Jude Knight's Blog, page 50

The internet, research, and getting my protagonists from Coventry to London by mail coach

Print or electronic for research? When a period, place, event, or individual is crucial to my story, and I want to immerse myself in accurate historical research and accounts contemporary to the time, I prefer print. I can bookmark passages that are particularly relevant, and have several books on my desk so that I can cross-reference between them to check particular details as I write.

When I want a quick fact, I love the internet. Yesterday, I wanted to get my protagonists from Birmingham to London by mail coach. They were in a hurry. They had the money. I needed to know

the time of year (fixed by the event they were attending, the assizes)the state of the lightthe time the coach departed Coventrywhen and where the coach completed its run in London.

The internet, with a bit of hunting around, mainly in old digitised memoirs and books by early twentieth century coaching enthusiasts, told me.

The assizes weren’t held in Birmingham for another thirty years. I had to move the action to Coventry. The Coventry assizes were in March.Time and place calculators abound. I found out the sun and moon times really easily.The mail coach I decided to use left from Chester. That service did the 188 mile distance in a single 24 hour run, leaving Chester at 8am and the Golden Horn in London at the same time.

For a daily service in each direction the operators needed:

4 stage-coaches, (at any one time, one coach was travelling south, another travelling north, and a spare coach was kept at each end of the route to allow for maintenance, breakdowns, etc.)188 horses, (a team of four every eight miles, horses rested every other day, a simple equation that works out at one horse per mile of route.)8 coachmen (drivers, 50 miles each per day)4 guards (each did 24 hours on-duty then 24 hours off)Payment of stage-coach tax (a sum per mile)Payment of road tolls (substantial sums)

A full load was 5 passengers on a mail coach, 4 or 6 on a post-coach, and 16 on an ordinary stage-coach. [The Stagecoach Industry: http://www.carlscam.com/coachindustry.htm]

These days, we’re becoming very aware of the negatives of the internet. It can be a time waster and an emotions vampire. Misinformation abounds, and research requires disciplined checking of credibility. But for purposes like mine, it is wonderful. And okay. Maybe nobody who reads the resultant book will know or care that the Coventry Assizes is in the correct month, or that I moved my Coventry action forward two hours to give my protagonists time to catch the coach. But detail matters to me. So there you go.

Oh. And now I want to write a character who is a mailcoach driver or a guard with a family at each end of his run.

(By the way, I do want to write about the Assizes. Some other time.)

Weddings on WIP Wednesday

About a third of the way through one of my current works in progress, my heroine and hero marry. It is a marriage of convenience–her wealth for his protection. She has a cousin who wants to control her finances; he has inherited a bankrupt estate and some rapacious relatives.

So a lot more to go, but I hope I get some of the challenges they face into wedding scene. The first half was in a post last month on the wedding bouquet. Here’s the second. Please let me know what you yjoml in the comments. And if you’re an author, I’d love you to share a wedding of your own.

She had attended weddings in Greenmount, and was familiar with the ceremony, but it was different as a bride. The admonitions, the solemn declarations, the vows, that moment when Peter placed his ring on her finger—every word resonated with some deep and previously unsuspected romanticism in her soul.

From this day forth, she and Peter were bound together, the bond between them as deep as the links of blood, no longer individuals from two different families but a couple in a family of their own. In sickness or in health, for richer, for poorer, they repeated after the vicar.

Ariel’s mind echoed the phrasing: in happiness or in misery, in love or in hate. She had seen both conditions in the families that lived in Greenmount.  Marriage was for a lifetime. As she stood before the vicar, gazing at Peter with her hands in his, hope swelled. She had been prepared for a cold alliance, a marriage of convenience. With Peter, she could dream of so much more. Kindness, respect, even friendship. And perhaps children.

The vicar pronounced them husband and wife, and called on them to sign the record of the marriage, then said, with a flourish, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lord and Lady Ransome.”

Peter tucked Arial’s hand in his arm, and turned them both so that they faced their witnesses. Clara was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. Miss Pettigrew smiled as if she was personally responsible for the wedding, and proud to have pulled it off. Angelica and Violet were so happy they bounced. And Mr Richards, who truly was responsible for the wedding, beamed broadly.

