“In this haunting and mesmerizing novel, Kilpack weaves an emotional tale of fleeting fame in Regency-era London…Exceptionally moving and full of rich period details, this delicate romance is a real winner.”-Publishers Weekly Starred Review
“The unusually well-crafted prose draws the reader along, and Amber’s personal evolution makes the book more literary than other romances. Readers of this gentle story won’t miss the steamy scenes it lacks. A very compelling read.”-Kirkus Starred Review
Amber Marie Sterlington, the Rage of the Season in Regency-era London, has her pick of men, and she knows what she wants most in a husband: a title and a fortune. Why would she ever marry for something as fickle as love? And why would she ever look twice at Thomas Richards, a third son of a country lord?
But when Amber’s social standing is threatened, the character of her future husband becomes far more important than his position. After a public humiliation, she finds herself exiled to Yorkshire. Alone except for her maid, Amber is faced with a future she never expected in a circumstance far below what she has known all her life. Humbled and lonely, Amber begins to wonder if isolation is for the best. Who could ever love her now?
Thomas knew the moment Amber Sterlington entered Almack’s ballroom. Not because he was watching the door, or because someone spoke her name. No. The reason The Honourable Thomas Richards knew when Miss Sterlington entered the room was because every gentleman straightened his bearing and turned his head in her direction. Simultaneously, the women in the room either narrowed their eyes or raised their chin a fraction of an inch in the feminine version of the same response. Amber Sterlington was the rage of the season, after all, and in the space of a glance and a breath, the room was changed by her arrival.
Thomas cared little for the attention society gave to her, but the truth was that Amber Sterlington was quite simply the most attractive woman he had ever seen and, like everyone else, he reacted to her arrival by standing a bit taller in case she looked his way.
In the month he’d been in London, this being his third Wednesday night ball at Almack’s, he’d seen Miss Sterlington nearly a dozen times at a variety of events, and his reaction to her had been equally profound each time. When his notice passed, he berated himself for it, wanting to believe himself a man apart from such fancy. She would marry for title or money or both-everyone knew it-and as a younger son of a modest Baron, Thomas offered neither, which made his attraction toward her that much more vexing.