 by J.J. McAvoy.jpg)
Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
With her brother, the Duke of Everely, married off to the beautiful and charming Aphrodite Du Bell, Verity Eagleman feels more alone than ever within the cold halls of the family estate. So when she's invited to stay in the Du Bells' clamorous, boisterous home, she leaps at the chance.
When Verity crosses paths with Theodore Darrington, the doctor who saved her brother's life, she can't help but notice how her heart flutters anytime he is near. But as the estranged bastard son of the Marquess of Whitmear, Theodore is forbidden to pursue anyone of the noble set. Despite being popular amongst the ton for both his heroic efforts and handsome charm, Theodore knows that no amount of social capital will allow him to be with the woman he secretly loves. Luckily for him, Verity has never cared much for the rules of society. . . .
A forbidden romance blossoms as Verity and Theodore give in to their all-consuming passion, with any thought of scandal flung to the side. But when the concerns of their friends and family begin to loom over their love, will they truly be able to break the rules?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Verity
I am not a Du Bell.
But oh, how I longed to be. Not for title or wealth, nor even prestige and influence, as my family name, Eagleman, held all the same to even greater extents as a dukedom. With the exception of being a princess, there is no higher birth a girl could have than my own. And I was very much aware of the many who envied my life. Despite the many scandals of my household—my father’s affairs and illegitimate son, my mother’s misery and then death, followed by my father’s wholly inappropriate marriage to my stepmother, a butcher’s daughter; not to mention Evander, my elder brother, and his own marriage mishaps—there was no shortage of people asserting how fortunate I was to be born Lady Verity Eagleman. But given the choice, I would have preferred to be born Lady Verity Du Bell. To be born into a home filled with warmth, laughter, and teasing. A home filled to the brim with overwhelming love.
Instead, love seemed to always evade me. As though it had some personal vendetta against me. Evander was the godson of the Marchioness of Monthermer, Lady Deanna Du Bell, and as such was afforded many opportunities to experience such tender emotions with the family. I, on the other hand, was kept away from them and society at the behest of my father. By the time he passed, Evander had made a mess of our connection with the Du Bells, and, consequently, no other chances presented themselves.
Now, as I watched the candlelight of my brother’s carriage fade into the darkness, taking him and his perfect new wife, Lady Aphrodite, to their long-awaited happily ever after, the opportunity had arrived, only I knew not how to stand before this family or society at all.
I was alone.
The name Verity means truth, and yet I felt as if I were nothing but a lie. In front of most people, I sought to appear confident, self-reliant, but the truth is I was afeard…of so much.
“I cannot believe it is done,” said the marquess to his wife, whom he held openly within his arms, as we all stood before the gates of their London estate.
“After all these years, you still underestimate me, my dear?” the marchioness replied with her head held high, appearing pleased with herself.
The marquess was a man of white skin and golden hair that was nearly all gray now, with sharp blue eyes that always seemed focused upon either his family or a book. His wife was the opposite of him, with rich brown skin deeper in shading than my own and curly brown hair that she kept pinned up neatly. Rather than books, her brown eyes read people with frightening accuracy.
“Underestimate? Never. Stand in awe of your power? Always. Well done, my dear.” He squeezed her arm slightly, making her laugh while their eldest son groaned.
Damon Du Bell, the Earl of Montagu, also stood beside his wife, Silva, whose face was a bit round with a nose a bit short, but her demeanor was pleasant. They were locked, arm in arm, very much a parallel set to his parents. The look on Damon’s face showed he was not keen on the elder couple’s public display of affection, even as he mimicked them.
“One would think that you would have some restraint at your ages,” Damon said to them as though he were the parent.
“Dear,” Silva muttered in apprehension.
“You should thank heaven we do not, or you would not exist,” his father replied, making the marchioness’s eyes widen.
“Charles!”
“Father!”
“What are you all talking about?” questioned the youngest Du Bell, Abena, her little face bunched in confusion. Alongside her were two of her sisters, Hathor and Devana, and her brother Hector.
“Nothing!” said the marchioness and her eldest son in unison.
“That does not seem like nothing,” Abena pressed, frowning. “Are you keeping a secret?”
“Yes, they are,” said Hathor, the second Du Bell daughter, causing Abena to look to her for an answer. “Mama and Papa were thinking of sending you off to a professional pot washer, seeing as how you’ve become so good at it of late.”
Hector and Devana giggled and then laughed outright as Abena looked at her parents in horror.
“No, Papa!” Abena ran to her father, holding on to his waist for dear life, which made the marquess bend to her level and hug her.
“She is merely teasing you,” he comforted her.
But at that moment, it was I who felt pain.
What must it have been like to hug one’s father, one’s own mother even?
I did not know.
I stood before one of the most prominent and amiable families in all the ton, one I had always wished to be a part of, yet now I desperately desired to escape their blissful company. The irony.
“Verity, my dear, are you well?” the marchioness asked, stepping away slightly from her husband toward me.