Camy Tang's Blog, page 87

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 17a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 17a

December 31st

The children were being positively horrid. Miranda, Miss Teel, and the nursery-maids who worked for the other Belmoore families were quite prepared to begin stringing them up by their toes.

So Miranda suggested a game of Hide and Seek in the Lower Ornamental Garden. Miss Teel was amenable, but the nursery-maids objected since they did not wish to trouble themselves to bundle up the children for the outdoors. However, the children were enthusiastic about the idea, and Miranda remarked that they would be entertaining themselves in such a way as to require very little supervision, since the garden was walled, so the maids were at last persuaded.

Wintrell Hall had two large walled gardens, the Upper and Lower Ornamental Gardens. They were accessed by a gate at the bottom of the Lower Garden. The Upper Garden was smaller and connected to the Lower Garden by a stone arch in the wall separating the two.

The Lower Garden had more hiding places for the children, and Miss Teel and the two nursery-maids sat at the gate to ensure that none of the children wandered out of their sight. Miranda walked up the winding paths to the archway.

The Upper Garden was bleak at this time of year, its bare trees covered in snow and the gravel walks lined only by twiggy bushes. It matched her low spirits, and she sat on a frozen stone bench along the wall, staring at the empty space. In the spring, it would be a riot of flowers, but today it lay sleeping.

The shrieks and laughter of the children drifted to her over the high stone wall and through the open archway, echoing oddly on the ice-covered stones. The sharp air bit into her nose and lungs, but the pain was somehow comforting.

One desperate act twenty years ago was at last reaping a bitter harvest. She could blame no one but herself.

She was so afraid.

“Oh God.” The cry escaped her lips, but the soft sound fell like wet snow. Cousin Laura was so assured of the presence of the Lord, but Miranda was alone in the garden. In her life, she had never felt that the Lord had been close to her—now was no different. Perhaps only people like Cousin Laura were invited into that type of fellowship with the Almighty.

And now that Gerard’s mother appeared to be having a change of heart about her, it would be to no purpose if they did not stop Harriet. Ah, her timing was ever inconvenient.

Then came a soft, rhythmic sound. Man’s boots and a pair of crutches crunching on the gravel paths. Coming closer.

Her heart raced with wild fear, with wild joy. Her body grew more and more taut as the sound drew near.

Gerard strode through the archway into the Upper Garden. When his gaze found hers, she could not have moved, like the lichen-covered marble statues in the corners of the garden.

She would never have expected the flame that lit his eyes when he saw her.

“Miranda.” His voice tethered her to him, like a ship at anchor.

He came closer to her, moving carefully over the gravel walk until he stood before her, closer than she should have allowed. She realized too late that she should have moved toward him rather than the other way around. With the bench and the garden wall behind her, she felt as though he surrounded her.

“Are you hiding from the children?” he asked.

“In a sense.”

He sat next to her on the bench, although he seemed closer than he ought to be. Certainly there was ample space on his other side, yet his shoulder brushed hers, his boot tangled in her cloak.

He most likely had a plan he had concocted with his cousin, Lieutenant Coulton-Jones. Something that would place all of them in danger. Or perhaps he had changed his mind and would not help her. He had come to his senses and decided she was more trouble than she was worth.

“Miranda,” he said, staring ahead of him, “you do realize that you’ve been staring at a bush that looks like a gigantic turd?”

She choked, then laughed, her stomach tightening as she howled. “Gerard!”

“You looked so extremely serious,” he said. “I thought I would try to lighten your mood.” He swept his hand towards the offending bush. “And it truly does look like it. Cecil’s gardener certainly has a sense of humor.”

She hiccoughed, then snorted, then hiccoughed again.

“You’re not choking, are you?” He glanced sideways at her.

“It would be your fault if I were.”

“At least now you look less frightened.”

“I am still frightened, Gerard.”

“You are never frightened. Which is why I have a very dangerous proposition for you.”

His words were serious and yet his tone was light. It confused her. “What is it?”

He turned to face her, and took her hands in his. Through their gloves she felt his warmth.

“Miranda, will you marry me?”

More than his question, the look in Gerard’s eyes made her tremble. His eyes were shining amber flames and she was the moth, drawn towards them.

She had never allowed herself to dream of this moment, this question. Dreaming of it would have made her life all the more bleak. And now that he had asked it, with both of them sitting on an icy stone bench, she didn’t know what to think, what to feel.

Why would he say such a thing to her? Surely he wasn’t serious. He was simply being gallant and would regret his hasty words in a moment.

She swallowed and closed her eyes, shutting out that expression on his face that looked like love. When she opened her eyes, her calmness slid over her like a shroud. “Gerard, why should I do that?”

“I will do all I can to protect you. I will not leave you alone.”

She had been alone, it seemed, for most of her life. Her parents had not even liked her, she suspected. She had not belonged to the set of people she’d met in London during her season.

She knew Gerard was true to his word, he would not leave her alone. For a moment, she wanted to take hold of that, to have someone who was hers. She would be free of Harriet, of Cecil and Felicity.

But this new potential threat to her life enabled her to draw back. No, she would not marry him and expose him to the same threat. She turned her face away, her skin feeling like marble, her eyes downcast. “It is dangerous and foolhardy, Gerard.”

“I don't care.”

“I will not marry you for that reason.” This was a terrible dream. It must be. She had loved him for so long, and yet now in this moment that she had never expected would happen to her, she was refusing him because she loved him. Because she couldn’t bring this menace into his life. And so she lied to him. “I will not marry without love.”

She thought that would silence him. He would assume she was a silly, romantical girl. But then the last words she expected tumbled out of his mouth.

“Miranda, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

***
Next blog post: Chapter 17b

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 16b

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 16b

Presently, Felicity rose to lead the women out of the dining room and into the drawing room. The men settled around the table and the servants began to serve brandy and cigars. However, Cecil, mindful of his wife, would not allow the men to linger overlong before joining the ladies in the drawing room.

As had happened yesterday, Michael, posing as a footman, had managed not to serve Gerard's father at dinner. However, now he poured brandy for the men, and Mr. Foremont did not notice him at all. Gerard did not realize he had been holding his breath until he released it.

