Camille Elliot's Blog, page 87

The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 19a

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 19a

Ellie was missing.

Miranda had walked back from the Lower Gardens with her and the other children, and there had been much bustling about as they shed their cloaks, scarves, caps, and mittens. The nursery smelled strongly—and not very pleasantly—of wet wool, freshened only in the corners where pine boughs were tucked.

Dinner for the children was earlier than usual today because of the New Year’s Eve dinner party. The kitchen simply could not prepare the food for all the children and the grand party at the same time. But when it was time to eat, Ellie was nowhere to be found.

Miranda spent twenty minutes searching the nursery wing, in every closet and corner. She had begun to feel real concern when Jean, the under-maid, came up to her in the deserted hallway. “Miss, I found Miss Ellie.”

Miranda had not seen Jean since the incident in the family wing two days ago, and her appearance now with Ellie missing made Miranda’s breath freeze in her throat. “Where is she?”

“If you’ll follow me, miss.”

“I wouldn’t follow you if you promised the way to Paradise.”

Jean surprised her by stepping close to her, enough that Miranda could see the hard lines along her mouth and eyes. In a low voice, she said, “You’ll come with me if you want to see Ellie again.”

“If you’ve hurt her, you’ll see what I’m capable of,” Miranda said in a dark voice.

That startled Jean, and she blinked her pale eyes twice, thrice. Then they narrowed. “If you don’t come with me, she’ll be hurt badly.”

Miranda set her jaw, then noticed Jean was wearing a cloak. “Are we going outside? Let me get my cloak.” Jean looked as though she would object simply to be contrary, but Miranda added, “I will come quietly if you let me get my cloak.”

Jean came into the bedroom with her as she retrieved her wool cloak, and did not object when she also snatched up her bonnet and Gerard’s black and red scarf. Miranda then followed Jean down the stairs.

Michael would be helping with the preparations for the dinner party. Would they pass the dining room or the kitchens? Could she catch his eye?

But they descended to the family wing and then took the back stairs to the gardens. They saw no other servants, for they were all helping guests in their bedrooms or preparing for the dinner.

They turned toward the south end of the estate, but they did not cross the lawn, instead skirting the edge of the forest. Gerard’s bedroom window faced in the opposite direction. He would never see her.

The wind had risen, and it cut through her thin cloak like ice daggers. But her heart felt even more frozen. Was despair always so cold?

After taking a short trail through a narrow strip of woods, they came upon a dirt road used by the tenant farmers. An old traveling coach sat fifty yards away, driven by one of the men who had attacked them in the garden and at the skating party. It was the taller one, who had injured Gerard.

The coach opened and the round-faced man who had tried to take Miranda stepped out. He nodded to someone inside, and then Miranda saw Harriet.

She exited the vehicle gracefully. She had deep lines in her hard face, but her hair, visible under her bonnet, was still thick and beautiful, a rich brown color. Her eyes glittered when she spotted Miranda, but she didn’t smile.

“Randa!” Ellie’s voice carried to her on the wind.

“Ellie!” She hurried forward, and now saw Ellie sitting in a corner of the coach, looking small and very cold. She had her cloak, but no mittens or cap.

Miranda had no need to say anything to Harriet. The woman helped Ellie to the ground, shoving her roughly toward Jean. She also tossed the maid a leather pouch that clinked. “My thanks, Jean.” Harriet’s voice was low and rough, but would sound sultry to most men.

She issued no orders to Miranda, but simply turned her blue gaze upon her and waited.

Harriet’s silence was strangely frightening. Miranda climbed into the coach, and Harriet and the man followed. In a moment they were in motion, leaving Wintrell Hall far behind.

“I thought you were dead,” Miranda said to Harriet.

“You probably wished I was.” Idly, Harriet fingered the embroidered edge of her traveling cloak. While the material was not rich, it was of good quality, as were her gloves and bonnet trimmed in velvet ribbon. She had apparently not died a sickly prostitute, as the gossip had hinted, but had perhaps found some patron. She had the means to pay Jean, and probably these men, and to rent this traveling coach.

“Where are you taking me?”

“London.” Harriet stifled a yawn.

“You’re taking me to London to kill me?”

Miranda finally had Harriet’s full attention. “Kill you? No. I haven’t spent all this time and money to find you simply to kill you. I’ll toss you into the same neighborhood where I was stranded after you had me sacked without a reference.”

“You didn’t deserve a reference,” Miranda snapped.

“I didn’t deserve anything that happened to me,” Harriet hissed. “But you will.”

“Why—”

“Hold your tongue or I shall have Todge cut it out for you.” Harriet nodded to the man across from them. He gave Miranda a narrow gaze from eyes that were still slightly swollen from where she’d thrust her fingers into them, three days ago.

They traveled in silence for a mile. Miranda saw the forested area on either side of the road and knew they were about to leave Belmoore lands.

