In an unforgettable debut, Lisa Berne introduces you to the Penhallow Dynasty—men destined to marry, but hesitant to love.
Wealthy and arrogant, Gabriel Penhallow knows it’s time to fulfill his dynastic duty. All he must do is follow “The Penhallow way”—find a biddable bride, produce an heir and a spare, and then live separate lives. It’s worked so well for generations, certainly one kiss with the delectable Livia Stuart isn’t going to change things. Society dictates he marry her, and one chit is as good as another as long as she’s from a decent family.
But Livia’s transformation from an original to a mundane diamond of the first water makes Gabriel realize he desperately wants the woman who somehow provoked him into that kiss. And for all the ladies who’ve thrown themselves at him, it’s the one who wants to flee whom he now wants. But how will he keep this independent miss from flying away?
Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.com/tours-master/2017/2/8/you-may-kiss-the-bride-lisa-berne
Goodreads Series Link https://www.goodreads.com/series/186602-the-penhallow-dynasty
Lisa Berne read her first Georgette Heyer book at fourteen, and was instantly captivated. Later, she was a graduate student, a grantwriter, and an investment banker, but is thrilled to be returning to her roots and writing her own historical-romance novels! She lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest
Read an Excerpt:
She had been dismissed. Livia rose and after dipping the briefest of curtsies in Lady Glanville’s direction, went to the door with long strides, so angry that she felt she had to get out of there or explode. Behind her she heard Aunt Bella saying in a soft little bleat, “Livia! No word of gratitude! Pray come back!” Instead, she closed the door with exaggerated gentleness and leaned against it for a moment.
By the bannister stood a maidservant with an armful of gowns. With a muttered sentence of thanks Livia took them and hurried upstairs to her room where with savage satisfaction she flung the gowns against the wall, leaving them to lie in a crumpled heap on the floor. She paced back and forth, back and forth, until the red haze of rage subsided. Then she went to her bed and dropped fulllength upon it with unladylike abandon, causing the old wood frame to creak alarmingly.
It was stupid of her, she knew, to react like that to the Orrs. But it was hard, so hard, when Cecily had every thing and she had so very little. No parents, no brothers or sisters; no money, no education, no prospects.
Your future must be thought of, too.
It was strange, now that she considered it, how little time she had spent thinking about her future. Possibly because there was no point to it. In her existence here she was like a great hoary tree, deeply, immovably, rooted into the earth.
She couldn’t even hang on to the morbid hope of inheriting anything from Uncle Charles when he died. He’d run through most of Aunt Bella’s money ages ago, and year by year everything had slowly declined, dwindled, faded away. Now there wasn’t much left; the estate barely brought in enough for Aunt Bella to pay for her cordial, and for Uncle Charles to spend his days hunting, drinking, and eating. Speaking of romantic marriages.
Well, it could be worse. At least she didn’t have a mother like that revolting Lady Glanville. Imagine having her breathing down one’s neck all day.
Still, this was only a small consolation. A very small consolation.
Livia thought about Cecily’s beautiful white gown and those elegant kid slippers with the dainty pink rosettes.
It was those rosettes that did it.
Envy, like a nasty little knife slipping easily into soft flesh, seemed to pierce her very soul.
Abruptly Livia twisted onto her side and stared at nothing.
She would not cry.
Crying never helped anything.
There came to her, suddenly, the memory of the first time she had met Cecily, some twelve years ago; they’d both been around six. Cecily and her mother had come to call. Livia, recently arrived from faraway India, desperately lonely, was so anxious to be friends with the lovely, beautifully dressed girl with the long shining curls. Shyly she had approached, trying to smile, and Cecily had responded by saying in a clear, carrying voice:
“Oh, you’re the little orfin girl. Your papa was sent away from here and he died. And your grandpapa was a runaway and he drownded. And your mama drownded, too. Why is your skin so brown? Are you dirty?” And she had backed away, to hide behind the skirts of her mother Lady Glanville, who had said to her, with that same cold smile that never reached her eyes, “Poor little Livia isn’t a native, my dear, she’s every bit as English as you and I. The sun shines quite fiercely in India, and she had no mama or papa to make sure she stayed under her parasol. Do you see?”
