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“I fancy it adds gravitas,” Lavinia said happily. “Making me look dignified, if not philosophical. Like you in your spectacles!”

“I only wish my spectacles were as charming as your plume,” Willa said, laughing.

“What are you reading about now?” Lavinia asked, dropping onto the arm of Willa’s chair.

“Pliny’s account of the eruption that buried Pompeii. Just imagine: his uncle headed directly into the smoke, determined to rescue survivors. And he wanted Pliny to go with him.”

“Lord Wilde would have gone straight to the disaster as well,” Lavinia said with a look of dreamy infatuation.

Willa rolled her eyes. “Then he would have perished, just as Pliny’s uncle did. I must say, Wilde sounds like just the type to run straight at danger.”

“But he’d be running toward danger in order to save people,” Lavinia pointed out. “You can’t criticize that.” She was used to Willa’s scoffing at the explorer whom she claimed to love above all else.

Except new hats.

And Willa.

“I am so happy my bonnet came in time for the house party at Lindow Castle,” she said, “which reminds me that the trunks are stowed and Mother would like to leave after luncheon.”

“Of course!” Willa jumped to her feet and tucked her spectacles and book into a small traveling bag.

“I am looking forward to seeing Lord Wilde’s childhood home,” Lavinia said, with a happy sigh. “I mean to sneak up to the nursery as soon as I can.”

“Why?” Willa inquired. “Are you planning to take a keepsake? A toy he once played with, perhaps?”

“The gardeners can’t keep the flowerbeds at the castle intact,” Lavinia said with a giggle. “People want to press flowers between the pages of his books.”

Willa could scarcely imagine the chaos if Lord Wilde himself made an appearance, but the man hadn’t been seen in England for years. If you believed the popular prints, he was too busy wrestling giant squid and fighting pirates.

Sometimes Willa felt as if a fever had swept the kingdom—or at least the female half of it—leaving her unscathed.

During the Season that just ended, young ladies had talked very little about the men whom they might well marry and spend a lifetime with, and a great deal about the author of books such as Wilde Sargasso Sea.

Wilde Sargasso Sea? Wilde Latitudes?

The only rational response was a snort.

Willa was fairly certain that in person, Lord Wilde would resemble every other man: likely to belch, smell of whiskey, and ogle a woman’s bosom on occasion.

She tucked her hand under Lavinia’s arm and brought her to her feet. “Let’s go, then. Off to Lindow Castle to burgle the nursery!”

Storming the Castle

Keep reading for Eloisa James’s

Storming the Castle

One of Eloisa’s delightful fairytale-inspired novellas, in which a young lady flees her boorish fiancé and becomes the nursemaid in a castle, where she encounters the rakish son of a grand duke who has vowed never to wed. He offers her everything—but not his hand in marriage.

Can this fairytale possibly have a happy ending?

Chapter One

The residence of

Phineas Damson, Esq.

Little Ha’penny, Lancashire