Regency Romance in the vein of Georgette Heyer will delight the romance fan.
Can Miss Tavistockâs mistake ever be undone?
Young Miss Tavistock is promised in marriage to Captain Rempeare by the wish of her dearly departed papa. But the captainâs been at sea for a decade. When she finally meets him, sparks fly, and she impulsively adopts a daring false identity. Going by âLady X,â she vows never to marry such an infuriating man.
Captain Gabriel Rempeare is prepared to fulfill his duty and marry Miss Tavistockâif only he can clap eyes on her. One circumstance or another keeps them apart, though he cannot seem to avoid the beautiful, maddening, Lady X. When fate throws them together in London, Miss Tavistock discovers the real nature of the captain, and regrets her subterfuge. But can such a noble man forgive deceit? Or has her mistake already cost her everything?
Regency Romance in the vein of Georgette Heyer will delight the romance fan.
Can Miss Tavistockâs mistake ever be undone?
Young Miss Tavistock is promised in marriage to Captain Rempeare by the wish of her dearly departed papa. But the captainâs been at sea for a decade. When she finally meets him, sparks fly, and she impulsively adopts a daring false identity. Going by âLady X,â she vows never to marry such an infuriating man.
Captain Gabriel Rempeare is prepared to fulfill his duty and marry Miss Tavistockâif only he can clap eyes on her. One circumstance or another keeps them apart, though he cannot seem to avoid the beautiful, maddening, Lady X. When fate throws them together in London, Miss Tavistock discovers the real nature of the captain, and regrets her subterfuge. But can such a noble man forgive deceit? Or has her mistake already cost her everything?
PROLOGUEÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
1801, Yorkshire
Numerous gentlemen stood about the vast parlour at Toadingham, the Duke of Trentâs ancient seat in Blythewold of the Yorkshire Dales, speaking in muted but jovial tones. Only two of those present seemed sensible of the recent tragedy which had occasioned the gathering. One was the duke, for his sister and her husband had died in a coaching accident. The other, Miss Feodora Margaret Tavistock, âFeenie,â only nine years old and fresh from America, was sitting on a bench on the side of the room: frowning, lonely, clutching a frozen-eyed porcelain doll, and trying not to cry. The dead couple were her parents, though it was her fatherâs loss only that she grieved, the father who had reconciled across an ocean with his estranged wife only to die right along with her a mere three days after arriving by ship with Feodora.
She had two living relations in England who might care for her, two uncles, the brothers of her mother. But only one of them, the duke, volunteered to do so. In his late forties, a quiet, perpetually uncomfortable-looking man, he seemed as bewildered as the young orphan.Â
Chatting solicitors, looking important in their grey topcoats, nondescript pantaloons, and voluminous cravats, helped themselves to snuff from little porcelain or gilded cases whipped from waistcoats and returned in practised gestures that took mere seconds. Feodora noticed this not, as her entire attention was directed inwards, where tears were suppressed but fighting to come forth. Sheâd been scolded by her uncleâs servants and knew better than to let them out. Even now, a grim-faced housekeeper, by the name of Mrs. Puddingâa name which might have made Feenie laugh under other circumstancesâkept a sharp eye upon her, standing silently against the far wall. Her entire purpose in the room, it seemed to Feodora, was to make certain she didnât disturb the guests. Â
Feodora huddled with her arms tightly about her little doll. Her world had come to an end. With Papa gone, how could life continue? The memory of the carriage overturning, and the sight of him, so still and lifeless, haunted her. The sight of her mother was disturbing, too, but sheâd only just been reacquainted with that lady. Her father had taken her off to America when she was a mere infant, for reasons unknown to her. But now he was gone. She would never, ever recover. She would never laugh or be happy. She wanted to die and join Papa in heaven. He must be in heaven, of course. She wished to be there, too, not in England, not in her uncleâs home. Much better if she could return to America and live with her old nurse, Persippany, who had cried buckets at her leaving. That world was lost to her now.
