Jo Beverley
Mary Josephine Dunn was born 22 September 1947 in Lancashire, England, UK. At the age of eleven she went to an all-girls boarding school, Layton Hill Convent, Blackpool. At sixteen, she wrote her first romance, with a medieval setting, completed in installments in an exercise book. From 1966 to 1970, she obtained a degree in English history from Keele University in Staffordshire, where she met her future husband, Ken Beverley. After graduation, they married on June 24, 1971. She quickly attained a position as a youth employment officer until 1976, working first in Newcastle-under-Lyme, Staffordshire, and then in West Bridgford, Nottinghamshire.
In 1976, her scientist husband was invited to do post-doctoral research at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. When her professional qualifications proved not to be usable in the Canadian labour market, she raised their two sons and started to write her first romances.
Moved to Ottawa, in 1985 she became a founding member of the Ottawa Romance Writers’ Association, that her “nurturing community” for the next twelve years. The same year, she completed a regency romance, but it was promptly rejected by a number of publishers, and she settled more earnestly to learning the craft. In 1988, it sold to Walker, and was published as "Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed". She regularly appears on bestseller lists including the USA Today overall bestseller list, the New York Times, and and the Publishers Weekly list. She has been the recipient of numerous awards including the Golden Leaf, the Award of Excellence, the National Readers Choice, and a two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times. She is also a five time winner of the RITA, the top award of the Romance Writers Of America, and a member of their Hall of Fame and Honor Roll.
Jo Beverley passed away on May 23, 2016 after a long battle with cancer.
“Her eyelashes lay on her cheek, but they were not extraordinarily thick or long. Her eyebrows would benefit from plucking, but they were elegantly curved.”
“The rake himself lived up to Amy’s expectations, however, when he came out to greet his guests. Tall, dark, handsome, and dressed with devastating informality in an open-necked shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his arms like a laborer. No one could fair to be aware of a lithe body beneath the slight amount of clothing, and there was a wicked gleam in his eye even if he was supposed to have been tamed by matrimony. Amy found it difficult to believe that the very ordinary woman by his side had achieved such a miracle. Lady Templemore was short and her gown was a simple green muslin. Her face was close to plain and her brown hair was gathered into a simple knot at the back. But then she smiled at her guests and was beautiful. When she turned to her husband with a comment, she was dazzling, and the look in his eye showed he was tamed indeed, if devotion so heated could be called tame at all.”
“How do you find your mount, Miss de Lacy?” Amy found it a slug. It was clear Rowanford had taken her caution too seriously. This horse would be ideal for a non-equestrian grandmother. “I feel very safe,” she said. “Excellent. I shall take good care of you, Miss de Lacy. Have no fear.” Amy sighed and wished there was a convenient piece of furniture to heft to prove she was not as fragile as she appeared.”
“And the simple fact was that it might be possible to make oneself fall in love, but only when the heart was free.Amy was having to accept that her heart was not free.”
“She made a decision and forced out the words. “I’m sorry.”“For what?” he asked coolly, not even looking at her. “You dance as beautifully as anyone would expect.” “For being intolerably rude,” she persisted. “If that is how you see it.”He glanced down and raised a brow. “Is not that how you see it?” Amy kept a hold on her temper. “Perhaps. But chiefly, I was being honest.”“So was I.”“When?” she asked, confused. “When I called you a bitch.” He smiled and executed a particularly dizzy turn.”
“She looked at him and smiled. She placed her hand upon his shoulder.He took her right hand in his left and placed his other at her waist, looking at her as if she were an unexploded bomb.They began to dance.”
“He'd forgotten just how beautiful she was.She was wearing a plain gown the color of weak, milky tea, largely covered by a black apron. There was a smudge of dirt across her cheek, and her gilded curls were an untamed riot with a cobweb draped across one side.She was exquisite.”