Nancy_Jim

[ON HIATUS!!!!]

What are the chances that a selfish, spoiled and arrogant daughter of a noble man in the little town of Griffinwald would fall head over heels in love with a foreigner, an affluent merchant who bathes in the very waters of pride, arrogance and bloated ego?

 What are the odds that the universe would plan their meet in the most dramatic way; a missing handkerchief flying off with the wind; Scared horses whinning loudly in the distance, a banging thunderstorm is the grand plan.

 What if this merchant has travelled this far to seek out a certain girl who should become his bride, only to land his heart in another woman's bosoms? 

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EXCERPT
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"The housekeeper is not," said she. "And I am not dumb enough as you think. I can figure my way out of here."


"You can?"


"Yes, I can."


"Hm." Rochester travelled his hand up to his lips. Bussing his mouth sensually with his thumb, he felt his lips divide. Hoping it would have the desired effect on the girl, he said, "I am still confused. Why haven't you left here already? Is there perhaps something else you would need me to do for you? Want to warm my bed perhaps?"


"You are disgusting, sir! And I hate you!" Louisa yelled, and in a couple of sprints, she was outside his chamber, shutting the door with a slam.


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PS. This book is set in thesame fantasy world as my other book, "The Dark Lord's Maiden." You could add up the other book to binge read up to the latest chapters to understand the personality of these characters. But then again this book can also be read as a stand-alone, apart from TDLM.

NOTE BELOW!

The first chapter has been renamed “Prologue [Silver blue] ” and the former content has been changed. Please clear cache or re-add to Library if you cannot access it.

Cheers! And happy reading

COVER ART BELONGS TO ME. DO NOT STEAL!
ínstαgrαm hαndlє: @nαncчjímσffícíαl
fαcєвσσk @ Nαncєє Jímí
fα¢євσσк ραgє @ｎａｎｃｙ ｗｒｉｔｅｓ

The Merchant's Bride

IT'S NOT MUD.… So then what was it? Blood? Whose blood? Her expression flickered a million changes in that moment that she looked at him, the tragic - news-bearer. Crossing her arms under her breasts, her jaw muscles jutting, she slouched for a bit before tapping on her feet. Nervously at first. Then she stopped. Lips pressed firmly shut, and shrunken eyes, she seemed to wrestle with herself, pondering.…


What exactly was Preston saying? She thought that there was no way something could have happened to Rochester. Because why should it?


"Yeess?" The boy plucked his hands from inside his pocket where he'd found a handkerchief. He began swabbing the debris off his shirt. Louisa, whose eyes were briefly distracted as he did that, picked the clear red stains that smeared on the white hankie. She could not deny it anymore—that was blood on Preston's shirt— but it did not mean that his report concerning Rochester was accurate because of that.


Bad Luck.