Jude Knight's Blog, page 54

Brothers on WIP Wednesday

Or sisters. Sisters would be fine. Share an excerpt that features a brother or sister or similar age cousin to your hero or heroine. I’m just finishing my beta draft for the next Bluestocking Belles box set, and I have a rather lovely brother. Awkward, much? Yes, quite a bit. But he means well. In the excerpt below, he decides a family connection will do a better job of presenting his sister than he can.

Chloe changed the subject. “I am visiting Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters tomorrow morning. Aunt Swithin, will you come with me? I can go with my maid, if you prefer.”

Martin surprised her. “I will escort you, Chloe. I wish to pay my respects to Lady Seahaven, and I should visit our sisters.”

“They will be thrilled, Martin.” Mama had given her second husband, the Earl of Seahaven, two daughters, Emma and Merry. They had remained with the Earl of Seahaven when Mama died, and Uncle Swithin insisted on Chloe being returned to her brother’s household.

Chloe had kept in touch in the intervening years, but Martin had only met his half-sisters after Uncle Swithin’s death.

“Lady Dorothy was telling me about their ball, Chloe, and I had an idea. What do you think of us asking Lady Seahaven to include you as one of her protégées?”

“She has been very kind about including me in when she and her step-daughters make visits,” Chloe observed. Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters had started with some personal connections and a few recommendations from relatives, and had brokered them into introductions to most of York Society.

“Precisely,” Martin agreed. “They know many more people than we do, and their ball will be much better attended than any entertainment I could put on for you. But I would not wish you to be neglected in such a big crowd of sisters.”

Aunt Swithin cackled. “Only three sisters that count, Martin. Lady Seahaven is giving the ball for the Seahaven Diamonds, and quite right, too. Next to them, no one will notice that our Chloe, nor any other female, either.”

“Aunt Swithin,” Martin protested, “Chloe would make a fine match for any gentleman of discernment.”

“Josepha and the twins can only marry one man apiece,” Chloe pointed out, though privately she agreed with Aunt Swithin’s assessment. Short and dumpy as she was, she suffered by comparison to the four Bigglesworth sisters who were her age and older, but the three younger girls would have been reigning beauties even in a London Season.

They had been dubbed the Seahaven Diamonds after their first public appearance in York, and the sooner they selected from among their swarming suitors, the better all the other marriageable ladies in York would like it.

“Besides, Aunt Swithin, it isn’t just about the ball. If Lady Seahaven agrees to sponsor me, hostesses who are inviting the Seahavens will include me in their invitations. I will have many more opportunities to meet eligible gentlemen.” And much good it might do me, for I shall still be unfashionably plump, two years past twenty, and far too opinionated for most gentlemen.

Martin nodded. “That is what I thought. I shall ask Lady Seahaven, then, shall I? I will, of course, offer her the money I planned to spend on a party of some kind. Do you think that would be the right thing to do?”

Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”

After dinner, he showed Chloe some books and trinkets he had brought for the little girls, including some for Lady Seahaven’s little Jane, who was only three. “If I am giving gifts to our sisters, I can’t leave the baby out,” he said.

Sometimes, Chloe was quite hopeful that, out from under Uncle Swithin’s shadow, Martin was becoming almost human.

When they saw her the next day, Lady Seahaven was delighted to take Chloe under her wing, “Though it seems silly for me to be your sponsor, Miss Tavistock, when you and I are the same age. At the very least, you must call me Patience, as your step-sisters do. When they are not calling me ‘Mama’ to tease me.”

She objected when Martin offered to help finance the ball, “and any other expenses you incurr by allowing Chloe to join you.”

“But, Lord Tavistock, your sister is part of the family. I cannot think it proper to charge you a fee.”

“The fact is, Lady Seahaven, that I am at a standstill,” Martin explained. “Patience and I were tutored at home, as you know, and our guardian was not a warm man. Nor were those social connections he did maintain at the right social level for a viscount’s sister. Aunt Swithin is as much out of here depth as I am, and besides, grows more peculiar by the day.” As Patience could see for herself, since Aunt Swithin had barely said good morning to her hostess before announcing that she would go and find Bess, who did not have cotton wool between her ears.

