The Society of Wanton Widows Book 2 releases in just two weeks! June 12th. 💖

The Viscountess in Bloom follows Lady Hyacinth Corby, Dowager Viscountess Corby, as she discovers that love can bloom twice in a lifetime. Madly in love with her husband, Hyacinth struggles when he dies young, leaving her with four children and only the memory of his kiss. But when her children begin their own lives without her–she finds the loneliness unbearable and turns all her attention to her gardens. Only to take an unexpected interest in the new gardener, a man over ten years her junior. 🤭🔥

If this sounds a little familiar, it’s because this book was inspired by a scene in Queen Charlotte (the Bridgerton spinoff show on Netflix.) There’s a small scene–an exchange between Lady Danbury (Agatha) and Lady Bridgerton (Violet) in which Violet confesses the state of her “garden”. The “garden” being a euphemism for her sex life.

Here’s the scene in question if you’d like to see it.

It’s a vulnerable and humorous scene, but it perfectly captured the truth of being a widow. Desire does not die with our beloved, and sometimes it reblooms. When I saw it, I immediately knew it would make the perfect plot for one of my Wanton Widows. And Hyacinth Corby certainly tends to her garden with Oliver’s help.

If yearning is your trope of choice, this story has it in abundance. Did I also mention there’s some sexy fun times in a greenhouse during a thunderstorm? 😘

Passion blooms when the viscountess falls for the gardener.

Hyacinth Corby, Dowager Viscountess Corby, adored her husband. When he died, a part of her
heart remained with him. She mourned her loss while she raised their four children, but when her
youngest finally leaves home, Hyacinth struggles to find purpose and companionship. She
accepts her loneliness and tends to her flowers, pouring her heart and soul into her cherished
gardens.

Oliver Blackwell returns from military service desperate to find employment. When he takes on
the role of gardener at Viscount Corby’s country estate, he never expects to fall for the vivacious
and passionate dowager viscountess. A dangerous prospect for a man hiding his heart as well as
a sordid past.

Afraid to betray the memory of her first love, Hyacinth attempts to keep a distance from the
handsome, young gardener. But when a friend from her youth reappears seeking her affection,
she realizes how much she truly cares for Oliver. Their passion blooms like a rare flower until a
lifetime of secrets threatens to not only ruin their happiness—but end their lives. Can they
weather such a storm?

In honor of The Viscountess in Bloom releasing next month, I’ve put the first scene below for you to meet Hyacinth.

Enjoy!

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Chapter One

Summer 1896

Lady Hyacinth Corby, Viscountess Corby, stood in the doorway of her London townhome and sobbed, waving to the carriage as it rolled down the street and into the distance. She wrung her handkerchief before dabbing it to her eyes. Her life would never be the same now that they were all gone.

“Mother, honestly, it is not the end of the world.” Benjamin murmured, his tone almost amused. “Samuel will be perfectly fine touring the Continent.”

Tears blurred her vision as she blinked up at her eldest son. “But he’s so young—and impressionable.”

“Mother.” Benjamin sighed and gently took her arm. “He is a man of eight and ten. Amelia was married at that age, as were you. Florence not much after.”

“Yes, but”—she paused, her heart aching at the thought of her youngest child leaving her to make his way in the world—“what if something happens to him during his travels?”

Benjamin led her back into the house, closing the door behind them. “Nothing will happen, Mother. Uncle Bastion has taken him under his wing. No harm will come to him, I promise.”

Hyacinth tutted. She knew better than to worry. While all of her children were headstrong and passionate, she—and her late husband—had taught them well, instilling good morals and a hunger for knowledge. Amelia and Florence had made excellent matches and married fine men who loved them dearly.

Knowing her daughters had succeeded in finding love left Hyacinth with a sense of peace and fulfillment. Love, while never guaranteed, was worth pursuing. She herself had made an admirable love match at seventeen. There was not a man in the world who compared to her Clarence. He had been handsome and strong, passionate and stubborn. Traits he’d passed onto his children.

She glanced at Benjamin, who resembled him in every way, except for the curve of his nose and the thick, dark-blond hair sweeping over his brow. Those were her contributions.

