Jude Knight's Blog, page 2
September 18, 2025
Living in the ton during the Regency era
Don’t count on this for the pronunciation of some words, but the text and images are rather fun.
September 16, 2025
Surprises on WIP Wednesday
A longish excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice, the next Golden Redepenning novel. Harry arrives back in London after a visit to make up his mind about a prospective bride. But his family has unexpected news for him.
***
Harry was riding through Mayfair now. Home soon. He hoped Father was home, for Harry was keen to talk to him about Miss Bretherton. Once he had told Father, and once he proposed to that lady, the die was cast, and perhaps then, when marrying the lady became a matter of honour, he would be at peace with the decision.
Here was the mews—the lane that ran behind his father’s townhouse. Perhaps the horse sensed the end of the journey, or perhaps his own eagerness to step into the comforting embrace of the place that had always been his London home communicated itself to the beast, for it quickened its pace, and they completed the last fifty yards in a brisk trot.
“Halloo, the stable,” he shouted, as they drew to a stop.
A stable boy came to the open door. “Major Redepenning, sir,” he greeted Harry, and ran the few steps to the horse’s head. Harry left instructions to take it to the White Swan, the London end of the circuit that had provided the mount for the last leg of his ride.
He hurried up through the garden, his saddle bags over his shoulder. It was late in the afternoon, but this side of the house faced west, and the garden doors were open from the family parlour, letting light and warmth stream into the room. Harry went up the steps to the terrace, took a moment for a deep breath, then stepped over the threshold.
Father looked up with a smile of greeting, as did Alex and Ellie.
“Welcome, Harry. Have you eaten? I shall send for something to sustain you until dinner. Alex, you are nearest, pull the bell rope, will you?”
“Just a cup of tea, Father. I had a superb repast at the Crown and Goat not three hours ago. Ellie, I am sorry to walk in on you in my dirt. I expected Father to be on his own.”
“Do sit down, Alex,” Ellie told him. “It is just family this evening.”
Harry sat in his favourite chair and smiled around at these three beloved family members.
“It is only a flying visit,” Alex said.
“We came to Town for some shopping, Harry,” his sister-in-law explained. Alex’s wife was one of Harry’s favourite people. She had been an army wife, so she understood military men. She had been an apprentice to her father who had been an army doctor, so made certain that Alex looked after his lame leg and ran a clinic for her entire neighbourhood.
Of medium height and build, with brown hair and a pleasant face, one might consider her looks only average, until one noticed her lovely eyes and splendid complexion. But it was in character that she shone. Baroness Renshaw was adored by her husband and children, loved by her husband’s family, and nigh worshipped by her servants and tenants.
“It is too far to bring the children for just a few days,” said Ellie, as a footman entered the room silently, accepted Father’s instructions for a fresh pot of tea, and took Harry’s saddle bags away to be sent to his room.
“Melly and Freddie are safe enough with Jonno and Mattie,” Alex said. The pair had a habit of alternating sentences, as if they were one person with a single message. Harry caught the note of doubt in Alex’s voice, which confirmed that—though he trusted his valet and housekeeper—he did not think anyone else could protect his children as well as he could.
“Of course, they are safe,” Father said, soothingly.
“Of course,” Alex agreed, and turned to his wife, “so we could stay, couldn’t we? Until this business of Harry’s is sorted out?”
Harry, who had been riding all day, on horses of differing quality, was thinking about how his bones were less tolerant than they used to be, and was only half aware of Alex’s words until he heard his name.
“What business of mine?” he asked, wondering if they had somehow heard about his courtship of Miss Bretherton. And, of course, he had not made a secret of it. Not precisely. It was just that he’d not trumpeted it about.
“It is your wife, Harry,” said Father.
Harry chuckled. One should never underestimate the power of gossip. He would lay odds that his sister Susan had heard something and passed it on to the rest of the family. “Wife is a bit beforehand, to be fair. I have not yet proposed to Miss Bretherton. I have made up my mind to do so, however. I look forward to introducing her to you all.”
What was up with his family? They were exchanging looks of alarm.
“Oh, Harry!” Ellie sounded distressed.
