Jude Knight's Blog, page 36

Making her an offer in WIP Wednesday

The Proposal. John Pettie, R.A. (1839-1893). Oil On Canvas, 1869.

Proposal scenes can be fun to read and to write. Especially when the hero gets it wrong! I’ve written three in the past month. Here’s the one from The Flavour of Our Deeds (out in March). My heroine demands an accounting:

“What can I do for you, Kitty,” he asked.

She took a sip of her brandy without taking her eyes off him. There was that chin again, lifted in the air as a signal that her calm tone of voice hid a wealth of feeling: trepidation and irritation mixed, if he knew Kitty. And he did. “You said you loved me, and that you couldn’t live without me. You said we would make it work. What did you mean?”

A fair question. The first part was easy. “I love you. I want you to be my wife, Kitty, to have and to hold for the rest of our lives.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble as his love for Kitty and, yes, his desire threatened to overwhelm him. “I thought to wait to propose until I could make a home for you, but if you wish, I will ask this very minute.” He set the brandy aside and fell to his knees at her feet to take her own glass from her unresisting fingers and possess himself of her hands.

She leaned towards him, moistening her lips so that a spear of lust shot straight to his groin, her eyes glowing in the candle-light.

“Will you promise to marry me, Kitty,” he begged. “If I could, I would be a younger man for you, one with greater wealth and a noble heritage. But no one could love you more than I. No one will cherish you more than I. Will you be my future, Catherine Mary Stocke? My wife, my life partner, my reason for my work and my comfort in my leisure, the mother of my children, should God bless us?” He leaned to meet her, and if he was confident of her answer, it was not arrogance. She had given him good reason.

She did not disappoint. “My answer, of course, is yes.” Then, being Kitty, she had more to say, leaning away from his kiss to say. “However, I have some questions.” Her tone hinted that she had better like the answers. He should have expected her to challenge him. He suppressed a smile. How he loved this woman!

He sat back on his heels. “Ask,” he invited.

This one is from The Talons of  Lyon, which will be published in April by Dragonblade Publishing. This is the first proposal, made in front of a courtroom full of people. He has two more go’s to get it right:

The third magistrate took a turn. “One matter remains to be discussed. The guardian appointed in the will is dead. The guardian appointed as a replacement by the court in Norwich has proven unsuitable. The children will be in the custody of their mother, but they need a male guardian. If Lady Frogmore were to marry, the choice would be simple.”

The chief magistrate looked across the room directly at Lance. “Lord Lancelot Versey, you have been dedicated in your support for the lady and assiduous in your attentions. May we expect an announcement?”

Lance threw caution to the wind. “I wish for nothing more, Your Honours, but I thought it wrong to court the lady while she was in such trouble. We have not discussed the matter. My affections are fixed, but I have no notion whether the lady returns my esteem.”

Serafina, who was half fainting on Mrs Worthington’s shoulder looked up at that., her eyes widening. A tentative smile trembled on her lips.

“Well, Lady Frogmore?” asked the second magistrate.

Lance opened his mouth to object to the question, but the chief magistrate did it for him.

“Now, now, Wallace, we must not put pressure on the lady. The question of guardian can wait for another day, though until it is settled, the children and their mother will need to live in the household of a responsible and reliable gentleman approved by the court. Lady Frogmore, you are living with the Barkers, are you not? If Lord Barker is willing, you may have the children with you there.”

There wasn’t a lot more to be said. The magistrates discussed another hearing on the guardianship issue, and agreed with Mr Forsythe that they could make a decision on timing over the next days…

[The scene goes on to talk about closing of the case, but ends with this paragraph.]

Lance had to admit he was disappointed as the lady who held his heart walked off on Barker’s arm. Seraphina had not commented on his proposal? Was it a proposal? He had made his intentions clear, and she didn’t react at all. What did you expect, you idiot? She is desperate to see her children.

And in Perchance to Dream, the last novel in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale, also being published by Dragonblade, the hero asks for the heroine’s hand in his daughter’s sickroom. They’ve been nursing her through diptheria. It’s scheduled for publication nearly a whole year away.

“I think you are right,” John replied. “But I didn’t want to talk about Tenby and Augusta, Pauline. I wanted to talk about us.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean,” she asked.

The words John had been rehearsing all afternoon had gone completely out of his head. “Pauline.” That was as good a place as any to start. “I wondered… that is to say, would you consider…” She was looking at him attentively, her brow slightly furrowed in question.

