With a boldly refreshing premise and a daring heroine to match, this delightful mystery series features the eldest daughter of the not-so-ill-fated Romeo and Juliet—20-year-old Rosie Montague, a young woman possessed of an irreverent wit, an independent spirit—and a penchant for sleuthing . . .
Gentle reader, I, Rosie Montague, present you with the tumultuous events of my recent months: despite my goal to remain a spinster, I fell instantly in love with Lysander of the House of Beautiful; suffered an unhappy betrothal to a duke, which ended in death for him and almost for me; am now entrapped by a compromising deceit plotted by the enamored Prince of Verona himself, Escalus . . .
Not only am I failing on the spinster front, but I have also failed to set an example for my seven siblings (soon to be eight, thanks to my parents’ embarrassingly undying passion.) Specifically, 13-year-old Katherina, along with her friend, Princess Isabella. In their desire to honor my romance (now ill-fated) by commissioning a sonnet, they imitated my own youthful folly and dressed like well-born young males, complete with stuffed codpieces, and swaggered into the night. Their poetic mission accomplished, they celebrated, landed in scandalous circumstances—and the princess was robbed of her mother’s priceless ring . . .
With our fates and family names at stake, I must save the day. What ensues will require that I visit a brothel, infiltrate the thief’s debaucherous lair, and dodge Escalus. I can only hope to keep intact my virginity—and my life. The latter especially, should my parents find out . . .
Release date:
April 22, 2025
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
96
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As opposed to stupid reasons why you can’t fall asleep
After twenty years of a happy single life that, as the oldest daughter, involved managing the Montague household and my six younger siblings, being caught in a moment of passion with (I believed) my One True Love only to discover, when the torches flare, that I’m kissing the wrong man and he, who set up this ambush, swiftly moves to claim me in honorable and holy matrimony. Me! Who since I was thirteen years old has outsmarted every attempt to marry me off!
Except...well, the last time my betrothed was stabbed through the heart. I had nothing to do with that. Really. Pay no attention to the rumors put about by the malicious, sniggering neighbors who are even now no doubt having that party to celebrate my virtuous downfall at the hands of the canaglia who so skillfully trapped me.
No wonder they didn’t invite me to their abhorrent party!
What’s the problem, Rosie? you ask. Is your betrothed unsuitable? Ugly? Poor? Old, fat, lecherous, of low character? Not at all. He’s wealthy, well-formed, a little scarred and with a limp, but from a good family, a man of power who will protect me and our children in this fair and contentious city of Verona.
First world problems, you say.
Yes, thank you for your kind analysis. I know that. Yet it’s the sting of humiliation that has me tossing and turning, seeking sleep yet unable to relax as time and again, I flinch from the realizations that not only did I fail to realize my error, but then I compounded that error by responding passionately to the wrong man, then I compounded that error by getting caught because—oh, this is the worst—I had arranged to get caught in the arms of my One True Love so we would be forced to wed.
My fault! I did it! Everything should have worked! And it did, except for that small detail about who my groom should be.
Every time I drift off, I startle awake, seeing again the lords’ smirking amusement, Nurse’s horror, Papà’s astonishment at my (to him) successful conspiracy to make a fabulous match.
As if.
If I’d been able to sleep that night, things would have been much different...
Luckily, I was awake and staring with dry, hot, wide eyes at the night candle’s flame when I heard the furious whisperings of two familiar young female voices on the balcony next to mine.
With a glance at Nurse, who was snoring heavily on her cot and more than partially responsible for my recent not-death and who would move swiftly to make sure nothing untoward happened to me ever again, I slipped out of bed and moved to fix whatever had upset my sister, Katherina, and her best friend and our princess, Isabella of the House of Leonardi. Because that’s who I am: Lady Rosaline Montague, fixer of all things or, as a less than pleasant acquaintance called me, “Female Most Likely to Win the Verona City-State Know-It-All Contest.”
The problem, as I see it, is that a woman of intelligence is unappreciated and indeed frowned upon, and I’m not good at dissembling. I scowled as I tightened the knot on my robe. If I know the right thing to do, shouldn’t I say so?
Yes, yes, you’re right. You’re always right. It’s annoying how you’re always right! I should say so in such a mild and tactful way as to allow others to believe it’s their idea. Sometimes... Well, most of the time, I lose patience and say what I think. When I don’t say what I think, my facial expression seems to speak for itself. What can I say? I leave the acting to the professionals, i.e. the rest of my highly overwrought and dramatic family.
It was with that somewhat impatient thought that I walked barefoot and quietly onto my balcony. I told myself I did not wish to wake Nurse but also, I wanted the opportunity to observe and perhaps overhear Katherina and Isabella. Such stealth could considerably shorten the time it took for me to pry the source of their distress from them.
Fie! Fie! As soon as I laid eyes on them, I knew all.