Mr. Barnes, an avid angler, had been fishing only yesterday in the river that ran past his home and Wintrell Hall. He became so animated in his story that he began waving his arms to describe the fish he had caught, and the movement knocked into a young footman pouring more brandy into his glass. The young man stumbled backward, but Michael quickly reached out to steady the lad while at the same time preventing the decanter from crashing to the floor.

It all happened in a moment, but something in Michael's movements made Mr. Foremont's brows knit. For that second, Michael's disguise had faltered. He had immediately melted back into the unobtrusive servant, but now Gerard's father stared hard at the footman as he resumed his duties.

“Michael?” Gerard's father said.

Thankfully, Michael did not so much as flinch, nor did he respond to his name.

Sitting on his father’s right, Gerard quickly said, “He has the look of a Coulton-Jones, does he not, sir? I thought as much when I saw him earlier today, so I made a point of speaking to him. However, he is not a relation, even distantly.”

His father relaxed back into his seat. “He looks a bit like Michael.”

“I have had a letter from Michael only yesterday,” Gerard said. “He is enjoying Christmastide with his family, although the younger boys are rather merciless in snowball fights.”

“Michael wrote to you?”

“I wrote to him weeks ago asking if he would be interested in one of my hunters.” Gerard sighed. “Since he is Michael, he waited until this week to respond.”

His father chuckled and turned to Mr. Drydale, sitting on his left. “Did you hear that Cecil has unearthed his grandfather’s pistol? It had fallen behind a desk drawer, of all places.”

Mr. Drydale seemed to be looking in Michael's direction, also, but he turned his attention to Gerard's father. “Indeed, sir, he showed it to me yesterday. It must have taken him a great while to clean and repair it.”

The men did not remain long in the dining room and soon rose to head to the drawing room. However, Mr. Drydale laid an arm along Gerard's shoulder. “A word, Captain Foremont, if you please.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Shall we go into the library? We may be assured of more privacy there.”

Mr. Drydale's demeanor was calm and affable, but there was a hardness in his hazel eyes that made the muscles tighten at the base of Gerard's skull. He reined in his curiosity and followed the older man to the library, thumping along on his crutches.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Mr. Drydale shoved Gerard hard against the wall, his forearm slicing his throat.

Gerard was the same height as Mr. Drydale, but thrown off his guard, he was tossed about like a limp puppet. His crutches clattered to the floor.

“I saw that man with you in the wood,” Mr. Drydale bit out. “I saw him a day earlier in the local tavern, posing as a peddler. Now I see him here as a footman and you claim to have spoken to him again. What game are you playing, Captain?”

“He is my cousin, Lieutenant Michael Coulton-Jones,” Gerard said in a tight voice. “He was helping me to investigate the attackers, since anyone connected with them is unlikely to speak candidly to me.”

Mr. Drydale seemed nonplussed by that confession. He dropped his arm, and Gerard rubbed his neck, which still burned despite the fact that the pressure against his windpipe had been released.

“Who is he?” Mr. Drydale said.

“He is my cousin,” Gerard repeated, but Mr. Drydale cut him off with an impatient hand.

“He is not simply your cousin. I did not recognize him as the man in the woods until he caught that decanter. Only then did I also recognize him as the peddler who defended a barmaid from a belligerent customer in the village tavern.”

Gerard faced the older man, his jaw working. “I cannot say more than that he is my cousin, sir.”

Mr. Drydale regarded him steadily for a moment, then gave a self-deprecating half-smile, which brought out a dimple in his cheek and made him look years younger. “No, you cannot. I should have realized that. I would hazard a guess that you saw him on the Continent at some point.”

Gerard fought to keep his face impassive.

Mr. Drydale bowed to him. “Forgive me, Captain.”

Gerard nodded stiffly.

“And should you need my assistance,” Mr. Drydale said, “I am at your service. I, too, understand about certain things of which we cannot speak.”

Gerard did not know how to respond, so he simply bowed in return, his mind whirling. Mr. Drydale came from an old, highly respectable family and he had heard someone say that he had served in the army in his youth. But this was an entirely unexpected revelation.

Mr. Drydale opened the library door, but paused to add, “If you trust Lady Wynwood, you may trust me, Captain.” He left the room.

Gerard gathered his fallen crutches, feeling as though he had awakened from a dream. This Christmastide had revealed hidden depths to people he thought he knew well—Lady Wynwood's spiritual depth and maturity, Mr. Drydale's hinted past, and most especially, Miranda's inner peace and how it influenced him so strongly. But if he were honest with himself, there were many things about Miranda that he had discovered influenced him strongly—her quick wit, her sense of humor, and the loveliness that he had not noticed until meeting her eyes that day she climbed into their coach.

But when he entered the drawing room, Miranda was nowhere to be found. He could go to the nursery to see her, but did not want to embarrass her by seeking her out.

Tomorrow. He would settle all this tomorrow.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 17a

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 16a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 16a

December 30th

Gerard had wearied of staring at his bedroom walls while submitting to another poultice, so after Maddox had removed it, he went to stretch his legs.

The drawing room was stuffed, like a meat pie, but with chattering young women discussing their gowns for the New Year's Eve dinner party the next evening. Gerard sneaked past the doorway and headed instead to the music room, where he heard the laughter of children.

For most of the year, the ballroom at Wintrell Hall served as the music room on one side, and store-room on the other half, separated by some painted folding screens. He didn't realize until he entered the room that he had hoped to see Miranda there, but it was the governess at the pianoforte while the girls still in the schoolroom were learning the steps of a dance. Gerard was surprised to see his mother teaching them, correcting footwork and handclasps, her face alight with laughter. She smiled when she spotted her son in the open doorway.

“Oh, good,” his mother said, “now Gerard can play so Miss Teel can help teach the girls.”

“I?” He was embarrassed at how his voice squeaked. “Madam, I have not played the pianoforte in years—”

“Oh, you needn't give a perfect performance. We merely need a light little air so the girls can learn the steps. And the slower you play, the better.”

Trapped, he made his way to the instrument, perhaps taking longer than he might have otherwise with his crutches. He seated himself and rested the crutches against a nearby chair. Miss Teel, the governess, had been playing a fairly simple repeating melody, and he realized he could dance (ha ha) his way around the more difficult passages.

