When her shopkeeper fiance ends their engagement because of her eccentric family, Miss Harriet "Hattie" Woodchurch is devastated. Realizing that following the rules has gotten her nowhere in life, she vows to secure her independence without a husband. Meanwhile, Mateo "Teo" Vincente, the sovereign Duke of Santiava, has come to England to settle his maternal grandfather's estate and secure his inheritance as Viscount Abbott. If his mother has her way, he'll also be returning to his small Mediterranean duchy with an English bride. Settling the estate is taking longer than Teo would like, both because it's a complicated inheritance and because his grasp of written English isn't the best. An acquaintance, Lord Iddesleigh, suggests hiring a secretary to help and even finds him the perfect candidate: Miss Woodchurch, a graduate of the Iddesleigh School for Exceptional Girls. As taciturn Teo and gregarious Hattie get to know each other through discussions of literature and other subjects, Teo realizes that Hattie is the only woman he can imagine at his side as his future wife. But his mother has other ideas, enlisting the help of a matchmaker to introduce him to "suitable" young ladies with wealth and connections. Will Teo follow his heart and choose Hattie or succumb to his mother's pressure to find a more suitable bride?
I loved this story so much! Teo and Hattie's chemistry and witty banter were phenomenal, and I loved that their personalities balanced each other so perfectly. Teo was a bit shy at first, but he was so sweet once he came out of his shell. Most importantly, he saw Hattie for the gem she was, no matter her crazy family or position in society. They made an adorable couple and I was rooting for them the whole way.
I highly recommend this charming tale for all historical romance fans and look forward to the next book in the series.
*Review copy provided by the publisher via NetGalley. All opinions expressed are my own.
About "The Viscount Who Vexed Me"
Daring. Darling. Determined.
Next to the Season’s newest diamond, Harriet (Hattie) Woodchurch feels like a plain Jane. But that’s of no consequence, since Hattie’s plan for her future is to earn enough to live far, far away from her embarrassing family.
That is until Mateo Vincente, Duke of Santiava and newly minted Viscount Abbott, arrives in London. While the shy European’s spoken English is impeccable, his writing is less fluent. The ton is eager to meet the handsome bachelor, and so many invitations flood in that Mateo needs a correspondence secretary.
With her perfect penmanship and way with words, Hattie is recommended, and the two bond over books and the ton’s eligible ladies. But when Hattie’s friend Flora becomes smitten with the viscount, things get complicated. Flora is tongue-tied in his presence. To help, Hattie feeds her information about Mateo’s interests. Soon things turn around and Flora appears on track to become his duchess. Yet for Mateo, something’s not quite right. Conversation with Flora isn’t as scintillating as it is with Hattie…
A Royal Match Series:
Book 1: Last Duke Standing
Book 2: The Duke Not Taken
Book 3: The Viscount Who Vexed Me
Book 4: An Inconvenient Earl
Read an Excerpt from "The Viscount Who Vexed Me"
Suddenly, a woman entered the shop in such a hurry that she set all the bells above the door clanging. “Mrs. Perkins!”
Mrs. Perkins, the shopkeeper, burst forth from the curtains covering the entrance to a back room like she thought the shop might be on fire. “What is it? What’s happened?”
The woman rushed to the front window where Flora and Queenie were, forcing them aside. “What in heaven!” Queenie cried.
“He’s there!”
“Who’s there?” Queenie demanded—she’d never been shy about seeking answers.
“Here?” Mrs. Perkins gasped and sprang to the window like a gazelle. “Where?”
The woman pointed across the street, and Queenie grabbed Flora’s arm. “Look!”
“You’re hurting me,” Flora said.
“For once, will you do as I ask?” Queenie demanded. “Look!”
Hattie watched the four ladies in the shop window, leaning forward and peering out over the glove displays, confused about what was happening. “Oh my. Oh my,” Flora said, then gestured wildly for Hattie. “Come here, come here, you have to see!”
There was not enough room for the five of them, and Hattie had to stand on her tiptoes to see over Flora’s shoulder. “I can’t really see,” Hattie said.
The rest of them ignored her. “Where?” Mrs. Perkins demanded, sounding panicked.
Mrs. Perkins’s friend pointed.
Hattie tried to make herself taller. The only thing she could see was a haberdashery across the street. Three gentlemen stood before it, chatting. “Is that it?” Hattie asked and sank down onto her feet again.
“Not them,” the woman said. “The viscount.”
There had to be at least a dozen viscounts on Regent Street on any given day. “Which one?”
“Which one?” Flora repeated, and shot a disapproving look over her shoulder at Hattie. “Viscount Abbott, of course.”
“Of course,” Hattie muttered. She didn’t know of any Viscount Abbott. Or why any of these women were interested in him.
“Who is also the Duke of Santiava,” Queenie said. Hattie blinked. Queenie rolled her eyes. “Why do you never know these things, Hattie? It’s as if you live in a cave.”
She never knew these things because she didn’t know anything. How could she? She didn’t exactly exist in the same social circles as Flora and Queenie. She knew what they told her, and they had not told her about this viscount.
