The Bridal Season
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With the dazzling storytelling that has become her trademark, acclaimed author Connie Brockway sweeps readers to Victorian England—a glittering world of titled society and scandalous secrets—in the enchanting tale of a woman who commits the most startling indiscretion of all: she falls in love.
Letty Potts, a petty schemer by necessity, has decided to go straight. But after narrowly escaping the wrath of her partner in crime, she finds herself at Paddington Station with nothing but the gown she’s wearing and another woman’s train ticket clutched in her hand. Masquerading as the redoubtable “Lady Agatha” of Whyte Wedding Celebrations, Letty arrives in the remote village of Little Bidewell, where she is to arrange the nuptials of a young society bride.
Amid the dizzying whirl of pre-wedding festivities, nobody suspects Letty’s secret—except Sir Elliot March. A war hero who has forsworn love, Elliot senses something decidedly amiss about this outspoken young woman, yet she awakens in him a passionate yearning he’d thought was lost forever. Soon, though, a desperate deception embroils them both in a web of scandal and danger as Letty’s past catches up with her, threatening not only her life but Elliot’s—and their love.
continued. “That’s the one, mum. Before Sir Elliot went off to foreign parts to fight fer Her Majesty, he and Mrs. Bunting, what was then Miss Catherine Meadows, had a sort of understanding.” “They were engaged?” Grace shifted uneasily on her feet. “Well, practically. At least everyone expected them to get married, but then Sir Elliot come back from those heathen climes as thin as a reed and white as chalk. That’s where his limp comes from, you know. War wound.” What limp? “But then, afore we
cheeks. His dark hair gleamed. He inclined his head and she had the oddest notion he was trying not to smile. “Perhaps you’d like to come down now that you’ve tested the vine?” She nodded. It was hard to act the grande dame while clinging like a bat to the side of a house. She lowered one foot, seeking the ground, and— His hands wrapped about her waist and he lifted her, lowering her slowly to the ground. He released her but did not step back. She did, however, warned by the little shiver of
tell you. You’ll think I’m… I’m… horrible!” “No, I won’t. Never,” Letty promised. What sort of fix had the chit gotten herself into, anyway? What sort of fix could a girl get into in a place like Little Bidewell? “Yes, you will. And you’ll… be… right… to think it, too!” Angela’s head plunged down between her arms again. “Whatever you’ve done, or think you’ve done,” Letty amended, “I’m certain it isn’t so horrible it could affect my good opinion of you.” “Oh!” Came the smothered reply. “You
out in force, jockeying for the best seats, their voices humming. Everyone was deeply sympathetic toward the victims, the Bigglesworths. It seemed inevitable that Miss Angela’s wedding would be touched by scandal, and everyone bitterly regretted that. Those who’d looked fondly on the romance between Sir Elliot and “that woman” were further aggrieved. Plainly put, their sympathies were not with the defendant. Not only had this Letty Potts played fast and loose with Angela’s future, but she’d
about him. Perhaps it was because one heard stories only about incompetent Lotharios, the ones who got caught. She glanced up at Justin. He didn’t look in the least incompetent— She gasped as he suddenly stooped down and scooped her up in his arms. She blushed, warmed by the notion that he’d read her thoughts. “You can put me down. I can easily walk.” “Of course you can, if you want,” he replied in the tone one would use on a recalcitrant child. He didn’t stop, however. He strode into the