When Felicity Thurston is caught alone with a man at a ball, she must marry him to avoid a ruined reputation. What she doesn’t know—he’s the brother of the man she loves.
I, Felicity Thurston, suffer from an incurable case of nerves. They attack with great zeal when I find myself the center of attention, regardless of whether or not I have taken measures to subdue them, and they have often made social gatherings unbearable. So when I met a man last summer who connected with me on a deeper level, I was certain at once that he could be the one. Henry Bradwell was both easy to converse with and an avid reader, and I spent the last eight months determining how I might contrive to further our acquaintance.
