Toot's Book Reviews: Release Day Blitz, Giveaway & Excerpt : The Trouble With Being A Duke by Sophie Barnes (HR)

Book Blurb

Sometimes happily ever after . . .

Anthony Hurst, Duke of Kingsborough, knows the time has come for him to produce an heir. But first he must find a bride. When he meets the most exquisite woman at his masquerade ball, he thinks his search is over . . . until the breathtaking beauty runs off. With few clues other than her figure, her scent, and the memory of her kiss, Anthony must find his mystery lady.

. . . needs a little bit of help.

Isabella Chilcott can scarcely believe it: she is finally at the Kingsborough Ball. As a child, she dreamed of dancing a waltz here, and now, thanks to a gorgeous gown she’s found in the attic, Isabella is living her fairytale fantasy. And she’s waltzing with the Duke of Kingsborough himself! But she must escape before he discovers her secrets . . . for she is not who she pretends to be, and falling in love with Prince Charming is the last thing she can allow herself to do.

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Author Info

Born in Denmark, SOPHIE BARNES spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She’s lived in five different countries, on three different continents, and speaks Danish, English, French, Spanish and Romanian. She has studied design in Paris and New York and has a bachelor’s degree from Parson’s School of design, but most impressive of all - she’s been married to the same man three times - in three different countries and in three different dresses.

While living in Africa, Sophie turned to her lifelong passion: writing. When she’s not busy dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, swimming, cooking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading. She currently lives on the East Coast.

Visit Sophie Barne’s website at www.sophiebarnes.com. You can also find her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter (@BarnesSophie).

Book Excerpt

“Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night, give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, take him and—”

“Stop that right now,” Isabella’s mother warned as she lifted her gaze from her embroidery—a new set of pillowcases that the butcher’s wife had ordered, with flowering vines trailing along the edges.

Isabella was supposed to have been practicing her cutwork, but she was finding the process incredibly tedious and had paused to read a little instead. She had just gotten started on her favorite passage when her mother had cut her off as usual—at the exact same point. “But it’s the most romantic thing ever written, Mama.” Isabella should have known better than to goad her mother like this, but she could not help it—it was much too easy.

“Romantic?” Her mother frowned, her mouth scrunched in a manner that warned Isabella of the derision that lay ahead. “You are aware that the hero and heroine both die because of some ridiculous misunderstanding, are you not?”

“Of course, but —”

“Not to mention that the passage you’re presently reciting starts not only with Juliet considering her dear heart’s demise but the prospect of having him chopped up and—”

“Cut up, Mama—into little stars, so that—”

“Honestly.” Her mother shook her head as she returned her attention to the rose petal she was stabbing with her needle, as if it had been Shakespeare himself and she meant to make him pay for subjecting her to his play. “I’ve never understood why anyone would think it romantic for a young couple to kill themselves in the name of love.”

Isabella stifled a grin as she set the book aside and reached for her cutwork. “I do believe you’re the only person I know who can criticize the loveliest play ever written as if Mr. Shakespeare had penned it with the sole purpose of offending you. Considering how much you love Papa, I would have thought you’d be more romantically inclined, yet I’m beginning to wonder if you even know what romance is.” She said it in jest, but when she looked up, her mother’s eyes had widened and her jaw had gone slack. “I’m sorry,” Isabella quickly muttered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Her mother took a deep breath, held it, and then released it very slowly before bowing her head once more to her work. “No,” she said. “I don’t suppose you did.”

Drat it all, Isabella thought as she drew her needle through the piece of white linen she was holding. It had been neat and crisp when she’d started on it, but it had long since taken on the appearance of a crumpled rag. She shook her head at her carelessness—not in regard to the fabric but because of her mother. She’d unintentionally hurt her feelings, and not for the first time. She really ought to have learned her lesson by now. Glancing at the book she’d been reading, she made a mental note not to bring it into her mother’s presence ever again. It only resulted in trouble.

She let out a small sigh. All she wanted was a confidante—someone with whom to share her dreams of true love and a happily ever after. In spite of what she’d said, she knew that her parents were happy. It was obvious from the way they looked at each other and the manner in which they addressed each other with cheerful smiles.