Behind the small group of chairs, the servants stood silently, every one of them with smiles on their faces and several with tears in their eyes.

Then Captain Forsythe broke the spell of stillness in the room by grabbing Peter’s free hand and shaking it. “Congratulations, Peter. I am so happy for you.”

The two girls hurried forward to speak to Peter, and Captain Forsythe turned to Ariel. “I’ve always thought Peter was a lucky devil, Lady Ransome, and winning you for a bride proves it.”

Arial thanked him, though she was inclined to think the luck was on her side. She held out her arms to the girls, and received an enthusiastic hug from Violet and a shy one from Angelica. Then Clara was there, laughing and crying, and Miss Pettigrew with modest good wishes for the happy couple.

Tea with Lord Colyton’s daughters

(Another excerpt post from Paradise at Last)

Colyton’s mother and Colyton’s three daughters arrived in London several days before the wedding. Lady Colyton had been living retired in the country for some years and had never moved in the same circles as Eleanor, so a dinner Cherry hosted was the first opportunity that Jessica’s family had to meet the lady.

“Perhaps she was over-awed by her company,” Cherry said, charitably, the following morning.

“Yes, perhaps.” Eleanor voiced the agreement, but privately thought that Lady Colyton thought herself too good for the company. The brief and rare comments she had made were all animadversions about the morals of the fashionable world.

Jessica had no concerns. “I am not marrying Colyton’s mother, Aunt Eleanor.” She shrugged. “Colyton says she will be moving to a townhouse in Cheltenham as soon as we are wed. I will be there to supervise the children and the servants, so she will no longer be needed.”

If Colyton’s mother was less than happy about the marriage, his daughters were ecstatic. Eleanor had asked to meet them, and Colyton brought them for afternoon tea with Eleanor, Cherry, Jessica, and her sisters. The three little girls were polite, but very quiet. However, when Jessica asked if they would be her attendants at the wedding, along with Frances, the youngest girl pounced on her heels with glee. The eldest cast an anxious glance at their father. The middle child piped up, “Grandmere says that children do not go to weddings. Children should not be heard, and preferably not seen.”

Jessica met Colyford’s eyes as she said, “I am sure your grandmother will agree that on her wedding day a bride has a right to decide who comes to the wedding. Unless your father forbids it,” and an incipient glare hinted that he would be in for an argument if he tried, “you shall come to my wedding.”

Colyton frowned.

Eleanor could not resist. “Perhaps Lady Colyton, living retired as she does, does not realise that the rules are different for close relatives of the bride and groom. When the Earl and Countess of Ashbury married, his daughters were her attendants, and at the time, they were younger than any of you.”

“Yes, and my nephew was at my wedding,” Cherry said.

Colyton inclined his head. “How can I refuse my bride? I shall speak with Mother.”

Spotlight on How to Get Away with Marriage/i>

 

The most wanted rogue in London…

Hugh Cavendish—mischievous rogue extraordinaire—has been declared one of the season’s most eligible bachelors. The new title does not sit well with him…nor does the news that a former flame has announced her intent to “catch” him before the season is through.

Determined to buy himself a temporary reprieve, Hugh conscripts a simple school miss into playing the role of his fiancée. What a lark!

This was not the kind of solution she had in mind…

Beatrice “Triss” Weston is a simple, practical young woman, who does not believe in putting up with nonsensical games—like the one proposed by this smooth-talking rogue. No respectable young lady would agree to such a bizarre offer, but desperate times call for desperate measures. As Beatrice is forced to give up her position as a teacher, accepting employ as part of Hugh’s sham becomes her only option.

Courting more than scandal…

But as Triss’s complicated past catches up with her, their ruse becomes a more shocking adventure than either of them could ever have anticipated. As Hugh’s faux fiancée’s secrets come to light, he faces a momentous decision: accept Triss for who she truly is or allow the woman he has fallen in love with to walk out of his life forever.

Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/How-Get-Away-Marriage-Engagement-ebook/dp/B09DXJPSSZ/

EXCERPT

“Pay her no mind, Triss,” Polly said, nudging her.

“Hmm?” Triss said, not turning.

The young woman Hugh was speaking with was not at all what she had expected.

Edith Carr was stunning. Certainly not a woman whose appearance could have ever served as a hinderance to marriage.

Why, even from across the park, Triss felt as if there was no comparison between Miss Carr and any other woman in London.

Miss Carr was hard to look at. Impossibly hard to look away from.

Hugh seemed entranced by her. He had not turned around since walking over. He had even kissed her hand. Taken it, palm up, pressed his lips to it, bowed over it. Triss had never seen a man kiss an unmarried woman’s hand before—yet Edith had presented it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Perhaps he had always greeted her so—with a tender kiss of lips.

She shivered.

Edith was looking at her—quite covertly. One might think she was not looking at all, but Triss was quite sure she was.

Miss Carr’s expression was radiantly happy—as if Hugh was brought her great pleasure by his arrival before her. Yet as she looked over his head, across the green lawn at Triss, there was ice in her eyes.

Triss felt quite sure the young woman hated her. Hated her without even knowing her.

“Triss,” Polly said, more sharply. “Ignore her. You’re giving her exactly what she wants.”

Triss forced herself to look away.

“She is clever,” Polly said, sounding disgusted. “Sending her lapdog over here to fetch Hugh. Of course, Hart would do whatever she told him to. He’s been in love with her himself for so long that she hardly sees him as a man at all.”

“Pragmatic type, Hart,” Reggie said, thoughtfully, speaking up for one of the first times that afternoon.

Triss and Polly looked at him quizzically.

“He knows she won’t look twice at him, but he can’t bear not to be near her,” Reggie explained. “Not a lapdog. More of a dog with a bone. He’ll never let go of Edith until he knows he well and truly has lost every chance.” He nodded towards Hugh. “Perhaps his luck is turning now that Hugh is out of the picture.”

“Perhaps,” Polly said, giving Reggie a considering look. “You sound as if you sympathize.”

“Oh, I do,” Reggie assured her. “With Hart? Of course. He knows what he wants, and he won’t give up the dream of it. Even after years of… well…”

“Being abused and ignored?” Polly suggested, with a wry smile.

Reggie nodded.

Polly was nudging Triss. “Oh, look.”

But before Triss turned back in Hugh’s direction, she caught a wistful expression on Reggie’s face.

It was there one moment, then gone the next, but she was fairly sure she knew what it meant.

Triss looked out to where the young queen stood over Hugh and with a shock saw he was looking at her and not Edith. When he caught her eye, he smiled wider and waved a hand.

After a moment of hesitation, she returned the smile and the gesture.

Beside her, Polly crowed. “Oh, good for Hugh. Now he’s done it. Edith shan’t have liked that one bit. Oh, just look at her face.”

Polly frowned, then added, “But Triss, this reminds me of one thing. We must take you shopping. Tomorrow. To my modiste. Coincidentally, she is the same one Edith used to frequent. We must see about getting you more… well, stylish clothes. So that you feel more comfortable. More confident. Please, remember Edith has nothing you do not. Absolutely nothing. So, spare her no mind.”

It was a lie, but Triss appreciated the words nonetheless.

In fact, however, Triss had a great many things Edith did not—but none of them were particularly worth having.

All were things which could undo her.

Things which would make it infinitely evident that Triss Weston could never inhabit the same world as a diamond of a girl like Miss Edith Carr.

She turned away and did not permit herself to look at Hugh with Edith again.

Meet Fenna Edgewood

Fenna Edgewood is an award-winning retired academic turned high-school English teacher turned author who writes swoon-worthy humorous stories of love, family, and adventure. In other words, the most important things in life! Fenna has lived and traveled across North America. After six years in the Arctic, she now resides on the Canadian Prairies with her husband and two tiny tots (who are adorable but generally terrible research assistants). For a FREE book from Fenna, sign up for her newsletter: https://fennaedgewood.com/newsletter/

And be sure to follow her on Bookbub for the latest deals! https://www.bookbub.com/authors/fenna-edgewood

Heavy drinkers in the Regency

Beyond a doubt, many people used to drink a lot of alcohol in the Regency era, often to the point of being falling down drunk. But it turns out that it took a larger number of bottles and glasses than you might think.