Livia had never forgotten the burning sense of shame from that day. Nor had Cecily made it any easier, for from time to time she would laughingly recall the occasion of their first meeting and how she had thought Livia to be unwashed, as if it was the funniest anecdote in all the world.
Livia did not like to remember, even if only hazily, how when she was four, the monsoon season struck Kanpur with devastating onslaughts of rain. Both her widowed mother and her grandfather had died in a great flood, and it was with grudging reluctance that Uncle Charles had sent money for his niece’s passage to England.
Upon arriving in Wiltshire, Livia was not so much welcomed into the home—if such the ancient, ram bling domicile known as Ealdor Abbey could be so termed—of Uncle Charles and Aunt Bella, as absorbed. Aside from grumbling within earshot about the expense of feeding her, Uncle Charles barely noticed her. Aunt Bella, childless, somnolent, always unwell, with interest in neither Society nor useful occupation, accepted Livia’s presence without a blink but also without care or concern for the little girl for whom she was, ostensibly, responsible.
Oh, you’re the little orfin girl.
Livia smiled without humor.
Yes indeed, Cecily certainly had a knack for getting to the heart of things.
Livia Stuart spent her early years in India, until she was orphaned and shipped to live with her uncaring aunt and uncle in England. Her relatives grudgingly provided shelter and food, but nothing else, certainly not affection. Her only social contact was a horrible neighbor, Cecily, who is from a wealthy and noble family. She condescends to give Livia her years-old cast off clothes, while making subtle insults about Livia with a mean smile on her face.
When Cecily finds out that a wealthy and respected gentleman, Gabriel Penhallow, wishes to meet her, with the possibility of marriage if they suit, she can’t wait to tell Livia and to gloat. Her family plans to hold a ball, and Livia has the honor of being invited, of course, she’s expected to sit on the sidelines and just observe. After all, no one would think of wanting to dance with the orphan nobody. One day, as Livia is walking in the woods, she encounters the lofty Gabriel, who has lost his way. He sees her shabby clothes, mistakes her for a servant, and rudely tosses her a coin if she will give him directions. Livia has about endured all she can, and sends the arrogant Mr. Penhallow on a roundabout journey that will take him hours instead on minutes. Livia returns home to design herself a stunning dress, a combination of several of Cecily’s castoff, which will show off her lovely figure.
On the night of the ball, Livia catches they eyes of most of the young men present. Gabriel recognizes the “servant” who sent him on a wild goose chase, and plans to take her to task. They are in the garden, and instead of apologizing, Livia only provokes him further. Gabriel is goaded into kissing her, and, of course, they are caught in this compromising position. Livia’s uncle, thrilled at the prospect of no longer having her in his household, insists that Gabriel marry his niece. Gabriel, ever the gentleman, agrees.
Gabriel only came to possibly court Cecily at his autocratic grandmother’s urging. He doesn’t care about marriage, certainly doesn’t believe in love, and just wants to follow the Penhallow tradition of convenient marriages. One woman is as good as another, although it’s unfortunate that Livia has no education, skills, or social acumen. His grandmother takes on the project of bringing Livia up to their standards, berating her along the way. Yet, surprisingly, as Livia gains polish, and becomes a clone of Cecily and all the other society women he’s met, Gabriel finds that he misses the refreshingly honest and untamed woman she was.
YOU MAY KISS THE BRIDE is a wonderfully written debut novel. My heart broke for all that Livia had to endure in her lifetime. She’s a strong woman, and is honest enough with herself to see how she is changing, and manages to retain her compassion and dignity. She has no fear of hard tasks, and eventually wins over Gabriel and his stuffy grandmother. Gabriel’s upbringing has lead him to always present a poker face, aka, the “Penhallow Mask.” The mask slips, though, as he begins to feel a passionate desire for Livia, which she returns. While it looks like all may be well, when the couple travels to Gabriel’s estate, the situation there drives him away from Livia, causing him to end their engagement. While this latest roadblock to their happily-ever-after has to be overcome, I loved watching Gabriel transform from an uncaring aristocrat into a loving and passionate man. I became immersed in this story, and I totally love Lisa Berne’s writing style. I’m happy to highly recommend YOU MAY KISS THE BRIDE, a well written and engaging romance.
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