After the carriage had overturned the previous night, only miles from the dukeâs residence, the next thing Feenie remembered was being handled roughly. Grim countenances of unfamiliar faces staring hard at her...the housekeeperâs stern, frightening expression. Sheâd grabbed hold of Feodora and carted her kicking and screaming to a small room, where she was told to stop her hysterics, or sheâd sleep there alone in the dark. The memory shook a fresh small sob from deep within her.  Â
Mrs. Pudding was there in a moment and whisked Feenie with one stout arm against her side and scurried from the room with her. âI might have known it!â she huffed, setting the girl on her feet after progressing down a carpeted hall for some distance. She opened a door and roughly pushed the girl in before closing it behind them. Swiftly she crossed the room, grabbed a switch from near the fireplace and came menacingly towards Feodora, who sobbed louder. Papa had never given her the switch! Mrs. Pudding wore a sour expression and came at her with an arm raised. âShush your âowling this instant!â She bent over as if to strike, but at just that moment the door opened.
A young manâs face, filled with consternation, peered inside and was followed in an instant by the rest of him: a tall, well-dressed frame, with an elegant cravat and a bearing equal to the station of an earlâs second son. Glaring at Mrs. Pudding, who instantly straightened and hid the switch behind an ample posterior, he came towards Feenie and stood between her and the servant. His expression of righteous indignation, coupled with blazing eyes, must have conveyed to that lady that her penal actions had best cease, for she slowly backed away.
The servant frowned as if wondering if the Hon. Mr. Rempeare, the dukeâs nephew, had the authority to interfere. He was a mere lad of fifteen or sixteen. She put her hands on her hips, inadvertently revealing the switch. The young man grabbed it and shook it in her face. âLeave this room!â he ordered, âor Iâll teach you how it feels at the end of this.â He spoke as one who held no doubt that he would be obeyed.
Mrs. Pudding opened her mouth to argue, but his presence, young as he was, seemed to impress her. She said only, âBut sir, she must keep silent in company!â
âI heard nothing from her,â he said imperiously. âAnd has she not suffered the loss of her parents? Only last night? Young as she is?â
The housekeeper nodded stiffly. âAye.â Quickly she added this torrent: âBut next thing sheâll scream like kingdom come and all bedlamÊŒs loose, like she done last night!â
âPerhaps, in her mind, it is,â he answered, and turning, opened the door while eyeing her in such a way that she exited with a great frown. Feodora was left with the tall lad who turned and surveyed her. He smiled and bowed.
âWe are cousins, my dear,â he said brightly. âGabriel Rempeare, at your service.â She regarded him, blinking. Her tears ceased. He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and said, âThere, now. The old battleaxe shanât harm you. Iâll see to that.â She took the handkerchief and blew her nose and looked up at him with instant and ardent adoration.Â
Young Master Rempeare looked over his little American cousin. She had an abundance of curly orange locks, a liberal sprinkling of freckles, and was painfully skinny. Hysterics did nothing to improve matters, for her nose and cheeks were bright red. Looking rather miserable, she clung to a porcelain doll with a ferocity that made him examine it as if to determine whether it was bejewelled. While she sniffed and stared, he wondered vaguely how to proceed. He should give her time to settle herself, no doubt.
 While considering this, he paced about the room with one hand on his chin. He took a few lunges with the switch to fight off an imaginary Frenchie, but then returned his attention to the forlorn little girl. His compassionate eyes must have made an impression, because when he went towards her with an outstretched hand, she took it easily. He gently led her to a sofa. To his shock, when he sat down beside her, she climbed onto his lap, put her little bony arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. In moments, she was asleep.
Gabriel held his new charge with a dazed expression. He had hoped to come to her aid somehow, but never had he dreamed of it being like this. He decided right then and there that he would champion this new little cousin. Indeed, his dear departed mama had told him about his American cousin, and that when she was of age, he must marry her. Her looks were hardly inspiring, but he was little concerned about that. He was soon to enter His Majestyâs Navy, and his mind was filled with images of ships and ocean swells and sword fighting and honour.
His father, the fifth Earl Stafford, had remonstrated all the way to Toadingham that his brother, the duke, was a fool to take the child. Looking down at the homely, drawn little face, Gabriel was glad he had. He would let her sleep for as long as she liked. For as long as they were left alone in peace.
CHAPTER 1
Ten years later
1811, Yorkshire
âMrs. Filbert! Only guess what I have learned from my uncle!â Miss Tavistock, the nineteen-year-old orphaned ward of the Duke of Trent, rushed across the great library at Toadingham to where her companion, Mrs. Filbert, lay settled upon a settee amongst layers of pillows and blankets near the fire, sniffling and sneezing. Mrs. Filbert was laid up in the library where her ague bothered no one else in the household but where she could take comfort in books during her affliction.Â
 Margaretâfor Miss Tavistock detested the name Feodora and went by her second name nowâheld a letter in her slim hands as she arrived before the companion, her strawberry-blonde curls bouncing and her gown still swishing against legs that had moved far more quickly than was usual for a genteel young lady. Her cheeks, bright with excitement, were outshone only by the shimmering sea green of her eyes. She hovered, breathless, before the settee with its profusion of blankets, uncertain where the boundaries of the middle-aged Mrs. Filbert ended.
