by Julia London

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

SEDUCED BY A SCOT (The Highland Grooms #6) by Julie London is a historical romance set in 1758 Scotland. Even though this book is part of a series, it can be easily read as a standalone.

Nichol Bain is a “fixer” for the aristocracy. He prides himself on finding a solution for any problem or making it disappear for a price. When a prominent Scottish family is on the verge of having a lucrative business deal fall apart, which is also tied to the marriage of their children, Nichol is summoned to find a solution. To save the deal and the problem of the family’s ward, who has been accused of enticing the future groom, Nichol believes he can easily use the ward to solve another of his problems of a rich bachelor looking for a bride.

Maura Darby has been a ward for several years after the death of her father. As she has grown into her beauty, she has been increasingly detested by the mother and daughter of the house. She has done her best to fade into the background, but it is never enough. She desperately wants to be able to make her own choices for her future, but it is just not possible in her current situation. When Nichol arrives to escort her to her new situation, he is captivated by her spirit and beauty.

As their journey takes them closer to the solution Nichol has thought out, he finds he is not at all sure it is the right one for all involved. He is challenged by Maura at every turn to see her a person rather than a problem to be solved and to see things from a different point of view. When he discovers a secret from his past, it could be that he needs a problem solver himself. Could it be he needs Maura for himself?

I enjoyed Nichol and Maura’s story. They both had unique backstories which made the plot more entertaining. The story moves at a good pace with several plot twists that keep the couple reevaluating and adjusting to their situations. The sex scenes are well written and appropriate to the growth of the romance. The romance plot and the H/h make this story a little different than your normal historical romance read and I enjoyed it as I have enjoyed so many of Ms. London’s previous books.

Written for and posted first on The Romance Reviews.