Distressed over the current widespread disinterest in matrimony among their eminently marriageable offspring, the formidable matriarchs of the ton have taken matters into their own meddling hands with the formation of The Ladies' Society for the Betterment of the Future of Britain. Their first challenge: the Earl of Pennington.

Miss Gwendolyn Townsend has seen her late father's estate go to a distant cousin she can't abide ... leaving her well-educated, able to make a perfect curtsy -- and penniless. So imagine her shock when it's discovered that a match had been arranged between herself and Marcus Holcroft, the Earl of Pennington -- one of the most eligible members of London society. Marcus constantly leaves her breathless and confused ... and though she's hesitant to marry a man she's just met, in the end she has no choice. But she makes some conditions first ...

Marcus cannot believe that the bride who has been foisted upon him is insisting on rules to their wedding ... and bedding! He's a man who has never had to tempt any woman into his arms. But even more surprising is that Gwendolyn is clearly hiding something -- and it shocks him to think that their exquisite kisses -- followed by his lessons in passionate lovemaking -- wouldn't be enough to make his wife tell him her every secret. After all, he's promised to be a proper husband -- isn’t it fair to also expect a proper wife?

No good ever came of a summons from a solicitor.

Gwendolyn Townsend stiffened her already ramrod straight posture and ignored the urge to pick at the worn cuff of her pelisse. She was the daughter of a viscount, and regardless of her current circumstances, she would not be intimidated by a mere solicitor. Furthermore, she was not at all pleased to be kept waiting. She ignored as well the fact that, in spite of her lineage, she was nothing more than a governess at the moment and an unsuccessful one at that.

No good ever came of a summons from a solicitor.

It was harder to ignore the long-forgotten warning that had surfaced in her mind with a vengeance and refused to let her be. It had echoed in the back of her thoughts ever since the letter from her late father's man of affairs, Mr. Whiting, had at long last reached her in New York. And why shouldn't it? She'd heard the servants at Madame Chaussan's Academy for Young Ladies say it often enough through most of the first sixteen years of her life, and indeed, hadn't it always proved true?

The last time Gwen had had anything whatsoever to do with a solicitor had been five years ago when Mr. Whiting's nephew, taking up his uncle's business, had informed her she was penniless. She still recalled that moment -- the discomfort of the young man, a scant few years older than she, at his announcement, and the sympathy in his brown eyes. She remembered the look in his eyes as clearly as she remembered his words.

"Miss Townsend, forgive me for keeping you waiting." A gentleman of distinguished appearance stepped into the room and crossed to her chair. Gwen knew his name, but they'd never had occasion to meet before now. He extended his hand, and she accepted it cautiously. "Your appearance is something of a surprise. I did not expect you for several days yet."

"I thought it best to return to England at once."

"Of course." He withdrew his hand and nodded toward the door. "You remember my nephew, Albert?"

Only now did she note the younger man standing by the open door, a decidedly apologetic expression on his face. There was no sympathy in his eyes today but an odd look nonetheless.

"Of course." She smiled politely and waited. If there was one thing, and indeed there might well be only one thing, she had learned through seven positions of employment, it was how to give the appearance of patience.

Mr. Whiting took his place behind his desk and nodded dismissively at his nephew. Albert started toward the door, then abruptly turned back. "Miss Townsend, please accept my most heartfelt apologies."

At once she recognized the look in his eye as guilt.

He stepped closer. "This is entirely my fault, and I cannot tell you how truly horrible I have felt since the error was first discovered. I have been most concerned about your -- "

"That's quite enough, Albert," Whiting said firmly.

Error? Gwen's gaze slid from Albert to his uncle and back.

"What error?" she said slowly.

"It was a mistake." Albert shook his head. "Quite inexcusable, and I shall never forgive -- "

Mistake?

"Albert." Whiting's voice cut through the room.

Albert ignored him. "Miss Townsend, please understand I consider myself at your service from this moment forward. Should you need anything whatsoever, up to and including the benefits that can only be derived from marriage, I should be honored to offer my -- "

"Albert," Whiting snapped. "I will take care of this. I'm certain you have other duties to attend to."

Victoria grew up traveling the country as an Air Force brat and is now settled in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two teenaged children, and a bearded collie named Sam. She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, procrastination is an art form, and it’s never too soon to panic.

And she loves getting mail that doesn’t require a return payment. Write to her at: P.O. Box 31544, Omaha, NE 68131.

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