Did they know something to Miss Bretherton’s discredit? He could not believe it. If so, she must be the best actress in the world! Yes, and her parents, too. “What is wrong with Miss Bretherton?” he asked.
“I had no idea…” Father trailed off. “That is not to the point. I’ll be blunt, Harry. Your wife Valeria may be alive.”
It was as well Harry was sitting. The room swam before his eyes and for a moment, he struggled to breath. Blunt, indeed. If he had been hit over the head with a blunt object, he could not have been more disoriented.
From a great distance, he heard Father say, “Pour your brother a brandy, Alex,” and a moment later a glass was pressed into his hand.
He took more of a gulp than a sip, but the burn of the alcohol did the trick, drawing him back into himself. “Alive,” he repeated, and his heart, racing in his chest, demanded that he leap to his feet and begin tearing the world apart until he found her.
“A lady claiming to be your wife called this afternoon,” his father told him.
It was a second shock on top of the first. His reeling mind could not produce meaningful words, but could only repeat Father’s words. “This afternoon.” He took another sip of the brandy and managed to add, “Tell me.”
“I did not even know you had a wife,” Alex complained.
Father handed over a piece of white pasteboard of the standard size for visiting cards. “She sent this up with the butler, so we saw her straight away.”
Harry was reading the card. On one side of it was written, in blue ink, Valeria’s names—at the top, Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo, with Mrs. H. Redepenning underneath. He had not seen Valeria’s handwriting for a long time, but it could, indeed, be hers.
“She knew how the two of you met,” Father added, “and she explained why she was not with her band when they were ambushed. Harry, she claims that she had stayed behind in a convent because she was about to give birth.”
“She thought you were dead, Harry,” Alex interjected. “She might be someone who knew Valeria, and hopes to batten on to a rich English family by passing her own child off as yours.”
“She was genuinely happy to know you were alive, Harry,” Ellie said. “She had tears in her eyes, and she spoke in a language I did not know.”
“It was not Spanish,” Alex growled.
September 12, 2025
September 9, 2025
Courtship trials on WIP Wednesday
The girls’ chaperone is determined to thwart a courtship in A Gift to the Heart. Three extra ladies on a walk to Hyde Park might deter all but the most determined of suitors. But Bane has an idea.
Ahead of them, Bane and the other two Marple sisters had stopped by a woman wearing a large basket on her back and carrying a tray. Cilla’s sister looked around as Drake and his two ladies approached, and grinned at Cilla, who raised her eyebrows in question.
Miss Livy pointed at the ducks, who were hastening toward the vendor and her customers. Ah! Drake understood what had excited them. Clearly, they knew what the vendor was selling, and what happened after that. “My brother is buying bread to feed to the ducks, ladies. Would you enjoy feeding the ducks?”
“I would love to feed the ducks,” Miss Ruby declared.
Bane heard, and declared, “I have purchased enough for everyone who wishes.”
A cunning fellow, Drake’s brother. In less time than it took to tell, Miss Ruby was tearing small chunks off a loaf of bread and dropping them as she walked toward the Serpentine, a trail of ducks processing behind her. Her sisters, with a loaf each, had hurried ahead, and were feeding those birds who had not joined the exodus.
Bane was carrying three more loaves under one arm and had offered the other to Miss Livy. They followed the Marple sisters and the ducks, but at a slower pace.
“Do you wish to feed the ducks?” Drake asked Cilla, hoping she didn’t, for Bane had bought them time to actually talk, and the bread would not last forever—or even for very long, given that every waterfowl in sight had converged on the three young ladies and quite a few blackbirds and sparrows were darting under the beaks of ducks, chasing crumbs that were too small for the larger birds.
“What I would like is for us to talk, Mr. Sanderson,” Cilla said. “My aunt likes you as a person, but does not approve of you as a suitor. I will make up my own mind, however. And I want to know more about you before I do.” She blushed prettily. “That is, if you are courting me. Do I need to apologize for speaking so openly?”
“You do not owe me an apology,” Drake told her. “Straight talking saves a lot of misunderstanding, and I’m pleased you have spoken so honestly to me. Yes, I am a suitor. Like you, I need to know more but I very much like what I have seen of you so far. Will Lady Marple’s opposition cause problems? For you or for us? Or is it your father’s approval that is most important?”