She knew exactly when they had to slow down because of the potholes in the public road.

She leaned down as if removing a stone from her shoe, grabbed two handfuls of dirt and straw from the floor of the coach, and flung them in Todge’s eyes. Then she grabbed at the door latch and flung herself from the moving coach.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 19b

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

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Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 18

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 18

Gerard made his way blindly down the corridors. He knew Miranda could not have meant the callous words she had flung at him. She was not indifferent to him. She had given herself away with that kiss.

She would have refused him in order to keep him safe. The thought warmed through the cold that had seeped into his limbs. So she must have lied to him.

If she had lied, she was uncomfortably good at it. She had looked him in the eye to tell him she did not love him.

Why would she refuse him? He could offer her everything she did not have. He could protect her.

Unless, he realized bitterly, she truly did doubt his broken body’s ability to protect her from anything.

No, he knew she had lied to him about that, too.

He knew where he wanted to go. He made his way deeper into the bowels of the house, searching out the older section. The carpets were older, smelling of long winters, and wall-hangings flanked the corridors like medieval squires.

At last he stood before the wooden door to the family chapel. It was strangely shorter and narrower than he remembered, but the wood was still deeply grained, darkened with age and woodsmoke, studded with iron.

He pushed open the door, which gave a mighty creak. Colored light from the narrow stained-glass window over the altar dazzled his eyes, and it took him a moment to adjust to the darkness of the interior. Four pillars stood at attention, spreading outward at the top into the delicately vaulted ceiling. The wooden pews seemed almost crushed into the rest of the floor space since it was not a pretentiously grand chapel, being small and only modestly airy.

And near the front, Lady Wynwood turned to look at him. As soon as he saw her, he knew he needed her, even though he had not been able to articulate it to himself. He had come here to find her.

She rose and came to him, taking his hands in hers. “My dear boy, come and sit.”

He sat with her in the front pew, resting his crutches against it. But now that he was here, he could not speak. The quiet of the chapel seeped into his bones, but instead of calming him, it only made him feel more helpless and vulnerable.

Lady Wynwood let him sit for several minutes before she spoke. “Won’t you unburden yourself to me?”

“There is too much. It has shown me that I am less of a man because of it.”

“Surely not, Gerard.”

“What purpose has this served?” He gripped his knee, and pain shot down his leg. “Was I too proud? Was I in need of humbling? Did I do something that required judgement?”

“The Lord does not punish in that way.”

“But He allowed this to happen.” And therein lay the root of his problems. Because of his injury, he had not been able to protect Miranda as he would have had he been whole. He squeezed harder, sending pain spiking up his thigh.

Lady Wynwood gave him a frank look. “We think that there is a reason for everything. But the truth is that there are many reasons for everything.” She laid her hand over his, smoothing the taut knuckles. “Your knee has brought you home to your parents, to a new chapter in your life.”

Miranda had said much the same. “But this is not the chapter I wanted. Not so soon. I want to know why God has done this to me.”

Her face had become drawn, and there was a hollowness and a horror behind her eyes that he had never seen before. “That is a trail that doubles back upon itself, and then doubles again.”

He shot to his feet and limped to the altar. Dust coated the brocade cloth covering it.

“For me,” she said from behind him, “anger is not a fire. It has been like drowning, a constant thrashing about, a constant questioning, ‘Why me?’ until it utterly exhausts me.”

Perhaps she was right. He had lived with this bitterness for so many months that now he didn't know how to live without it, how to release this tightness in his soul.

“What would you suggest I do?” His voice was harsh. “Pray? Give alms to the poor?”

“Be still,” she said simply.

He turned to look at her. She had a calmness of expression that reminded him of Miranda, but the weight of her gaze spoke of past pain, of hard lessons learned.

He swung back to the altar, his fingers wrinkling the cloth. “Since coming ashore, I have not been able to be still. I had more rest when I was on board ship, in the midst of a war.”

“War has not followed you home, Gerard. There are different ways to fight the battles on land.”

“What use is God when He takes away a man’s career and leaves his body broken? What use is God if He cannot save the poor and the helpless? No one else sees her. No one else cares for her except …”

The echo of his words shouted in the small chapel rang through the silence between them. It was blasphemous of him to say such things, but they came clawing up from the bitter gall in his heart.

A rustle of cloth, then Lady Wynwood was beside him, her hand on his again. “God sees her.”

He shook his head wordlessly. How could he know that?

“God sees you,” she said. “I do not know why you were injured, but I do know He can heal you.”

The idea seeped into his mind like water into the bilges of a ship. He could be restored. “How would He do that?”

“I do not know. Perhaps in ways we cannot understand. But I have felt that healing. Miranda’s calmness—the way that she calms you—that is like the peace of God that can heal you.”

But without Miranda, he was not calm. He was still angry, and frustrated, and bitter, his own unholy trinity. How could he possibly be healed?

But if God was all powerful, then would He not see Gerard? Would He not reach him?