He began, slowly and with absolutely horrible fingering, slamming chords about like a ship on stormy seas. But after struggling through the melody twice, he eventually found his sea legs and was able to play only half as slowly as Miss Teel had been playing. He even found himself enjoying watching the girls whirl about, giggling at their own mistakes.

The door to the music room opened, and Miranda appeared. Her eye caught Gerard's. They glowed for a moment, then she looked away.

He had not had a moment alone with her, or at least, a time long enough to pluck up his courage to say what he wished to say. He had never felt so awkward with her before, after all the years they had known each other.

She had also never before been so unguarded. He could see the pain and guilt in her eyes, the unease. It had seemed unsuitable for him to speak of his feelings.

So he had done what he could do. He had been a comforting presence when she desired it. Indeed, he could not remember a time he had ever been so patient.

“The bell to dress for dinner is about to ring,” Miranda said. “It is time for the girls to prepare for their supper in the nursery.”

Cecil's middle daughter, Julia, gave her younger sister an exuberant swing around, her frothy laughter filling the echoing room. 

The abused sister, Constance, scowled at her. “Why is Julia allowed to join the adults at table and not me? I'm only two years younger.” The whining voice made it apparent this was an argument she'd already made today, probably several times.

“Because your mother needs an even number at table tonight,” Gerard's mother said. “And since the men outnumber the ladies by one, I convinced your mother to allow Julia to join us.”

“It's not fair,” Constance complained as Miranda led her out of the music room.

“Miranda,” his mother called, “you received my message? I can't think how Felicity forgot to include you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Foremont,” Miranda said. “Thank you.” She and the governess left with the girls without looking at Gerard again, and he felt strangely let down.

“Thank you, Gerard.” His mother sat beside him. “You played wonderfully.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Mother, about Miranda ...”

“Yes, I was surprised when I discovered this morning that Miranda had not been included among the guests for tonight. It is only a small dinner party, and Felicity said Miranda would not mind since there were already even numbers, but I felt that would be insulting to her. After all, she is a poor relation, not a servant.”

“That may not be clear in Felicity's mind.”

“I pointed out that including both Miranda and Julia would ensure a gentleman for every lady, and it would also be good practice for Julia. She does not come out for another year, but little James Barnes is attending tonight.”

“He is up from Oxford so he is little no longer,” Gerard said, laughing.

“Well, he would otherwise be the youngest guest. He will be able to talk to Julia. And Miranda will be there to smooth over any faux pas. I simply did not feel comfortable excluding her.”

He hadn't expected this kindness from his mother, considering her resistance in allowing Miranda to accompany Ellie. He realized that now it would not matter if she agreed or not, because he intended to marry Miranda. Er … as soon as he asked her, that is. “Miranda is too often overlooked.”

His mother looked down at her hands, fidgeting in her lap. “I have been most impressed with Miranda these past few days. She has been very patient in caring for you, spending time with you. More patient than I,” she added in a low voice.

“Mother, you are very patient. You nursed me when I returned home from the hospital.”

“But lately I have had a rather short temper. And Miranda's kindness made me feel quite ashamed.” She reached over to touch his hand. “I have been selfish. I wanted you to be completely healed in the shortest time possible, and I pray I have not pushed you to exertions that may have injured you.”

“No, of course not, Mother.”

“These attacks have made me realize that you are not as healed as I had wanted you to be, and that was very wrong of me.” She squeezed his hand.

The bell rang.

“Come, Mother, we must dress for dinner.” Gerard rose to his feet. His knee ached, and he grimaced as he rubbed at it. “Do not dare to coddle me, madam,” he said before she could speak.

She smiled ruefully, but only said, “I shall see you at dinner.”

Tonight’s dinner was an intimate gathering compared to the lavish New Year’s Eve dinner party that would occur the following night, but the wine flowed freely, and the talk around the table was bright and sparkling.

Again, Miranda was seated far down the table from Gerard, on one side of James Barnes while Julia sat next to him. However, the two young people seemed to be in animated conversation and oblivious to their other dinner partners.

At one point, Miranda caught Gerard's eye. He glanced at the chattering pair, then back to her, and she smiled, sharing his silent amusement.

She looked beautiful, again in her green dress. He wanted to spend as much time with her as he wished. He wanted the shadow of Harriet’s revenge to be lifted from her eyes.

He would speak to her soon—tonight or tomorrow. He did not think she would refuse him. He did not want to contemplate what he would feel if she did so.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 16b

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 15

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 15

The bell to dress for dinner had already rung, but something drew Laura, Lady Wynwood, past her bedroom and up the stairs to an older section of the house. She followed a winding route she remembered well from her childhood, taking her from staircase to hallway to staircase, always climbing upward. At the top of the last narrow set of stairs, she wrestled with the door, but it eventually flung open to the pressure of her shoulder against it, and she was out on the rooftop of Wintrell Hall.

The brick cupola, slit with glass to let light fall into the great front hall far below, was flanked by two small turrets, one containing the door out of which she stepped. The wind whistled harder at this height, but she’d brought her fur-edged cloak, and the fresh bite of the cold air made her feel awake and alive.

A brick parapet ringed the cupola, and she passed through an opening to walk around and view the countryside. She could see the tracks in the snow on the front lawn where the children had had a snowball fight this morning, while beyond the trees glistened with the snow and ice dripping from their branches. Farther out, the pasturelands lay in squares and rectangles, broken by hedgerows and the dark line of the river. The setting sun was just starting to turn the sky rosy and golden.

Her thoughts wandered. The cold stung her cheeks but the view was too beautiful to leave it, the peace too delicious to want to stop soaking in it.

But then the sound of the door opening made her turn, and Miranda stepped out onto the roof.

Her eyes—oh, her eyes were like those of the dead.

She made as if to leave, but Laura held out her hand. “Come enjoy the view with me.”

Miranda hesitated for so long, Laura was not certain she would join her. But then she stepped through the opening in the parapet on slow feet and came to stand beside her.

“I did not mean to interrupt you,” Miranda said.

“You did not, my dear.”

“The first bell has rung.”

“Yes, I know, but …” Laura took a deep breath. “It is all your fault.”

“Mine?” Her green eyes were hazel in the rose-orange light.

“You are so restful, Miranda, and I … I am like Gerard, always wanting to do something. And so I am here, seeking peace, seeking the Lord.”

Miranda’s gaze flicked away.

“Is that why you are here?” Laura asked.

