My Dear Miss Dupre (American Royalty Book #1) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Grace Hitchcock

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188 pages

English

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Willow Dupré never thought she would have to marry, but with her father's unexpected retirement from running the prosperous Dupré sugar refinery, she is forced into a different future. The shareholders are unwilling to allow a female to take over the company without a man at her side, so her parents devise a plan--find Willow a spokesman king in order for her to become queen of the business empire.Willow is presented with thirty potential suitors from the families of New York society's elite group called the Four Hundred. She has six months to court the group and is told to to eliminate men each month to narrow her beaus until she chooses one to marry, ending the competition with a wedding. Willow reluctantly agrees, knowing she must do what is best for the business. She doesn't expect to find anything other than a proxy . . . until she meets a gentleman who captures her attention, and she must discover for herself if his motives are pure.

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	02 mars 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493430000
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0384€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2021 by Grace Hitchcock
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3000-0
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota / Jon Godfredson
Cover photography by Ron Ravensborg
Author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
Dedication
For Dakota, My Heartbeat
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
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29
30
31
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Epigraph
And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the L ORD .
Psalm 40:3
One
New York City New Year’s Eve, 1882
W illow Dupré twirled on the ice, spreading her arms and guiding her body around the other skaters on the frozen lake of Central Park. The crisp morning air nipped at her cheeks and brought life to her limbs that ached from the long hours working behind her father’s desk, which was something she was unused to doing. Since Father’s illness, the ice was the one place she could truly release the pressures of assuming the throne of her family’s sugar empire, for there was no risk of gliding by one of her paunchy board members. Willow arched her arms above her head despite the seams of her sleeves digging into her shoulders, keeping her hands in her fur muff, and spun, loving the whirl of her short, fur-trimmed crimson cape about her, not minding the hairpins pulling loose from her stern bun, releasing her chestnut locks to tumble to her slender waist while her winter cap miraculously stayed firmly in place.
“My dear Miss Dupré!”
She started, nearly losing her footing along with her thoughts. She flung out her arms to balance herself and turned to find a handsome gentleman she dimly recalled from a past season, stumbling across the frozen pond toward her in gleaming skates with leather straps over his boots that were far too loose to do much good. She allowed him to take her hand in his, scrambling to recall his name. Kind eyes and impossibly deep voice. “Mr. Friedrich Blythe.” She dipped her head in the place of a curtsy. “I did not know you skated.”
He chuckled and stroked the tip of his thick ginger mustache into a point and sent her a wink. “It’s hard to believe, for as you can see, I’m such a natural on the ice. But I haven’t skated since I was a boy. I heard that you enjoyed the sport, so I came in hope of seeing you.”
“Oh?” She gave him a tentative smile, unsure as to why Mr. Blythe would seek her out when he had not done so in the year since they had met. A giggling pair of children wove around her and brushed passed Friedrich, the light touch sending his arms to flapping wildly as he attempted to regain his footing. Willow strode forward and seized his coat sleeve, steadying him lest he knock himself to the ground with his floundering. “Hold on, Mr. Blythe! You won’t perish today.”
Laughing, Mr. Blythe slowly released his hold on her arms, his cheeks reddening. “Thank you. Well, uh, as I was saying, you cannot imagine my pleasure when I received one of your coveted invitations last night.”
Willow blinked, truly confused. Mother was hosting their annual New Year’s Eve party tonight, but those invitations would have been issued two weeks ago. “Invitation?”
“Yes. I happen to have mine with me, if you would like to see it?” Mr. Blythe withdrew a golden scroll secured with a lush, burgundy satin ribbon from his greatcoat and handed it to her, bobbing from the motion.
She slid the ribbon off and unfurled the scroll to read the engraved summons,
