“Everyone comes from somewhere, Twickham—even the lowest chimney sweep could trace his bloody lineage back six hundred years if he had the leisure and money to do so.”

Minerva Spencer is a one of a kind author who creates such intricate love stories that are hard to put down. Phoebe, the first book of The Bellamy Sisters series proves the same, bringing to readers the story of 20 year old Phoebe Bellamy and 35 year old Paul Edward Needham, Viscount Needham.

The Bellamy family consists of eight members, with Phoebe the fourth daughter being in charge of managing the meager finances of the family that is in dire straits. Phoebe considers herself to be plain and average unlike her sisters, most of whom she views in a more favorable light than she does herself.

When Phoebe encounters Paul, her first impression of him is not a favorable one. However, Paul has a need for a wife to establish his daughter in society, Paul whose newly acquired title which does not really earn him the approval of the established members of the ton, who view him more as a boorish merchant than the entitled ones. Phoebe too has a reason for a husband – to rescue her family from going bankrupt and saving her family home from ruin.

As these two enter into a marriage of convenience and traverse the tricky corners of married life, especially with the family circumstances being what they are for both, Phoebe starts to realize that most, including herself, tends to underestimate her husband for various reasons, believing him to be more brawn than brains.

It is Paul’s secrets and back story that makes for enticing reading as the story progresses. Paul who had held the short end of the stick in the parenting department with a father who had not cared for much except for his status and wealth, and believed that what did not kill his son, only made him stronger.

Paul’s toxic family is what gives this story the edge, not to mention the man himself who I fell head over heels in love with. Sadly, Phoebe never did really grow on me as she continued to be rather stuck up in my opinion about where she comes from. I also never understood why she was so angry about Paul taking control of Phoebe’s family home, when her father making them homeless if otherwise was a foregone conclusion.

Paul from the beginning treats Phoebe with nothing but gentleness. His bedroom recreation itself takes into consideration her pleasure first and foremost which is telling of the kind of man he is. What I found odious was how Phoebe always chose to believe the worst when his actions dictated otherwise, and even though she leaps to his defense towards the end, she always tended to continue to be in shock when she realizes that the truth is so far from what she conceived it to be. I truly wanted to love Phoebe as much as I did Paul, but alas I did not believe that Phoebe was worth the gold standard that was Paul.

Recommended for fans of the romance genre, those who love a good meaty story to sink their teeth into!

Final Verdict: The best thing about this story was Paul, the big brute of a hero who was a gentle giant, with a penchant for control in the bedroom, who designs exquisite lingerie for his beloved!

Favorite Quotes

“There is something I don’t think you understand about me, Phoebe. Or perhaps you’ve just refused to accept it. But I am, in the main, the sort of man who guards all his possessions—”
She tried to jerk her chin away. “I am not your poss—”
He held her more firmly and continued as if she’d never spoken. “Where you are concerned, I am an exceedingly jealous man. I don’t like it when you have nuncheon with Dixon, just the two of you, flaunting your behavior for all our neighbors to see and speculate about. I don’t like it when you flirt and charm him every night at dinner and then answer me in monosyllables. And I don’t like it when you go off riding with my handsome young noble secretary—”
“But we didn’t do anything.”
“But you wanted me to think you might, didn’t you, Phoebe?”
She opened her mouth to lie and deny it, suddenly ashamed that she had hoped to get a response out of him.
But not one this frightening.
Phoebe chewed her lip; what in the world could she say? “I don’t—er, I—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said coolly. “What matters is that I don’t like watching or knowing that Dixon gets to enjoy the pleasure of your company while you deny me. You are mine, Phoebe, mine alone. Mine to enjoy however and whenever I please.”

She’d not believed she could feel more naked, but when he raised the gauzy gown over her head and tossed it aside, she knew she’d been wrong.
His lips parted and a low humming noise rumbled in his chest as he looked at her bare body.
That was when it struck her that it was Phoebe who was causing her husband to flush and breathe harder.
Exultation surged through her like sweet, slow-moving honey at the realization.
She was the one making this man—who always appeared so untouchable—shake and sweat and gaze with hunger.

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