The Game and the Governess
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Trading Places meets Pride and Prejudice in this sexy, saucy romance—first in a new series from the author of YouTube sensation The Lizzie Bennet Diaries.
Three friends. One Wager. Winner takes all.
The Earl—‘Lucky Ned’ Ashby. Pompous, preening, certain that he is beloved by everyone.
The Miller—John Turner. Proud, forced to work as the Earl’s secretary, their relationship growing ever more strained.
The Doctor—Rhys Gray. Practical, peace-loving, but caught in the middle of two warring friends.
Their wager is simple: By trading places with John Turner and convincing someone to fall in love with him, Ned plans to prove it’s him the world adores, not his money. Turner plans to prove him wrong.
But no one planned on Phoebe Baker, the unassuming governess who would fall into their trap, and turn everything on its head…
Three best friends make a life-changing bet in the first book in a witty, sexy new Regency trilogy from acclaimed author Kate Noble, writer of the wildly popular Emmy award–winning web series The Lizzie Bennet Diaries.
Henrietta Benson came from the entrance to the breakfast room. There the women stood collectively, except for the countess. Phoebe guessed she was likely attending the earl. “I am so pleased you asked, Miss Benson,” Mr. Turner replied, putting his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels, happy as a clam. “He was not identifying his shooter. He was identifying the weapon. A Baker rifle.” Jaws dropped across the foyer. Sir Nathan, in particular, looked a bit like a fish. “A Baker
on, she would be alone. As Miss Earhart had said, her security and future were up to her now. No one else was looking after her. After all, who gave a damn about the governess? TO LORD EDWARD GRANVILLE, EARL OF ASHBY GROSVENOR SQUARE LONDON 1817 Sir – This will be a short letter. I have little time to write and not much to say. Other than “damn you.” Damn you for what you have done—directly or indirectly, you have caused the greatest possible pain, and it is you who should bear the blame
face remained a plastered smile. “But I married so very young. Just sixteen!” she trilled, and then let her voice go husky with invitation. “Why, I can’t be that much older than the countess here.” “Indeed,” the countess replied. “One reason we got along so well in Bath. I had the remarkable luck to find friends in both you and your daughter. She such a mature young lady and you so . . . youth-seeking.” Mrs. Rye’s smile hardened so much Ned thought it would crack. “I daresay your husband
inordinate amount of acreage that goes with the cottage. And it seems like the ideal place for the town to build their bathing retreat. Close enough for visitors to walk in and enjoy the town, but removed enough that it offers seclusion for those coming to seek a respite. It is also directly in the path of the pipeline being built from Midville.” “So, they want to . . . what? Buy the property?” “It’s not one of your entailed estates. Sir Nathan—well, really, Mr. Fennick—formed the consortium to
high. She could not help but worry about what Lady Widcoate might want—seeing as she was not given to involving herself in the affairs of her children—but her mind kept echoing something Nanny had said. Her Mr. Turner. Nanny was not the first person to say it—Danson had made that observation much earlier. But Danson seemed more privy to Mr. Turner’s affairs than Nanny ever was to Phoebe’s. Had their association become . . . obvious? And, more important—was he her Mr. Turner? Such ruminations