Miranda’s mouth opened, searching for the words to say. “I don’t know,” she finally said. Her jaw worked. It seemed to Laura that Miranda’s emotions were crawling under her skin and she was struggling to keep them in.

Laura would have asked, but something almost like a physical touch stayed her voice. So instead, she turned to drink in the view and remained silent.

Laura worried that Miranda would simply return inside, but she stood there beside her for several long minutes.

“Coming up here reminds me of how small I am,” Miranda said.

“Yes, What is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou visitest him? Hebrews.”

Miranda blinked. “That’s in the Bible?”

“Of course, my dear. Why does that surprise you?”

She frowned. Her gaze remained on the view, but Laura could tell that she didn’t see it. “I … I never thought God would be mindful of me.”

“Whyever not? He created you. He loves you more deeply than any parent ever could.”

Miranda’s jaw grew hard, and her eyes grew sad. “That would not be difficult. I never mattered to them.”

Laura had a sudden memory of a summer day here at Wintrell Hall, and Miranda’s mother complaining to her and Augusta about how, during the season in London, they had not been able to find a man to take Miranda off their hands.

“My dear.” Laura turned Miranda to face her. “If you believe nothing else I tell you, believe this. You matter to God, a great deal, and He loves you exactly the way He made you.”

She gave a little shake of the head. “Why would God see someone like me?”

“Come, I will tell you a story.” Laura threw her arm around Miranda and led her around the cupola. “There was a slave who was mistreated by her mistress, so she ran away. But God saw her in the wilderness and spoke to her.”

Miranda’s brow wrinkled, but she said nothing.

Laura continued, “People in those days liked naming things, so she gave God another name. She called him, Thou God seest me.”

By now, they had reached the other side of the cupola. In the dome, the rectangular panels of glass had circular designs within them, and the setting sun shone through a circle, looking a bit like an eye. Laura stopped. “She was only a slave, but He saw her, Miranda.”

Miranda looked at the orange light for a few seconds, but then turned her face away. Laura saw her expression and was haunted by it, because it was despair.

“I see you, Miranda,” Laura said. “And I have to believe God will find a way for you out of these troubles.”

“Yes,” Miranda said, but absently. “I must go.” She headed toward the turret door, but then she suddenly turned and embraced Laura in a fierce hug.

She was gone in a moment, passing through the door and down the narrow staircase.

Laura stood there, her heart throbbing hard and slow. Miranda’s hug had almost seemed like good-bye.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 16a

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 14b

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 14b

“I …” She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block out a horrible memory. “I know who wants to kill me.”

“Who?”

She pressed her fist to her mouth, and he saw she was trembling. He reached for her, no matter that Michael stood by the fire with an interested expression on his face, and held her hand in his own,

The eyes she raised to his were tortured. “Gerard, it is all my fault.”

“Miranda—”

“Do you remember what I told you about my parents? They hired a new nursery-maid when I was six years old, but they were unconcerned with the goings on in the nursery. Harriet …” She swallowed. “Harriet was cruel and told my parents that I was clumsy.” She absently ran her hand over her forearm. “And so my parents never questioned the bruises.”

He had to concentrate to keep from crushing her hand. A rage built up in his chest, tightening every muscle in his body. He focused on the delicate bones of her fingers, so fragile next to his. He could protect her now. He would protect her now from anyone who would harm her, because he loved her.

“It went on for two years,” Miranda said. “Then one day I found my mother’s diamond bracelet under a bush in the garden. She had put the house in an uproar because she’d lost the bracelet two or three nights before at a dinner party she’d given. The bracelet must have slipped off when she went walking in the gardens after dinner. But instead of returning it, I hid the bracelet in Harriet’s dresser. On Harriet’s day off, one of the under-maids watched me, so I casually mentioned a pretty bracelet I’d seen Harriet wearing. It took very little encouragement to get the maid to look through Harriet’s things and find my mother’s bracelet. Harriet was sacked immediately and the maid promoted to an upper-maid.”

“It’s Harriet doing this?” Michael asked. Gerard had nearly forgotten he was there. “After all these years?”

“No one else in the neighborhood would hire her,” Miranda said. “She was forced to go to London to find work, but fell on hard times. I heard that she had died, in a … brothel.”

Gerard saw the guilt in her expression. “You were only eight years old.”

“I was old enough to know it would be hard for her to find another situation once she’d been accused of theft,” Miranda said. “And later I understood what had happened to her in London. But at the time, all I felt was relief that she was gone.” Her fingers clenched hard in his palm.

“You never saw the woman in the woods,” Gerard said. “You can’t know it’s Harriet.”

“Jean, one of the maids, alluded to how I could have her sacked,” Miranda said. “She couldn’t know unless Harriet had told her. No one else knew that I had hidden that bracelet among Harriet’s things in order to get her sacked. She must have used Jean to open the garden gate so those two men could attack us.”

“No, she couldn’t have known the two of you would walk outside that night,” Michael said.

“Perhaps they would have entered the house and waited for you,” Gerard said grimly.

“It seems incredible that Harriet happened to find you,” Michael said. “And those two men—she must have hired them. There is something about this that seems odd.”

“I considered leaving,” Miranda said in a low voice.

Gerard’s heart twisted once, hard. “There is nowhere you could go. You would be like Harriet.”

“It would draw her away from all of you.”

“This is not some penance you must pay,” he said fiercely.

“We can use this to our advantage,” Michael said. “Set a trap. We nearly had them at the skating party.”

“I won’t put Miranda in danger,” Gerard told his cousin.

“She wouldn’t be. I will need to think on this.”

“We will both think on this. In the meantime, Miranda, remain close to the house and do not go anywhere alone. Since Michael is now one of the servants, he can keep an eye on you.”

Michael gave him a smug smile. “I told you it would be useful for me to be here.”

Gerard gave him a dark look. “You are useful only if you are not caught out.”

***
Next blog post: Chapter 15

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 14a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 14a

Gerard almost didn’t notice the footman. He wanted to say it was because he was distracted, but in reality, it was because Michael was that accomplished.

After Miranda left him, Gerard was too cold to remain out of doors and was seeking the comfort of his fire and perhaps a pot of tea with a splash of whiskey in it for good measure. However, the way to his bedroom was blocked by footmen leaving the music room, each carrying some chairs which had been stored there. They headed toward the drawing room, and Gerard guessed that the extra chairs were for the guests tonight. Felicity had planned a lavish dinner party for this evening.

