The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband
Rokesbys #2
By: Julia Quinn
Releasing May
30, 2017
Avon
Avon
While you
were sleeping...
With her brother Thomas injured on the battlefront in the
Colonies, orphaned Cecilia Harcourt has two unbearable choices: move in with a
maiden aunt or marry a scheming cousin. Instead, she chooses option three and
travels across the Atlantic, determined to nurse her brother back to health.
But after a week of searching, she finds not her brother but his best friend,
the handsome officer Edward Rokesby. He's unconscious and in desperate need of
her care, and Cecilia vows that she will save this soldier's life, even if
staying by his side means telling one little lie...
I told
everyone I was your wife
When Edward comes to, he's more than a little confused. The
blow to his head knocked out six months of his memory, but surely he would
recall getting married. He knows who Cecilia Harcourt is—even if he does not
recall her face—and with everyone calling her his wife, he decides it must be
true, even though he'd always assumed he'd marry his neighbor back in England.
If only it
were true...
Cecilia risks her entire future by giving herself—completely—to
the man she loves. But when the truth comes out, Edward may have a few
surprises of his own for the new Mrs. Rokesby.
It's been a while since I last read a Julia Quinn book. I know, she has a lot of books. If you seen my TBR list you would be like how the heck is she ever get that done in her life time. Anyway, I wanted to read the book for the title alone. Seriously, The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband. First off, it's a mouthful and doesn't really roll off the tongue, but it's fun to say.
We have Cecilia Harcourt who is worried about her brother and decides to cross the sea to find her brother in America. After all he's fighting for the British, when she gets there she doesn't find her brother but his best friend, Edward Rokesby. She's worry about both of them, but she can't be near Edward cause she's not family. So, she pretends to be his husband while he's out. Eventually, he wakes up, and tries to make sense of all that happens. So, through most of the book we have Cecilia and Edward looking for her brother, and at the same time getting the run around. Plus, Cecilia is trying to keep up the lies she has told everyone, while trying to find her brother.
All right, I did like The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband. I found it entertaining, and yes I was waiting for the ball to drop with Cecilia's lie. Overall, the story was pretty good. If you are like me, and haven't read the first book, you are pretty safe. The story focuses on Cecilia and Edward trying to get Edward's memory, and try to find her brother. You're staying in colonies in this story.
Copy provided by Avon via Edelweiss.
We have Cecilia Harcourt who is worried about her brother and decides to cross the sea to find her brother in America. After all he's fighting for the British, when she gets there she doesn't find her brother but his best friend, Edward Rokesby. She's worry about both of them, but she can't be near Edward cause she's not family. So, she pretends to be his husband while he's out. Eventually, he wakes up, and tries to make sense of all that happens. So, through most of the book we have Cecilia and Edward looking for her brother, and at the same time getting the run around. Plus, Cecilia is trying to keep up the lies she has told everyone, while trying to find her brother.
All right, I did like The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband. I found it entertaining, and yes I was waiting for the ball to drop with Cecilia's lie. Overall, the story was pretty good. If you are like me, and haven't read the first book, you are pretty safe. The story focuses on Cecilia and Edward trying to get Edward's memory, and try to find her brother. You're staying in colonies in this story.
Copy provided by Avon via Edelweiss.
Excerpt:
Manhattan Island
July 1779
His
head hurt.
Correction,
his head really hurt.
It
was hard to tell, though, just what sort of pain it was. He might have been shot through the head
with a musket ball. That seemed plausible, given his current location in New
York (or was it Connecticut?) and his current occupation as a captain in His
Majesty’s army.
There
was a war going on, in case one hadn’t noticed.
But
this particular pounding—the one that felt more like someone was bashing his
skull with a cannon (not a cannonball,
mind you, but an actual cannon) seemed to indicate that he had been attacked
with a blunter instrument than a bullet.
An
anvil, perhaps. Dropped from a second-story window.
But
if one cared to look on the bright side, a pain such as this did seem to
indicate that he wasn’t dead, which was also a plausible fate, given all the
same facts that had led him to believe he might have been shot.
That
war he’d mentioned... people did die.
With
alarming regularity.
So
he wasn’t dead. That was good. But he also wasn’t sure where he was, precisely.
The obvious next step would be to open his eyes, but his eyelids were
translucent enough for him to realize that it was the middle of the day, and
while he did like to look on the metaphorical bright side, he was fairly
certain that the literal one would prove blinding.
So
he kept his eyes closed.
But
he listened.
He
wasn’t alone. He couldn’t make out any actual conversation, but a low buzz of
words and activity filtered through the air. People were moving about, setting
objects on tables, maybe pulling a chair across the floor.
Someone
was moaning in pain.
Most
of the voices were male, but there was at least one lady nearby. She was close
enough that he could hear her breathing. She made little noises as she went
about her business, which he soon realized included tucking blankets around him
and touching his forehead with the back of her hand.
He
liked these little noises, the tiny little mmms
and sighs she probably had no idea she was making. And she smelled nice, a bit
like lemons, a bit like soap.
And
a bit like hard work.
He
knew that smell. He’d worn it himself, albeit usually only briefly until it
turned into a full-fledged stink.
On
her, though, it was more than pleasant. Perhaps a little earthy. And he
wondered who she was, to be tending to him so diligently.