âHere, dear,â the comfortably plump personage said, patting a spot on the blankets. âOnly do not stay close,
 lest this dreadful ague passes to you! Achoo!â
âBless you,â said Miss Tavistock absently, depositing herself upon the designated seat. Mrs. Filbert noted the rosy glow upon her face with pleasure. She disapproved of the girlâs daily horseback riding, but had to concede that the country air surrounding Toadingham christened her cherubic countenance with an almost absurd vitality and youthful beauty. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
 âI must tell you!â the cherub exclaimed, settling herself more comfortably while peering at Mrs. Filbert. âOr shall you guess it?â
âIndeed, I am sure I may not, my dear!â
âVery well.â Margaret tried in vain to hold back an irrepressible smile. ââTis regarding my cousin, Captain Rempeare!â
âIndeed!â said the lady appreciatively. Word of the captain, who was betrothed to Margaret by the particular wish of both their now deceased parents, was exceedingly scarce at Toadingham. It was so scarce that Margaret had vowed, on more than one occasion, to break off the nuptials, though it would disappoint the duke and go against the wish of the dearly departed.
âThe captainâs injury is not as bad as we feared,â she said now. âBut his ship is beyond repair and has been decommissioned! He is ashore and says he will call upon me!â Margaretâs red lips, full and scandalously voluptuous, smiled, her green eyes sparkling.
âDecommissioned?â asked the older lady. âWe must thank Providence his injury wasnât worse, if the ship fared so badly.â They had learned of the battle and the captainâs injury from the Times and the Morning Chronicle, where Margaret got most all her news of the war against Napoleon and of Londonâs upper class. She clipped and saved every mention of her elusive cousin and his skirmishes at sea. During the Battle at Lissa, the captain valiantly held off and routed a much greater French and Spanish force than what he commanded. Despite the victory, there were casualties and wounded. The captainâs sword arm had taken a nasty hit. He was blessed, his letter to the duke said, that he hadnât lost the limb.Â
âIsn't it wonderful?â Margaret held the letter against her bosom and stared out at the room smiling, appreciating the wonder. She hadnât seen the captain in near a decade, almost since before he entered His Majestyâs Navy. But she prayed for him faithfully each night and was mindful of the marriage arrangement, her private journal even littered with the words, âCaptain and Mrs. Gabriel Rempeare.â She adored the sound of it, and thought it wise to grow accustomed to her future name.
âI dare say he must dislike it,â said Mrs. Filbert.
The smile on the rapturous face vanished. âDislike it?â she asked. âAfter ten years at sea? I should think heâd be pleased!â
Mrs. Filbert hated to crush excitement in her charge, there was so little in her life, but she said, âIt all depends, my loveâoh, achoo!âexcuse me, dearest. This wretched chill!â
âBless you,â responded the girl despondently. âWhy do you say it dependsâon what?â
âOn why he ran off to sea in the first place. Men have a penchant for getting it in their blood, and some never wish for a regular life on land again. The sea takes hold of a man in strange ways, you know.â
âPooh!â said the young miss unromantically. âHe went to sea to escape his overbearing father, or so says the duke. A father who is no longer with us. And if my cousin wished to remain at sea, then he would not have got himself injured and his ship decommissioned.â
âWhy, my love! How can you say so! When he was fighting a war!â
âWell, perhaps he had enough of war. I certainly have!â Miss Tavistock looked at the ceiling in an injured fashion as if she herself had suffered hardships from the French blockade.
âBut, my dear, how fortunate we are here in Yorkshire, situated near the coast where smugglersÊŒ ships get through aplenty. We never lack sugar, tea, French silks, or lace. In London, such contraband costs a pretty penny!â
Margaret nodded, looking unconvinced. Smoothing the fold of her gown, trimmed at the bust along the front centre skirt with prohibited French lace, she said, âI own I want for nothing. My uncle is too generous by halves!âÂ
Mrs. Filbert nodded. âThe cross you bear is a want of happy society. What should be part and parcel of the life of a dukeÊŒs ward is sadly absent in this wild country! If His Grace were not such a recluseââ
âHe doesnât snivel at surrounding me with servants, the best dancing master, or pianoforte instructors!â interrupted Margaret, hoping to cut off the remonstrances against her uncle that she knew from long acquaintance with her companion, were about to erupt.
