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An Improper Suitor "a lovely story, especially with the addition of Julia’s eccentric family and Thornwynn’s hypochondriac mother...a joy to read." Bookishly Attentive "One of the best Regencies stories I've read for a while...the hero was of course delicious" Ann Herries/Linda Sole, regency writer, Red Roses for Authors "A great tale and entertaining romp through an unlikely and unconventional courtship, with a truly romantic denoument. Catherine Jones, Chair Romantic Novelists' Association *Romance Reader at Heart Reviewer's Top Picks 2008!* Romance Reader at Heart Description  Excerpt from an Improper Suitor
The summons came at eleven o’clock at night. Julia Swifton was not yet asleep, but she had blown out her candle and lay on her back, staring at the orange patch of light on the ceiling, a reflection of the changing fire as it lost its intensity and started to fade. Sally scratched at the door and entered with a candle. She was like a ghost in her white nightdress, standing in the white glow of light. She whispered quietly into the darkness. “I’m sorry, Miss, but her ladyship is asking for you.” Julia sprang up from the bed, gripped the shawl which was tossed over the end of her bed, and wrapping it around her, made to follow in her bare feet. “She’s not worse, is she?” she asked. Sally paused before answering. When she spoke, her voice was puzzled. “I didn’t think so, Miss Swifton. But she was that insistent, it frightened me.” Sally had been Gran’s maid for over twenty years. She knew Gran well. Julia shivered in the cold corridor. Please let Gran be alright, please let her make it. After almost a month of lung fever, her grandmother had been on the road to recovery. The doctor had said there might still be a set back, but only this morning they had all celebrated in the kitchen – Sally, and Julia’s maid Bethany, Rumbert the butler and Cook and everyone else on the staff, most of them people she’d known all her life. Julia had had wine brought up from the cellars and they’d all drunk to Gran’s health. She can’t have gotten worse. But when Julia reached Gran’s bedchamber, she found Gran upright in her bed, propped up by the pillows. She looked well enough, though she still had dark brown circles around her eyes, and her cheeks were hollow from her long illness. “Don’t let her talk too much, Miss” said Sally, before closing the door. “She’ll tire herself out.” Julia nodded and approached Gran, perching gingerly on the edge of a bedside chair. “You can come closer, child. I’m not going to bite.” Some of Julia’s alarm receded at Gran’s snappish tone. Gran sounded like her old self. Julia’s relief brought a wide grin to her face, and she tugged her chair nearer to the bed. “I need to talk to you. Urgently,” said Gran. The smile left Julia’s face. Gran was not given to dramatic gestures. Her urgent tone brought back a rush of anxiety and Julia clenched her hands together. “I’m listening,” she said. “My health is not what it was,” said Gran. An understatement, considering she had been on her deathbed for a good part of a month. “And although Dr. Lincoln says I am likely to make a complete recovery, I can’t pretend everything is exactly as it was before.” Julia nodded, partly in relief, and partly in acknowledgement. “I can understand that.” Gran’s magnificent black eyes met hers, sharp as a sword. “Then I hope you will understand what I’m going to say to you.” She took a deep breath. “Though perhaps you will not forgive me for it.” She hesitated. That itself was so unlike Gran that Julia’s unease returned. There was a brief silence. A twig flared up in the fireplace with a sharp snap, startling Julia. It blazed briefly before fading. When Gran spoke next there was no longer any hesitation in her voice. “You know I have strong beliefs about the relationships of men with women. Several of my friends have written about the rights of women, including Mary Wollstonecraft, as you are well aware, and I would have myself, if it were not for the fact that I’m such a poor writer.” She gave a croaking laugh, to which Julia did not respond. “What I’m about to say goes against many things that I’ve taught you. But as I lay in bed, thinking how close I was to death, I realized that I had been remiss in my duty. I can’t continue to be negligent.” She paused. “I have decided that it is time for you to marry.” Julia recoiled in shock. The illness must have damaged Gran’s mind. She had always preached that it was better to become an old maid than to marry and live a life of misery as Julia’s mother had. A woman with an income had no need of a husband, she frequently said. Safe in this belief, Julia had made no attempt at all to secure a husband. Now, at the age of almost twenty one, she did not think it likely that she would. Women younger than her were already considered old maids, after three Seasons in London. Julia stood up, barely able to contain her anger. “I did not think that you, of all people, Gran, would turn on me. How can you be such a—“Cold fury left her sputtering.