Hello readers! It's been a while, but I'm excited to share my review for the newest Mary Balogh historical romance in the Westcott series. I've loved this series from the start, and Someone to Care is another beautiful story! I have my review, an excerpt and giveaway to share. Make sure to scroll down to the bottom and fill out the rafflecopter for a chance to win!
Someone to Care (Westcott #4) by Mary Balogh
Publication date: May 1st 2018
Publisher: Berkely
My rating: 3.5 Stars
Pages: 384
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | TBD | Kobo
Once the Countess of Riverdale, Viola Kingsley throws all caution
to the wind when adventure calls in the form of a handsome aristocrat. .
. .
Two years after the death of the Earl of Riverdale, his
family has overcome the shame of being stripped of their titles and
fortune--except for his onetime countess, Viola. With her children grown
and herself no longer part of the social whirl of the ton, she is
uncertain where to look for happiness--until quite by accident her path
crosses once again with that of the Marquess of Dorchester, Marcel
Lamarr.
Marcel Lamarr has been a notorious womanizer since the
death of his wife nearly twenty years earlier. Viola caught his eye when
she herself was a young mother, but she evaded his seduction at the
time. A prize that eluded him before, she is all the more irresistible
to him now although he is surprised to discover that she is as eager now
for the excitement he offers as he is himself.
When the two defy
convention and run away together, they discover that the ties of
respectability are not so easily severed, and pleasure can ensnare you
when you least expect it.
My Thoughts:
Viola Kingsley used to be the Countess of Riverdale until
she found out the marriage was invalid since her late husband was already
married to another woman. She and her children
lost the title and fortune, but in the time since her family has rallied around
her, and her children have come through remarkably well. Still, Viola hasn’t really dealt with her
feelings about the whole situation and suddenly, she’s feels the need to escape
the family gathering she’s attending.
Hiring a carriage and fleeing for home, she becomes stranded in a small town
when the carriage breaks down.
This is where she runs into Marcel Lamarr, The Marquess of
Dorchester, and prior acquaintance. The
man was temptation personified, but as a married woman, as she thought, Viola
turned him down. Now seeing him again,
fourteen years later, his appeal hasn’t diminished. They run off together, both trying to escape
life temporarily, and they do, for a while.
Mary Balogh is one of my favorite historical romance writers,
and I’ve loved all the stories in this Westcott series. Viola and Marcel have aches in their heart
each escape by running away together and enjoying each other’s company, both physically
and mentally. They have meaningful conversations, steamy nights, and grow
closer than they thought possible. The
cottage in Devonshire where they spent their time was dreamily described and
sounded gorgeous!
I was a little disappointed Viola and Marcel kept their true
feelings, both deeper than they wanted to admit, from each other. It was obvious to everyone that they loved
each other, but their pride and worry over being more hurt stopped them from sharing
what was in their heart and it went on longer than I would’ve liked. I’m thrilled with how it all turned out at
any rate, and although this wasn’t my favorite installment, I still heartily recommend
it.
Excerpt:
It felt like a lifetime. Or like something from another
life altogether. But here he was, fourteen years older and fourteen years more
attractive, though there was a greater hardness now to the handsome, austere
features. She wondered, as she had wondered at the time, why he had taken her
literally at her word. He did not seem like a man who took kindly to being told
no. But she had told him to go away and he had gone. His feelings for her, of
course, had not run more than skin-deep. Or groin deep, to be more blunt about
it. And there had been plenty of other women only too happy to jump to his
every command.
“I stand corrected,” he said in that soft voice she
remembered well. He had never been a man who needed to raise his voice. “Was there a time limit?”
How did one answer such a question? Well, with a simple no,
she supposed. There was no time limit. She had sent him away and had intended
that it be forever. But here she was alone in a room with him fourteen years
later, and he had spoken to her again and asked a question. He did not wait for
the answer, though.
“Now how am I to interpret your silence?” He strolled to
the table nearest the door, pulled out a chair, and sat on it, crossing one
elegantly booted leg over the other as he did so. “Having sent me away once,
you have nothing more to say to me? But you have already said
something. You have corrected my defective memory. Could it be, then, that you
hate to repeat yourself by inviting me yet again to go to the devil? Or could
it be that you do not wish to admit that company—any
company, even mine—is preferable to none at all when one is stranded in a
godforsaken village somewhere in the wilds of England? I assume you are stranded and have not come here with the express purpose
of jollificating with the locals and helping save them from being rained upon
on Sunday mornings?”
The mere sound of his voice sent chills up her spine. Just
because it was so soft? And because he spoke unhurriedly, with the absolute
certainty that no one would dream of cutting him off?
“Jollificating?” she said. “Is it a
word?”
“If it is not,” he said, his eyebrows lifting, “then it
ought to be. Perhaps I should give serious consideration to writing a
dictionary. What do you think? Do you believe it would rival Dr. Johnson’s?”
“With a one-word entry?” she said. “I very much doubt it,
Mr. Lamarr.”
“Ah, but you do me an injustice,” he said. “I could think
of ten words without having to frown in thought and pummel my brow. But why is
it you will not answer a direct question? Was there a
time limit? And are you stranded? All alone?”
“The axle of the carriage in which I am traveling came
perilously close to breaking,” she said. “The coachman does not believe we will
be able to resume the journey until tomorrow morning at the earliest.” Why was
she explaining?
“I took a glance out into the innyard before stepping in
here,” he said. “There is no sign of a private carriage. Has yours by chance
made off without you, the imperiled axle story just one big hoax to be rid of
you? But that is unlikely, I must admit. You did not—surely—arrive here in that
apology for a conveyance that is listing hard to the northwest and looking for
all the world as though it will not be fit to go anywhere for the next eternity
or two. Or did you? A hired carriage, Lady Riverdale?”
“That is no longer my name,” she said.
“A hired carriage, Miss Kingsley?”
He sounded pained.
“How are the mighty fallen?” she said. “Was that your
meaning, Mr. Lamarr? Then why not say so?”
Long, elegant fingers closed about the handle of his
quizzing glass, but he did not raise it to his eye. “Riverdale was a
blackguard,” he said. “If it was your idea to completely disassociate yourself
from him, even in name, then I congratulate you. You are better off without the
connection. Kingsley is your maiden name, I assume?”
She did not answer. She looked down at her coffee in order
to break eye contact with him. There was still half a cup left. It would be
cold by now, though. Besides, she was not sure her hand would be steady enough
to lift the cup without revealing her agitation.
“Miss Kingsley,” he said after a few moments of silence had
passed. “Are you going to send me away again? And spend
the rest of the day alone?”
The lovely people of Berkley have kindly provided a Paperback Copy of Someone to Care to one lucky reader. Giveaway is open to US Residents only. Fill out the rafflecopter below for a chance to win.