She tipped her head on one side and regarded him with a steady blue gaze. “My approval is most important. If you gain that, Mr. Sanderson, I shall deal with my father and my aunt.”
September 7, 2025
Spotlight on The Lady
And this new world which Flora was happily settling into, shifted entirely, and was sent utterly spinning.
A warm reddening blush started at the base of her neck, creeping higher as she stared up at him.
He was a god.
For a good, long moment she froze as she gazed wide eyed up at the man. He looked remarkably similar to one of the bridegrooms—to the rakish earl in fact. He might have been Langley’s twin with just a few subtle differences, and yet there was something more sincere and earnest about his expression, about the intensity of his gaze, around his chin, face, and build—a physical strength of purpose which marked him out as somewhat different from the earl.
The young man saw her quick glance and gave barely a nod of acknowledgement, but his face relaxed into something warmer when Flora shifted, so he could sit down next to her. Bravery flooded through her as the voices continued to flicker on behind them. It could not just be the ton’s interest in a duke and rake’s wedding—it had to be directed towards this new man. She had heard whispers about the earl’s baseborn brother, and here he was in the flesh. Sat next to her.
He was a matter of great interest to the beau monde. But Flora was fascinated to note this young man did not seem to mind, perhaps he was simply used to everyone watching him.
“I thought,” Flora whispered as the young man sank into his seat, “it is not normally acceptable to be late to a wedding.”
The man smiled as he looked sideways at Flora, “I was seeing a patient. My brother will forgive me, and hopefully, my future sister-in-law will as well.”
He was a doctor. Memories from when Elsie had been sick and had been treated by Langley’s doctor came rushing back to her. It had to be this young doctor. The man had been recommended by the earl. Flora, though, had been too busy, delighted with her recent arrival into Town. The Season was going on, and so she had not been remotely interested in meeting a doctor, who she assumed was probably portly, four times her age, with grey hair…
A swell of regret plummeted through her.
This man was better described as an angel. With gleaming, dark-gold hair bronzed light brown at the curled edges, it needed a slight trim to be truly fashionable, but Flora rather liked his bucking of these trends. Flora judged him to be around twenty-six or seven, but she was not certain. He was certainly older than her, but she rather liked this too.
His eyes were bright, a clear green colour that reminded her of lime, or something fresher, that made her stomach tighten. There was a depth and wisdom wrapped in them too. At least, that was what she told herself. He was a touch shorter than the earl but a little more muscular, which Flora suddenly decided she very much liked.
“I am called Philip Caton,” the doctor said, offering his hand to her with a formality that was again uncommon amongst the ton. Flora was used to bowing and kissed knuckles, but Caton did not look remotely interested in such gestures.
“Flora,” She found her voice as she took his hand. He was warm, and she wished to lean into the touch. “Lady Flora Fitzsimmons,” she corrected, forgetting for a moment her title.
“My lady.”
Meet Ava BondAva has been a lover of regency romance novels since the age of ten, and she started writing whilst at university. She is the author of The Oxford Set and The Daughters of Dishonour series. In 2026 she will be publishing with Dragonblade, her next series The Lyme Ladies. She lives in Scotland, with her family and her cat, Gwen.September 4, 2025
September 3, 2025
Proposal under pressure on WIP Wednesday
Here’s an excerpt from my novella in next month’s Bluestocking Belles’ collection, Love’s Perilous Road. My heroine has come to warn my hero of the villain’s plans, but he has other things on his mind.
***
“Was that Grant I saw leaving?” she demanded, as he drew her inside and shut the door to protect her from the eyes of scandalmongers. “What did he want?”
“To tell me I wasn’t good enough for you,” he blurted.
She raised her eyebrows and gave an unamused chuckle. “At least there is something the two of you agree about.”
I hurt her. Justin supposed he must have known it before, but seeing her use humor to deflect possible hurt brought it home to him.
“I told him we are betrothed,” he blurted. “I shouldn’t have. Not when I haven’t even asked you. I love you, Lady Felicity Belvoir. I have loved you since I first met you. For the past two years, even while I kept telling myself that it was hopeless, and that I was an arrogant bumptious fool for ever thinking I was fit to touch the toe of your shoe, I have loved you. Will you forgive this poor fool for running away without talking to you?”