A certain footman passed Gerard, his ill-fitting livery looking as though it had been made for someone else. At first, the man’s face was that of a complete stranger. Then suddenly the servant turned a blue-green eye toward him and winked.

Gerard ground his teeth.

He headed slowly down the hallway, past the music room and toward his bedroom. He paused at his door, waiting.

The butler stood supervising while the footmen silently wove around him. The footman in question exited the drawing room, returning to the music room for more chairs, but Gerard made certain to send him a pointed glare before going into his bedroom. Gerard settled in front of the fireplace and waited.

In a few moments, there was a scratch at the door. “Come,” he bellowed.

“You're cross as a bear,” Michael said as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. He had suddenly become Michael again, rather than the strange servant Gerard had first seen.

“Why are you in that livery?” Gerard demanded.

Michael tried to look innocent as he tugged at his sleeves. “I should think it obvious. And you will surely get me sacked, wanting to speak to me when I should be working.”

“It is too risky for you to insinuate yourself as one of the servants,” Gerard said. “We discussed this when you first arrived.”

“I cannot protect you if I continue in my guise as a peddler in the village,” Michael said.

“My father—your uncle—may recognize you, you fool.”

Michael gave him a level look. “You did not. And you are forgetting, Cousin, that day in France. I can fool him, I assure you.”

Gerard’s ire drained out of him.

Two years ago, Gerard had led a crew on shore to capture some Frenchmen who were resupplying their ship from a French village. There was a skirmish and some of the peasants had been captured along with the seamen.

Gerard had stared his cousin in the face and not recognized him until hours later, when the French peasant managed to unobtrusively whisper to him with Michael’s voice. He had confessed that he was on assignment for the Home Office and had asked Gerard to find a way to free him. There was apparently more to Michael’s duties than simply being one of Wellington’s junior officers.

After the woman’s attack on Christmas Eve, Gerard had written to Michael, whom he knew was on leave at home this Christmas, to ask for his help in investigating the woman. Michael had gone so far as to darken his hair, and when posing as a peddler, the dirt hid his features. Now, he had no dirt but he had done something to make his face appear sallow, and when Gerard had seen him carrying chairs, his gait and posture had been completely different from his normal upright carriage.

Michael gave his carefree smile. “Besides, no one notices servants.”

Gerard admitted he was probably correct.

Michael continued, “The peddler guise was useful when I became drinking partners with nearly every man in the local tavern, looking for any local family with a connection to you or Miranda. But after the attack yesterday, I thought it would be better to be here to protect her. And to ensure the safety of my ungrateful relative, of course.”

“I am not ungrateful,” Gerard growled. “I am concerned about you.”

“I am touched by your solicitude.” Michael gave a short bow. “It is mutual. Especially when you insist on attempting to lure the men out of hiding by dangling yourself as bait.”

“I cannot sit here in safety and do nothing. Surely you understand that.”

Michael's eyes were serious as they rested upon him. “Yes, I do.”

A sudden frantic knocking at the door made them both turn. In an instant, Michael's face underwent an astounding transformation. He altered the muscles of his jaw and lips, relaxing some and tightening others, and suddenly his chin seemed weaker, his eyes half-lidded, and in combination with the slouch of his shoulders and the makeup on his face, he hardly looked like himself. He shuffled to the door to answer it.

Miranda started in surprise at the sight of him, but her eye slid over him to Gerard. Her face had turned so pale that her skin was translucent.

“Miranda, what’s wrong?” He rose to his feet, ignoring the protest from his knee.

She gulped and glanced at Michael.

“Hurry, come inside,” Gerard said.

Miranda did not even hesitate at the impropriety and slipped into his bedroom. Michael closed the door behind her and relaxed his facial muscles again, which made her squeak in surprise.

“Miranda, may I introduce my cousin, Lieutenant Michael Coulton-Jones. Miss Miranda Belmoore.”

“Charmed.” Michael bowed over her hand and gave one of the dashing smiles that caused every woman he’d ever known to swoon at his feet.

Gerard scowled at him. However, he was gratified when Miranda pulled her hand from his quickly and turned toward Gerard.

But now that she was in private with him, she seemed anxious and nervous. “Gerard, you should sit. And not because of your knee.”

“What is it?” He sank gratefully back into the sofa while she settled on a chair.

“I …” She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block out a horrible memory. “I know who wants to kill me.”

***
Next blog post: Chapter 14b

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 13b

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 13b

After retrieving Sally’s mittens, Miranda had reached the foot of the nursery wing stairs and started down the hallway to the main staircase when she saw the under-maid, Jean, looking around furtively with her hand on the latch to Cecil’s bedroom. Jean froze when she saw Miranda.

“What are you doing?” Miranda demanded. Jean was not an upper-maid, nor was she Cecil’s valet, so she should not be entering Cecil’s room for any reason.

Jean’s eyes were wide for a moment, then she affected an innocent expression. “Sir Cecil is in a snit because his grandfather’s pistol is missing. I am helping to search for it.” She smirked at Miranda.

“You are not.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I am.” Miranda drew herself up. She was a poor relation now, but she was also a gentleman’s daughter and had been the only daughter of a wealthy household. In her father’s home, Jean would have been sacked for such belligerence to any guest.

Jean stood there stiffly, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Then she gave Miranda a nasty smile. “What will you do about it? Will you have me turned out? Lady Belmoore won’t listen to you.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

“Or p’raps you’ll resort to other ways to get me sacked. I hear you’re quite good at it.” Jean whirled in a flurry of skirts and stalked away.

The hallway tilted. Miranda thrust out blindly for the wall, sagging against it. Her stomach heaved.

Jean knew. And there was only one way she could know. She’d been told.

The light dimmed, darkness threatening to cover her, but she fought it, dragging in deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to ease and slow.

She knew who was after her. And why.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 14a

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 13a

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 13a

December 29th



She was wearing his scarf.

Gerard made his way out through the portico on the south side of the house, placing the crutches carefully on the icy stones. It had snowed last night, a few inches, and the children were having a rousing snowball fight on the south lawn. Miranda sat on a bench at the edge of the flagstone terrace, and his red and black scarf around her neck was a splash of color on the white landscape beyond her.

