From the author of Mr. Malcolm’s List comes a delightful romantic comedy set in Regency England about a widow who takes high society by storm.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Suzanne Allain’s The Ladies Rewrite the Rules, which is out January 9th 2024.
Diana Boyle, a wealthy young widow, has no desire to ever marry again. Particularly not to someone who merely wants her for her fortune.
So when she discovers that she’s listed in a directory of rich, single women she is furious, and rightly so. She confronts Maxwell Dean, the man who published the Bachelor’s Directory , and is horrified to find he is far more attractive than his actions have led her to expect. However, Diana is unmoved by Max’s explanation that he authored the list to assist younger sons like himself who cannot afford to marry unless it’s to a woman of means.
She gathers the ladies in the directory together to inform them of its existence, so they may circumvent fortune hunters’ efforts to trick them into marriage. Though outraged, the women decide to embrace their unique position of power and reverse the usual gender roles by making the men dance to their tune. And together… the ladies rewrite the rules.
Introduction
When Diana Boyle discovers that she’s been listed in a directory of rich single women published for the benefit of younger sons looking for a rich wife, she confronts its author…
“Mr. Dean,” the lady said, fumbling in the reticule she carried and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “I believe you’re the author of this document, are you not?” She pronounced “document” with a distinct curl of her pretty lips, as if it were an obscene word.
Max was astounded to see she was holding his directory, and it never even occurred to him to try to deny authorship. “Why, however did you discover that?”
“It’s true, then? You admit you are its author?” Mrs.
Boyle asked.
Her attitude was beginning to affect Max, and his welcoming smile faded in the face of such obvious hostility. “It is not a crime, Mrs. Boyle, and neither is this a court of law. I have no hesitation in admitting I prepared that document, though I am at a loss as to why you are in my rooms demanding that I do so.”
“Well, Mr. Dean, I would never want to discompose you in any way, so allow me to make it completely clear why I had the audacity to violate your privacy by appearing, without warning or permission, in your rooms,” Mrs. Boyle said, her tone fairly dripping with sarcasm. She then flipped a few pages forward in the directory and stood up to walk over to where he sat on the sofa.
Max jumped to his feet immediately (as a gentleman he couldn’t remain seated while she was not), but he had finally understood the source of her displeasure during her accusatory speech, even though he hadn’t initially recognized her name. There were dozens of ladies listed in his directory, so he couldn’t be expected to remember every one.
And at the moment he could barely remember his own name, so close was she standing to him. Apparently she wanted there to be no possibility of his missing what had so enraged her, and was therefore holding the directory right in front of his face. Her proximity was causing him to feel short of breath, and he looked unseeingly at the page for a long moment as she waited, her finger pointing to the relevant entry. Her skirts were brushing his leg and a faint scent of lavender wafted up to him from her person, and he had great difficulty marshaling his thoughts. He was not sure how long they stood there in silence—it might have been seconds or minutes, it felt like time was both rushing by and standing still—until the maid sneezed and broke the spell that had held them in thrall. Mrs. Boyle finally stepped away, and after she’d resumed her seat, Max dropped back down onto the sofa.
“Well? Have you nothing to say?” Diana asked indignantly, though she’d had to stoke her anger by reminding herself how despicable Mr. Dean was and what a terrible thing he’d done. She hadn’t thought much about what her archenemy would look like, except to suppose that his outward appearance would be in keeping with his fiendish character. However, this was one of the most attractive men it had ever been her misfortune to meet. His hair was neither light nor dark but had shades of both and fell in disordered waves above gray-blue eyes. Nor was he an oily, uncouth oaf; his manners were pleasing, and his smile had caused an unfamiliar tingling sensation in her stomach. His rooms, while simply and sparsely decorated, were clean, as was his person, and when they’d been standing so close to each other, she’d been amazed at the feeling that seemed to have sparked between them, an exhilarating tension she’d never before experienced.
But she reminded herself that the devil himself could transform into an angel of light, and that she had absolutely no interest in men, even handsome ones. Especially handsome ones.
“I gather you’re not happy about your inclusion in this document,” Mr. Dean said mildly, as if it were a trifling matter. Diana was pleased by this response, because of how greatly it displeased her. She no longer had to pretend she was angry; her anger had returned in full measure.