We read of a gentleman consuming two bottles of brandy in an evening, or having seven or eight glasses of wine at a meal, and still standing upright at the end of it. When the bride in one book rapidly drank four glasses of wine, and then passed out before the startled eyes of the groom, I didn’t question how strong a head she had for her liquor. I should have.

Both bottles and glasses have grown in size since the Regency. The alcohol content of wine and other drinks might also have increased.

At that time, a bottle was the size of the breath that could be expelled by a single glassblower. Even when produced in large glass blowing manufacturies by skilled craftsmen working with specified quantities, no two bottles were exactly the same, but that would make it between 350 and 500 ml — or perhaps as large as 700 ml, or just under one and a half pints.

Glasses, too, were much smaller. They had started to grow from around 70 ml (under 2 and a half ounces) that had been the standard to the mid-18th century, but not with any speed. The bride in question had consumed a little under two modern standard glasses.

And then there’s the alcohol content. It varied, of course, according to the fermentation time and process. But there’s good evidence that it was less than today, with wine at about 5% (average today, 11%) , fortified wines such as port and sherry at about 15% (average today 18%), and perhaps 25% for brandy (average today, 50%).

So in terms of alcohol, assuming a 500 ml bottle, our gentleman had the modern equivalent of half a 1 litre bottle in an evening. Quite a bit, but spread out over a long evening by an large man who is an accustomed drinker, he’ll be drunk, but probably able to walk home without any difficulty. And the soused bride? She passed out after the equivalent of less than one modern glass of champagne. Someone must have spiked it!

Villains on WIP Wednesday

I’ve been having fun with the last surviving villain from the group of them that have hounded my Haverfords, Redepennings, and Winshires through a dozen books. My WIP excerpt today is from Paradise at Last, the last novella in Paradise Triptych, which I plan to publish in March. My Duchess of Haverford puts her trust in the wrong employee. Please share an excerpt that includes your villain. Just pop it in the comments.

“How could you, Marigold?” Eleanor asked her former secretary. Not that she had fired the treacherous female, but conspiring with a criminal to disable her servants and abduct Eleanor herself was surely tantamount to a resignation.

“I am merely seeking a better position, Your Grace,” Marigold sneered. “One your money will buy me.”

“Us,” said her collaborator. “You will buy us a future, Ellie. Do your friends call you Ellie? Your son took everything I have and you owe me. My first idea was to kill you, Haverford’s wife, and all three of his sisters. Let him feel what I felt when he took everything away from me.”

He slipped his arms around Marigold from behind and fondled both her breasts. She tipped her head back, and he bent to kiss and then lick her neck, which made the girl groan.

Marigold surrendered utterly to the sensual spell the boy wove, but he was watching Eleanor the whole time, his eyes cold and alert.

She gave no reaction—to his words, or to his behaviour.

One of his hands crept down Marigold’s body to the cleft between her legs. Eleanor steeled herself to show nothing.

Marigold’s words stopped his hand. “But you have me, now, Kit. And when we get our money, we will be able to run far away. We will have everything, you and I.”

Kit nuzzled her neck again, before letting her go. “Everything,” he said. Including my revenge. You should be grateful, Your Grace. Marigold’s idea was much better than mine. Have you written the letter, darling?”

Marigold nodded. “Ten thousand pounds, in gold. It will take them a while to get that much, Kit. Could we not settle for less?”

He rounded on his accomplice, snarling. “I am already settling! They owe me their lives!” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly then visibly forced a conciliatory smile. “We will give them time, darling. I have it all planned. You have done a wonderful job, and no one will know where we have gone.”

He turned his attention back to Eleanor, his smile gone. “Now. I can untie you, and you can walk out of here yourself, keeping your mouth shut, and climbing into the carriage like a good little dowager duchess. I will have a gun and a knife on you at all times. I warn you not to make any fuss! I really did like my first plan.”