She turned and saw him as he exited the house. Her face was pale, and for a moment she looked apprehensive. Then she gave a small smile that commanded the wind and waves of his anxiety to be still. The air sliced through his nose and lungs, but despite the cold, he reveled in the clean scent of freshly fallen snow, of firs and woodsmoke.

She rose and walked towards him. “You should be resting.”

“It is the case of the pot and kettle brangling with each other,” he said.

“I do not brangle.” Her eyes crinkled. “And I was not injured.”

“You were attacked, the same as I.” His voice was too forceful, and he took a breath before continuing. “It frightened me.”

A whisper of emotion passed over her face. It reminded him of a child pressing her nose to the glass of a candy shop. Then it was gone, and she was the same calm, dependable Miranda.

“Come sit.” She pointed to the bench. “I have swept the snow from it.”

She walked beside him as he made his way to the edge of the flagstones. “Miranda,” he said in a low voice, “you should not be sitting alone. It is not safe—those men were focused upon you.”

She said nothing. She dipped her head so he could not see her face beyond the edge of her bonnet.

“Miranda, you cannot avoid this discussion.”

Still she said nothing.

He sighed. “I will bring up the other topic of conversation you wish to avoid if you do not speak.”

“Oh for goodness' sake.” She looked at him then, her cheeks pink.

It made him want to kiss her again.

However, he missed his chance, because she looked away again, hiding behind the edge of her bonnet. “Everyone is gossiping about the attack. I have been circumspect in what I have said about it, although I am not certain whether that is the wisest course.”

Gerard remembered the tense conversation with Cecil, Mr. Belmoore, and his father. “It is. No one knows that the men specifically wanted you except for myself and, er …”

“That man who helped me? Who was he?”

“It was my cousin, Michael. Did you never meet him?”

“Perhaps when we were children, but not in the past several years. You said that you had sent for someone to help us—it was Michael?”

“Yes. I had gone to the skating party in hopes that the men would attack me. Michael was lying in wait to ambush them.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “That was a good plan.”

“It was? It didn’t work.”

“It was still a good plan.”

In the midst of the distant snowball fight, Ellie caught sight of her and Gerard and waved.

Miranda waved back. “I cannot avoid the children, but I did not wish to be near them, in case …”

They had nearly reached the bench, but he stepped on a patch of ice and his foot slid out sideways, catching her ankle. The sudden pressure on the opposite crutch sent it skidding in the other direction. He had a view of wildly spinning sky, and then the hard smack of the stones beneath his back, the clatter of his falling crutches. Miranda also gave a little squeak and fell with him, her cloak and skirts tangled around his foot.

“Miranda, are you—”

She burst into laughter.

In the sound of her laugh, his crutches, the symbol of his weakness and the root of his bitterness, lost some of their evil. In the sound of her laugh, he was not a cripple, but a man lying tangled in the skirts of a beautiful woman on a beautiful winter day.

Hang her relations, who might see them from the windows of the house behind them. He wanted to cup her face and kiss her senseless.

He had fallen in love with her.

He might have fallen in love with her the moment she stepped into his family's coach. He remembered the rush when he'd seen her, the notion that she was linked to him. He had known her for most of his life, but he had fallen in love with her this past week as he had seen how she fit with him, like a key in a lock.

Her laughter had died to gasping breaths. “Come, Gerard, the ground is too cold.”

Her words were too mundane for what he was feeling. And yet what could he say? Confess his love? Propose to her? He’d sound like a madman.

He was so much less than he had been. He was still uncomfortable with the thought of offering himself to any woman, but especially Miranda. He knew that she would accept him, she would willingly shoulder the burden of his care.

He did not wish to do that to her, to be yet another person who needed something from her.

They sat on the bench, and despite the pain in his leg, his body felt so much more alive than it had in months. Miranda had done this to him. Love had done this to him.

“Miranda—”

“Miranda!” The governess hurried toward her. “Paul is quite upset because Sally is wearing his mittens rather than her own. Would you fetch hers from the nursery and put Paul’s mittens away?” She gave Miranda a set of blue mittens.

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me, Gerard?” And then Miranda was gone, leaving only a whiff of lavender and lemon behind her.

Gerard sat there feeling nonplussed. What had he been about to say to her? What could he say? He was being a complete lackwit.

Well, that was nothing unusual.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 13b

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 12d

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 12d

Gerard swung his crutch and caught the man in the leg. He stumbled and dropped Miranda, who landed hard on the ground.

At that moment, the second man ran toward him. Gerard caught the dull gleam of the knife blade just in time to jerk backward. He quickly shifted his grip on the other crutch so that the wood was braced against his forearm and blocked the man’s next swing with the knife.

Where was the other jaw of his trap—where was Michael?

But Gerard had no opportunity to look around as the knife stabbed toward him. He threaded the blade through the crutch and twisted. The knife flicked through the air, and the man looked at his empty hand in disbelief. Gerard slammed the other crutch into the man’s nose, and he howled and jumped backwards.

Gerard looked up in time to see Miranda shove her fingers into the first man’s eyes, and he cried out, releasing his grip on her. She shoved at the sack still over her head.

At that moment, a third man moved from behind a tree and grabbed Miranda’s attacker from behind. It was Michael.

“Miranda, run!” Gerard said.

She pulled the sack from her head and ran back towards the lake.

But Gerard’s attacker lunged to follow her. Gerard tripped him with his crutch, but the man’s leg pulled at it. Gerard staggered and pain stabbed through his knee. He fell to the ground with the other man, who kicked at him, but Gerard rolled out of the way.

Miranda’s attacker pulled out a knife and slashed at Michael, who released him and leaped back. Then the attacker ran back into the woods.

The man on the ground with Gerard also jumped to his feet and followed his compatriot.

Michael ran after them.

Gerard shoved himself to his feet. His knee throbbed once, so painfully that his vision clouded briefly, then receded to a spiking ache. He reached out and grabbed one of his crutches from the ground, then hurried after them.

It was easier for him to maneuver through the narrow deer trails with only one crutch, but he did not move quickly enough. He could see movement ahead of him through the trees, and he followed the shadow.