“Not happy? Not happy? That might be the most egregious understatement I’ve ever heard in my life! Would you be happy to find perfect strangers on your doorstep, angling for a dinner invitation, in pursuit of a wealthy bride?”
“Did that happen to you?” Maxwell asked, surprised. “What did you expect to happen when you published my bank balance, marital status, and direction for the world to see?” Diana said, congratulating herself on having finally brought the man to a realization of his shameless behavior.
“I sincerely beg your pardon for the inconvenience, Mrs. Boyle, but couldn’t you simply have told them you were not at home?”
Since this was an unanswerable question, Diana didn’t attempt to reply, but returned to the main point of the discussion: “Why would you do such a thing, Mr. Dean, without first asking permission?”
“It just never occurred to me . . . I mean, I thought I was performing a service . . .” His sentence trailed off, and he ran his hand nervously through the wavy hair that fell on his forehead, before beginning again. “Impoverished young ladies come out in society every year with the obvious intention of finding a rich man to marry, and I thought, ‘What’s sauce for the goose—’”
“Please tell me you aren’t using a nursery rhyme to justify your behavior!” Diana interrupted him.
“It’s a respected proverb,” Mr. Dean said defensively. “That a man wrote!” Diana replied.
There was a chuckle, quickly suppressed, from the corner, and Mr. Dean and Diana looked over at the maid, surprised to be reminded yet again that they were not alone.
“Beg pardon, ma’am,” the girl said, and gave a fake cough. “Had a tickle in my throat.” Diana thought it was a good thing Sally had no ambition to take up a career on the stage, because she was a terrible actress.
But the interruption had given Mr. Dean an opportunity to gather his defenses. “Mrs. Boyle, haven’t you ever known someone who was the victim of an ill-fated love affair? Who gave their heart to someone to whom they could not offer their hand? It would spare so much heartache if one could know before embarking on a courtship if it had any hope of succeeding.”
“I do not feel a marriage based on how much money a person has in the bank has much hope of succeeding in any case,” Diana said, grateful she was able to form a coherent response. She felt it very unfair that she had to argue with a man who spoke so passionately and eloquently about love, and who was so annoyingly attractive while doing so.
“Is that so? Can you tell me then, with no pang of conscience, that you married your husband purely for the sake of sentiment, with absolutely no consideration of his financial situation? If you can, then I will cease publication of my directory immediately, and even try to retrieve as many copies as I can of those that have already been purchased.”
Diana looked down, seemingly unable to meet Mr. Dean’s challenging gaze, before rising from her seat and gesturing to Sally. The girl got up and crossed to stand behind her mistress. Mr. Dean rose from his seat as well, and Diana, who had regained her composure, looked him straight in the eye.
“I have no need to tell you anything, Mr. Dean,” she said, holding out her hand to him.
He was surprised, but reached out to grasp her hand, thinking she had offered it to him to shake. However, when his hand touched hers, she jumped back as if she’d been scalded.
“I merely desired you to return my property,” she said, a little breathlessly, and he realized he still held the directory.
“Oh, of course,” he said, and was too gentlemanly to taunt her for asking for the despised document or inquire as to why she wanted it. He gave it to her and she turned to leave, her maid trailing at her heels.
“Wait!” Max called suddenly, and she paused in the doorway and looked back at him, raising her eyebrows in inquiry. “I am sorry, Mrs. Boyle, for offending you. I had no desire to cause anyone . . .” He paused for a moment, searching for the correct word. “. . . distress when publishing that directory. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
She nodded regally, as if she wished to acknowledge his apology without signifying her acceptance of it. “Unfortunately, I am not the only person to whom you owe an apology, Mr. Dean,” she said, and quickly left the room. Sally, who was not quite as swift as Mrs. Boyle, in more ways than one, stood gaping at Max for a moment before she followed her mistress into the hallway and closed the door behind them.
Max stood there, staring at the closed door, conscious that Mrs. Boyle had left a faint hint of her perfume behind to torment him with the thought that the amorphous scent was as fleeting and unattainable as she was.
Excerpted from The Ladies Rewrite the Rules by Suzanne Allain Copyright © 2024 by Suzanne Allain. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.