Lady Wynwood grasped his shoulders to turn him to face her. “Do you want to battle this for years on end?”

“No,” he said, with more certainty than he had thought he possessed.

“Dear Gerard.” She touched his cheek. “Even if you do not trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, I do. I know that one day, with His peace, you will once again be happy.”

He had no reply for her. He did not feel much different from when he had entered the chapel. Perhaps he had expected too much. His talk with her had not changed today, and today was what pained him.

Lady Wynwood walked back down the aisle and left the chapel. Gerard remained, hands still gripping the altar, still without answers, still without an idea of what he could do.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 19a

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
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Print book:
Amazon
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The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 17b

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 17b

She looked at him, and her mind became a blank. She saw only his eyes, his beautiful eyes, intent upon her face. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to see his smile, hear his laughter, find joy in his arms.

It was too hard to take that step. Men like him did not love women like her. She had to make him see that his emotions were only fleeting, a mad dream from which he would wake. She gave a short laugh, tinged with both sadness and incredulity. “In a week?”

Hurt flinched across his face, and she regretted her laugh and her words.

“You cannot tell me that I do not feel as I do,” he said.

Her jaw set. “I will not allow you to make such a bad bargain.”

His jaw set, as well. She had seen this stubbornness in him, but never directed at herself. “Why is it such a bad bargain if I am in love with you?”

Love. He kept saying the word, as if he meant it. He couldn’t mean it. She had to convince him. Or perhaps … she was trying to convince herself.

She took a deep breath, then faced him squarely. “Because I do not love you, Gerard.”

Her hands shook as she said it, so she pulled them from his grasp and clamped them together, feeling her finger bones creak. But she had spent a lifetime perfecting this mask of calm—no, not a mask, a shield. She admitted it. But now, she was shielding him from herself.

He looked disbelieving, but in the face of her steady gaze, his skepticism began to crack, revealing … pain, held at bay only by some inner strength. She recognized it. She’d felt it often enough when her parents had said something particularly denigrating, when Felicity’s tongue ran sharp.

And she’d done it to Gerard.

“I ... I am sorry, that was too blunt,” she said.

Gerard didn't respond, but his eyes spoke for him—he did not want to believe her, he could not believe that he would feel this way if she did not feel the same.

She did feel the same. She loved him. But she was in a walled garden of her own making, and she held the key. And she was too weak to unlock the gate and step outside.

She wanted to believe that she could be vulnerable, that she could learn to trust. But she had been this way for too long. It was too frightening to step out. There was that part of her that was perhaps too broken.

Miranda rose to her feet. She wanted to appear practical, unfeeling—but she gnawed nervously on her bottom lip and she could not meet his eyes. 

He gathered his crutches and stood before her, a numb expression on his face.

Miranda stared at her feet. “I am sorry, Gerard. I am grateful for the honour of your proposal, but I cannot marry you.”

She turned away to hurry back to the children.

Behind her, she thought she heard him growl, “I do not want your gratitude.”

Then his hand captured her elbow. Not hard, but firmly enough to detain her. She turned back to demand that he release her.

His crutches clattered to the ground, and then his arms were around her, pulling her tight against his body. His kissed her, his lips firm and sensual.

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. Blood pulsed fast and hard in her ears, and she kissed him with all that her heart had to give to him.

His tongue touched her lips and she opened for him. His hand tightened on her waist, her back, and she pressed herself against him.

It was glorious. And for a moment, the Upper Garden was in full bloom.

He pulled away from her, breathing hard. His eyes were amber fires, and the love she saw in them made her want to weep.

Her breath was coming in soft gasps, but when she gently pushed at him and his arms loosened about her, she still couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs.

“Miranda, you lied to me.” Fierce delight shone in his smile. “You do love me.”

“I did not lie.” She pushed away from him, slithering around him to walk a few feet away.

He took only one limping step toward her. “You cannot lie your way through this. I felt it.”

She turned her back to him. He had felt it.

“Miranda, you must marry me.”

“I do not want to marry you.” Because she loved him, she also knew the most painful way to hurt him. “You say you can protect me, but we both know that a cripple cannot do so.”

There was no sound behind her. She could not turn around to see his face, so she hurried out of the garden without looking back. Upon walking through the arch into the Lower Garden, she spotted a little boy hiding behind a manicured bush. Which admittedly looked like a gigantic turd.

“I see you, Paul!” She ran to him, arms outstretched as though to tickle him to death.

He ran from her, screaming with laughter.

She played with the children for another half hour, but Gerard did not appear. When she, Miss Teel, and the nursery-maids gathered the children and marched them back to the house for tea, he still had not departed from the bleak Upper Garden.

***
Next blog post: Chapter 18

Buy The Spinster's Christmas:

Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook

Print book:
Amazon
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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

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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

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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

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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:

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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:

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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:
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iBooks
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Print book:
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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:

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