“I mean,” he explained, “you and I get on very well together, and I would count myself the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.” There. It was done. He waited anxiously for her reply.”

If he had to categorise her expression, he’d call it more bewildered than delighted.

“Because we have been alone together,” she said.

“No,” he replied adamantly. “That’s not it at all. I know we have been alone together and Tenby tells me there is talk…” From the way her eyes widened, he should have kept that to himself. “I already intended to ask you, Pauline. I have been unable to stop thinking about you since our kiss.”

“Marrying me?” Pauline’s eyes expressed doubt, but also, if John was not mistaken, longing.

“Yes, you and I,” he said. The silence stretched, until he added, “We deal very well together, you and I.”

***

Pauline’s heart yearned to say yes, but she did not want him looking back and regretting this day. How dreadful to be tied for life to yet another woman whom he did not set out to marry.

“John,” Pauline pointed out, “you were forced into marriage once, because a girl was compromised. I am not a girl, and my life will change very little if my reputation is damaged in some quarters. My family will still love me. You don’t have to do this.”

“This is what I want,” he insisted.

Pauline saw almost everything she had dreamt of within her reach. She could stay with John and Pauline and have the right to call them family. She could enjoy John’s kisses and more, perhaps have babies of her own. But would he come to resent her in time?

“If you are ready to marry, John, wouldn’t it be better to choose someone younger, who could give you half a dozen children? I am thirty, John.”

John rejected the suggestion with a fierce frown and a wave of his hand, as if throwing it away. “I want you. I want my friend, the lady I trust, the lady I can see as a partner for the remainder of my life.” His voice turned coaxing and he possessed himself of her hands.

“I know Cumberland has long winters but we grow good roses. I can build you as many succession houses as you want, and the garden will be yours to do with as you please. As for children, if I have Jane and you, I have enough, but you are still young enough to give me more, if we are so blessed. I will certainly try to fill you with my babies, and enjoy doing so, if you are willing.”

Was the room suddenly warm? Or was it John’s words, and the heat in his eyes, melting Pauline’s core. She would do it, she decided. Perhaps he did not love her, but he wanted her, and she loved him. It would be enough. And perhaps they would be happy after all, for had not Arial once said that it was marrying a friend that led to love between her and Peter?

John was still trying to persuade her. “We can move from Cumberland closer to your brother, if you prefer. Or I could take a house in London so we could spend part of each year there, with Jane and any other children we have, so they can grow up knowing their cousins.”

“Cumberland will do just fine, but I like the idea of visiting London from time to time,” Pauline told him. “Wherever we live, I would be proud to be your wife.”

John whooped, and grabbed her off her feet to swing her around in a circle, so that she laughed out loud. As he bent his head to kiss her, a voice from the bed asked, “What are you doing?” They had awoken Jane.

Tea with Zahrah

The Duchess of Winshire brought the bride a cup of tea. The various ladies of the family, the dresser who attended Sophia, her daughter-in-law, and her own dresser, had been hovering over the poor dear for hours, and she must be parched.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Zahrah said, gratefully.

“Aunt Eleanor to you, my dear,” the duchess insisted. Zahrah was the daughter of James’s personal steward and best friend, Yousef ibn Achmed, who was like a brother to him. Yousef’s wife, Patience, had raised the duke’s younger children after the death of his wife, and was like a sister to him. It seemed to Eleanor that Zahrah was a niece, or as good as.

Ruth, James’s third daughter and the eldest of the two who had accompanied him to England, hurried over with a towel and placed it over Zahrah’s elegant silk undergarments, tucking it into the top of the corset. “In case you drip,” she said.

Eleanor’s dear girls, Matilda, Jessica, and Frances, chorused, “Ladies do not drip.”

Sophia sent Eleanor a twinkling smile, recognising the phrase as one Eleanor had often used when her little charges had come to take teas with her. Sophia had been part of some of those lessons. She had been Eleanor’s goddaughter long before she married James’s eldest son, also called James.

Rosemary, James’s fourth daughter, carried over a plate with a couple of biscuits. “We cannot have you fainting at the church,” she said.

With the bride temporarily disengaged from preparations, everyone took the opportunity to pause for refreshments. The next step was the gown, which was hanging on the dressing screen, ready to go over the bride’s head and be fastened in place.

“The gown is beautiful, and you shall look lovely in it, Zahrah,” Eleanor told the bride, and the bride’s mother beamed, as if the complement was addressed to her.

