By Ann Herendeen
The meddling moms of the Regency could do something to wed their daughters to Andrew Carrington, the rich, good-looking, and athletic inheritor to an earldom. there's one challenge, besides the fact that. No lady in all England might go well with the decided bachelor, for Andrew a long way prefers the corporate of men—at his desk and in his bed room. yet with privilege comes accountability. Andrew needs to take a bride. And whereas Phyllida Lewis, the penniless, lively, and curvaceous writer of romantic novels, isn't fairly what his kinfolk had in brain, a wedding to her may let Andrew to stay his existence as he pleases. the arriving of Matthew Thornby, the honorable and rushing son of a self-made baronet, into their comfortable association makes Andrew's happiness whole. but a clever enemy is ready within the wings, threatening to show them all—an act that might absolutely bring about scandal and spoil.
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Additional resources for Phyllida and the Brotherhood of Philander: A Novel
Well, he wasn’t with a mistress, who might expect some attention to her sexual gratification. He was with his wife, and all he really had to do was take her maidenhood. If he gave her little pleasure, P H Y L L I D A and the B R O T H E R H O O D of P H I L A N D E R 45 the feeling would be mutual. The arrangement was all spelled out. He could get her pregnant easily enough, assuming she was fertile, and that he was. He took it for granted he was, how not? But that was a gamble all men took. Enough, he told himself.
The young man seemed most impressed. Phyllida smiled. “Oh yes,” she said. ” Andrew turned to stare at her. “Do you mean to say you have written and sold two works of fiction, and not breathed a word to me? ” Phyllida blushed, looking as abashed as if discovered in adultery. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. They are women’s novels, you know, romances. Men hardly ever read that sort of thing. And I don’t use my own name. ” “Fanny Burney,” Andrew said. ” The others looked at him in confusion.
Obviously virtuous, he thought, despite the frank manner. A little too prim, perhaps, but far, far better than a worldly, cynical lady of fashion who would attempt to manipulate his every waking moment and most of his sleeping ones. “You forget, my dear,” he said, “that I am a man for men. I have seen you, spoken to you, and I have learned that you are pretty, intel P H Y L L I D A and the B R O T H E R H O O D of P H I L A N D E R 27 ligent, chaste, and much more interesting than I had hoped.