A Hasty Betrothal
A Practical ProposalThough Lady Elizabeth Wayland would rather spend her days with her beloved books than an uncaring spouse, scandal forces her to find a match post-haste. To escape the scoundrel who almost ruined her, Elizabeth accepts an unconventional proposal from a childhood friend. But when she finds herself falling for her husband-to-be, will she be able to convince him to return her love?Widowed cotton mill owner Miles Hawthorne vowed to never marry again—until Elizabeth’s reputation is on the line. Their betrothal begins as a simple favour. As he spends more time with his fiance, though, Miles finds that there’s more to her than he ever saw before. And Elizabeth just might be the only woman who can slip into his heart.
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A Practical Proposal
Though Lady Elizabeth Wayland would rather spend her days with her beloved books than an uncaring spouse, scandal forces her to find a match posthaste. To escape the scoundrel who almost ruined her, Elizabeth accepts an unconventional proposal from a childhood friend. But when she finds herself falling for her husband-to-be, will she be able to convince him to return her love?
Widowed cotton mill owner Miles Hawthorne vowed to never marry againâuntil Elizabethâs reputation is on the line. Their betrothal begins as a simple favor. As he spends more time with his fiancée, though, Miles finds that thereâs more to her than he ever saw before. And Elizabeth just might be the only woman who can slip into his heart.
âI see you brought a book.â
There was not the slightest hint that heâd noticed her gawking at him, nor that he even cared. âIf it is all the same to you, Iâll be reading through these papers for the bulk of our travel. I trust you can entertain yourself?â
So formal. So distant. Elizabeth nodded slowly, at a loss. Who was this man in front of her? Certainly not the carefree gentleman whoâd visited Grandmother and chided Elizabethâs bibliophilism. Nor was he the mischievous boy whoâd yanked her pigtails and dared her to climb Grandmotherâs tallest oak.
No, this man across from her, with his long legs encased in shiny Hessian boots and his serious brow fastened to the work before him, was not the Miles she had always known.
A chill started at the base of her toes and rippled upward. Suddenly the prospect of meeting new people appeared far less dangerous than a future spent with a man who had become a complete and utter stranger.
JESSICA NELSON believes romance happens every day and thinks the greatest, most intense romance comes from a God who woos people to Himself with passionate tenderness. When Jessica is not chasing her three beautiful, wild little boys around the living room, she can be found staring into space as she plots her next story, daydreams about raspberry mochas or plans chocolate for dinner.
But let it be the hidden man of the heart,
in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.
â1 Peter 3:4
I first want to dedicate this to my little brother, Hunter Schwirtz. When I started this story, I never would have guessed that you would be gone by its completion. Your struggle and your pain have given me an empathy I lacked. Your bright beauty is missed by so many. We grieve the loss of you.
Thank you to Anita Howard, for being the best, most fantastic POM in the world, and for catching all my echoes. Also, a huge thanks to Ane Ryan-Walker for taking the time to read the story and refine my Regency knowledge.
I also want to give a shout-out to my fantabulous aunts: Laurie Fontaine, Ellen Begin and Rosemary Begin. When I was a visiting child during multiple summers, these ladies indulged my voracious appetite for reading by making sure my world was fully stocked with books. Thank you.
Thank you to Emily Rodmell, my wonderful editor. She truly makes my stories shine.
And finally, to God, who sees us in our deepest sorrows, who comforts us in times of need. We are never alone, because of Him.
Contents
Balls were the worst sort of social event.
One month after Lady Elizabeth Waylandâs arrival in London, the Season began full force. She received her voucher to Almackâs, that most-coveted place of stale biscuits and overeager girls in search of a groom.
As in Seasons past, Elizabeth loathed Almackâs on sight.
Tonightâs rout at Lady Charlestonâs was bound to be just as detestable, but refusing the invitation would have been a slight too large to justify. Elizabethâs father, a wealthy earl, and her mother, the daughter of a duke, were well liked by the haut monde. Their pristine reputations kept their calendar full. Her brother, John, was also making a name for himself in political circles.
Quite unlike Elizabeth, who preferred a secluded life at her grandmotherâs estate. Sheâd been caring for the dowager duchess nigh unto fifteen years, ever since she was sent to live at Windermar as a young girl. Her mother and father resided in London for much of the year, but spent the heat of summer rusticating at their own estate in Kent.
Elizabeth adored her grandmotherâs spacious home. Located in Cheshire County of Northern England, it was a three day ride to London. Escaping her parentsâ abundance of charitable events caused Elizabeth a great feeling of accomplishment. They insisted her looks did not matter, but she could not help but feel that the large birthmark on her face made others uncomfortable.