âI dare say youÊŒve seen little in the way of company except for governesses and servants.â
âDo not forget Sir Thomasââ
âWho is now departed, God rest him, and whose two sons were ever seldom in residence! I never met a man more determined to avoid his own offspring! What you wanted all along was female acquaintance.â
âBut his amiable wife, Lady Francisââ
âAnother recluse!â broke in the elder lady.
Margaret looked bereft. âThey say Sir Thomas kept her almost under lock and key. But on the occasion we met, she never uttered a complaint against him.â
âA baronetÊŒs wifeâunder lock and key? I cannot credit it.â Mrs. Filbert further pressed her point by nodding severely at Margaret. âI hate to speak against my betters, you know ÊŒtis true, but she is no doubt that simpering sort of woman, a church mouse, not at all the thing for good conversation or company.â She pointed a finger. âAnd she supplied no daughters for your acquaintance.â
âA grave failing, indeed,â said Margaret, suppressing a smile, and with a sideways glance at Mrs. Filbert. Playfully, she added, âBut my uncle has been only magnanimous: why, the moment I thought to ask for a companion, he gave me you!â
Mrs. Filbert smiled, but her company was not at all the same as being in polite society. Little wonder Margaret had accepted Mrs. Filbert for a companion when a more worldly-wise young miss might have insisted on one closer to her own age. Mrs. Filbert was five years widowed and just approaching her fiftieth year when she arrived from London in answer to the advertisement. To her concern, sheÊŒd been taken straight to the duke himself, when usually a housekeeper conducted interviews. But His Grace, a bespectacled, mild-spoken grey-haired man not much older than herself, had approved her for the situation faster than she thought possible, almost faster than she thought respectable.Â
 There were questions that hadnât been asked. She knew next to nothing about the girl she was to provide chaperonage for, and usually, the much-pampered young woman would come and inspect her and finally give her reluctant agreementâif Mrs. Filbert was luckyâor whimper that she was too old (in her very presence) and send her off. Miss Tavistock had shown neither hide nor hair, yet Mrs. Filbert had been escorted by a footman to a bedchamber, which had apparently been designated for her by that young woman previous to her arrival.
Mrs. Filbert was positively suspicious. Did the young miss have a terrible deficiency? Was she mentally impaired? Ugly and awkward? There had to be some reason why the young lady had not required an interview, and her mind could furnish only those which seemed macabre.
All her fears were laid to rest when Miss Tavistock, unbidden, came to bestow a curious welcome to the new addition to the household. A firm rap on the door. âMay I come in?â said a clear voice. âIt is Miss Tavistock.â The door opened to reveal a slim young woman who crossed the portal and swept into the room with pointed elegance. Mrs. Filbertâs heart sank, for such a poised beauty would never desire an old widow for a companion, she was sure. At a loss for words, and finding herself under the scrutiny of a pair of wide-open, sea-green eyes, she uttered hastily, âYour uncle sent you, no doubt?â
âThe duke?â she asked, smiling prettily. âNo, indeed! I heard from the servants youâd arrived.â Only later would Mrs. Filbert discover that His Grace rarely spoke a word that wasnât strictly necessary, which explained the hasty interview.
Miss Tavistock sat upon the bed, still looking curiously at Mrs. Filbert. Her lovely reddish blonde hair, more blonde than red, fell in tight little ringlets about her head, and her dress was of the latest fashion. Mrs. Filbert was to learn that all of Miss Tavistockâs stylishness came from a steady subscription to fashion magazines and journals. And that the poor child had never in her life attended a ball or concert outside of the small village beyond the Hall, except once, at the estate of the captainâs father, her other uncle.
âI was hoping,â the young woman said quietly, not lowering her eyes, âthat you would be younger.â Quickly she added, âI beg you'll pardon my saying so. I can be frightfully rude, I'm afraid, for I speak my mind.â
âNot at all, my dear,â Mrs. Filbert said warmly. Unlike the spoiled young chits who criticised her as if she werenât present, this lovely girl had apologised for an honest appraisal. âI should think you would want a younger companion,â she added sympathetically. She was careful not to show her disappointment; for only two minutes in this young ladyâs presence had made her feel certain she would have liked to stay. But she couldnât blame Miss Tavistock for wanting younger blood for company.
