Bridgerton meets Emily Henry in this fresh take on regency romance about a wallflower writing a dictionary of bawdy slang who arranges her own marriage to the ultimate instructor: the town rake.

Spice rating: 4/5 open door, explicit.

1816—Harriet Bancroft doesn’t mind that she’s on her fifth season with no marriage prospects, it gives her more time to write her dictionary of modern slang. Words are her passion, especially the exciting, filthy ones men have kept hidden from women for far too long.

Enter the ultimate teacher…

When Harriet accidentally finds herself in a compromising situation with the notorious rake Lord Alexander, she has no choice but to sort of kidnap him and strong-arm him into an elopement. This arranged marriage has a very particular condition—it will be in-name-only, leaving each of them to follow their own interests. For Harriet that’s her work; for Alexander, that’s women.

But love has a different lesson in mind….

But soon Alexander’s rakish lifestyle is not nearly as fun as spending time with Harriet, and Harriet’s beginning to worry that she might actually like her husband. Behind the closed doors of their respectable home, things become a little . . . complicated. After all, who better teach her the very thorough meaning of these indecent words than the renowned lover, Lord Alexander Stirling?

Perhaps this marriage will teach them both a little more about that word they’ve been avoiding—love.


Don't just take our word for it...

“The Very Definition of Love is a witty, sexy, and deliciously fun romp! Historical romance readers will love Sophia Benoit’s charming debut!”
– Liana De la Rosa, USA Today bestselling author of Ana María and The Fox

“Sophia Benoit’s The Very Definition of Love is hot, heartfelt, and witty. This smart and sexy Regency romance is the very definition of a page-turner.”
– Lauren Kung Jessen, author of The Fortune Flip

“The Very Definition of Love is sexy and witty. Sophia Benoit wrote a clever Regency romance that kept me giggling.”
– Joss Richard, international bestselling author of It’s Different This Time


Taste the very first page

Harriet loathed dancing. More accurately, she loathed watching people dance. Which is what she normally did at balls. There were so many better uses of her time, like reading, or sending words to Mr. Dawkins, or keeping her sisters away from their father, or their father away from the gambling tables. Normally, the prospect of leaving for a ball within the half hour would have her filled with dread.

The few times she had danced, mostly during her debut season, had proved disastrous. Unfortunately, as the eldest unmarried daughter of the Earl of Tidewell, dancing—or observing dances—was to be her lot in life for a little while longer. It was as unspoken as it was obvious that Harriet was not likely to marry after five unsuccessful seasons, but no one had any definitive answers for when she might be allowed to beg off the charade.

Harriet would have gladly married the nearest available man simply to get out of attending balls; however, this was not an option available to her. Her elder sister, Philippa, had already strained the bounds of propriety with her marriage six years ago, and was now, as a widow, further testing society’s limits. Any damage Philippa hadn’t done to the Bancroft family’s reputation, their father had taken care of.

Of course, this overlooked the chief reason Harriet didn’t just marry the first man she brushed past at a ball: Gentlemen always seemed to have better options about, and those options were so often her own sisters. When coerced into attendance, Harriet spent balls holding wineglasses and eyeglasses, lending a hairpin or mending a hem, watching as Philippa and Caroline danced with and dazzled haute society.

But tonight was going to be different. Oh god, she hoped it would be different. According to his latest letter, Mr. Dawkins had arrived from Oxford last week and was to be at the Dunley ball. Lady Dunley took pride in just how full her ballroom could get and didn’t mind inviting a few non-peers if it meant that the season started with a crush. Tonight was about one thing, and one thing only:

“Your breasts,” Philippa said.