“Even better,” Patience said, ever the governess, “she is marrying a good man.” Everyone in the room nodded. Simon Marshall was a fine jeweller, a successful businessman, and a gentleman in his demeanour and behaviour. But most of all, he was a good man.

Eleanor clasped her hands together and beamed around the room. The marriage had all the signs of being an excellent one. Eleanor did love a happy ending.

***

This is a short scene that belongs with Zara’s Locket, my contribution to Belles & Beaux, the new Bluestocking Belles collection that is out next month. I say with, not in. It would be a step out of the story if it had been included there. Besides, I only wrote it a minute ago. But such is the way the imagination works. My characters have lives outside of the words that actually reach the page. If you’d like to know more about this story and the other seven delightful tales that make up the new collection, take a look at: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/belles-beaux/

Spotlight on A Mistletoe Kiss and The Magic Christmas Stew in Belles & Beaux

Each week for the next four Sundays, I’m going to tell you about two stories in the coming box set by the Bluestocking Belles.

A Mistletoe Kiss: By Sherry Ewing

All she wants for Christmas is a mistletoe kiss…

Miss Sophie Templeton has been waiting a lifetime for the one man who owns her heart, but he seems to court a different woman every Season. As Christmas approaches, Sophie’s one wish is a kiss from him beneath the mistletoe.

Spencer, Earl of Wilmott has quietly watched Sophie through the years, holding her in his heart, and biding his time until he can offer for her. He appeases his parents by being seen with a variety of eligible women. But Sophie is grown up now, and he must put aside his worries that she’ll find him too old and make his offer.

One chance encounter, one dance in which he all but claims her; can Spencer convince Sophie to make this a Christmas romance that will last a lifetime?

My comments:

Sherry has given us another delightful heroine. Years ago, Sophie gave her heart to the Earl of Wilmott, a friend of her sister’s husband. Of course he could never be interested in someone so much younger, poorer, and less well born. She hopes for a kiss, but will be surprised when he wants more. You may remember Sophie from Margaret’s and Frederick’s story in the box set Holiday Escapes. It is lovely to see old friends again, and this story was a lovely journey back into Sherry’s Regency world.

The Magic Christmas Stew: By Susana Ellis

When we join together to share what we have, we can make a difference

The life of an idle spare is no life at all for retired Captain, Daniel Winthrop. He is capable of doing many things, but they all required a wealthy bride, and he’ll not be a fortune hunter. He’d like to be a husband, though–of the governess who looks after his brother’s children. As he thinks about his options, he throws his energies into a project to encourage people to help veterans and their families, called ‘the magic stew project’ after the meals that Daniel and his comrades created from donated bits and pieces.

Governess Emily Bainbridge fled her home because her unpleasant cousin was plotting to force her into marriage. To avoid being pursued by another fortune hunter, she keeps who she is a secret. Soon, she will be twenty-five and able to control her own property. In the meantime, she cannot help but notice her employer’s brother. He is handsome, generous and kind. And his kiss is magical. But how can she allow him closer when she is pretending to be someone she is not?

Will this pair find the courage to conquer their pride and risk all for love?

My comments:

I’m so thrilled that Susana joined us for her box set. She has a deft touch with characters and plots, and this short but charming story is a fine example of her work. Emily’s dilemma is very real. Who among us has not kept something hidden for good reason, and then feared what others will know when they find out? And, too, I am always a sucker for a good villain. The villain in this story is a true scoundrel, and his attempt at abduction gives us readers a few nasty moments (and even more so, the heroine, who has no way of knowing that her happy ending is inevitable).

Find out more

Read all about the set on the Bluestocking Belles website, and preorder at the special prerelease price.

The dangerous years

Once again, I’ve found myself researching a common childhood killer that, in our Western world, has had its fangs drawn by the twin powers of vaccination and antibiotics.

Diptheria, previously known as the Boulogne sore throat, malignant croup, was described by the Greeks 2500 years ago. In the year I’m writing about, 1825, it has just acquired the name by which we know it today, but effective prevention and treatment were still a century or more away. All my characters could do was keep their patient calm and hope that the ghastly false membrane growing from one tonsil to her epiglottis would not close the throat entirely, and that the child’s heart and kidneys did not become affected by the toxins the bacteria produces.