But when he rounded a tree, he lost sight of the shadow. He stopped, his eyes scanning the dimness. No movement. A bird called feebly, as if reluctant to break the silent vanguard of old oaks. A scurrying to his right, but it sounded like a mouse.

Then, ahead of him, a shadow detached itself from behind a tree and approached him.

Gerard exhaled. “Lost them?”

“Sorry, old chap.”

“You’re a poor bodyguard, Cousin. I wondered if you’d received my message.”

Gerard’s cousin, Lieutenant Michael Coulton-Jones, wore a thoroughly disreputable costume in motley shades of dirt, slime, and moss on his worn clothes. Mud almost hid the grin across his handsome face. “I hid in a tree where I could see all the paths someone was likely to take in order to sneak up behind you on that bench, just as you told me to do. It is hardly my fault that I was thwarted by a dozen children creating a fort under the tree where I was hiding.”

“Paul and his company, I suspect.”

“Yes, the one giving orders was named Paul. I couldn’t drop down and scare them half to death, and they were making such a rumpus that I suspect your attackers chose a more circuitous route on their way to relieve you of your life.”

“Trapped by a gaggle of children? Embarrassing, Michael.” Gerard sobered. “Did the children see the attackers? Did they harm them?”

“All the children left but Paul, who left a few minutes later. Then I heard a woman scream.”

“That must have been Miranda. Michael, they were after her, not me.”

“That sheds a different light upon it.”

Behind them, someone called Gerard’s name.

“I’ll find you later,” Michael said.

“I hope you find different clothing. You look like something the hunting dogs vomited up.”

Michael drew himself to his full height, which made his hideous clothes rain dirt upon the ground. “I’ll have you know that I was perfectly concealed in the tree while wearing these clothes.”

“I’m surprised the children didn’t smell your presence.”

The corner of Michael’s mouth curled up. Then in the blink of an eye he was gone, disappearing behind the tree.

In the next moment, Gerard heard a soft tread behind him. He turned to see Mr. Drydale running toward him, appearing from behind a clump of trees.

“Gerard, are you harmed? Miranda said two men attacked you both.”

“They ran. I was following, but I lost them.”

“Were you speaking to someone?” Mr. Drydale’s dark eyes regarded the tree, although his face was impassive.

“I spoke with a tenant who happened to be in the woods. Er … I promised him I would not mention to Sir Cecil about his presence in an area popular with poachers.”

Mr. Drydale’s eyebrows rose. “I see. Did he see them?”

“He saw movement, but thought it was a deer. I am afraid they are out of our reach by now, sir.”

Mr. Drydale accompanied Gerard to retrieve his other crutch and they returned to the lake together. Almost all the women and children had already gone back to the house with the servants and supplies, leaving only several of the menfolk, Lady Wynwood, Miranda, and Paul. Upon hearing about the attack and being assured that Gerard was unharmed, they all returned to the house in their carriages.

He rode with Mr. Drydale and Lady Wynwood, whose carriage was one of the last to reach the hall. Gerard’s father and mother met him at the door to the house. He forestalled them by telling them, “I am well.”

“Oh, Gerard, if only we had not left the lake so early,” his mother moaned.

“How’s the leg?” his father asked.

It had been feeling as though a hammer had been attempting to pound its way in, but he said, “No worse than before. I must change out of my wet things.”

After Maddox had helped him into a dressing gown and left him seated before the fire, he was surprised by a knock at the door. Cecil, Mr. Belmoore, and Gerard’s father were there.

His father and Mr. Belmoore seated themselves, but Cecil stood before the fireplace. His father’s unhappy expression made Gerard tense.

“My boy, what a terrible thing to have happened,” Mr. Belmoore said.

“I will find these men, I assure you,” Gerard said. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he would do, but surely sheer determination should count for something.

“We are concerned about you,” Mr. Belmoore said.

“I am perfectly—”

“We are concerned about what you may have done to cause someone to want to harm you,” Cecil said sharply.

“Cecil!” Mr. Belmoore said. “Good God, he’s just been attacked.”

“For the second time,” Cecil retorted. “Are those two men connected to that vagrant woman in the woods? Why are they after Gerard and Miranda? We are all thinking it, even if none of us speaks of it to the rest of the household.”

Gerard should have been expecting this. His mother had mentioned something like this only a few days before. But he felt like a statue in an ice-covered garden. He had difficulty breathing. “I have done nothing of which I am ashamed. Nothing which would shame you or the family.”

“I have no doubt of it.” However, his father would not meet his eyes.

No, he was not a statue. He was a block of ice that had been shattered into razor-sharp shards.

He would not stand for this. He had faults enough, but he had never been dishonourable. How could they suspect that he’d been involved in anything that would draw such danger and unsavoury characters to the Belmoore family home? The frustration made him shoot to his feet and limp to the fireplace. His knee was a ball of heat and pain, but his emotions were an ice storm.

“Gerard, you must sit,” his father said.

Gerard ignored him. He would not tell them that the men had been after Miranda, for what would Cecil do to her then? Instead, Gerard would find these men and make them tell him why they were doing this. He would prove himself and Miranda innocent.

But he also knew that his relationship with the Belmoores had changed. He stared into the fire and felt as though something inside of him had withered and died.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 13a

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
Createspace

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color:

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 12c

I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.

A Regency romantic mystery

Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.

Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.

However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …

Start reading here.

***
Chapter 12c

As the morning wore on, others from the party came to sit with him. At one point, Miss Church-Pratton chatted incessantly with him for half an hour. Miranda was speaking to Mrs. Peterson, the rector’s wife, but Gerard finally managed to catch her eye. She smiled at him, and within a few minutes, Lady Wynwood joined him again. This time, Miss Church-Pratton remained only a minute before leaving.

“You are fortunate,” Lady Wynwood said. “Sir Horace has become a rival for Miss Church-Pratton’s hand.”

“I am certain I can withstand the disappointment. Who is the gentleman?”

She nodded to an elderly man who had joined Mr. Sol Drydale near one of the fires next to the lake. “He is a relative of Mrs. Barnes, and indecently wealthy. However, I assure you that you are much more handsome.”

“The curse of a pretty face. Shall I have Mr. Drydale plant me a facer to break my nose?”

“I can do that for you.” She grinned at him. “I am out of sorts with Sol. He mentioned to me that Sir Horace is a fine judge of horseflesh, so when I was introduced to him, I asked him about his stable. Did you know that he has fifty-nine horses?”