At six and twenty, Benjamin proved to not only be a competent viscount, but also one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England. There were countless marriageable daughters with eager mothers at every social event hoping to make the acquaintance of Viscount Corby. While his sisters had found their matches quickly, it seemed as though their eldest brother was in no hurry to find a bride. And that was perfectly acceptable to Hyacinth—because love was more important to her than any societal decorum.

“Sit here, Mother, while I summon Mrs. Falkor with some tea and refreshments.” He gave her a pointed look. “I know for a fact you ate nothing at breakfast.”

“I was not hungry this morning.” Hyacinth dabbed her now-dry cheeks with the handkerchief and returned the look with exasperation. “When you are married and have children of your own who someday leave you behind, you will understand.”

“Regardless, you must eat. I shall not have you fainting.” Benjamin took the segue in conversation as the perfect opportunity to slip from the room to find the housekeeper.

“I have never fainted in my life.” Hyacinth sniffed delicately and shifted into a more comfortable position on the floral settee. Her gaze shifted over the windows, where delicate spring sunlight drifted through the lace curtains casting shadows across the room. She followed the lazy shimmering light as it fell upon the painting above the fireplace.

Her heart fluttered at the sight of the portrait. Clarence Corby stood proud against a garden backdrop, his hand resting upon the shoulder of a much younger, innocent version of herself. He boasted wild, chestnut curls barely wrangled into order and a lopsided smile she often saw reflected in the laughter of their children. The artist had captured the mischievous spark in his brilliant green eyes. His presence enhanced hers in the portrait, creating a harmony that sang with clear, crisp hues and emotions. Their love had been glorious and bright, a vibrant garden, blossoming with life and endless possibilities. A future bursting with hope and promise.

Until the world had crashed around her. Dashed to pieces in a reckless, senseless act of violence on a desolate road. She wiped a tear from her eye and refused to allow the tragedy to fester in her memory.

“I miss you desperately, my darling,” she whispered to the portrait. “Not a day goes by where I do not dream of you by my side.” She inhaled deeply and sighed. “Especially now.”

This had become a habit. The resurgence of mourning. With every child who left to forge their own path, the stronger the pang of loneliness became. The more she missed him. But more than that, she missed the camaraderie. The laughter. The connection of two souls bound by passion and desire. Clarence had been her soulmate, her better half. There would never be another love for her.

A shiver wracked her, even though the room was abnormally warm for the season. She brushed the stray tears away moments before Benjamin returned.

“Mrs. Falkor will be present momentarily with libations.” He sat in the wingback chair opposite her. “I am absolutely ravenous.”

Hyacinth cleared her throat, redirecting her focus onto her son. “I am inclined to believe you have procured food for yourself under a dutiful guise and not because you believe I should eat something before I find myself prone on the floor in a fit of malnourishment.”

“Alas, Mother, you have found me out.” He pressed a hand to his chest and feigned injury. “There is nothing I can do without you being privy to the intricate details.”

“Lady Winstead tells me she often sees you on High Street flitting from establishment to establishment, indulging in all sorts of cakes and delicacies.” She pursed her lips. “And Lady Amesbury has often spied you riding through the park in haste—in pursuit of heaven knows what.”

“The Widows of Mayfair.” Benjamin harrumphed and leaned back, studying his mother. “You three have garnered quite a reputation for being—”

“Engaged with the intricacies of society?”

“I was going to say busybodies.” He chuckled at her sudden frown. “Fret not, Mother. You three still hold exceptional standing. Gossip is rampant among all of society.”

“Perhaps it would be best if I retired to the country early. Now that Samuel has gone, there is little to keep me in London, and the days grow too warm to truly enjoy all the city has to offer.” Hyacinth paused when the stout but capable Mrs. Falkor entered the room with a tray laden with sandwiches, tea, and small pinafore cakes with cream.

When the housekeeper had taken her leave, Hyacinth reached for the teapot, as was habit.

“I do miss my gardens,” she observed with a sudden longing and poured the tea. “They should be blooming about now. I’m sure Mr. Duddley has it well in hand, but with his advancing age, I would like to be there to ensure they’re cared for properly.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot to mention.” Benjamin accepted his tea with a nod. “Mr. Duddley was injured last week.”

Hyacinth nearly dropped her cup and tea sloshed over the rim. She managed to right it and herself before she found a suitable response. “‘Injured’? My heavens, is everything well? What—?”