Sitting with my hero and heroine as they watched and worried, I once again gave thanks for the era and the country in which I raised my children.  Some forty years ago, one of my daughters had scarlet fever as a complication of mumps. When I told our doctor her temperature and that she was rambling in and out of consciousness, he put snow chains on his car and drove up the hill to give her an introvenous shot of antibiotic. Within half an hour, she was sitting up complaining that she wasn’t allowed to play with her brothers and sisters out in the snow. It’s an experience I have never forgotten.

We live in a time and a country of miracles. In Regency England slums, overcrowding and poor nutrition meant that diptheria, scarlet fever, influenza, mumps, small pox, and other epidemic illnesses spread easily and killed frequently, but a wealthy home was no protection. Children died in numbers that we, who expect to raise our children to adulthood, find it hard to comprehend. One third of children born in the early 1800s did not reach their fifth birthday.

On the whole,  I sanitise this world for my readers. My sick child survives, unharmed. I don’t make a habit of marching through my characters’ nurseries with a scythe. I am

Nasty relatives on WIP Wednesday

 

I seem to have a lot of nasty relatives in my stories. A Regency romance trope that can be very useful. Here is my heroine from my Lyon’s Den story, The Talons of a Lyon, which is coming out with Dragonblade next April.

Despite the size of the rooms and the number of facilities, there was a queue for the dressing screens. Mrs Worthington insisted on Seraphina going first, and Seraphina conceded, since she had had a glass of champagne and two of punch in the course of the evening, and the matter was becoming urgent.

When Seraphina came out from behind the dressing screen, Mrs Worthington was nowhere to be seen, so she must have taken her turn.

Seraphina stooped to peer into one of the mirrors, and fiddled with a couple of her pins to fix a lock of hair that had fallen down. Focused as she was on the mirror, the first she knew of the presence of one of her enemies was when the woman’s reflection appeared in her mirror.

She turned to face her. “Virginia,” she said.

“You nasty common little bitch,” her sister-in-law hissed. “How dare you come here, swanning around on the arm of your fancy man, pretending you are fit for the company of your betters.”

“You insult Lord Lancelot Versey,” Seraphina replied, pleased that her voice was steady, though inside she was shaking like a blamange. “He is a perfect gentleman, and you are wrong to speak such untruths.”

Virginia didn’t listen, which came as no surprise. “Marcus and I will see to it that you are put back in the gutter where you belong, and I can promise you that you will never see your children again,” she snarled.

Mrs Worthington had emerged and was standing behind Virginia. “I have a promise for you, Virginia Frogmore.” When she spoke, the woman started, and twisted to see who was there.

“You and your husband,” Mrs Worthington continued, “have lied and cheated to see Lady Frogmore deprived of her place, her fortune, and her children. I promise that your sins have been uncovered, and you will not be allowed to enjoy the fruits of your lies and deception. Now go home before I tell Her Grace of Winshire that you have been threatening another of her guests.”

“You cannot support her!” Virginia whined. “She is not one of us!”

“You are not one of us, Mrs Frogmore,” Mrs Worthington declared. “Ladies do not spread false gossip. They do not cheat widows out of their income. Lady Frogmore has powerful allies. If you are wise, you and your husband will return the children and retire to somewhere you can afford without stealing from the little baron. I believe Italy might be suitable.”

Seraphina realized that everyone else in the room had stopped what they were doing and were listening avidly. Virginia must have noticed the same thing, because she suddenly put both hands over her face and rushed from the room.

The starch went out of Seraphina’s knees and she sank onto the stool in front of the mirror. Her breath, as she released it, was ragged.

Mrs Worthington sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “What a horrid woman,” she commented.

Seraphina’s laugh was as shaky as she felt. “You do not know the half of it,” she said.

Tea with a pair of adventurers

The Duchess of Haverford had given instructions that she was not at home to guests, had retreated from the private sitting room in which she entertained favoured guests to the even more private boudoir off her bedroom, where few were ever invited.

The tray she had ordered had been served, and the maid and footman who brought it had left the room.

The box that was the cause of this seclusion sat on a table, its string cut, but the paper still not unwrapped.

To draw out the anticipation, Eleanor made her tea, carefully measuring the leaves into the pot, filling it with the water that boiled over the spirit lamp, and leaving it to brew. Next to her share, within reach of her hands once she was sitting, she placed the pot, the jug of milk, and a plate with a selection of tasty treats made especially for her by Marcel Fournier, who had once been her chef and was now married to a sort of a cousin of Eleanor’s.

