Lord Havelock's List
Be careful what you wish for…Lord Havelock is in need of a wife. But with no time for a society wedding and no stomach for girlish fripperies his options are limited. So, with help from his friends, he draws up a list of qualities he does desire in a wife…When orphaned Mary Carpenter discovers her handsome new husband’s list she’s hurt – and incensed. If he thinks she’ll sit meekly by, be ‘compliant’ and ‘a mouse’, he’s got another think coming! Is it perhaps time for Mary to make a list of her own, and change the rules of their relationship for ever… ?
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‘Come, you need not be afraid,’ Havelock said, with a sincerity that made her wish she could trust him.
Made her wish she could let go of her habitual distrust of the entire male sex just once.
‘I won’t let you fall.’
It wasn’t falling she was worried about. It was the increasing frequency with which she was having foolish, feminine thoughts about him. Foolish, feminine reactions, too.
There were skaters of all ages, shapes and sizes twirling about on the ice. All looking as though they were having a splendid time. Life didn’t offer many opportunities like this—to try something new and exciting. And the ice probably wouldn’t last all that long. Mary might never get another chance to have a go at skating.
When had she last let herself go the way they were doing? Living in the moment?
Having fun?
When had she got into the habit of being too afraid to reach out and attempt to take hold of the slightest chance at happiness?
She reached out and took the hand Lord Havelock was patiently holding out to her, vowing that today, at least, she would leave fear on the bank, launch out on to the ice and see what happened.
Some of you may have read my Christmas novella, GOVERNESS TO CHRISTMAS BRIDE, in the Gift-Wrapped Governesses anthology, in which the hero, Lord Chepstow, flees London when his good friend Lord Havelock suddenly decides to get married. He wouldn’t have found it so scary had Lord Havelock not asked for his help in compiling a list of wifely qualities. The next thing, he was sure, he would be expecting him to scour society drawing rooms for a woman who matched them. And once marriage-minded ladies scent husband material, there is no saying who they won’t get their claws into!
Well, Lord Chepstow stumbled into love anyway. But what, readers have wanted to know, happened to Lord Havelock—the man who so startled him by asking for help in compiling the list of what makes a perfect wife?
Here, at last, is his story …
My lovely new editor Pippa—such a pleasure to work with.
ANNIE BURROWS has been making up stories for her own amusement since she first went to school. As soon as she got the hang of using a pencil she began to write them down. Her love of books meant she had to do a degree in English Literature, and her love of writing meant she could never take on a job where she didn’t have time to jot down notes when inspiration for a new plot struck her. She still wants the heroines of her stories to wear beautiful floaty dresses and triumph over all that life can throw at them. But when she got married she discovered that finding a hero is an essential ingredient to arriving at ‘happy ever after’.
Contents
December 1814
‘Ho, there, Chepstow! Need some advice.’
Lord Chepstow, who’d been sauntering across the lobby of his club, paused, recognised Lord Havelock and grinned.
‘From me?’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Lord, you must be in the suds to want my advice.’
‘I am,’ said Lord Havelock bluntly. Then glanced meaningfully in the direction of the club’s servant, who’d stepped forward to take his coat and hat.
Chepstow’s grin faded. ‘Need to find somewhere quiet, to talk in private?’
‘Yes,’ said Lord Havelock, feeling a great weight rolling off his shoulders. Not that he had much hope that Chepstow, of all men, would come up with any fresh ideas. But at least he was willing to listen.
As soon as they’d passed through the door to the library—the one room almost sure to be deserted at this, or any other, time of the day—he said it.
Out loud.
‘Got to get married.’
‘Good grief.’ Chepstow’s jaw dropped. ‘Would never have thought you the type to get some girl into trouble. Not one you feel you have to marry, at any rate.’
Havelock clenched his fists in automatic repudiation of such a slur on his honour, causing Chepstow to raise his own hands in a placatory gesture.
‘Now I come to think of it...’ Chepstow said, carefully moving a few feet out of his range, ‘sort of thing could happen to anyone.’
‘Not me,’ Havelock insisted. ‘You know I’ve never been much in the petticoat line.’ He lowered his fists as it occurred to him that, actually, Chepstow might be the very chap to help him, after all.
‘You have been though, Chepstow. You’ve had some really high-flyers in keeping, haven’t you? And still managed to stay popular with ladies of the ton. How d’ye do it, man? How d’ye get them all eating out of your hands, that’s what I need to know.’
‘By opening my purse strings to the high-flyers,’ said Chepstow candidly, ‘and minding my manners with the Quality. It’s perfectly simple....’
‘Yes, if all you are looking for is something of a temporary nature. But if you had to get married, what kind of woman would you ask? I mean, what sort of woman do you think would make a good wife? And how would you go about finding her, if you only had a fortnight’s grace to get the knot tied?’
