A sweeping historical romance from the New York Times bestselling author of The Decadent Duke . Lady Louisa scoffed when Lord Abercorn of Ireland first asked for her hand. She will be the mistress of her own destiny and no man can change that. As the greatest young beauty in all of England, she is pursued by every titled bachelor in the land, and refuses everyone, including the Irish lord. But a family scandal soon throws Louisa reluctantly into his arms, bringing consequences she never expected. James Hamilton, Lord Abercorn of Ireland, has loved Lady Louisa Jane, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Bedford since they were children, and Louisa loves him. But Louisa’s fear of childbirth causes her to spurn his advances. The emotional journey from Louisa’s childbirth phobia to her role as the mother of 13 is a fascinating one. The fact that Lady Louisa is Princess Diana’s ancestor makes this story even more interesting. Henley’s novelization of the woman who lived through five monarchs and became a grande dame of British nobility is rich with historical detail and romance. Once again, Henley has penned a tale that keeps the reader engaged from beginning to end. Fans of the romance genre will be interested to know that one of the real-life Louisa’s daughters became a romance writer. --Shelley Mosley Virginia Henley is a New York Times bestselling author and the recipient of numerous awards, including the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award. Her novels have been translated into fourteen languages. A grandmother of three, she lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, with her husband. Prologue Montagu House, London August 1894 “Wouldn’t you love to know?” Dowager Duchess Louisa winked at her two great-granddaughters who were whispering about her. The pair blushed hotly when they realized Lu had overheard them wondering how many lovers she’d had in her eighty-odd years. The trés grande dame was presiding over a levee of her one hundred and one descendants. “After all, I belonged to the decadent Georgian era. You cannot expect me to even pay lip service to the rigid respectability of the repressed Victorians.” “Is it true, Your Grace, that you declined the office of Mistress of the Robes to her Majesty the Queen?” Maud asked in awe. Lu threw back her head and laughed. “Not once, but twice. One of my greatest passions is beautiful raiment in brilliant colors, such as red. Just the thought of Queen Victoria’s dull and dowdy garments gives me the shudders.” “Her daughter-in-law Princess Alexandra has lovely taste in clothes,” Maud said. “Indeed she has. It will be a most welcome change to have a queen who is fashionable. I cannot wait.” The girls looked incredulous that the old girl expected to outlive Queen Victoria. The corners of Lu’s lips lifted in a wry smile. “I’m not ready to stick my spoon in the wall for another decade. I fully intend to welcome in the next era with gusto.” She waved her crimson ostrich-feather fan languidly. “A little decadence never hurt anyone.” The room fell silent as Louisa’s youngest daughter Evelyn, Marchioness of Lansdowne, read congratulatory letters from Her Majesty Queen Victoria and His Royal Highness, Edward, Prince of Wales. The future Duke of Leeds, who was married to her favorite granddaughter, handed her a glass of champagne and kissed her cheek. He raised his own glass. “I drink a toast to the best-looking woman in London.” “I’ll give you a toast an Irishman taught me: Here’s to you and here’s to me, And if someday we disagree, Sod you . . . here’s to me!” Louisa sat in the place of honor so that the speeches could begin. Her great-granddaughter Maud and her cousin returned, eager to learn all they could about their fascinating great-grandmother. “What is it now, Miss Inquisitive?” “I heard that you first met James Hamilton when you were a little girl. Is that true, Your Grace?” Louisa’s mind took wing and soared back over the decades to Carlton House. “It was July 1819. . . . I remember it all as if it were yesterday.” Carlton House, London July 1819 “Lady Louisa, will you marry me?” Louisa Jane Russell, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, stared at the boy who had planted himself before her, and saw the determination written on his face. “Who the devil are you?” she demanded. Nine-year-old James Hamilton, needing to impress the beautiful seven-year-old, raised his chin with pride. “I am the Marquis of Abercorn.” He pronounced it Avercorn . “Do you have a speech impediment?” James drew himself up to his full height. “Certainly not!” “Then why did you say Avercorn when your name is Abercorn ?” James hid a smile. He resisted the impulse to correct the dark little beauty and inform her that the letter ‘b’ in his title was pronounced ‘v’. “You may call me whatever you like, if you will consent to be my future wife.” “Isn’t Abercorn an Irish title?” “Yes, it is. My name is James Hamilton. I came into my grandfather’s title last year.” His heart wa