He sighed. “But I have promised Marigold not to hurt you as long as you behave, so if you cannot give me your solemn promise that you will not attempt to escape or to attract attention, I will just have to knock you out, gag you, and take you out the back door rolled up in a sheet.” His smile was stretching of the teeth without an iota of humour.

Tea with the Earl of Clarion

[Editor’s note: By 1818, when this scene takes place, Eleanor–last seen in my books as the widowed Duchess of Haverford–has married James and become the Duchess of Winshire]

The Earl of Clarion didn’t have to wait long. The Duchess of Winshire’s current assistant went to notify Her Grace that he had arrived. He had been greeted by a butler dressed as fine as a royal duke, and just as pompous as one, at the entrance to the cavernous Winshire House and handed to a footman who conducted him to the duchess’s apartments. The assistant, one of the succession of Grenford relatives to serve in the role, greeted him cheerfully. She followed other young women related to the duchess’s first husband, most of whom found themselves advantageous marriages while in Her Grace’s service. Care for family was one of the things David admired about the woman—one of the things they had in common.

He bowed to his hostess, formally, only mildly curious as to why he had been summoned. He’d known her since he was a boy, though she had been the Duchess of Haverford, then. His father had a sycophantic friend of Haverford, one of many hangers on in the man’s orbit, puffed up with his own consequence and eager to feed off the duke’s. David had always admired the duchess, however.

They chatted about family, a daughter at last for her second son, Jonathan, whose wife had presented a trio of sons, his sister Madelyn’s recent marriage and the successes of his half-brother Sir Robert Benson. She surprised him then. “I understand another heir has turned up on your doorstep,” she said.

The woman’s intelligence network far surpassed Wellington’s. “You are correct that another young woman has come to my attention. Fanny Hancock is not an heir, alas, but we are trying to do our best for her.”

Ducal eyebrows rose. “Not an heir? I understand she came with, to put this delicately, the family butter stamp.”

David’s father left a scandalous will. He left bequests to a long list of bastards and little to his two legitimate children. All of London knew it. Worse, most of them shared striking red hair, green eyes, and good looks. Fanny was no exception. He had no doubt she was his previously unknown half-sister.

“She was not mentioned in the will. Her claim on the Clarion estate is moral not legal.”

“Well done of you!” The duchess’s warm approval meant the world to Clarion. He’d had little enough of it from his parents. “Bring her to visit sometime.”

“If we can get her to London, I will try. She’s a determined young woman with a mind of her own.” He smiled ruefully. “She wishes to be an author of romance. My steward is attempting to locate suitable lodging for her—a cottage with an office of her own, she has declared, is all she needs.”

“Ah, the very effective Eli Benson. I have no doubt he will succeed.”

David sipped his tea and waited. The duchess appeared to be gathering words. He didn’t have to wait long.

“What do you make of the situation up north? What we hear makes us uneasy,” she said. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well it should, Your Grace. The industrial cities seethe with unrest. The talk is of suffrage—which should be addressed, but carefully in due time—but the underlying issues are economic. Wages have been cut. Again. When a man can’t feed his family, he’s easy prey for the radicals. Liverpool and the cabinet alternately ignore the problem and threaten heavy handed oppression. They—” David looked up and saw her nodding. She knew it all. Of course, she did.

“And you, David? You are an influential member of the ruling party. I’ve read the speeches you give. Have you any interest in the cabinet? Danbury would have you for Home Secretary. He’s an important ally.”

Now she had startled him. “We’ve spoken…” he said tentatively.

“I presume he’s urged you to become more socially active. The way into office has as much to do with the ballroom as the halls of parliament, as you well know. You have to swallow the nonsense if you want the power.”

His heart sank. He heard it before, and he loathed it. “I’ll give it some thought, Your Grace.”

He took his leave moments later. She caught him off guard just as he reached the door. “One more thing, David. A political hostess is what you need most. You must think about remarrying.”

He suppressed his groan until the door closed behind him.

About the Series The Ashmead Heirs

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead.