Somewhere in that impassioned speech, he had caught up her two hands. He lifted them to his lips, and then said, “Will you marry me, and join me in a partnership to make our dreams come true? Will you, Felicity?”
Felicity lifted her lovely face and touched her sweet lips to his. “Yes, Justin. Yes, I will.”
During the kiss, Justin lost his wits for a while, allowing Felicity to instead fill his senses, sinking into the web of desire even as he wove it. He was not ready when she drew back after several glorious minutes, but he immediately loosened his grip so that she did not feel confined.
She had an urgent matter on her mind.
September 1, 2025
Why many of my villains are truly evil
Every so often, I get a review that accuses my villains of having being entirely black, with no redeeming characteristics. And it’s a fair call to say this is often how I present them.
To be fair, usually the villain’s crimes – while they are crucial to the story – are mostly described from the point of view of the villain’s opponents. His or her redeeming qualities, while possibly somewhere in my mind as I write the character, are not important to his or her victims. When I do write from the villain’s point of view, it is skewed in his or her favour, for villains have justifications, if not reasons. In the villain’s mind, what they want takes priority in all situations. Other people do not have a right to their own lives. They deserve whatever the villain wants to do to them. It is the victim’s honour to suffer so the villain can have something he or she wants. If they must do something detrimental to others, it is because they were forced into it. It is the victim’s fault. It is the government’s fault. It is the hero’s fault. It is their mother’s fault.
Or, the benefits to the villain so far outweigh the costs to the victim, that the villain is prepared to pay the price. So what if cutting corners on safety costs a few people their miserable little lives? It will earn me millions!
Anyone who thinks such characterisations are unrealistic has not been paying attention. In real life, sadly, there are people whose redeeming qualities pale into insignificance next to their evil. Even those who turn a benign face to the world can perform unspeakable evil behind the scene. When they achieve enormous wealth, power, and status, they believe nothing can stop them, and may even stop pretending to any virtue. In their minds, other people have no reality, and the sufferings of others are merely proof of the villain’s invincibility.
Such people are not born that way. Upbringing plays a crucial role, but I believe choice is also vital. And above all, the choice to regard others as pawns in one’s own story. What makes the man or woman my villain becomes? My hero and heroine never knew, and nor, probably, do they care. But I am telling their story, not the villains.
And a truly evil villain presents my hero and heroine with serious barriers to happiness. Which, of course, they will overcome, as my reader expects.
August 29, 2025
Spotlight on The Secret Word
What does the tale of “Rumplestiltskin” look like set during the Regency, and written without magic?
My answer is The Secret Word, which – once I started writing it – took on a life of its own. This book is published on September 6th, and is only 99c until publication.
The Secret Word(Book 10 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale)
When Christopher Satterthwaite rescues Clementine Wright from would-be kidnappers, he is offered an opportunity he can’t refuse. Clemmie’s father, a wealthy coal magnate, has been looking for a husband for his only child. Someone with aristocratic bloodlines and no family—someone who can give him the blue-blooded heir he craves, without the interference of noble relatives.
Chris figures he and Clemmie can work together to keep Wright from controlling their every move. As their partnership develops, they fall in love. Wright doesn’t stand a chance against them. Or does he?
And what about the other men who are showing an interest in the child who is soon on the way? Chris’s reprobate grandfather is hanging around like a bad smell, and clearly has a scheme in mind. Chris’s more respectable relatives have not disowned him after all, and are eager to show the as yet unborn child with every advantage—because they regret not helping Chris as a child? Or for purposes of their own?
And then there is Ramping Billy O’Hara, the most sinister of them all, and Chris’s patron.
Some are villains. Some are on the side of the couple and their child. Only time will tell which is which.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FM8R25VP
August 28, 2025
Oubliettes – places for being forgotten
An oubliette, as mentioned in my latest novel, The Night Dancers, is a bottle dungeon—that is, a hole in the ground, with no exit or entry except through the hole at the top. The name is French, and comes from the word oublier, to forget. It is a particularly nasty place to imprison people. The man who finished up in the oubliette deserved it.