Now. It was time. She approached the box, her heart beating with pleasurable anticipation. She removed the paper, taking time to fold it neatly. The box within was made of heavy card. The lid lifted easily, and she set it aside. And there it was at last, her companion for the afternoon and for many pleasurable stolen moments thereafter. Given how thick it was, it might keep her satisfied for weeks.

She lifted it out of the box and held it to her nostrils. Aahh! The smell of a new book. There was nothing like it.

Eleanor sat in her chair and put her feet up on the footstool. She put the book in her lap and traced the letters on the cover with one finger. “Adventures Around the World,” by Two Gentlemen.

This was volume four, dealing with travels in India and Ceylon. Eleanor had read the previous three. It was an open secret that the two gentlemen were the Duke of Dellborough’s fourth and youngest son, Lord Arthur Versey, and his travelling companion and secretary, Mr. Elijah Ashby, who was some sort of connection of the Earl of Werebridge. A great grandson of the sixth earl, if she remembered correctly.

Whoever they were, they were marvellous writers. Their books were full of the most wonderful descriptions, with clever ink sketches. Eleanor poured her cup of tea, sat back in her chair, and opened the covers. She was spending the afternoon with two gentlemen in India.

Those pesky titles!

I made a thing, for those of you who wondered about titles. Those of you who already know, tell me if you see any errors!

 

Except for those few rare women who inherited a title in their own right, women took their husband’s title as well as his name.

 

Acts of Daring on WIP Wednesday

In my current work-in-progress, my heroine is fighting a court battle to get back custody of her children from the brother of her late husband. Discovering that the brother’s wife intends to hide them away in the country, my hero hatches a plan.

Thank goodness they were in time. The drivers were not yet in their seats. Men in Frogmore livery lounged against a nearby wall. Lance had been afraid that the detour to his bank might delay them too long, but money was essential to the plan.

“Take the rig a few doors down,” Lance told the groom as he dismounted. “We don’t want Mrs Frogmore coming out and seeing it.”

“You won’t leave me out, though, my lord?” the groom asked, and drove along with Lance’s reassurance.

The other three men approached the loungers. “How would some of you like the rest of the day off and all of you like a month’s pay for keeping your mouth shut?” Lance asked.

It took a bit of negotiation, and more money than he had initially offered, but in the end Lance and his men were dressed in Frogmore livery and one of the grooms relieved of duty for the day was on his way to Lance’s stable with Lance’s cattle and phaeton.

They were just in time. The word came from the house that they were to drive to the front steps to pick up their passengers.

Lance’s groom, with Lance alongside, drove the second carriage after the first. Hal and the valet took the footmen’s seat at the rear. As his informants had predicted, Mrs Frogmore and her dresser climbed aboard the first carriage, and it trundled away.

The nursery party waited for the second. They pulled up the steps. Hal and the valet leapt down to assist the passengers to board: first the nursemaid with the baby, then the sour governess, and then the two little girls.

They took off after the first carriage, their driver using every opportunity to let the other carriage get ahead—stopping to give way to people, other vehicles, and horses, and keeping their team into a slow walk.

Thankfully, the first carriage took the Windsor Road. It was the logical direction, given that young Baron Frogmore owned a secondary estate just out of Swindon. Lance had hoped Mrs Frogmore wouldn’t risk taking the children north to the principal Frogmore estate, not just because it was obvious, but because a journey of several days would give pursuers time to catch up.

This road would suit Lance’s plans very well. He had been thinking about where to hide the children until after the custody hearing made it safe to put them in their mother’s hands. Not with any of the Verseys or their closest friends. Percy certainly had the power to refuse to release them, but Lance didn’t know how his theft of the children would influence the custody hearing.

It was best if Percy, Lady Frogmore, and Mr Forsythe knew nothing about it. Then they could swear on oath that they had not been involved. It was possible that Mrs Frogmore would not know they were missing until she arrived at her destination this evening. That would be even better, for it would take at least ten hours to get the message back to London. The custody case could be over before anyone heard that the coach with the children had been hijacked.

However, just in case, Lance planned to take them to someone whose independence would not be questioned.

Tea with Jude

Her Grace the Duchess of Haverford appears in my dream. Or do I appear in hers? Do fictional characters dream? However it is, I am on the terrace on the sheltered side of Haverford Castle, and Eleanor is pouring me a cup of tea.

Calling my duchess by her first name is a privilege afforded to me, commoner though I am, because I am her author.