“That is a great many.”

“Yes, especially when Sir Horace proceeded to recite the lineage of each and every one of them.”

He laughed.

Lady Wynwood turned toward the lake before them. “What a lovely view you have here. The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork, indeed.”

“I would not have expected the woman who speaks of muslin enhancements at a ball to be so well-versed in Scripture.”

“Fashion foibles and a vulgar sense of humor do not preclude a sense of the spiritual. I do not find muslin enhancements unholy.”

“Yes, ma’am, I see that.”

“Do you? We are none of us saints, Gerard.” Her light brown eyes had turned golden in the sunlight. She absently touched the narrow streak of silver at her temple, barely visible against the blond hair mostly hidden by her bonnet. It appeared she did not notice she was doing it. “We would do well to always remember that, lest we become self-righteous and hypocritical. But by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we are forgiven our sins, such as they are.”

He felt suddenly as though he were on holy ground. Her words touched something in his soul that he did not quite understand. “None of us like to dwell on our sins, I think.”

“Of course not, but I have come to appreciate a good confessional prayer. It is like giving my heart a good scrubbing. When I am here at Wintrell Hall, I pray in the chapel nearly every midday.”

“I did not know that. Did you always do so?”

Her gaze became distant and burdened. “No. Only in the past ten years or so.”

Down by the shore, Mrs. Hathaway waved frantically to them.

“Oh, there’s Augusta waving to us to return. Gerard, I nearly forgot to mention that your mother had a message for you. She and your father left earlier and I am to take you back to the house in my carriage. Shall I assist you?”

His knee would pain him when he stood, and he had no wish to be helped anywhere. “No, I shall follow in a moment.”

“Very well. Don’t dawdle.” But before she moved away, she said, “I am still speaking to your mother about Miranda. I believe she may be having a change of heart, although I am not yet certain.”

He bowed as she left. The children had been called in from the ice and the party were all heading back to the house. Automatically, as he used to do when they were children, he began to count the heads of the young ones. Twenty-seven. Hadn’t there been twenty-eight in total? How many children had arrived at the lake? Perhaps one of them had remained at the house, or returned earlier.

Gerard grasped his crutches and heaved himself up. Because he had been sitting for so long, his knee immediately responded with the pain of a thousand knife blades stabbing into it. He gritted his teeth and bowed his head, waiting for the wave to pass.

He caught Miranda’s eye and signalled to her. As she approached, he asked, “How many children came to the lake?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“A moment ago, I counted only twenty-seven.”

She immediately frowned and stared down at the children, her lips moving silently. “You are correct. It is easier to count from this vantage point.”

“Who is missing?”

“I do not see Paul, do you?”

He scanned the heads. Paul had been wearing a bright maroon cap. “No, I do not see him.”

“I think I know where he is. He and the others made a snow fort in the woods earlier this morning.” She gestured behind him, toward the tree line.

Alarm shot through him. “I will come with you.”

She glanced at him suspiciously, but only said, “Come along, then.” She tramped into the woods.

Although he had to hurry to catch up to her, he found it a relief that she did not try to argue with him or treat him differently because of his injury. But this was Miranda, and she never responded in the way one might expect.

Then, when they were deep enough into the woods to have lost sight of the lake, they were attacked.

The men came from a different direction than the one he had been anticipating. Miranda was only two feet in front of him when one of the same men from the garden suddenly rushed at her, throwing a sack over her head. She shrieked but her voice was muffled by fabric caught in her mouth. The man tossed her over his shoulder.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 12d

Order The Spinster's Christmas:

Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nook (coming soon)

Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:

#F1081 img {max-width:100%} .F1081_fbz_table {border:0;margin:0;} .F1081_fbz_page {margin:0;padding:0;} .F1081_fbz_smartform td {display:table-cell;} .F1081_fbz_row td {padding-top:0.5em;padding-bottom:0.2em;line-height:1.7em;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel, .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_div, .F1081_fbz_fieldtext, .F1081_fbz_err {border:0;padding:0.5em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_label, .F1081_fbz_abovelabel {text-align:Default;} .F1081_fbz_fieldtext {padding-top:0.7em;padding-bottom:0.7em;} .F1081_fbz_title {line-height:1.3em;padding:0.5em;text-align:center;border:0;font-family:Default%09;} .F1081_fbz_err, .F1081_fbz_invalid {padding:0.5em;margin:0.5em;color:red;border:3px solid red;background-color:rgba(255,255,255,0.5);font-weight:bold;display:none;} .F1081_fbz_invalid {color:#F80;border:3px solid #F80;} .F1081_fbz_palette, .F1081_fbz_fielddef, .F1081_fbz_input {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_button {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;background-color:#E0E0E0;background-image: -webkit-gradient(linear, left top, top bottom, from(#E0E0E0), to(#ffffff));background-image: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -ms-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);background-image: linear-gradient(top, #E0E0E0, #ffffff);border:1px solid #AAAAAA;border-radius:4px;moz-border-radius:4px;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;margin:0.2em;cursor:pointer;} .F1081_fbz_button:active {background:#a0a0a0} .F1081_fbz_button[disabled=disabled], .F1081_fbz_button:disabled {opacity:0.5;} .F1081_fbz_footer {padding:0.5em;line-height:1.7em;text-align:Default;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;text-align:center;border:0;} .F1081_fbz_row:hover {background: rgba(251,248,231,0.5);-o-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-moz-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;-ms-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;} .F1081_fbz_row_nohover:hover {background:transparent;} .F1081_fbz_form {border:4px solid #FFA000;background-color:#FAFAFA;border-radius:20px;moz-border-radius:20px;padding:0;line-height:1.3em;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form div {font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;line-height:1.3em;} .F1081_fbz_form tbody {border:0;padding:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} .F1081_fbz_form td {border:0;margin:0;font-family:Default%09;font-size:16px;} @media only screen and (max-width : 380px) {.F1081_fbz_label{display:none !important;} .F1081_fbz_abovelabel{display:block;} .F49_fbz_input {width:95%;}}; Subscribe to my blogYour email address*Please enter all required fieldsCorrect invalid entriesNo spam, ever. Promise. Powered by FeedBlitzPlease choose a color: