"First in a New Historical Series Brings and Interesting Twist to the Genre. A Very Good First Novel"
Reviewed by Diana Troldahl
Posted May 19, 2011
Romance Historical
Miss Eva Black has worked hard to conceal her mother's life
as a courtesan. Much as she loves her, she is determined not
only to avoid such a fate herself, but to assist willing
women out of that life and find them husbands that suit
their temperaments and give them a permanent security their
current position cannot provide. Her School for Brides is a
success, bringing in small groups of courtesans and training
them in deportment and the duties of running a household
while getting to know their personalities. At the time of
graduation, the women can each choose from among Eva's book
of bachelors who are seeking wives and, after proper
introductions, she has never failed to find each worthy
woman a well-to-do husband who treats them with respect and
care. Not everyone is thrilled with Miss Black's efforts.
Nicholas, Duke of Stanfield is incensed that someone dares
steal away his lightskirt before he was finished with her.
Dour Miss Black does not stand the chance of a Gunter's ice
in Hell when he brings his fortune and influence to bear on
the sole task of destroying her "School for Brides" and
forcing her to tell him where she has hidden his current
inamorata. A glimpse beneath her carefully restrained
appearance to the vibrant woman hidden under the dark fabric
and mob-capped hair has his revenge veering in a new
direction. Since she lost him the use of his courtesan, she
can bloody well replace her in his bed. And he'll do
whatever it takes to get her there. First in a new series, THE SCHOOL FOR BRIDES brings an
interesting twist to this era of historical romance, delving
beneath the glittering façade of the women who provided
services to the titled at the expense of their own
respectability, given few other choices for survival in that
era. Cheryl Ann Smith avoids any hint of lecturing or moral
bashing though, leaving the story to speak on its own with
moments of levity and pathos. Although Nicholas is far from
a sympathetic character as the book opens, as the story
progresses the reader warms to him as he learns and changes
through contact with Eva. I found it a very well-written
first novel. The second in the School for Brides Series,
The Accidental Courtsan, is due out in October 2011.
SUMMARY
Cheryl Ann Smith debuts a sensual new series starring a
beautiful spinster who rescues ladies of the night from
lonely fates. But then the tables are turned as night
brings a surprise she never imagined - and a proposition
she can't refuse. Miss Eva Black spent her life concealin her mother's past
as a courtesan. Now a spinster, her beauty hidden away
under a dour disguise, Eva spends her days schoolling
courtesans to be suitable wives. But one vengeful duke
does not appreciate Eva's stealing his mistress and
transforming her into a lady. His vengeance won't be
satisfied until he seduces Eva into becoming what she
detests most: a courtesan. Nicholas, the Duke of Stanfield, is furious with this
woman who frees courtesans from bondage. His revenge?
Upend Eva's world by by=uyng her debts and striking a
scandalous bargain: She must serve as his mistres's
replacement. But he doesn't expect her to be a woman of
such beauty and secrets - or to have a past that not only
endangers Eva herself, but everyone whose life she has so
intimately touched...
ExcerptI struggled when choosing an excerpt. I wanted something
that would both intrigue my readers, and set the tone of
the relationship between Eva and His Grace. So I decided to
choose the first meeting between my disguised spinster and
her dark and dangerous duke. Enjoy!A wave of worry infused Eva. Strange men did not come here
to see her without an invitation, either by accident or by
design. Not even her male clients, who first had to submit
to being blindfolded and then transported in a coach with
blackened windows, under Harold's careful watch. This nondescript townhouse was a safe haven for the women
who chose to stay under this roof during their instruction,
as some had fled abusive patrons. Their safety, as always,
was first and foremost. When Harold was with Eva, a second
butler, Primm, kept watch in the evenings. To have a caller
at her door making threats was completely unacceptable and,
well, shocking. Eva smothered her anxiety and gathered her wits. "Did he
present you his card or give you his name?" she murmured to
Harold, thankful that his massive frame all but hid her
from view. "He did not," Harold murmured back, his jaw tight. "But he
is no common man, Miss. His coat alone must have cost a
year's pay." A man who called without an appointment and wore expensive
clothing? Her worry turned instantly to puzzlement. Perhaps he was an escapee from Bedlam? Harold could well
protect her were that the case. But her girls and their privacy must be carefully guarded
at all costs from the prying eyes of the neighbors.
