Welcome, Luanna. Tell us a bit about this story. Where did you get the inspiration for it?
Funny story about this book. I’ve always been fascinated by Cornwall, UK – the windswept moors, the craggy coastline, the myths and legends. So when I was planning the setting for If Wishes Were Earls, I opened Google maps and figuratively stuck a pin in St. Erth, the tiny village where Miranda, my heroine, searches for the writer of a mysterious note.
Fast-forward a few years to when we were dining with friends whilst visiting London. They mentioned their new vacation home in Cornwall, located…wait for it…a few miles from St. Erth! I got shivers. We have plans to visit our friends next autumn and I’ll definitely spend time in St. Erth. Perhaps I’ll come across the quaint tea shop where Miranda and her friend paused for a warming cuppa on a frigid winter day.
Oh I love stories like that!
Her wish will be granted…
When a mysterious note directs Miss Miranda Large to a tiny village in Cornwall to find her heart’s desire, she’d be a fool to not go. The excitement mounts when she meets a strange shopkeeper who claims that a magical keepsake will make possible her dream of marriage to a man with a title. But a snowstorm forces her to accept the hospitality of a sullen earl and Miranda fears she’s made a horrible mistake.
He’s given up hope…
Edward Penhallion, the 12th Earl of Claverlock, is not in the mood to search for yet another wife. He longs to be left alone with his books and his dreams of revenge. But the arrival of a headstrong, sharp-tongued spinster forces him to play the charming host. Not a difficult task, given her intelligence and beauty.
As the blizzard rages, Edward discovers there’s more to Miranda than a lively wit and a lovely face. And Miranda wonders if the trappings of wealth are enough for true happiness.
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Excerpt:
She watched the patch of light, forcing her eyes to remain open. But the rug was surprisingly comfortable under her back, and her eyes kept drifting closed.
A noise roused her from a doze. He must have shifted, making the bed squeak, perhaps to turn down the lamp and finally go to sleep, allowing her to escape. But the glow remained. She heard another squeak along with the scrabbling of tiny feet. Oh, it couldn’t be a…
Slowly, and with great trepidation, she turned her head. And looked directly into the whiskered face of a mouse.
Without a second thought, she squirmed out from under the bed and backed at a run toward the opposite wall.
“Who the devil are you?”
She raised her gaze from the floor, where she’d been checking for four-footed pursuers, and found herself under the glare of a large, angry man. Since he’d bounded from the bed, no doubt in consternation, she had the opportunity to see all of him.
She spun on her heel and covered her eyes. Good heavens above. Not at all what she’d expected. The general idea, gleaned from various artworks, was confirmed. But this particular example—good heavens. “Forgive me. Are you Lord Claverlock?”
“Yes, who the blazes are you?”