One sleepy village

One scandalous will

Four tormented heirs

One grew up believing he was the innkeeper’s son. He’s The Wayward Son.

One was left nothing even though she was a legitimate one. She’s The Defiant Daughter

One was left out entirely. She’s the Forgotten Daughter.

One should have inherited it all. Instead he got a bankrupted estate and an empty title. He’s The Upright Son.

 David is The Upright Son. His story comes out in May. Fanny Hancock’s story is The Forgotten Daughter, out just now.

About the Book, The Forgotten Daughter

Frances Hancock always knew she was a bastard. She didn’t know her father was an earl until her mother died. The information came just in time. She and her mother’s younger children were about to be homeless. She needs help. Fast. What she wants is a hero.

Eli Benson, the Earl of Clarion’s steward, took great pride in cleaning up the mess left behind by the old earl’s will. When a dainty but ferocious young woman with the earl’s hair and eyes comes demanding help, his heart sinks. She isn’t in the will. She was forgotten entirely. And the estate is just getting its finances back in order. But he knows a moral obligation when he sees one. He may not be her idea of a hero, but people count on him to fix things. He’s good at it. Falling in love with her will only complicate things.

Eli will solve her problems or die trying. You should never underestimate a quiet hero.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09PGSYJ3Q/

Help Caroline promote this book and be entered to win a prize package.

About the Author

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Website:   http://www.carolinewarfield.com/

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Book Page: https://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/the-forgotten-daughter/

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Sunday Spotlight on Before I Found You

A quest for a title. An encounter with a stranger. Will she choose love?

 

Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady. But when a handsome stranger crosses her path at a Valentine’s Day ball, her obsession with titles dims. Might love be enough?

Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball. He has a new ship to run, passengers to book, and cargo to deliver. But one look into a young lady’s beautiful hazel eyes, and he becomes lost. Does love at first sight really exist?

Their paths continue to cross until they are both stranded in Fenwick on Sea. Their growing connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s childish quest for a title at all cost. But what if the cost includes love?

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4XDrva

Excerpt

She was not sure what to expect. Being outside alone with a man she did not know was a bold move. If she needed reinforcements, she could easily call out for help, but that would hardly do her reputation any good. It had barely recovered from her last scheme. Society’s memory was short, remembering scandals only until something new came along for them to gossip about—or until something happened to remind them. She couldn’t afford to give them new fodder to chew on.

She could not resist. Miranda took the remaining few steps until she stood next to him, and he rose to his full height, his hair tousled by the evening breeze. She suppressed the urge to push back the lock of hair across his brow that refused to stay in place. Oh my, but the man was tall!

Miranda did not even realize she offered him her hand until he leaned down and kissed the air between her knuckles. His fingers were warm even through the silk of her gloves. How would they feel if her hand was bare? Good heavens! What was coming over her?

“Mademoiselle,” he whispered in a husky French accent, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. His voice was utterly divine!

“Miranda,” she said offering only her first name. It was hardly appropriate, but she did not wish to see his disinterest when he learned she was a “Miss” and not a “Lady”.

Although it might not matter. Many gentlemen present this evening were on the lookout for a well-dowered heiress to enrich their estate. The man before her could be one of them. Even though she could not attach “lady” to her name, she was still wealthy in her own right… or would be when she finally wed.

Love had nothing to do with what really mattered in life—marriage to a husband within the nobility, one with enough wealth to keep her and her children in luxury. Not for her a boring life as a country matron, with nothing to do or to talk about beyond counting sheets and breeding children. She wanted a glittering life as a Society hostess! It would be an adventure. Or so she had always thought, and she would not allow her heart to rule her head.

She bit her bottom lip before she realized she had done so. The man before her could not know it was an automatic reaction when she was worried. She watched his brow arch in surprise before a grin turned up at the corner of his lips.

“Jasper,” he finally replied in return, examining her reaction to his touch. “The evening has become brighter now that you have joined me for a breath of fresh air. Look how the stars above beam in approval that they may gaze down upon you.”