Bringing a Bow Street Runner to her door would be a
disaster. "Then I must grant him an audience." She forced a smile and
turned to her ladies. "I apologize for the interruption,
but there is a small matter I must attend to that cannot
wait. If you ladies would kindly head off to the kitchen,
Doris, my housekeeper, will give you your next lesson." Eva watched as the brightly plumed birds paraded off. Once
the door to the kitchen closed behind her courtesans, Eva
proceeded down the hallway, her giant protector, the one
person she trusted with her life and her charges, at her
back. One year ago, Harold had stumbled onto her doorstep,
injured by a footpad in the mews near her home in Mayfair.
He was dirty and rough, and clad in torn homespun clothing,
his dark blonde hair matted with drying blood. Without
hesitation she'd settled him in the servant's quarters and
cared for his wounds, grateful for something to occupy her
mind and keep her sane when despair over her mother's
worsening health threatened to overwhelm her. A bond formed between them during those two weeks while he
struggled for survival. She never asked for his history and
he never explained either why he wandered the streets in
the middle of the night or how he'd found his way to her
door. Harold repaid her kindness with fierce loyalty and
friendship, and that was good enough for her. "Did he give you any indication of his business?" Eva
paused, and Harold moved around her to place his hand on
the door handle. She scanned his hard face and for the
thousandth time gave thanks for his comforting presence. He shook his head. "Only that he wouldn't leave until he
spoke to you." Their eyes met and Eva's stomach knotted at
the concern in his expression. "I tried to run him off by
informing him he had the wrong address. He was having none
of it. The threats started when I tried to close the door
in his face. I have a bad feeling about this, Miss Eva." "This is indeed worrisome. I hope the man hasn't come to
collect on Mother's old debts." "Say the word, Miss Eva, and I will beat him senseless and
drop him in a ditch somewhere." In spite of the dire situation, her mouth twitched. "I
think not. Something is amiss, and it will be best to find
out the reason for his visit." She squeezed his thick
arm. "Though, I shall keep the offer in mind should his
actions require a firm hand." Harold nodded. Despite his protective nature, he always did
as she asked. So she quickly collected herself and lifted
her nose when he pulled open the door and scowled darkly at
the interloper. "Miss Black, Sir." Harold stepped back one pace, still
within arm's reach should the tall stranger decide to
launch a surprise attack. The visitor stepped from the darkness of the storm into the
light spilling from the wall sconce in the hallway, then
paused, his shadowed eyes fully on her. An intense stare
beneath a sodden narrow-brimmed hat pierced through her.
The man was clearly incensed over being left to cool his
heels in the rain. He resembled a viper, coiled and ready
to strike. Eva's breath caught. Danger, and a mesmerizing sexual
potency, emanated from this stranger's every pore. Like the
slightly demonic and tragically handsome hero of a gothic
novel, his cloak flapped in the wind and fury of the rising
tempest behind him. His brooding intensity left her uneasy. Yet, she'd not be
cowed. The stranger dragged a measuring stare down her body, then
quickly reclaimed her gaze. It was impossible to read the
thoughts behind his disarming eyes, but Eva suspected they
weren't pleasant. "State your business." Harold said over her shoulder. The
stranger glared. He obviously had no patience with her
servant. He'd been left to weather the storm on the
doorstep and was likely chilled to his bones. Not exactly
proper protocol when one calls on a household. But Harold
was no common servant, and not above taking a bit of
revenge for the threats against Eva. "I'll not do it out here." The man put a boot on the top step and Eva startled
backwards into Harold's massive chest. The stranger brushed
by her. In the dim flicker of sconce light, the man gave her a more
thorough perusal as he dripped a large puddle on the
polished floor. "You are Eva Black? Interesting." The timbre of his voice
held no trace of warmth to take the edge off the ice in his
green eyes. "You are not at all what I thought a thief
would look like, though I suppose I am unused to thieves of
the fairer sex. Truthfully, I am disappointed." Thief? Her? She quickly pulled her mind from thoughts of
gothic hero's upon storm-swept moors, and let her critical
gaze drift down his body. Thought not as tall as Harold, the stranger was taller than
most men. He was draped in wool, and rain had stained his
finely cut garments. It was clear to Eva that this was no
debt collector, nor a merchant come to call. From his square jaw, to the aristocratic cut of his longish
nose, to the tips of his expensive boots, this man was the
epitome of arrogant nobility. She drew up to full height. "I fear you have stumbled onto
the wrong stoop and the wrong woman, sir. I have stolen
nothing from you." His expression turned icy. "Do you think that I would lower
myself to come to your door in this godforsaken storm if
there were any chance I might be mistaken?" He paused and
turned his attention toward Harold. "It took my
investigator over three months to find you, and I will not
leave until you've returned my property to me." The situation became more puzzling by the moment. He spoke
nonsense. But she was reluctant to draw the attention of
neighbors by continuing the conversation in the open
doorway. "Very well." She squelched an impatient sigh. "We will
speak in the library." Eva turned and led the stranger down
the hall and up the stairs. She paused outside the door as
he passed into the small room and leaned close to
Harold. "Make sure the ladies are otherwise occupied until
I've concluded this matter." Harold scowled and clenched both fists. One word and he'd
be on her visitor like a rabid dog. Unfortunately,
bloodshed would ruin the gleaming floors. "I do not like leaving you alone with him," Harold grumbled. She patted his thick forearm. "I will be fine. Just keep
the women out of sight. And have the footmen stoke the fire
when we have finished. It's cold enough in here to make
ice." Drawing in a deep breath, Eva turned to meet her adversary.