Or not all, but I knew they’d been making mischief and somehow had been caught, for they stood with their heads together, dressed like well-born youths in tights, thigh-length tunics, and short capes. Like youths. Boys. Males.
Gentle reader, you will not be surprised to hear I gasped in thunderous dismay.
They turned as one and stared at me in a mirrored horror, their beautiful faces dark with strain.
Princess Isabella’s chin wobbled as if she wanted to bawl like a calf, and while Katherina’s long tresses were tucked beneath a brocade cap, Isabella’s hair was in a braid down her back and her cap was nowhere to be seen.
“What have you done?” I whispered.
As I said, not always tactful, for the already-fraught Katherina caught fire, leaped to the railing and whispered back, “Nothing you haven’t already done, Sister!” She projected so well, Nurse’s snoring abruptly stopped.
We froze.
Katherina and Isabella didn’t want to be caught in boys’ clothes. I didn’t want them to be caught in boys’ clothes because, as Katherina said, I had indeed done exactly that myself. What I’d failed to realize was that anyone in the family had discovered my folly, much less my seven-years-younger-than-me sister.
We waited, barely breathing, as Nurse muttered and groaned, and at last resumed her bed-frame-rattling snore.
We all breathed sighs of relief, and Isabella poked Katherina hard with her elbow. “Chiudi la bocca. Rosie might be able to help us!”
Nurse’s snoring paused again.
Again we froze. This time, when it resumed, I gestured to them to back up, grasped the plank that rested against the wall, placed it between our railings and, hitching up my nightgown and robe, climbed up and walked over.
“Fantastica! ” Isabella breathed as she backed into the empty bedroom behind her. Empty because Mamma had decided when Princess Isabella stayed the night, these two highly responsible adolescent girls should have privacy, so she allowed them to stay in a bedchamber reserved for guests. Or should I say—formerly highly responsible adolescent girls?
Katherina and I followed her into the room lit by a single candle and shut the doors behind us.
“I can do that, too,” Katherina bragged, and then in a disgruntled tone, “but Rosie keeps the board on her side.”
“If I didn’t keep it close, Imogene would do flips across it and Mamma would kill us all.” I turned on my little sister. “As opposed to Mamma killing only you, Katherina, who accompanied the princess of Verona on an adventure into the night streets!”
“I didn’t accompany her.” Katherina gritted her teeth, then admitted, “I led her. It was my idea.”
CHAPTER TWO
My premonition of disaster had been minuscule compared to this reality.
Prince Escalus Leonardi the Younger, podestà of Verona, had trusted his much beloved little sister to the care of my parents, and my own sister Katherina had guided her on a dangerous bacchanal that ended in some kind of calamity, the severity of which I had yet to determine. But no matter what, if a breath of this leaked out, the Montague family would be disgraced and perhaps exiled.
“Yes, but I jumped at the chance!” Isabella turned to me and defended her friend. “Really I did. I’ve never been part of such an exciting family. Your father teaches me how to use a sword. Your mother helps me learn how to listen to people. Your brother and sisters are funny and smart and brave. The palace is so quiet. Nonna Ursula is kind, but she always says what she thinks and sometimes I don’t want to know. Escalus is a good brother who wants me to be happy, but he’s staid and somber—”
No other word for it. I grunted as if I’d been punched in the gut.
“—Yes, I know. He talks to you, I’m so sorry, because when does he ever say something interesting?” Isabella took my hand and patted it. “Thank you for being good to him, Rosie, and not rolling your eyes when he speaks, for he worried about you while you recovered from your wounds.”
I was speechless at the thoughtlessness of youth...and at the same time, I wondered when, at the creaking old age of twenty, I’d grown so aware of duty and responsibilities. I suppose, because I’m the eldest, I was forced into that mold, but at the same time, to the despair of my parents, in the past I’d had my rebellious moments.
I had.
I had!
“Good to hear.” I barely moved my lips, which were still tender from this evening’s—what should I call it?—unbelievable, ridiculous, humbling horrible misstep involving Prince Staid and Somber.
Have I mentioned humiliating?
“That first night, I had so much fun!” Isabella squeezed my hand.
“That first night, you were such a sissy!” Katherina teased.
“Yes, but I got over it.” Isabella poked her with her elbow. “I swagger better than you do.”
“Do not.”
Isabella swaggered across the room. “Do too.”
She was very good.
“Remember when I bit my thumb at those boys?” she asked.
They both fell into a fit of giggles.
However, I wasn’t in the mood. “You girls could have been hurt. They could have drawn swords!”
“They did. And you know what we did?” Isabella spoke while both hopped up and down.
Was there ever anything sillier than young girls on the verge of womanhood? And more inclined to step right into danger? “Sweet Madonna, what?”
Katherina finish. . .
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