A tale of surviving battles, plots and love in the Golden Age.
Frances Walsingham is the only child of Sir Francis Walsingham, Queen Elizabeth I’s infamous spymaster. Frances might be ignorant about court life, but she is resilient, and level-headed. These are all attributes she will rely on in the coming years as she faces new challenges and tragedies.
It all begins when her father asks her to marry for the good of the realm. Despite her misgivings, she finds duty can be a pleasure. Slowly, Frances finds herself drawn to her new handsome husband even though she knows his heart belongs to another.
Follow her journey as she carves out her own path and searches for happiness.
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Historical fiction with a dash of romance for those who love the Tudors.
This book can be read as a standalone.
Written in UK English.
Also check out the accompanying novella with Frances called: The Lady's Season.
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Preview:
“If it is about money, I am afraid my father was insolvent. He owed money to every lender in London.”
He shakes his head furiously. “No, it’s not about money. Well, not your father’s.”
He speaks the last so low that I think I am mistaken. “My lord?”
He approaches me, fixing me with that intense gaze of his. I can see why so many women are eager to fall at his feet. I blink, thinking I am mistaken in seeing him looking at me with so much desire.
“Lady Frances, I wish to make you my wife.”
I am struck dumb by his words. Then I decide this must be some cruel jest and laugh. “You cannot be serious.” Behind me I can hear Marta cough.
He takes a step forward, his face emotionless.
“I haven’t come here to make sport of you. I am intent on making you my bride.”
“And what if I won’t have you?” I throw back at him, ignoring my quickening pulse. The thought of marrying him is too much.
“I think you will.”
He is standing in front of me so close I catch the scent of his perfumed leather gloves. Remembering myself, I take a step back.
“Is this the way you seduce your conquests? Do you promise them marriage?”
“No. You are the first,” he says. His gaze flits between me and what is likely a disapproving Marta behind me. I can tell how desperately he wishes she wasn’t here. Meanwhile, my mind provides me with ample suggestions of what he might do. My eyes slide from his eyes down to his full lips. But reality strikes me hard.
“And only?” I cannot help but ask.
“And only,” he parrots back.
My eyebrows rise at this love talk. Over the last few years, I have become hard as beaten steel, hammered into shape by despair and loss....