He stood near the fireplace and watched her cross the room.
She was careful to keep a respectable distance between
them, well out of arm's reach. Without Harold, she felt
vulnerable. "Now that we are alone, why don't you tell me who you are
and what it is you want from me," she said tightly. "You
have me at a disadvantage." The stranger drew off his wet cloak and draped it
carelessly over a high-backed chair. "I do like to keep the advantage mine," he said briskly. "I
gather you do not intend to offer me tea and cakes, Miss
Black?" The sardonic words raised her hackles. "Had you been
invited, sir, I would have planned ahead for an afternoon
of buttered scones and witty banter." He responded with a hard smile. "Your appearance gave me
momentary pause that I might well have received
misinformation and arrived at the wrong house. But now, I
have no doubt you are the woman I seek." Without his cloak for added bulk, he was not as large as
she expected. But he had broad shoulders that tapered
downward to a narrow waist and hips, followed by defined
and muscular thighs beneath well-cut buff breeches. He was
a fine male specimen, though she assured herself, her that
observation was only clinical, like examining teeth before
purchasing a new carriage horse. "Sir, though I have no qualms about standing around trading
insults with you until the cock crows at dawn, I have other
matters to attend to. I ask again, who are you and what do
you want from me?" "I am Nicholas Drake, The Duke of Stanfield." Instantly, she knew his name and title, though she knew not
why. Perhaps from society pages, perhaps from gossip in the
market, but his introduction revealed he was no lesser
baron or coachman, but a duke with all the blue blood
behind the name. He paused and glanced around the room. In this simple
setting, with its pale green papered walls, musty old
books, and a worn yet serviceable oriental rug beneath a
matching set of chairs, he overwhelmed the space, and her,
with his presence. Once his perusal of the room was complete, he turned back
to her and stared down his nose. "I have come for Arabella.
If you would fetch her, we will be on our way." Arabella? "So that is what this is about?" The puzzle began to take shape. His name was familiar
because he was Arabella's former lover. According to the
girl, he was possessive and ruthless, though generous to a
fault. Still, not once had he ever asked Arabella what she
wanted for herself, and the courtesan's life was not her
desire. She'd longed for love and children. She could get
neither from His Grace. She was neither a virgin nor did
she possess impeccable bloodlines to be his duchess.
Mistress, yes. Wife, no. When Arabella had tried to end the relationship, he brushed
aside her wishes and bought her a half a dozen new gowns,
expecting a new wardrobe to soothe her. But she had simply
waited for her opportunity and disappeared, right out from
under his arrogant nose. The right decision, clearly. Everything Arabella said about
His Grace had come to pass. He was possessive and ruthless
enough to hunt her down. The girl was right to flee. "I am sorry, Your Grace. Arabella is not here." "Then tell me where she is, Miss Black. I want to see her.
She belongs to me." "Surely I am mistaken, Your Grace, but did you insinuate
that Arabella is your property?" She widened her eyes
innocently. "Is she what you claim I have stolen from you?" "Arabella is mine and under my protection." His jaw
pulsed. "This matter is none of your business, Miss Black.