“Have no fear, Mother. Mr. Duddley is quite fine. Resting in the care of his daughter in Bath.”

“‘Bath’?” Her agitation must have shown because Benjamin set aside his tea and leaned forward, giving her his full attention. “That is a shame,” she said. “I certainly wish him a full recovery.”

“He will recover, but I have convinced him that this is for the best. He has agreed to retire and allow for us to hire a younger replacement.”

“Mr. Duddley was a master gardener.” Hyacinth took a sip of tea and then set it aside, nerves swirling in her stomach. “However will you find anyone to replace him?”

“I have already notified the proper agencies to secure a suitable replacement. It may take a few weeks, but we will find the perfect gardener for the position soon, mark my words.”

“Who is caring for my gardens in the interim?” Hyacinth asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

“The gardens will survive a few weeks without a gardener at the helm.” Benjamin took her hand and squeezed. “I know how much your gardens mean to you, Mother. Rest assured, I have not left them unattended. The servants know what to do until we have secured a new gardener.”

Uncertainty washed over Hyacinth. The gardens had been a gift from Clarence. Since she had been a young girl, she had been fascinated with all things botanical. Being named after an early spring blossom was merely a coincidence, but it had sparked an early fascination for her. She’d learned all she could about the plants and flowers on her parents’ estates, and when she’d married Viscount Corby, he’d bestowed upon her a lavish and intricate garden complete with a flourishing greenhouse and conservatory on their sprawling country estate. They were her connection to him—her escape from the pressure of her position and responsibilities. Even after he’d passed, her son had known how important they were to her. He’d decreed those gardens and the estate would be hers as long as she wanted them.

“Have you begun interviewing candidates?” she asked, picking up her tea again and feigning nonchalance.

“I have, and there are a few who meet all the requirements. I shall be checking references and making a decision by the end of the week.” Benjamin regarded her with a sincere smile. “There is no need to worry, Mother. I have everything well in hand.”

“I trust you, Son, truly.” She picked up a cake and took a bite, allowing herself time to think as she chewed, barely tasting the potent citrusy sweetness on her tongue.

“When are you set on leaving for the country?” he asked, plucking a sandwich from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

She arched a delicate brow at his manners. “I shall leave by Monday next.”

“Then you will arrive at the dowager estate before the new gardener.” He took another morsel from the tray and ate it with two bites this time. “You can welcome him personally and ensure he meets your standard.”

“I am uncertain anyone can meet my expectations when it comes to my passion.” She thoughtfully selected a small sandwich. “But I do trust you, Benjamin. You must not worry on that account.”

“Now, what shall we do this afternoon?” He clapped his hands together. “I hear there’s a lovely exhibition at the royal gardens. Would you like to see it before you leave London?”

Hyacinth’s mood immediately improved at the suggestion. She had longed to see the royal gardens, and with Samuel’s upcoming departure, she’d had neither the time nor inclination to attend the event. Nothing stood in her way now, however.

“How lovely. It would be a delightful reprieve.” She softened toward her son. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mother.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “I shall return in one hour with my carriage.” With that, he stood, tucking his watch back into his waistcoat.

“Wonderful.” Hyacinth stood and smoothed her skirts. “Perhaps I shall change into something more appropriate for an outing.”

“A splendid plan,” Benjamin said. “One hour.” With those words, he took his leave, grabbing two more sandwiches upon his departure.

Hyacinth shook her head. For a man of six and twenty, he certainly acted like a boy of twelve on occasion. She sighed and ventured to her chamber.

As she mulled over the options for her afternoon garments, her mind wandered to other things. Her children—in varying stages of their lives—her gardens in Watford, and of course, the direction of her own life.

With all of her children now flown the nest, there was nothing to keep her at home—nothing to give her purpose. She had her friends, Lady Amesbury and Lady Winstead, as well as the Ladies’ Academy, which they supported through donations and other philanthropic endeavors. But what was left for her? What did her heart truly desire?

The more she pondered it, the more frustrated she became. The truth was—there was nothing. No life. No passion. No direction.

Hyacinth Corby lacked inspiration. Perhaps a turn in her gardens would give her the time and inner reflection she needed to rediscover her purpose and find a reason to live in this new season of her life.