Miranda’s lips twitched at the compliment. Very nice, though she sensed that he used this phrase often. She realized he still held her fingertips and she reluctantly pulled them away before waving her hand towards the crowd inside.

Meet Sherry Ewing:

 

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page!

Website & Books: www.SherryEwing.com

Bluestocking Belles: http://bluestockingbelles.net/

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An unexpected hero – My review of The Forgotten Daughter

Seven years ago, I was lucky enough to read across Dangerous Works. I was gripped by Caroline Warfield’s writing style, her characterisation, her plotting, her gentle sense of humour, and the sense that she understood human nature. So when the rest of the Dangerous books arrived, I devoured them all, and discovered something else that made Warfield a one-click automatic preorder author for me.

That discovery has been confirmed in each of the novels, novellas, and short stories to follow. Each of Warfield’s characters, and especially her heroes, is a unique individual. There’s comfort in authors who always write heroes of a particular type. The warrior, protective of his own feelings and of the heroine when he finally falls for her. The rake, drowning his sorrows in wine, women and song until love makes him strong enough to face his fears. The reader knows what to expect, and the best authors make us love him and look forward to his next incarnation in the next book.

Reading Warfield is an adventure. The scholar. The broken warrior intent on suicide by alcohol. The arrogant duke who manipulates people—for their own good. The kind family man. And that’s just the first four books.

The Forgotten Daughter, book 3 in The Ashmead Heirs has, perhaps, the best hero yet.

Eli Benson, steward to the Earl of Clarion, has spent the last few years cleaning up the mess left by his employer’s horrible father and also putting the earl’s estate—neglected by the old man and ravaged by his widow—to rights. He is known as the man who fixes things, but is nobody’s idea of a hero, especially his own.

Frances Hancock is the illegitimate daughter left out of the will in which the old earl sought to punish his legitimate family by leaving everything not entailed to his bastards.

Can Eli fix it? He can, or will die trying.

I fell in love with this unexpected hero. So did Fanny. I’m willing to bet that you will, too. Read The Forgotten Daughter. Read The Ashmead Heirs. Read everything Warfield writes. You’ll be glad you did.

First kiss on Work-in-progress Wednesday

I’m working on three works in progress at the moment. I thought I’d finish the short (now long short) story today, but not quite. I still need to finish with a kiss. I’ve written their first kiss, though, and here it is. Share yours in the excerpt? (Fictional if you’re an author, or feel free to share a real life one, if you like.

They finished their evening quietly, listening as Mr Barker read from the first chapters of the Gospel according to Luke. After that, it was time for bed. Zahrah and Simon said goodnight to Mr and Mrs Barker at the foot of the stairs, as the older couple’s bedchamber was on the main floor.

Upstairs was under the eaves, with the box room and two little bed chambers. Zahrah paused with her hand on her door handle, reluctant to see the evening end.

Simon was looking up. She followed his gaze with her eyes. A bunch of mistletoe hung from the ceiling. That wasn’t there earlier today. Was it?

Simon looked a question at her. With the sense that she was about to take a leap into the dark, Zahrah stepped up to him and looped her arms around his neck. Now what? She had experience of men attempting to steal a kiss, but none of freely giving and receiving one.

Simon bent his head, going slowly, and softly laid his lips upon hers. She felt the tingle run through her body. She pressed closer, and he deepened the kiss, covering her lips with his own, one hand firmly on her back.

Zahrah’s thoughts scattered. She lost track of her surroundings and everything else except the sensation of Simon’s lips, his tongue sliding across hers, his firm hand anchoring her to his body, his other hand gently caressing one breast.

When he broke the kiss, she stared at him, dazed. He looked no less befuddled.

She leaned towards him again and he pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I hope this means you are open to my courtship,” he murmured. “Or do I need to apologise?”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she scolded. She was recovering a few of her wits. “Courtship, Simon?”

Anxiety flickered in his eyes. “If I do not presume. If you could imagine marrying a tradesman of little fortune and murky birth.”

“Very easily.” If the tradesman in question was Simon. “Yes.”

His anxiety melted into the beginnings of a smile. “You can imagine?”

“Yes, you may court me. But first, kiss me again.”