âBut that's that!â her new charge exclaimed, surprising her not a little. âI'm sure we'll get on famously.â
The older woman blinked in surprise. âDo you mean you donât wish for me to leave?â
âLeave?â she asked innocently. âFire and brimstone, pray do not!â The cry was heartfelt. The young miss looked thoughtfully at Mrs. Filbertâs much-worn apparel, adding, âI dare say you need this appointment.â Her frank eyes rose to meet Mrs. Filbertâs. âAnd I am in need of company. All the gentry in these parts have gone off to London: the Season, you know.â She swallowed and looked suddenly sad.Â
âHave you had a debutââ Mrs. Filbert started to ask.
Margaret said, âI couldn't bear to ask the duke; he wouldnât abide setting up an establishment in London. He loathes society, you must know.â
Mrs. Filbert nodded, for the duke was a famous recluse. âBut surely there are other ways. He neednât go himself.â
Miss Tavistock eyed her hopefully. âDo you indeed think so? We must discuss this further!â But she had the good breeding to check her curiosity, saying, âAfter youâve settled in and rested. Youâve obviously travelled from some distance.â The young eyes had appraised the signs of a weary traveller correctly. âFrom where?â she enquired. âYou look to have been on the road for days.â
Mrs. Filbert could not feel reproachful at this description for it was true. âFrom London,â she said, and was instantly glad to have come from that place, for the young ladyâs eyes lit up.
âLondon? Famous! You will tell me about it?â
âOf course, my dear, whatever I can.â The eagerness in her new chargeâs eyes eloquently bespoke the years of loneliness the girl had suffered. The young woman rose.
âDinner is served at sixâearly by London standards, is it not?â
âYes, eight or nine is customary there.â
Margaretâs eyes glittered for having known this much of London styles, and Mrs. Filbertâs heart warmed again.
All that was nearly two years ago, now. Since then, a great affection had sprung up between the two. Mrs. Filbert was grateful for being treated nearly as an equal (though she made sure never to forget she was a hired companion) and the motherless Margaret was blessed by the company and care of an older woman who had witnessed much of life and London.
The duke kept largely to himself. If he felt badly for not providing the girl with society, he made up for it by giving her all the niceties and fripperies any female could want. The only thing he denied his niece was the thing he could not countenance for himselfâsociety. Margaret had bloomed beneath his lackadaisical care; but was lonely.Â
 She felt sure the captain would have called upon them during shore leaves if only His Grace wasnât averse to company. When she enquired about her cousinâs absence, the duke said that seamen often preferred to take their leave on foreign soils where adventure and excitement lay. Margaret tried hard not to believe that exotic women went along with that excitement. She might have succeeded, too, if not for Roderick.
The Honourable Roderick Rempeare, eternal student at Cambridge, was the captainâs younger brother. He did not come often to Toadinghamâusually only for Michaelmas term break and Christmasâbut when there, he had nothing good to say of the captain. With his perpetually disdainful eye, he would say things like, âMy brother ever did lack common sentiment such as would encourage him to write you, Feodora. You should scarcely be surprised at it. I wonder you havenât called off the arrangement: donât want to enter the parsonâs mousetrap to regret it, eh?â
âFire and brimstone, Roddy! Have I not asked you for this age to please call me Margaret?â As usual he ignored this plea, merely looking down his Cambridge nose at her. Roderick claimed to be a poet. Or so he said this year, though last year he had been intent upon mastering the study of anatomy, and the year before, it was antiquities and archaeology that fascinated him. Margaret had long admired his scholarship, except her whole conception of Roderick had changed at Christmas when he recited his most recent creation, a poem entitled âPoetical.â
Iâve no sense oâ the highly poetical
But if I may be theoretical
For only a minuteâ
Iâll put a rhyme in itâ
And end with a good parenthetical.
Â
Sheâd been doubtful of his talent ever since.
âDoes his letter say when he will call upon you?â asked Mrs. Filbert, dragging her mind back to the present.