It is between Arabella and me." "Of all the ridiculous notions, Your Grace!" Her body
tightened with anger. "Perhaps you should have fitted
Arabella with a diamond encrusted collar and kept her
tethered her to your bed with a length of rope, after you
trotted her through the park for fresh air and exercise
like a pampered poodle!" He stiffened and she went on, "The girl is not an object to
be bought and sold like a mare or milk cow. She is a
person, a human being. She was free to choose another path
for herself. She has done so, and is no longer your
concern." Thunderclouds crossed over his face. He covered the few
steps that separated them and loomed over her, rage etching
lines on his face. "Arabella is mine." Eva refused to be intimidated. "She is not yours, Your
Grace. She was never yours." A pair of large hands clenched and released at his sides,
as if measuring her neck for size. "That is her decision alone, Miss Black. Not yours. Tell me
where she is. Now." Eva froze. It would take only a moment for His Grace to
snap her neck with his powerful hands before she could
scream for help. "I cannot," she whispered. "She isn't
here." Undecided whether to call for Harold or bolt for the open
door, in the end she did neither. He wouldn't cow her, no
matter what he did to her. She'd show no fear. His Grace expelled a breath through clenched teeth. In that moment, she saw something deeper in his eyes than a
man looking for his property. Before she could put a name
to it, his face closed back up and he shoved one hand
through his hair. Clearly, he wasn't about to risk years in
Newgate for the chance to choke her dead. She waited silently for him to settle himself and hopefully
regain some sense. This was a smart man, a man of means if
not scruples. Once he realized he had lost this game, he
would trot off to his mansion, lick his wounds, and move on
to his next conquest. "If it is money you want, I have enough to purchase the
chit back from you, Miss Black," he said low and
tight. "Name your price." Eva stared at him. She understood the notion of men of rank
taking mistresses, though she despised the practice. It was
a practice going back hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
The institution wasn't about to change because of her
opinion on the matter. But for this man to offer her money
to buy back Arabella, made her angry all over again. "How dare you come into this home and make such a boorish
offer, Your Grace? Arabella is gone, do you understand me?
Gone from London and never coming back. So you can hie
yourself off to Almack's or Whites, or wherever dukes go to
drink and gamble, and forget you ever knew her. She is no
longer under your protection. The sooner you give up this
futile chase, the sooner you can find a new courtesan to
warm your bed." Eva stood, chin upright; a tiny terrier facing down a
tiger. No matter how he intimidated her, she would not be
the first to look away. One sign of weakness, and he'd rip
her to shreds. Thank goodness he couldn't see the churning in her stomach
or hear the rapid clip of her beating heart. "I will find her, Miss Black," he said through gritted
teeth. "When I do, she will happily return to my bed and
forget the silly notions you put into her head." It took strength of will to keep her fist from smashing him
right in the nose. Never in her life had she met such a
vexing and stubborn man! "Silly notions you say? What, for Arabella to aspire to
greater things than to be a plaything, a warm body, for a
duke?" Eva lifted her hands lest he step forward. "And what
of her husband and the baby she carries? Will you murder
the captain and take the baby to raise it as your own? Will
she accept the death of the man she loves and eagerly
spread her legs for you because you command it, Your Grace?" His Grace stepped backwards, almost faltered, if a man like
him could falter. The arrogant beast looked as if she'd
dumped ice water down his breeches. "Arabella is married and with child?" "I watched the vicar pronounce them man and wife, and a
letter last week confirmed she is with child." This time,
Eva did see emotion pass through His Grace's eyes before he
turned his head away. Fondness? Regret? Though he
considered Arabella his property, apparently the man had
some affection for the girl. It explained his desperate
search for her, and showed his heart wasn't entirely a
black lump of coal after all. Perhaps there was a human being beneath his cold, arrogant,
and pompous exterior? Arabella had touched him in some way.
Maybe there was hope for him. Unfortunately, Eva had
neither the time nor the desire to find a shovel and dig
for humanity beneath layers of aristocratic upper crust. A life in America for Arabella with her beloved ship
captain husband was her future now. His Grace would have to
move on with his life without her. Even he wouldn't dare
interfere with a marriage made in the eyes of God. "As you can see, Your Grace, you cannot have her back." Eva
said. "I am positive should you make your desire for a new
mistress known about London, there will quickly be young
women lined up outside your door." If Eva expected resignation in his eyes when he lifted them
back to her, she startled by the intensity and black rage
she found there. "I will not forget what you've done, Miss Black." In the dim room Eva watched, transfixed, while he retrieved
his cloak and jerked it around his shoulders. He said not
another word as he stalked past her, nor when he gained the
hall then the stairs, heavy footfalls marking his passage
to the lower floor. She flinched when the oak panel door
slammed closed behind him. Harold found her rooted to the same spot moments later when
he returned to her side and placed his comforting hand on
her arm. His mouth screwed up with concern. "Miss Eva," he said, and bent to peer into her face. "Are
you ill? Did he hurt you?" "Oh, Harold," she said softly when she finally found her
tongue. She rubbed the chill flesh of her exposed upper
arms and felt the same strange brush of cold air she'd felt
earlier. "I think I have made a powerful enemy."
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