The Trouble with Anna - Softcover

Griffiths, Rachel

 
9781668052945: The Trouble with Anna
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1668052946 ISBN 13: 9781668052945
Verlag: Gallery Books, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

A New York Public Library BEST BOOK OF 2025 and a Marie Claire 2025 BEST ROMANCE!

“A witty, charming, delight of a book!” —Evie Dunmore, USA TODAY bestselling author

A tart young woman and an arrogant lord collide in this flirty, sexy, and remarkably modern historical romance, perfect for fans of Bridgerton.

Anna didn’t intend to ride in a high-stakes horse race or start up a betting ring. She certainly didn’t mean to find herself in so many darkened corners with Lord Julian Ramsay, quarreling and kissing. But when her grandfather’s strange will stipulates that Anna must marry or she’ll be left broke, there’s nothing she won’t do to win her fight for independence. Even go head-to-head with Lord Ramsay, with her own heart as the prize.

Fans of the slow burn will devour this frenemies-to-lovers story perfect for fans of Sarah MacLean and Evie Dunmore.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rachel Griffiths is the author of The Trouble with Anna, which was named a New York Public Library 2025 Best Book and heralded by Marie Claire as one of the year’s best romances. Before turning to writing, Rachel was an editorial director at Scholastic, where she published more than twenty New York Times bestsellers. Learn more at rachelgriffithswrites.com and follow her on Instagram @rachel.griffiths.writes.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
LADY ANNA RESTON STOOD AT the bottom of a wide stone staircase, wearing a borrowed dress and a grim expression.

The great house at Mayne was lit up and glowing in the cold, with lanterns splashing light over the mellow limestone walls to bounce between the building’s crown of fanciful spires, and thousands of candles winking in clusters along the drive. Music, lively and quick, skipped down the steps toward her, and underneath it, Anna could hear the chatter of hundreds of thoroughly overexcited guests. Even the stars seemed to twinkle their brightest in the ink-black sky, as if they wanted to join the party.

Tonight’s ball was already a smashing success, destined to be talked about for years to come. Which was why, Anna thought bitterly, there was absolutely no reason for her to attend.

Two rows of footmen resplendent in navy and silver stood at the top of the stairs, blinking down at her as if wondering at her hesitation.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much for you?” she asked her grandfather, the Viscount Barton, standing ramrod straight beside her.

“I don’t plan to die just yet, girl! But for god’s sake, must we dawdle out in the cold? It’s bad enough that you dragged me here.”

Anna shot him a look. Only someone with the intelligence of a squirrel could think she wanted to be here, swaddled in a ridiculous confection of silk.

“We’d best get it over with,” she said, and took her grandfather’s arm.

The Viscount patted her hand. “Now you’re talking sense.”

Anna squared her shoulders and marched resolutely forward.

Gifford, the butler at Mayne, stood still as a statue at the entrance to the ballroom. He puffed out his chest, heavy with silver braid, and bellowed, “The Right Honorable Viscount Barton! Lady Anna Reston!”

As Anna passed through the door, Gifford whispered, “Lady Charlotte will be delighted to see you.”

“Thank you, Gifford,” Anna whispered back. “May I say how splendid you look tonight?”

The Viscount jostled his way into the crowd and Anna pushed after him, staring around the room. Charlotte had crammed it full of real orange trees, which Anna had to admit looked spectacular and smelled even better. Candles hung from the trees and lined the gallery where the musicians played, and the enormous chandelier overhead sparkled bright enough to blind her. Four long refreshment tables seemed to quiver under the weight of the food laid out on them, and in pride of place was an enormous iced copper bowl from which footmen scooped pale mounds of sorbet into what looked like—good lord, could those be hollowed-out lemons?

Still, Anna’s shoulders crawled up toward her ears, as if she were a turtle in need of a shell.

“Ah! At least there’s someone here worth talking to,” the Viscount cried, well within earshot of most of his neighbors. “Ramsay! Lord Ramsay! I must tell you about my horse.”