Margaret had no need to scan the note. âIn exactly a fortnight.â She shook her head to assure herself it was all quite real. Her future husbandâcoming at last! Her eyes grew far away. âI remember him quite well, you know. He had striking eyes, dark curly hair, and was very tall. He seemed quite elegant,â she said with a giggle. But her look turned more serious. âHe rescued me once.â
âRescued you?â Mrs. Filbert was faintly amazed, never having heard of this rescue. She pictured a damsel in distress, the captain valiantly drawing a sword to defend herâŠ.
âFrom Mrs. Pudding,â Margaret added. âWho was the housekeeper. Sheâs long gone now, of course.â
Mrs. Filbert wiped her brow.
Margaret continued, âI was a child then, but he seemed a proper hero to me, I assure you.â She smiled. âHe was only a boy, I suppose, but so tall and...and I thought, manly, at the time. And those eyes.â
âYou said they were striking?â asked Mrs. Filbert.
âUpon my word, yes. I even bestowed on them a space in my diary, describing them thusââand here she stood and struck a pose like that of an actor reciting linesââa pair of iridescent opals, only darker.â She curtseyed to an imaginary audience and resumed her seat. Â
âWe shall see if his eyes are still iridescent opals,â said Mrs. Filbert with a fond smile.
âSay nothing of that description, if you please,â Margaret said quickly, blushing. âI dare say a decade in His Majestyâs Navy must change a man.â
Mrs. Filbert was about to opine that seafaring men might change in many aspects, indeed, but that eye colour was not likely to be one of them. But Margaret let out a heartfelt sigh. âI am sure when he comes he will explain why he wrote so seldom,â she said in a tone that conveyed she was anything but sure.
Mrs. Filbert made a clucking sound with her tongue. âI should say! Hardly a letter per annum! For a near decade!â
Margaret coloured but said, âNot all men take well to the pen, you know.â
âOnly those with half a brain,â murmured the lady.
 âYou are determined to dislike him.â
âYou are determined to protect him.â
 Margaret paused and gave an impish smile. âI am determined only to marry him,â she said, with a happy sigh. âIt was my parentsâ wish; it was his motherâs wish, and I have no other prospect, as you well know.â
âYou could have enormous prospects if you allow me to chaperon you in London.â All of Mrs. Filbertâs encouragement had so far failed to move Margaret to approach the duke for permission for a Season.Â
âBut the marriage is arranged, recollect. And in any case, the captain will end my days of solitude. Youâll see.âÂ
Margaret bustled about, glowing with the added responsibility of getting the ancient house sparklingly in order. For herself, visits to the mantua maker, urgent orders to London merchants, and a thorough examination of the latest styles as put forth in La Belle Assemblée and other fashion magazines, were all necessary before she felt herself ready to receive her guest.
The morning of the arrival dawned. The house shone at its best.
A disconcerting notice in the morning Times gave the ladies pause, for it said in the society column that Captain Rempeare, though new to Town and already sought after as a war hero, was busy setting up an establishment in a townhouse in Mayfair. Margaret maintained it wouldnât postpone his visit. And then the letter arrived, not even a letter, but so brief as to have been a dictated message.
âVisit postponed indefinitely. Deepest regrets. Captain Rempeare.â  Â
Â
I have adored Linore Rose Burkard for years and am always excited when she releases a new book. Miss Tavistock's Mistake is by far one of my favorites! It's so funny that I was laughing out loud in places.
The story unfolds as Miss Tavistock is brought back into contact with the man she has long been betrothed to, thanks to an agreement by their mothers. However, when Miss Tavistock and Captain Rempeare are face to face after many years of him being away at sea, she is quite unsure if he is truly thean for her. So, she don's the alias 'Lady X' as a way to be around the Captain and make out his character.Â
The Captain, on the other hand, is quite frustrated at his inability to lay eyes on his intended. However the beautiful, but somewhat frustrating Lady X, seems to be constantly popping up wherever he finds himself.Â
Eventually Miss Tavistock realizes that she may have made a mistake in tricking the Captain the way she has. He is not the blackard she believed him to be. In fact, he might just be wonderful. But is it too late repair what she has done? Or is Miss Tavistock's mistake irreparable?
Burkard has a wonderful way of writing characters that makes you feel as if you could be friends with them, if only they were real. The pages come alive and I get lost in her stories as if I could walk outside and find myself in the world she writes about. I didn't want this story to end, yet I read it quickly because I could wait to see what happened next! It's witty and charming, with flawed characters that you can't help but love.
Miss Tavistock's Mistake is thoroughly enjoyable and I can't wait for the book in the series!