Isabella wished for that, but she also wished for more—she wished for magic. Lord knew she had spent hours on end, dreaming about meeting a gallant stranger—a prince, perhaps—who would declare his undying love for her before carrying her off to his castle on a magnificent white stallion . . . or perhaps in a golden carriage similar to the one she’d imagined Cendrillon riding in the fairy tale she’d loved so dearly as a child.

“Isabella?”

Isabella blinked, realizing her mother must have been telling her something that required her attention. “Sorry, Mama, my thoughts were elsewhere. You were saying?”

Her mother frowned. “I know how fond you are of Romeo and Juliet. I didn’t mean to mock it in any way, it’s just . . . while I do appreciate Shakespeare’s talent, his notion of romance is, in my opinion, lacking—at least in this instance.” Tying off a thread, she folded the pillowcase and placed it in her embroidery basket. “Sacrificing yourself for the sake of love is not romantic, Isabella—it’s rash, thoughtless, and completely meaningless. Real romance comes from small and selfless gestures, from private moments spent in one another’s company or a shared kiss when no one else is looking. It’s showing the person you care about that they’re just as important to you as you are to yourself, if not more so. Most importantly, it’s what tells them that you love them, without the need for words.”

Isabella stared at her mother, suddenly feeling she wasn’t entirely the person Isabella had always thought her to be. There was a more sensitive side to her than Isabella had ever imagined, or perhaps it was just that this was the first time her mother had ever talked openly about her own thoughts on the subject of romance. Of course Isabella knew that her mother wasn’t a cynic when it came to matters of the heart, for her devotion to her husband bordered on the ridiculous. It was just that her mother did not understand why anyone would choose to write poetry rather than tell the person in question how they actually felt about them, and the idea that any lady might enjoy a piece of music written in her honor seemed silly to her—or at least that was what she’d once said.

Isabella was about to question her mother about the most romantic thing her father had ever done, but just as she opened her mouth, her mother rose to her feet and said, “You’d better ready yourself in time for Mr. Roberts’s visit. You know he’s never late.”

It was true. Timothy Roberts was the most predictable man Isabella had ever known. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing—after all, Marjorie, their maid-of-all-work, always knew precisely when to put the pie in the oven so it would be ready in time for his visit. And he had been visiting a lot lately. Every Sunday afternoon at precisely three’ o clock, for an entire year.

There was very little doubt about his intentions at this point (though he had yet to propose), and Isabella’s parents were overjoyed. Her father, who’d arranged the whole thing, was quite proud of himself for securing such a fine match for his daughter. He should have been too, for while they were bordering on a state of impoverishment, Mr. Roberts was a wealthy man who’d struck up a business specializing in luxury carriages.

Isabella’s father had worked in his employ for the past five years, test-driving each vehicle before it was delivered to the client, and while Isabella wasn’t entirely sure of what her father might have told Mr. Roberts about her, the man had one day appeared for tea, and had continued to do so since.

With a sigh, Isabella gathered up her things, feeling not the least bit enthusiastic about Mr. Roberts’s impending visit. Not because she didn’t like him (it was difficult to form an opinion due to his reserve), and certainly not because he had done anything to offend or upset her. On the contrary, he was always the perfect gentleman, adhering to etiquette in the most stringent manner possible.

No, the problem was far simpler than that—she just did not love him, and what was worse, she had long since come to realize that she never would.

~HUGE Giveaway~

The Grand Prize: a golden filigree masquerade mask, a golden silk scarf, a crystal beaded necklace, Victorian-style soap and soap-box, a signed copy of THE TROUBLE WITH BEING A DUKE, 3 bookmarks, 3 magnets, a totebag, and a bundle of Sophie Barnes' digital books (HOW MISS RUTHERFORD GOT HER GROOVE BACK, LADY ALEXANDRA'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE, & FIVE GOLDEN RINGS
2 Runner-Ups will win signed copies of Sophie Barnes' LADY ALEXANDRA'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE

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