Anna turned hot, then cold.

Oh no. Not him! Not now!

Julian Aveton, the Earl Ramsay, turned around and Anna’s chest cracked open. She dropped her eyes to the gleaming floor, but it didn’t help—the sheer force of him still hit her like a slap. He was tall, with shoulders that were almost alarmingly wide, and thick chestnut hair cut a little long, a little unruly. He was handsome, almost insultingly so, as if the stark planes and angles of his face were designed expressly to muddle her senses. But it was his air of command that undid her completely—the sweeping intelligence of dark eyes that saw so much and were impressed with so little. Anna might have found him cold, or a little remote, except every once in a while something caught his attention and he sparked with laughter.

Lord Ramsay bowed. “Good evening, Lord Barton.”

“Ramsay! I have a horse I particularly wanted to—”

“Good evening to you as well, Lady Anna.”

Anna’s cheeks stained themselves red, her tongue tied itself into knots, and any scrap of brain that hadn’t already melted gathered itself up and scuttled away. He’s Lord Ramsay! she reminded herself firmly. He was miles above her. Miles above everyone, in fact. A man swooned over by society’s daughters, and mamas, and a shockingly large number of young society matrons. Swooned over by a good number of the men as well, from what she could see.

“Good evening,” she managed, though she fixed her gaze firmly on her slippers. She could feel him searching her face and squirmed, knowing he must wonder—if he thought of her at all—why his sister Charlotte had ever bothered to befriend her. Anna knew she was plain to look at and prickly to deal with, but she never felt it more sharply than when he was around.

“Ramsay, it’s about my Archer,” said the Viscount. “You’d be a fool not to put your mare—”

Lord Ramsay turned his attention to Anna’s grandfather and she took the opportunity to walk briskly in the other direction. It wasn’t convenient, it wasn’t sensible, and it certainly wasn’t pleasant to feel this way, yet Anna’s heart did giddy flips in her chest.

Stop it! Anna ordered her heart, but it thumped back at her rudely.

You barely even know the man! she argued, but her heart thrummed a ridiculous song about the lick of impatience in his eyes.

Oh, go stuff—

A ball of blush pink and bouncing black curls crashed into her.

“There you are!” cried Lady Charlotte. “I thought you’d never arrive. How do you like my party?”

“It’s glorious. I love it,” Anna lied loyally.

Charlotte beamed. “Let’s have a look at you. How does the gown I sent over fit?”

Oh dear. Not even a lie could save Anna now. The fit of the gown wasn’t too tragic, but somehow the apricot silk made her look paler and more pinched than ever, and it felt so odd against her skin that Anna kept twitching. All the other young women whirled around looking proud and glorious in their finery, but she yearned to be back in the sensible wool of her riding habits. There was nothing to do but shake her head and laugh. “I look a wreck, Charlotte. Even you have to admit it.”

Charlotte frowned. “Where’s the sash?”

Anna glanced down at herself. “Oh! I must have lost it in the carriage.”

“Anna, really! There’s no shape to the gown without the—never mind! You should have told me earlier that you had nothing to wear.”

“How was I to know my gown had a whacking great stain on it?”

“Yes, your one gown. And how many million riding habits do you have? If you would give me just a few hours at the village seamstress, I could—”

“Enough, Charlotte!” cried Anna. “I’m here, aren’t I? Surely that counts?”

Charlotte sighed. “I know how you feel about parties, but—”

A footman coughed discreetly at Charlotte’s elbow. “My lady, Gifford would like a word. There’s a troupe of fire-eaters on the doorstep, and—”

“Oh, have they arrived? Anna, I won’t be a moment. I promise...

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Verlag
Gallery Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2025
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1668052946
ISBN 13 
9781668052945
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
336
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV, GPSR Europäische Union
info@simonandschuster.nl

Herculesplein 96
Utrecht
3584 AA
Niederlande