“I know how you love Marcel’s cakes,” she tells me, putting two of them on a plate. “I had a box of them delivered to help us celebrate your latest book. Short stories, is it not?”

“Yes,” I agree. I take a sip of my tea, which is just the way I like it. “Chasing the Tale: Volume II. Ten short stories and novelettes, just long enough to enjoy before bed or with a cup of coffee or tea at any time of the day. I brought you a copy.” It appears in my hand as I speak, which is confirmation that I am dreaming, for it is a print copy, and print copies only came available to order, when the book went live, which should have happened a few minutes ago.

“Next month,” I say, I have a story in Belles & Beaux, a Bluestocking Belles collection. Your husband appears in it.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Haverford?”

Oh. So this is prior to 1815, which is when Haverford died. “Your next husband, I tell her.” It’s a bit of a spoiler alert, but I won’t tell her anything more.

“You are not planning to inflict another husband on me, I hope,” she scolded. “Was the first one not enough?”

Perhaps a little bit more. “The second one is more in the way of a reward,” I assure her. To prevent her from asking any more, I take a bite from one of Marcel Fournier’s lovely little cakes. One of the benefits of meeting my characters inside my fictional world is that I’m not allergic to anything. It is delicious.

Spotlight on Chasing the Tale: Volume II

Monday sees the publication of my second volume of newsletter subscriber and made-to-order stories, Chasing the Tale: Volume II

Read more about it and order at the link! Early reviews are up on Bookbub and Goodreads, mostly 5 star with a smattering of 4. Here’s what one of those reviewers had to say:

Ten entertaining bite-sized tales

Ten wonderful short stories! Some even include characters previously introduced in other books. Some are just entertaining little ditties; but each story contains a snippet of a pivotal event in the main character’s life. These are diverse, clever, and well written bite-sized tales designed to bring you respite and enjoyment!

Christmas at Hollystone Hall A reconcilliation between an interfering mother and her Duke of a son. This story gathers the gang together, reminding of of pairings and offspring.

Lady Cicely’s Forfeit Cicely and Mr. Carelton An unconventional lady; a holiday house party; an ice skating challenge and a man determined to win.

Lord Dependable to the Rescue Millicent and George A Lord in debt; a broken engagement; imprisonment; flood waters rising; a daring rescue and a charming reward.

Miss Winston’s Honor Lily and Ralph A lecherous lord’s illegitimate child; an ex-governess on the run; a secretary enroute to his new position and a Marquis with a bad reputation and a kind heart, all come together to create an unexpected family.

Only a Kiss Cecily and Andrew Five young ladies, nicknamed the alphabet girls, made a game out of kissing selected men. Each girl would kiss him and then rate those kisses. However, when Cecily kissed Andrew, it was a revelation….and things changed.

The Abduction of Miss Amaryllis Fernhill Laudanum used to compromise her, and an Elf King used to free her. Rilla was saved from being forced by her uncle to marry his horrible friend…. and it was performed in such a way that it became a village legend.

The Easter Bonnet Lady Paula wanted a special Easter bonnet made, hoping it would help her catch the eye of Lord Raines. …. and thanks to a kitten and puppy, it did.

The Major’s Homecoming Magda and Luke An earl; his brother returning from war; a witch’s by-blow; two childhood friends and a physician’s daughter work together to thwart two conniving cousins intent upon taking the earldom.

The Kindest Gentleman Audrey and Tristam Tristam acted as the vet for the people in his community. Audrey was the neice-by-marriage companion (slave) to one of his neighbors. They both secretly admired each other, but he took no action until one night when she came to him with a kitten needing tending.

The Truant Lord Clairmont Serafina (Seffie) and Clairmont Because her father was expected to die, Serafina was married, at the age of twelve, to the son of her father’s best friend. Three years later, when her father actually did die, she went to live with her father-in-law, but her husband was out of the country on business. Now, six years after the death of his father, her husband has been spotted in England and she intends to bring him up to snuff. So much anger and heartache could have been avoided, but circumstances and secrets interfered. Their reunion is unconventional and exciting, and the healing begins.

And if you don’t normally read short stories, how about this review?

I usually don’t read short stories because I enjoy getting involved in a plot and reading its developments. But since I enjoy this author’s works, I decided to give it a trial. I wasn’t disappointed. Some stories are more entertaining and I especially liked Lady Cicely’s Forfeit and The Abduction of Miss Amaryllis Fernhill but all of them were exciting and endearingly romantic. I highly recommend this book!