It’s Marriage Or Ruin
Miss Emilie Catesby’s choice: a convenient marriage or ruin! Miss Emilie Catesby lives to paint—but when her mother threatens to take her oils away if she doesn’t marry she must either recklessly ruin herself or marry jaded Lord Marcus. When she finds herself compromised into a marriage of convenience with Marcus her decision is made for her! However, she’s surprised to discover that her wifely duties hold much more appeal than her paints…
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Miss Emilie Catesby’s choice:
A convenient marriage or ruin!
Miss Emilie Catesby lives to paint, but when her mother threatens to take her oils away if she doesn’t marry, she must either recklessly ruin herself, or marry jaded Lord Marcus. And when she finds herself compromised into a marriage of convenience with Marcus, her decision is made for her! However, she’s now surprised to discover her wifely duties hold much more appeal than her paints…
LIZ TYNER lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her, visit liztyner.com.
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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
ISBN: 978-1-474-08944-9
IT’S MARRIAGE OR RUIN
© 2019 Elizabeth Tyner
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Dedicated to Tianne and Anna
Contents
Note to Readers
Emilie Catesby could not be dancing at the wrong moment.
She stood in her very best dress, with her very best demeanour, which she quickly changed to her very best frown should any man try to catch her eye.
Finally her mother departed for the ladies’ retiring room and Emilie saw her chance. She’d not been fetching those lemonades for her mother purely out of daughterly devotion.
Lightly clasping the side of her skirt, so she could lift the hem enough to move quickly, Emilie made her way across the ballroom floor, one destination fixed in her mind. The pianoforte music and violins faded into silence; all her concentration was on her task.
Her mother didn’t want anyone to be reminded of Emilie’s fascination with art, but Emilie had to examine the portrait of Lady Avondale.
The likeness rested on an easel, to the opposite side of the musicians, its unveiling the excuse for the soirée.
Then she stopped, gazing at the life-sized replica of the Marchioness, the scent of the dried oils still lingering.
Emilie folded her arms behind her back and examined the brushstrokes. The blending of colours. Lady Avondale’s interlaced fingers were almost hidden by fabric and her aunt had painted them by blending skin tones with the hues of the dress. They gave more the appearance than the reality. As Emilie browsed from the outside of the portrait to the centre, she realised the painting became more detailed. An observer’s attention was being directed by the artist. Emilie was entranced. Such mastery.