Just then, Flora grabbed Hattie’s hand and gripped it so tightly that Hattie winced. Queenie pushed a display of gloves out of the way, and the four women surged forward, Flora dragging Hattie with her.
A man emerged from the shop, holding his hat in his hand. He was tall, with sun-drenched skin. His clothing fit him snugly, and it was apparent that he was trim with an athletic build. His dark hair brushed his collar, and when he looked up at something one of the other gentlemen said, he smiled. Only a little, but it was a smile that sparked through Hattie. That gentleman was quite possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life—elegant, strong, and astonishingly agreeable in looks.
No one spoke for a moment.
A carriage rolled in between the shops and stopped, blocking their view of the haberdashery. When it rolled away, the gentlemen were gone.
The ladies settled back. Queenie sighed and stepped away from the window, leaving the display of gloves knocked onto its side. The woman who had rushed in to announce the viscount sighting retreated to the back room with Mrs. Perkins. Hattie picked up the display and righted it in the window.
“You will be at the top of that list, Flora,” Queenie said with certainty.
Queenie was short and round, with soft gold curls that fell around her shoulders. She carried herself like a queen and acted like one on occasion, too. Flora was tall and lithe, her hair auburn. She was pretty by any standard. When Hattie was with the two of them, she often felt like the plain cousin come to town from the village. Her hair was a dull brown, her figure unremarkable.
Flora gave Queenie’s remark a high-pitched, breathy laugh that Hattie had never heard her make. “Don’t be silly!”
“Don’t be coy,” Queenie said. “You know that you will.”
“The list is quite long, I’m certain. What about Hattie? She might be at the top.”
“The top of what?” Hattie asked.
“Really, Hattie!” Queenie said, sounding annoyed. “How can you be so ignorant of all the news around town? The list of potential brides for the viscount, obviously.”
Hattie laughed. Loudly.
“I agree, it’s hardly a possibility,” Queenie said. “I don’t mean to offend, but he is the Duke of Santiava, and now he’s Viscount Abbott, as he is his English grandfather’s only living male heir. He’ll marry someone with a large dowry and from a titled family. Someone with proper connections.”
Santiava? Hattie vaguely recalled something about it. A duchy, she believed, on the Mediterranean Sea. Once a colony of Wesloria if memory served.
“He’s the sovereign duke, and quite rich,” Queenie continued. “But they say he’s a recluse. One must always be wary of the recluse.”
One must? Hattie hadn’t heard that rule.
“And unmarried, obviously,” Flora added as the three of them departed the shop.
“Won’t he choose a wife from Santiava?” Hattie asked as they walked toward Hyde Park.
“No!” Queenie scoffed, and Hattie was once again left wondering how her education could be so lacking. “He’s come here to claim his title and his fortune and, as everyone knows, be fitted with an English wife. It serves a small duchy to have an English or Weslorian duchess, you know, if they were ever to need the backing of a larger country in times of war or economic hardship. This would practically guarantee it.”
Queenie spoke with such authority about him that Hattie had to wonder if she’d consulted with the man himself. She was dubious that a marriage to Flora could guarantee anything of the sort. But she kept silent.
“Imagine, Hattie,” Flora said, “if you were the link to the might of the Royal Navy should that duchy need it.”
All Hattie could imagine was herself on a leaking, rickety boat. “I won’t be the link to anything, because I’m already engaged.” She smiled.
Flora and Queenie exchanged a look. “You haven’t told her?” Queenie said to Flora.
“Told me what?” Hattie asked, confused.
“Tell her. She can’t walk around without knowing,” Queenie said.
Hattie’s heart dropped. “Knowing what? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, Hattie... Mr. Masterson paid me a call,” Flora blurted. “I was going to tell you. I was waiting for the right time.”
“Well, this is hardly it,” Queenie drawled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just urged Flora to tell her.
But tell her what, exactly? That Rupert had called on Flora? How odd—they weren’t so well acquainted. “Mr. Rupert Masterson called on you,” Hattie repeated, to make sure they were indeed speaking of her Mr. Masterson, the owner and proprietor of the Masterson Dry Goods and Sundries Shop.
“He...he came to me in confidence.” Flora punctuated that remark with a look of sympathy.
Hattie’s gut began to do a strange bit of swirling. “Why?”
“He said...that he thought it best if you and he...” She paused, as if trying to find the words.
Elope? That was it! What other reason could he have for needing to speak in confidence to Flora? He must have sought her help. “Elope?” she asked at the same moment Flora said, “Should not pursue things further.”
No one said a word for a moment. Even Queenie kept her mouth shut. “What?” Hattie asked and stopped walking. This was stunningly incomprehensible. She pressed a fist to her abdomen to keep down the sudden swell of nausea. “What...what did...he...or you...say?”
“Oh, Hattie, dearest.” They’d come to the park’s entrance, and Flora pulled her to a bench and sat her down. She took both of Hattie’s hands in hers. “I’m so very sorry, but there is no other way to say it, is there? He would like you to cry off your engagement. End it, I mean. He has come to the unfortunate conclusion that it must be done. But because he has the utmost consideration for you, he means to protect your reputation by having you write him and end it.”
***
One Last Play by Annah Conwell
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