The choice between adhering to a long-held pact and finally accepting love could prove Lady Tabitha Shelton’s unhinging. She is plump, plain, pleasant . . . and thoroughly unappealing to any of the men of the ton—apart from fortune hunters. A self-appointed wallflower, she has every intention of remaining one. Tabitha made a vow of spinsterhood with her cousins when they were girls, and she refuses to go back on her word. So far, she’s proven herself quite adept at warding off the blasted fortune hunters’ pursuits.
Noah deLancie, Marquess of Devonport, would prefer to marry for love and companionship—he’s a gentleman through and through—but circumstances have forced his hand: he needs money as badly as he needs a bride. When Noah’s brother-in-law suggests pursuit of his sister, Tabitha, a woman with a dowry large enough to cause even Croesus to blush and who is tantalizingly good company to boot, Noah stumbles into the future he hopes to secure. He’ll stop at nothing to convince Tabitha to marry him.
Nothing, that is, except perhaps the barrel of a dueling pistol, held to his face by his ladylove.
Wallflower has sold more than 25,000 copies in English worldwide. In a limited time free period, it was downloaded more than 150,000 times.
“It’s obscene, really.” This came from Lady Kibblewhite, who leaned over until her near-bluish hair virtually assaulted her companion. The massive aubergine feathers adorning her headpiece finished the attack where her hair had left off. Not that she needed to lean in at all. Her wobbly voice carried halfway across Lord Scantlebury’s ballroom. One would have to exert a valiant and sincere effort in order not to hear the sprawling whine of a voice.
From Lady Tabitha Shelton’s chosen location, safely ensconced behind an array of potted plants and hidden from the view of the majority of the ballroom, she couldn’t possibly avoid the ancient society matron’s words. She was, after all, merely a few feet behind the two and several positions down the wall. Tabitha remained where she was for two reasons: first, to avoid the possibility of dancing with any gentleman whatsoever; and second, to avoid the notice of Lord Oglethorpe, the blasted fortune hunter currently attempting to pay her excessive attention of the unwanted variety.
As luck would have it, Tabitha had selected a green shade of silk for her gown that evening, one that fortuitously fell somewhere between the hues of the verdant ivies in pots before her and the somewhat softer Pomona green draped over the walls. She thought she blended in quite well, all things considered.
“Do keep your voice down. She’ll hear you.” And this came from said feather-assaulted companion, Lady Plumridge, as she searched about to find the obscenity in question. Lady Plumridge was younger, yes. And also much squatter.
She was no less a gossipmonger, however.
