The Brides of London by Vanessa Riley

Author:Vanessa Riley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: African American Historical Fiction;Historical Romances;Multicultural Romances;Regency Historical Romance;Women's Historical Fiction;Historical Fiction;Regency Romances;Venessa Riley;Advertisement for Love Series;Entangled Publishing;Amara;Print Romance Series;Mass Market Paperback Romance;The Bittersweet Bride by Vanessa Riley;The Bashful Bride by Vanessa Riley;The Butterfly Bride by Vanessa Riley;The Bewildered Bride by Vanessa Riley;A Duke the Lady and a Baby by Vanessa Riley;An Earl the Girl and a Toddler by Vanessa Riley
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2021-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

Ellen, this is your fangirl book.

Hopefully, someday, you and John Oliver will meet, but don’t marry him.

Chapter One

March 18, 1820, London, England

Ester Croome sank into the hammered copper tub and let the warm, sudsy water soak her skin, kissing her in her favorite lilac scent. A copy of the Morning Post sat on the floor of the bathing room with big, wet fingerprints atop her friend’s advertisement for a marriage of convenience and a brutal review of her favorite actor, Arthur Bex.

“Miss Croome,” Mrs. Fitterwall, the family’s Irish housekeeper, said as she entered the bathing room with a silver pitcher high in her hands. “You must be part fish.”

Bashful, even to another woman, Ester ducked into the suds until just her neck showed. “You should knock, Mrs. Fitterwall.”

“I’ve been working here five years, and you’re still a shy one, Miss Croome, but you can’t lay about in the tub all morn. You’ve an appointment in town and then must come back and get ready for the party. No dawdling for a Croome.”

The woman glanced at the walls. “Your mother has only a few more things to restore and then everything will be done at Nineteen Fournier.”

Only an Olympian acanthus leaf indention in the molding needed fixing in the salmon-pink room. Her mother had three passions: Nineteen Fournier, newspapers, and knitting. Poor Mama. She needed something to be happy about.

“Come on, Miss Croome. I must rinse you off. Is that your mother’s Morning Post? She’ll be looking for it.”

Ester didn’t reply as the woman carefully poured the pitcher over her. It wasn’t time to wash her hair, and tender-headed Ester was grateful, but a splash too much of water would reduce her braided chignon to frizzy tangles. Wet Blackamoor hair could be unruly. At least Ester’s curls were.

“Don’t you fret. Not a drop of water will dampen your head. Your Mama’s big party is tonight. Five years in this house. You must look your best.” Mrs. Fitterwall gathered a robe and readied a fresh towel.

Ester unfolded her arms from about her bosom, a touch too large for her small height, stepped into the soft cotton, winding it tightly about her, then she dove into the robe the woman held out.

“The way you carry on, you’d think you hated baths.” The woman chuckled, but Ester didn’t think it funny. She was shy and small, but in her heart roared a lion. Someday she’d find the strength to show the world.

“I’ll send the maid to your room to help you dress.” She scooped up the paper and shook it as Ester rubbed lotion on to her hands. “And hurry. I think your father’s discussing your birthday.” The woman winked at her. “If you’re quick, you might find out what big surprise he has for you.”

But Ester was unmoved.

Papa always made a big to-do out of birthdays and holidays, but things hadn’t been right between them for a while. With a sigh, she offered Mrs. Fitterwall a small smile, then dashed to her room to dress.

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