Please join me in welcoming Ally Broadfield back to the blog. Ally is here today with her latest book Say You’ll Love Me, and she’ll be giving away a copy! All you have to do is tell her you want the book!
We begin with the lovely cover!
Now the blurb.
She may be his favorite mystery…
All of Lady Abigail Hurst’s dreams seem to be coming true when at long last her childhood sweetheart asks for her hand. But when a maid is found dead, and her betrothed is the chief suspect, Abigail begins to wonder just what manner of man she’s marrying…
The Marquess of Longcroft, Edmund Townsend, has always preferred complex mathematical equations to the trappings of society. And love? Love is a non-quantifiable concept. Still, Lady Abigail is his sister’s friend, and he finds himself drawn into the mystery of her affianced… even as he begins to anticipate Lady Abigail’s company with unfathomable pleasure.
Investigating the murder may reveal more than the sordid truth. It may just reveal the love Abigail always wanted… a little too late.
And an excerpt
Edmund helped the ladies exit the carriage and they entered a dress shop where Abigail thought they might have a fichu made for his mother. Discomfort overtook him the moment they entered. Though it was quite fancy for a shop, the air was close and he appeared to be the only male in the building. There were far too many things crammed into the space.
Abigail led them up to the counter and inspected several lengths of silk. “What colors does Lady Longcroft favor?”
Edmund frowned. “She only recently switched from black to grey, so it is difficult to say.”
“She has also been wearing lavender recently,” Henrietta said.
“Lavender? Like the flower? Isn’t that just purple?” Women had so confounded many names for colors.
Abigail raised a brow at him. “Lavender is used for half-mourning and is generally much lighter than purple, which is seldom worn by ladies unless they are attempting to attract attention to themselves.”
“Aren’t women always attempting to attract attention to themselves?”
“Of course not,” Georgiana said. “Henrietta tries never to draw attention to herself, and Abigail could certainly do with less attention right now.”
Suitably chastised, he said, “Of course. My apologies.”
“To get back to the matter at hand, Mama used to enjoy wearing shades of green and gold before Papa died,” Henrietta said.
“Let us hope we can convince her to go back to wearing those colors, then, in which case we shall need to choose a fabric that will coordinate with many colors.” Abigail turned to him and stared into his eyes, sending his heart pounding.
“Are her eyes the same shade of brown as yours?
He nodded, unable to look away from her intense scrutiny.
“Then gold, or perhaps bronze would suit her well. It shall be up to you and your sisters to convince her that it is time for her to shed her mourning and wear color again.”
He must have looked terrified by the prospect because Abigail nearly choked attempting to hold back her laughter.
“What type of fabrics does she favor?”
He shrugged. “The types of fabrics ladies use for gowns, I guess.” He pulled at his cravat and shot a panicked look at his sisters. “Henrietta? Georgiana?”
Henrietta spoke first, having spent the most time with their mother at social events. “She used to favor silk, though she may prefer something simpler now that she’s a widow.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed in consideration. “Still, if she prefers lighter fabrics, she may find she is cold at some of the functions. Perhaps a shawl would be better than a fichu, and easier to remove when the ballroom becomes hot, as it always does.”
Edmund nodded. “Yes, that sounds like a practical idea.” He understood practical a lot better than he understood fashionable.
She cast him a sideways glance. “No lady ever wants to hear that a gift was chosen for her for practical reasons.”
His comfort was short lived. “So ladies prefer impractical gifts?”
Abigail grinned. “Not necessarily, but we don’t want to be told that you chose a gift because it was practical. Do you see the difference?”
“Not in the least.”
Georgiana exchanged a glance with Abigail and shrugged as if saying, he’s all yours.
Abigail returned her gaze to him. “You’re supposed to choose a gift because it’s pretty or because it made you think of the lady you are purchasing it for. If it’s practical that’s fine, but for heaven’s sake, don’t point it out to her.”
Edmund momentarily closed his eyes and took a deep breath, recalling the relaxation techniques his fencing master had taught him. “Now I remember why I hate shopping.”
Ally has worked as a horse trainer, director of marketing and development, freelance proofreader, and a children’s librarian, among other things. None of them were as awesome as writing romance novels (though the librarian gig came closest). She lives in Texas and is convinced her house is shrinking, possibly because she shares it with three kids, four dogs, a cat, a rabbit, and assorted reptiles. Oh, and her husband.
Ally likes to curse in Russian because very few people know what she’s saying, and spends most of what would be her spare time letting dogs in and out of the house and shuttling kids around. She has many stories in her head looking for an opportunity to escape onto paper. She writes historical romance set in Regency England and Imperial Russia.