Write For Me, Marquess - Archer, Kate

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Résumé :
A Poetical Lady and a Perplexed Lord Juliet Bennington is the fifth and youngest daughter of the Earl of Westmont. The ton has been rather shaken over the past four seasons as each of her elder sisters made their debut. Society is bracing itself for one more go round with a Bennington lady, though Juliet herself is rather sanguine. After all, her requirement is so obvious-she is a poetess, and therefore must wed a poet. If her poet is poor and lives in a garret, that is no matter. She does not give a toss for worldly things. Rupert Doncaster, Marquess of Hamill, was up on his feet before he'd been in the world ten months and he's rarely sat down since. If there is a horse race, he is in it, he trains with Gentleman Jackson, he fences, he hunts, he sails, he swims, he even runs round the park at dawn for the sheer fun of it. He is the ultimate Corinthian, and he rarely slows down, though a glimpse of Juliet Bennington has stopped him in his tracks. If only he could understand half of what this charming lady says. What is a blazing orb? Juliet is powerfully drawn to the athletic marquess, but she regretfully admits they can have no future. She must be able to share grand ideas and a passionate devotion to language, she must be able to look at the sunrise with her beloved and they both at the same time cry, Ah, blazing orb! While it has been intriguing to observe Lord Hamill in all his physicality, they are not suited. On the other hand, Mr. Roundbat is not nearly as nice to look at, but he is a poet, even going so far as to write poems in the Japanese style. That is where her destiny lies. It really should have been that simple. Though, nobody had factored in a cabal of moneylenders, a mysterious herald, a sly boy emerging from the Rats' Castle, or a certain lady's heart overruling her head. 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...

Biographie:
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.

Sommaire:
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....