To my dear readers,
I hope you enjoyed Adam and Genie’s happily ever after, meaning no disrespect to all those dashing dukes. For my next full-length novel, (June 2018), I recruited a ducal heir, Jonathan Tresham, to woo the fair maid. Suffice it to say, Jonathan’s dashing needs some work—a lot of work—and Theodosia Haviland has a few pointers for him. Enjoy an excerpt below.
If you simply must have another duke, you’ll be pleased to know that the first story in my Rogues to Riches Series, (Nov. 2018), features Quinn Wentworth, who doesn’t find out he’s come into a ducal title until he’s kicking his heels in Newgate prison. Jane Winston come along, and then things really get interesting. Enjoy an excerpt below.
I hope to have another True Gentlemen on the shelves in September 2018, but that will require the cooperation of a certain stubborn earl—I’m looking at you, Grey Birch Dorning—and a widow with a mind of her own. Wheeee!
If you’d like to keep up to date regarding my upcoming deals, pre-orders, or new releases, following me on is a handy way to do that. If you’re more the type who enjoys cover reveals and author-chat in addition the new release announcements, you can
Happy reading!
Grace Burrowes
Mr. Jonathan Tresham, heir to a dukedom, has sought the privacy of an unused parlor to negotiate with Mrs. Theo Haviland for certain personal services. The negotiations are off to a bumpy start…
“I don’t want a perishing duchess!”
Mr. Tresham had raised his voice, though he was insisting rather than shouting. Theo was pleased with his reaction nonetheless. He’d managed the situation with Bea, managed Diana’s obstinance in the park, and managed any number of presuming debutantes. Theo was cheered to think Mr. Tresham had found a situation he could not confidently handle on his own.
“What do you want, Mr. Tresham? You are to become a duke, God willing. Dukes are married to duchesses.”
“Might we sit? I’ll spend the rest of the evening enduring bosoms pressed to my person while I prance around the ballroom with a simpering, sighing, young woman in my arms. My feet ache at the very prospect.”
Theo began to enjoy herself. “Poor dear. You must have nightmares about all those bosoms.”
He smiled, a rueful quirk of the lips that transformed his features from severe to… charming? Surely not.
Theo took a seat and patted the cushion beside her. “Speak plainly, Mr. Tresham. The bosoms await.”
He took the place beside her. “Plain speaking has ever been my preference. I left England after finishing at Cambridge, and went abroad to make my fortune. In that endeavor, I was successful, but the whole time I ought to have been finding my way among polite society, making the right associations, being a dutiful heir, I was instead making money on the Continent.”
Without any partners, he’d said. “Why Cambridge? You would have met more young men from the right families at Oxford.”
Theo really ought to scoot a good foot to the side. She’d taken the middle of the sofa, and Mr. Tresham was thus wedged between her and the armrest. There was room, if they sat improperly close.
He was warm, however, and he wasn’t shy about discussing money. Theo stayed right where she was.
“Cambridge offers a better education in the practical sciences and mathematics. I am something of an amateur mathematician, which skill is helpful when managing one’s finances.” He gazed at the fire, his expression once again the remote, handsome scion of a noble house.
Theo had the daft urge to tickle him, to make that charming smile reappear. He’d doubtless offer her a stiff bow and never acknowledge her again if she took liberties with his person.
“You offered me plain speaking, Mr. Tresham, yet you dissemble. No ducal heir needs more than a passing grasp of mathematics.”
He opened a snuff box on the low table before them. Taking snuff was a dirty habit, one Theo had forbid Archie to indulge in at home.
“Would you care for a mint?” Mr. Tresham held the snuff box out to her.
Theo took two. “Tell me about Cambridge.”
He popped a mint into his mouth and set down the snuffbox. “My father went to Oxford. He earned top marks in wenching, inebriation, stupid wagers, and scandal. I chose not to put myself in a situation where his reputation would precede me.”
Most young men viewed those pursuits as the primary reasons to go up to university. “I gather he was something of a prodigy in the subjects listed?”
“Top wrangler. So I became a top wrangler at Cambridge.”
Ah, well then. “And you’ve taken no partners in your business endeavors. Can’t your aunt assist you in this bride hunt, Mr. Tresham?”
“Quimbey’s wife doesn’t know me, and she’s too busy being a bride herself. She and Quimbey are…” He fiddled with the snuffbox again, opening and closing the lid. “Besotted, I suppose. At their ages.”
Clearly, Mr. Tresham did not approve of besottedness at any age, and Theo had to agree with him. Nothing but trouble came from entrusting one’s heart into another’s keeping.
“They are off on a wedding journey of indefinite duration,” Mr. Tresham went on. “They are reminding me that soon, Quimbey will not be on hand. He’s an old man by any standards, and I have put off marriage long enough.”
“You want me to help you find a bride?”
“Precisely. I haven’t womenfolk I can turn to for first-hand information, haven’t friends from school who will warn me off the bad investments. In this search, I need a knowledgeable consultant, and I am willing to pay for the needed expertise.”
A consultant, but not a partner, of course. “Why should I do this? Why exert myself on behalf of a man I don’t know well. I could end up with another woman’s eternal misery on my conscience.”
Another smile, this one downright devilish. “Would you rather have my eternal misery on your conscience?”
Well, no. Mr. Tresham was little more than a stranger, but he’d been kind to Diana, he was dutiful toward his elderly relations, and he’d make a woman of delicate sensibilities wretched.
“How would my matchmaking to be compensated?”
“Your role has two aspects: Matchmaker and chaperone. I will accept only those invitations where I know you have also been invited. You will simply do as you did with Dora Louise’s ambush in the library—guard my back. You will also keep me informed regarding the army of aspiring duchesses unleashed on my person every time I enter a ballroom.”
Theo got up to pace rather than remain next to him. “And my compensation?” Five years ago, she would have aided Mr. Tresham out of simple decency. Archie’s death meant she instead had to ask about money—vulgar, necessary money—and pretend the question was casual.
Mr. Tresham rose. Manners required that of him, because Theo was on her feet, but must he be so tall and self-possessed standing in the shadows? Must he be so blasted, everlasting attractive?
“Name your price, Mrs. Haviland.”
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