The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [132]
3. Many readers have asked me why I’m rewriting fairy tales. The answer has to do with my father, Robert Bly, and his interest in reworking fairy tales (most famously, Iron John). But I also like them because they present a challenge: can I surprise my readers when they already know the outlines of the plot? If you enjoyed tracing how the design of The Princess and the Pea appeared and disappeared in The Duke Is Mine, you might also enjoy A Kiss at Midnight, my adaptation of Cinderella, as well as my version of one of everyone’s favorite fairy tales, When Beauty Tamed the Beast. I’m often asked whether I’ll write more fairy tales; as I write this letter, I’m working on The Ugly Duchess (Duckling), and I can envision at least one more fairy tale after that.
I hope you enjoyed The Duke Is Mine—and any other books of mine that you might read. If you’d like more information about my novels, just check out my website, www.eloisajames.com. And I’m often on Facebook, at www.facebook.com/eloisajamesfans. I’d love to chat with you there.
With very best wishes,
Eloisa
Here's a sneak peek
at the newest romance from Eloisa James,
The Ugly Duchess,
available September 2012
from Avon Books
A Rather Long Preface
March 1805
45 Berkeley Square
The London residence of the Duke of Ashbrook
“You’ll have to marry her. I don’t care if you think of her like a sister: from now on, she’s the golden fleece to you.”
James Ryburn, Earl of Islay, and future Duke of Ashbrook, opened his mouth to say something, but a mixture of rage and disbelief choked his throat.
His father turned and walked toward the far wall of his library, acting as if he’d said nothing particularly out of the ordinary. “We need her fortune to repair the Staffordshire estate and pay a few debts, or we’re going to lose it all, this townhouse included.”
“What have you done?” James spat the words. A pounding, terrible feeling of dread was spreading up his limbs.
Ashbrook pivoted. “Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone!”
James was aware of rage burning up his spine and took a deep breath before answering. One of his resolutions was to master his temper before turning twenty—and his birthday was a mere three weeks away. “Excuse me, Father,” he managed through stiff lips. “Exactly how did the estate come to be in such danger, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I do mind your asking.” The duke stared back at his only son, his long, aquiline nose quivering with rage. James came by his temper naturally; he inherited it straight from his irascible, reckless father.
“In that case, I will bid you good day,” James said, keeping his tone even.
“Not unless you’re going downstairs to make eyes at that girl. I turned down an offer for her hand this week from Briscott, so I didn’t feel I had to tell her mother. But you know damn well her father left the decision over who marries his daughter to her mother—”
“I have no knowledge of the contents of Mr. Saxby’s will,” James stated. “And I fail to see why that particular provision should cause you such annoyance.”
“Because we need her damned fortune,” Ashbrook raged, walking to the fireplace and giving the unlit logs a kick. “You need to convince Dora that you’re in love with her, or her mother will never agree to the match. Just last week, Mrs. Saxby inquired about a few of my investments in a manner that I did not appreciate. Doesn’t know a woman’s place.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.”
“You’ll do exactly as I instruct you.”
“You’re instructing me to