To Mr. Friedrich Blythe, you have been selected to attend a competition, along with twenty-nine gentlemen, beginning the thirty-first of December to win the hand of our daughter and heiress to our empire, Willow Dupré. Should you accept, you will court Miss Dupré alongside the other suitors in an attempt to win her heart and marry within six months.
What on earth? Willow crumpled the invitation in her fist without reading the rest and shoved it into her muff, shivering. “I apologize for the confusion. This has to be a jest. My parents would never think of something so outlandish, so—” Degrading .
He chuckled, removing his stiff hat and running his fingers through his thick locks before setting his hat firmly in place once more. “Come now, Miss Dupré. You do not have to be coy with me. The city is already humming with the news.”
“But I am not playing the coquette, Mr. Blythe. I truly think there has been some sort of misunderstandi—”
He grasped her hand and lightly tugged, sending her skates into a gentle glide toward him. “Now, I know it is breaking the rules of the game to contact you before the ball tonight, so it is with the deepest remorse that I must bid you farewell, my lady, but not before I bestow upon you the first of many tokens of my affection.” Mr. Blythe wobbled into a bow and kissed her gloved hand and straightened, giving her a smile filled with hope as he withdrew a nosegay of withering white flowers with tiny golden hearts. “From my mother’s conservatory. My apologies for their state, which is due to my lack of foresight, but the sentiment of the white jasmine is what I hope to convey.”
“Extreme amiability?” she interpreted, remembering its meaning from Mother’s required hours of studying the secret language of flowers, including the ever-popular floral dictionaries. Sliding the small bouquet into her muff, she shook her head to wake herself from the haze of his charm. “So, this is not a hoax?”
Mr. Blythe’s grin faltered. “You mean to tell me that you truly did not know of the invitation to court you?”
“Absolutely not. I knew, of course, about a party tonight, but do you think I would have allowed these invitations to have been sent if I had known? Please excuse me, as I need to sort through this mess.” She dipped her head in a dismissive nod before gliding to the opposite side of the pond, weaving around the throngs of skaters going and coming from the three-storied skaters’ tent with concessions in hand, her focus on her things atop the park bench at the edge of the landing. Lifting her plain navy skirt, she tromped through a snowdrift, not minding the snow seeping through her stockings at the tops of her boots, and perched on the freezing bench to unfasten the buckles of the leather straps securing her skates. She tugged her feet out of her skating boots and slipped on her walking shoes. Gripping the skate straps in one hand, she marched down the park’s freshly shoveled path toward the Inventor’s Gate, leading to her home on Fifth Avenue. She would get to the bottom of this nonsense at once.
“But, as it is true, you will not be stopping the competition, even if it is a bit untoward, will you, Miss Dupré?” Mr. Blythe called, disappointment edging his tone as he trotted up behind her, his skates nowhere in sight.
She took a second glance at him, surprise fluttering to life in her stomach. He is genuinely excited about the invitation to court me. Willow drew in a breath and gave the handsome fellow her prettiest smile, adding a modicum of kindness to her reply. “I am certain the annual New Year’s Eve party will continue as planned and I will be happy to receive you. As for a competition, I can say with confidence that it will not occur. Now if you will excuse me, Mr. Blythe, I need to be on my way,” she finished and darted off, disregarding etiquette for once. Her neck burned with the shame of the rumor as she skirted around couples, street vendors, and children with their nannies pushing prams at tremendous speeds, taking chase after them.
“Willow! Willow Dupré!”
She caught sight of her dearest friend waving frantically to her from down the avenue, and at the darkness in Flora’s expression, Willow’s heart plummeted. Father. She raced to Flora’s side, hopping over and around patches of blackened ice. “Is something wrong?” Willow panted, pressing her gloved hand to her side where her corset pinched her, preventing her from taking a full breath.
“Yes! Why did you not tell me about this competition?” Flora crossed her arms, the golden curls framing her face atremble. “I had to find out from Marcy Mae Lovett, who knew all about it because her brother, Archibald, received his invitation last night, delivered by one of your own servants.”
“Is that all?” She released a nervous laugh, which turned into a groan that even Flora had heard of the fraudulent invitation. Willow motioned for Flora to continue walking with her. “I only just found out myself and am about to put an end to this rumor.”
Flora’s expression clouded before her eyes widened and she dodged a flying snowball, sending the three mischiefs responsible a glare that could melt the snow, and brushed off her immaculate sapphire cloak. “End? B-but think of the men vying for your hand. I am fairly