âFor years Iâve dreamed of having a family, but no man wanted me.â
Now Tristan knew Carolineâs motives. They were pure and painfully simple. She wanted to be a mother.
She paced up to him with her eyes blazing. âIâd do anythingâeven marry youâfor the sake of two beautiful children. Does that confession satisfy you, Major Smith?â
A wry smile lifted his lips. âYouâre a brave woman, Caroline.â
âIâm not brave at all,â she murmured.
âI think you are,â he answered. âIâd be pleased to marry you ⦠for the sake of the children, of course.â
The moment called for a handshake. They were sealing a business deal. But Tristan couldnât bring himself to offer merely his hand. Neither could he kiss her, not even as a token of friendship. Moving slowly, he touched her cheek. âYou should call me Tristan.â
Dear Reader,
Writers are always looking for fresh ideas. Maybe thatâs why I matched Caroline Bradley, the last of the Swanâs Nest heroines, with a retired British Army officer. To make the romance more challenging, I gave him malaria. Somewhere along the line, my hero surprised me yet again by announcing he was the third son of a duke and that heâd become heir apparent.
Tristanâs disclosure led to more questions than I ever imagined. How are titles passed on? What are the proper forms of address? Whatâs the difference between a duke, a marquis, a marquess and an earl? Then there are the titles for women and how theyâre used ⦠And thatâs just the beginning.
The rites of inheritance were crucial to this book, and I started off with the mistaken notion that a man could refuse an inherited title. I owe a debt of gratitude to the online community of romance writers who graciously offered help with the facts and led me to websites with oodles of information.
This Western writer did her best, but a Stetson fits me better than a tiara. Any mistakes are mine.
With Caroline happily married, the WOMEN OF SWANâS NEST series has come to an end. Iâve enjoyed telling these stories and hope youâve laughed and cried along with the characters. In my imagination I see them all in twenty years. The women will still be friends, and theyâll be cheering for each other. The men will be working to support their families, and theyâll be loving their wives, children and grandchildren for years to come. After all, a good love story never really ends.
All the best,
VICTORIA BYLIN fell in love with God and her husband at the same time. It started with a ride on a big red motorcycle and a date to see a Star Trek movie. A recent graduate of UC Berkeley, Victoria had been seeking that elusive âsomething moreâ when Michael rode into her life. Neither knew it, but they were both reading the Bible.
Five months later they got married and the blessings began. They have two sons and have lived in California and Virginia. Michaelâs career allowed Victoria to be both a stay-at-home mom and a writer. Sheâs living a dream that started when she read her first book and thought, âI want to tell stories.â For that gift, she will be forever grateful.
Feel free to drop Victoria an email at
[email protected] or visit her website at www.victoriabylin.com.
This book is dedicated to my sons,
Joseph Scheibel and David Scheibel. Oneâs traveled the world and the other is a soldier. They both influenced this story. Love to you both!
Which of you, if your son asks for bread,
will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
âMatthew 7:9â11
Wheeler Springs, Wyoming, October 1876
Tristan Willoughby Smith didnât like to be kept waiting, and heâd been waiting for three days for the arrival of the quinine he needed to treat his malaria. Heâd also been waiting for the arrival of the Bradley sisters. Heâd hired the youngest, Miss Caroline Bradley, to be the governess to his children. Heâd hired the elder sister, Miss Elizabeth Bradley, to serve as a nurse and advisor for the treatment of the disease heâd contracted in the West Indies.
Tristan had a high tolerance for the fevers that came with malaria, but he had no patience at all with tardiness. A former major in the British army, he expected people to do what he told them.
He expected such obedience from his children.
He expected it from the men who worked his cattle ranch.
Mostly he expected such discipline from himself.
He also expected discipline from the stage line scheduled to deliver the quinine he needed to control his fevers. With his hands on his hips, he stared down the windblown street that made up the heart of Wheeler Springs. The stage was three days late. Heâd contracted the disease four months ago. The year before it had taken his wife, Molly, leaving him alone to care for their two children. To protect them from the disease, Tristan had come to Wyoming with Jonathan Tate, his best friend and former second in command. Wyoming was as far from malariaâand his home in Englandâas Tristan could get. It was also eighteen hundred miles away from the Philadelphia pharmaceutical company that manufactured the quinine. If the quinine was lost, heâd be in dire straits.