“How
is he today?”
Edward
held himself still. This male voice was new, and he wasn’t sure he wanted
anyone to know he was awake yet.
Although
he wasn’t sure why he felt this
hesitancy.
“The
same,” came the woman’s reply.
“I
am concerned. If he doesn’t wake up soon...”
“I
know,” the woman said. There was a touch of irritation in her voice, which
Edward found curious.
“Have
you been able to get him to take broth?”
“Just
a few spoonfuls. I was afraid he would choke if I attempted any more than
that.”
The
man made a vague noise of approval. “Remind me how long he has been like this?”
“A
week, sir. Four days before I arrived, and three since.”
A
week. Edward thought about this. A week meant it must be... March? April?
No,
maybe it was only February. And this was probably New York, not Connecticut.
But
that still didn’t explain why his head hurt so bloody much. Clearly he’d been
in some sort of an accident. Or had he been attacked?
“There
has been no change at all?” the man asked, even though the lady had just said
as much.
But
she must have had far more patience than Edward, because she replied in a
quiet, clear voice, “No, sir. None.”
The
man made a noise that wasn’t quite a grunt. Edward found it impossible to
interpret.
“Er...”
The woman cleared her throat. “Have you any news of my brother?”
Her
brother? Who was her brother?
“I
am afraid not, Mrs. Rokesby.”
Mrs. Rokesby?
“It has been nearly two months,” she said quietly.
Mrs. Rokesby? Edward really wanted them
to get back to that point. There was only one Rokesby in North America as far
as he knew, and that was him. So if she was Mrs. Rokesby...
“I
think,” the male voice said, “that your energies would be better spent tending
to your husband.”
Husband?
“I
assure you,” she said, and there was that touch of irritation again, “that I
have been caring for him most faithfully.”
Husband?
They were calling him her husband?
Was he married? He couldn’t be married. How could he be married and not
remember it?
Who was this woman?
Edward’s
heart began to pound. What the devil was happening to him?
“Did
he just make a noise?” the man asked.
“I...
I don’t think so.”
She
moved then, quickly. Hands touched him, his cheek, then his chest, and even
through her obvious concern, there was something soothing in her motions,
something undeniably right.
“Edward?”
she asked, taking his hand. She stroked it several times, her fingers brushing
lightly over his skin. “Can you hear me?”
He
ought to respond. She was worried. What kind of gentleman did not act to
relieve a lady’s distress?
“I
fear he may be lost to us,” the man said, with far less gentleness than Edward
thought appropriate.
“He
still breathes,” the woman said in a steely voice.
The
man said nothing, but his expression must have been one of pity, because she
said it again, more loudly this time.
“He still breathes.”
“Mrs.
Rokesby...”
Edward
felt her hand tighten around his. Then she placed her other on top, her fingers
resting lightly on his knuckles. It was the smallest sort of embrace, but
Edward felt it down to his soul.
“He
still breathes, Colonel,” she said with quiet resolve. “And while he does, I
will be here. I may not be able to help Thomas, but—”
Thomas. Thomas Harcourt. That was the connection. This must be
his sister. Cecilia. He knew her well.
Or
not. He’d never actually met the lady, he felt
like he knew her. She wrote to her brother with a diligence that was unmatched
in the regiment. Thomas received twice as much mail as Edward, and Edward had
four siblings to Thomas’s one.
Cecilia
Harcourt. What on earth was she doing in North America? She was supposed to be
in Derbyshire, in that little town Thomas had been so eager to leave. The one
with the hot springs. Matlock. No, Matlock Bath.
Edward
had never been, but he thought it sounded charming. Not the way Thomas
described it, of course; he liked the bustle of city life and couldn’t wait to
take a commission and depart his village. But Cecilia was different. In her
letters, the small Derbyshire town came alive, and Edward almost felt that he
would recognize her neighbors if he ever went to visit.
She
was witty. Lord, she was witty. Thomas used to laugh so much at her missives
that Edward finally made him read them out loud.
Then
one day, when Thomas was penning his response, Edward interrupted so many times
that Thomas finally shoved out his chair and held forth his quill.
“You
write to her,” he’d said.
So
he did.
Not
on his own, of course. Edward could never have written to her directly. It
would have been the worst sort of impropriety, and he would not have insulted
her in such a manner. But he took to scribbling a few lines at the end of
Thomas’s letters, and whenever she replied, she had a few lines for him.
Thomas
carried a miniature of her, and even though he said it was several years old,
Edward had found himself staring at it, studying the small portrait of the
young woman, wondering if her hair really was that remarkable golden color, or
if she really did smile that way, lips closed and mysterious.
Somehow
he thought not. She did not strike him as a woman with secrets. Her smile would
be sunny and free. Edward had even thought he’d like to meet her once this
godforsaken war was over. He’d never said anything to Thomas, though.
That
would have been strange.
Now
Cecilia was here. In the colonies. Which made absolutely no sense, but then
again, what did? Edward’s head was injured, and Thomas seemed to be missing,
and...
Edward
thought hard.
...and
he seemed to have married Cecilia Harcourt.
He
opened his eyes and tried to focus on the green-eyed woman peering down at him.
“Cecilia?”
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