THE WINTER BRIDE by Anne Gracie is book two in the Chance Sisters series. Damaris is young woman shaped by the many significant hardships she has experienced. Damaris' dour missionary father is killed and she must flee China, trekking cross country from her burned mission and begging passage on a ship bound to England, where she knows no one.
In England, she meets three other girls through a mysterious brothel. The four young women agree to present themselves as sisters and as wards of Lady Beatrice, with Aunt Bea's encouragement. While the back story for this was presented in book one, enough is explained in book two that this can be read as a standalone novel. Max asks his best friend, The Honorable Frederick Monkton-Coombes, to watch over the three remaining sisters and Max's Aunt Bea while he is away on his honeymoon with the fourth sister.
Demaris is secretly working painting pottery in a bad part of London to save up a nest egg for security. Freddy discovers her work and feels compelled to escort her in this dangerous neighborhood, and they strike up a friendship, whereupon Demaris confides that she will never marry. Freddy has no interest in marrying now, but his estranged mother is maneuvering him into a house party in order to get him leg-shackled to what he terms a muffin, or a seriously marriage-minded eligible female. Freddy proposes to Demaris that she act as his fake fiancée so that he may escape the matchmaking at his family's house party, in exchange for purchasing Demaris the security of her own cottage.
Freddy's parents have unfairly blamed him for his brother's death many years ago. When they meet, Demaris champions Freddy to his cruel parents and tries to force Freddy's family to acknowledge the unfairness of his treatment at their hands. When leaving the family estate, the two are marooned alone in a cottage and discovered when the floodwaters recede, necessitating converting their fake engagement into a true marriage. But Demaris and Freddy have truly fallen in love over the course of their fake engagement, and even the revelations of what Demaris was forced to endure in her escape from China cannot break their love asunder.
THE WINTER BRIDE is rollicking fun superimposed in regency England. There are plenty of silly references to muffins and experimental Chinese swimming pigs, which kept me laughing throughout. I anxiously awaited each unfolding revelation of Demaris' past as to why she believed herself to be unmarriageable. The revelations of how Freddy "killed" his brother also heighten the suspense. There are two more Chance sisters, so I have two more books by Anne Gracie that are on my auto-buy list when they are released.
"I want you to look after Aunt Bea and the girls while Abby
and I are on
our honeymoon,” Max, Lord Davenham, told his friend, the
Honorable
Frederick Monkton-Coombes.
Freddy almost choked on his wine. “Me?” he spluttered after
the coughing
fit had passed. “Why me?”
“You’re my oldest friend.”
Hard to wriggle out of that one, Freddy thought. But damn,
it was a hell
of a thing to spring on a fellow the night before a wedding.
As if being
best man weren’t trauma enough.
The less he had to do with the bride’s sisters the better,
as far as he
was concerned. Pretty, unmarried, respectable girls were not
Freddy’s
female of choice. Good girls? No, he much preferred the
company of bad
girls—the badder the better.
Good girls, especially good pretty girls, were . . .
dangerous. And one
Chance sister in particular was, to Freddy’s mind, more
dangerous than
most. She . . . disturbed him. In ways he preferred not to
examine too
closely. And now Max must come up with this. And playing the
“oldest
friend” card, dammit.
“You mean all of them? All the girls?”
“Yes, of course all of them,” Max said impatiently. “There
are only
three. They’re not exactly a horde.”
That was a matter of opinion. “What does look after entail?”
Freddy
asked cautiously.
Max shrugged. “Nothing very arduous, just the kind of thing
I’d do if I
were there. My aunt is well up to snuff, of course, but
she’s still
somewhat of an invalid and would appreciate having a man to
rely on if
needed.”
Having a man to order about, more like it, Freddy thought.
Max continued, “And Abby’s been fretting a little about
leaving her
sisters—you can understand that after all they’ve been
through recently.
Knowing you’ll be on hand to protect them if necessary will
ease her
mind.”
“Isn’t there anyone else you could ask?” Freddy said
desperately. “I
mean, you know my problem with unmarried females.”
“Your problem is with the kind of unmarried female you call
a muffin.
You told me Abby and her sisters were most definitely not
muffins.”
“They’re not, but—”
“Then there’s no problem.”
The noose was tightening. Freddy ran a finger around his
suddenly tight
collar. “Am I really the sort of fellow you want associating
with Abby’s
sisters? I don’t have the best reputation around women; you
know that,”
he said hopefully.
“I have complete faith in you.”
Damn. “What about Flynn? Didn’t you say he’d be arriving any
day now?”
Flynn was the head of the company in which Freddy and Max
were major
partners. “Couldn’t you ask him?”
"If he turns up, the two of you can share the responsibility
if it makes
you feel better. But Flynn doesn’t know Aunt Bea and the
girls like you
do. Nor does he know anything about London society. In fact,
I’m hoping
you’ll show him the ropes.”
“Oh,” Freddy said. More responsibilities. Delightful.
Max’s grin widened. “He’ll need your fashion advice too.
He’s planning
to cut a swath through London society, and currently he’s a
little . . .
unorthodox in appearance.”
“Oh. Joy.” Just what he wanted, to play guard dog to
respect- able
females and social and sartorial adviser to a rough Irish
diamond.
Max laughed. “Don’t look so glum. Flynn is a good fellow.
You’ll like
him. But you don’t need to worry about Flynn—he can look
after himself.
It’s my aunt and the girls I’m most concerned about.”
Freddy sipped his claret thoughtfully, trying to work out a
way to
wriggle out of what, on the surface, seemed quite a
reasonable request.
Max, misunderstanding his silence, added, “Look, it won’t be
hard. Just
drop around to Berkeley Square every few days, make sure
they’re all
right, see to anything if there’s a problem, protect the
girls from
unwanted attentions, take them for the occasional drive in
the park, pop
in to their literary society—”
“Not the literary society. The horror stories those girls
read are
enough to make a fellow’s hair stand on end.”
Max frowned. “Horror stories? They don’t read horror
stories, only
entertaining tales of the kind ladies seem to enjoy, about
girls and
gossip and families—”
“Horror stories, every last one of them,” Freddy said
firmly. “You asked
me to sit in on their literary society last month, when you
went up to
Manchester, remember? The story they were reading then . .
.” He gave an
eloquent shudder. “Horror from the very first line: It is a
truth
universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of
a good
fortune must be in want of a wife. Must he, indeed? What
about the poor
fellow’s wants, eh? Do they matter? No. Every female in the
blasted
story was plotting to hook some man for herself or her
daughter or
niece. If you don’t call that horror, I don’t know what is!”
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