Believe in Me (The Worthingtons #6)

By: Ella Quinn


Anyone involved in publishing knows it takes a team effort to get a book from that inkling in an author’s head to the printed or digital page. I’d like to thank my beta readers, Jenna, Doreen, and Margaret for their comments and suggestions. My agents, Deidre Knight and Janna Bonikowski for helping me think through parts of this book and helping me to keep it from sounding like a travel guide.

My wonderful editor, John Scognamiglio, who loves my books enough to contract them for Kensington. The Kensington team, Vida, Jane, and Lauren who do such a tremendous job of publicity. And to the copyeditors who find all the niggling mistakes I never am able to see.

I had lots of help from all sorts of people for helping me with names. Thank you to Kelly Ann Woodford and Tracey De Neal for Constance, Antigony Helen Kratsa reminding me I could use Grace, Brianna Cook for Theodore, Sharon Williams Abraham and Jo Payne-Pierce for Hugo, and Karen Feist for Zephyr.

Thanks also to Rupert Baker of the Royal Society for informing me that women were not allowed to attend the lectures, but that the Royal Institute did allow them to attend. Thus saving my scene.

Whenever possible, I try to use the names of hotels and other places that were in operation at the time. So, thank you to Daniela Hirschl at the Hotel Stephanie, the oldest holstery in Munich, for providing me with the name of the hotel in 1818 and the name of the owner at the time. Likewise, thanks to Sven Rupp for providing me the name of the owner of the Thorbäu in 1818.

Last, but certainly not least, to my readers. Without you, none of this would be worth it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving my stories!

I love to hear from my readers, so feel free to contact me on my website or on Facebook if you have questions. Those links and my newsletter link can be found at

On to the next book!


Chapter One

Worthington House, Berkeley Square,

Mayfair. March 1818.

“Italy!” Her brother’s bellow could probably be heard all over the town house and in Berkeley Square. Possibly even farther.

From her position on the sofa, Lady Augusta Vivers stifled a sigh. She refused to allow her posture to sag or disappointment to show on her countenance. She had known her campaign to be allowed to attend university was not going to be easy. Perhaps she should have started her scheme earlier. Or given her brother a hint to temper his shock.

“It is not as if Padua is some unknown place in South America or Africa,” she pointed out calmly.

“Where on earth did you come up with such an . . . idea?” Her mother paled a bit and her faint voice pierced the deadened air.

“I wish to further my studies.” Augusta fought to keep the exasperation from her tone. Why else would she want to go to university? Not only that, but traveling there and living in Italy for a time would allow her to see a little of the world she had been studying. “As educated as Miss Tallerton and Mr. Winters are, they long ago exhausted the limits of what they can teach me. Which is the reason I have been corresponding with professors in Europe and taking lessons from visiting scholars, hoping to learn more. It is no longer enough.” In fact, her thirst for knowledge had grown to the point that she needed to attend university as much as she needed food or air. “Yet it has become clear that the only way I am going to succeed is by studying with experts. For that, I must attend university.”

“But, my dear”—her mother paused for a moment as if to gather her thoughts—“do you not wish to wed?”

Of course she did. Just. Not. Now. “I do not recall anyone asking Charlie if he was forsaking marriage simply because he wished to attend Oxford.” She wished Grace’s brother, properly called the Earl of Stanwood was here. He’d be able to help. Augusta turned her gaze back to Matt. As her guardian and Earl of Worthington, he was the final decision maker. “If I were a boy you would allow me to go.”

“You’re fair and far off there, my girl.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I might consider Paris, but Italy is too far away. If anything were to happen”—this time he wiped his hand down his face—“we would not be able to get to you in time. I doubt if there is even an English consul or vice-consul there.”