“--Brutus.” “You are hardly Julius Caesar, even if your name is Julia,” said Gran, a twinkle in her eye. Julia rubbed her palms together, trying to bring her feelings under control. She had promised Sally she would not disturb her grandmother, and when all was said and done, Gran was still trying to recover from a dangerous illness. Nevertheless, she could not remain silent. “How can you sit there so calmly and order me to do something that goes against everything you’ve taught me my whole life? And how can you actually laugh about it?” Gran sighed. “I haven’t abandoned my beliefs. I still believe in everything I always believed in. But on one’s deathbed life looks suddenly very different. When I came close to dying, I began to worry about your future. For you to live respectably within society, it is essential for you to marry.” Her hand swung out suddenly, and she gripped Julia’s arm with fingers that were surprisingly strong. Tears sprang into her eyes. The tears moved Julia as nothing else could have done. The last time she had seen Gran cry was in the few weeks following the death of her daughter Olivia – Julia’s mother. She had grown up in this household, yet she had never since witnessed Gran’s tears. Until now. “And besides that – I would not for anything have missed the joy I experienced raising my two daughters, and then raising you. You should have the opportunity to explore that pleasure as well.” Julia looked down at Gran’s fingers on her arm. Their strength was deceptive. The veins stood out under fragile skin, the bones protruding and skeletal. “I took care of you all those years after your mother died,” she said, “and I taught you what I thought was right. But I recognize now that your situation is too complicated. Without my presence to prevent it, old gossip will rear its ugly head. Your father is still alive, but he abandoned both you and your mother, and his departure for the Continent was mired in scandal. You do not have his protection. Society has tolerated you because of my status, even though I am thought an Eccentric. But I am not so sure they will tolerate you after I am gone. I am an old woman, Julia, and I do not know how much time I’ve been given. You must marry, and you must marry fast.” With a few words, Julia’s world had turned topsy-turvy. She opened her mouth to protest, but Gran raised a hand to silence her. “I know this comes as a shock. You may even think my brain has been touched by my illness. But believe me when I say that I have never been so clear minded as I am now. If you can’t find a husband for yourself, then I will choose a husband for you.” “You’ve always spoken against such practices,” Julia managed to say, her voice coming from a distance. “You’ve always condemned arranged marriages.” “I’m sorry, child, but I can think of no other possibility. Left to your own devices, you won’t do anything. I won’t, however, go so far as to deprive you of all choice in the matter.” “I suppose I should thank you for that,” said Julia, bitterness making her voice harsh. “Here is my proposal. I’ll give you three months, until exactly one week before your twenty-first birthday. You may find yourself a suitable husband until then. Then I will send a notice to the Gazette to inform Society that you are engaged.” She paused, this time for effect. “To Lionel Blake, the Earl of Thorwynn.” Julia tore her arm away. Gran had gone completely mad. The Earl of Thorwynn was one of London’s most notorious rakes. Known as the Laughing Rake, he was famous for his devil-may-care attitude. She had never set eyes on him because he did not frequent the kind of places she frequented. It was said he had never set foot in a ballroom since he had returned from the Peninsular War three years ago. Anybody less suitable for a husband she could not imagine. But Julia knew better than anyone that it was useless to argue with Gran. Once she had an idea in her mind, she would defend it as staunchly as a mongrel defending a coveted bone. “What makes you think he’ll agree to such a thing?” “I know Lady Gragspur. As you are aware, she’s a very close friend of mine. I don’t doubt that she’ll have her way. She usually does, once she sets her mind to something.” Not very different from Gran. Julia had met Lady Gragspur, of course, and she had no difficulty believing Gran was right. “Do you plan to inform the rake—Lord Thorwynn—of this…situation?” “I see no reason to do so, unless you fail to produce a suitable husband.” “But you are planning speak to his grandmother.” “Of course. I will be sending for her tomorrow morning. And in the event that I am no longer alive at that time, I will entrust her with the task of making the announcement herself.” The idea that Gran was making provisions beyond the grave increased her agitation. “Have no fear,” said Gran, reassuringly. As if anything she said could reassure Julia. “No one but Lady Gragspur will come to hear of it until it’s necessary.” Julia rose from the side of the bed and paced the room. She was trapped like a bear in a cage. She had thought herself free. “I don’t believe you, of all people, would submit me to such a nightmare.” Gran smiled. Actually smiled. “I know only too well that if I don’t force your hand, you will do nothing. That is why I have given you this deadline. Choose your own husband. Or marry a rake.” Monica Fairview, An Improper Suitor
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