Martin leaned forward in his seat, gifting Patience with a winning smile. “If you will treat Chloe as one of your own flock, I am persuaded she will fare much better than my aunt and I could have managed on our own. I would not think of putting a monetary value on the advantage to Chloe of your sponsorship, compared to the poor launch I would have made of it. You are doing me an enormous favour, and all I can say is thank you. But I have budgeted for a season for Chloe, and it is only fair that the money I was going to spend doing a poor job should be given to you to help you do a far better one.”

Chloe was impressed by the speech, and so was Doro, who commented, “That is reasonable, Patience. Lord Tavistock’s money added to ours will allow us to make more of an impression than either of us could manage on our own.”

That settled, Martin was carried off to the schoolroom by an ecstatic pair of schoolgirls. At twelve and ten, and used to a house full of women, Emma and Merry were awed and fascinated by their adult brother.

Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 4

Week four contest

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Fourth week prize is:an ecopy of a title from my backlist of books (winner’s choice)a face mask in history themed fabric from RegencyStylebySusanaan ecopy of the Bluestocking Belles collection Valentines from Bath Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of originA print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady A personal card signed by me and sent from New ZealandA made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.This week’s discount is 99c for To Claim the Long-Lost Lover

Runs from 14th September to 22nd September

Available at this price from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096RLJJBZ

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/to-claim-the-long-lost-lover

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is If Mistletoe Could Tell Tales .

Runs from 7th September to 22nd September. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/if-mistletoe-could-tell-tales

Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 20

Chapter Nine

Hollystone Hall, December 1812

The Duchess of Haverford waved her dresser away and stood so she could better see Matilda, Jessica, and Frances. Yes, even Frances was to go to tonight’s fancy-dress ball, for a short while and under the strict supervision and care of her sisters.

How lovely they were! Matilda and Jessica had faced a difficult first Season with grace and courage. Even Eleanor’s influence could not overcome their murky origins. Society could be remarkable stupid.

Eleanor had had high hopes of the Earl of Hamner, although he also showed an interest in Lady Felicity Belvoir. If he did not stay the course, somewhere out there was a man who would look past Matilda’s parentage to her beautiful nature: her kindness, her intelligence, all the wonderful qualities that made Eleanor so proud of her.

Jessica was more of a worry in a way, covering her hurt at any snubs by layering on more charm, until she skirted the edge of flirting. Perhaps there was someone here at this house party who could give Jessica the love she needed?

At least Frances was safe for a couple more years, and perhaps, by the time she made her debut, her sisters would be married and able to help her.

In some ways, Eleanor wished they were all still in the schoolroom.

Haverford Castle, July 1810

Eleanor paused in the doorway of the schoolroom, where her three foster daughters were drawing under the supervision of their governess. The subject was a collection of objects: a flower in a rounded glazed bowl, a trinket box open to display a set of coral beads that trailed over the edge onto the polished surface of the table, a delicate statuette of a gun dog, with proudly pointing muzzle.

A difficult composition for such young girls, though little Frances was talented, and the older two girls competent enough. At thirteen, Frances had inhabited the Haverford nursery floor for nearly eleven years, and by the time of her debut, in three or four years, the scandal of her existence was likely to be minimal. Except that she, the youngest of the three, most resembled their shared father.

Matilda would face the ton first. At sixteen, she was as much a beauty as her mother had been, with the dark hair and stunning figure that had made her mother a reigning beauty of the demimonde, though she was only an opera dancer. A courageous one, too, who—given the chance to start a new life back in her homeland of Ireland—braved Haverford House to beg for a safe home for her daughter, perhaps a tenant farm on an out-of-the-way Haverford estate.

It was just chance that Haverford was away on that occasion, and that Eleanor had just been arriving home. Or an intercession of the divine. Haverford would have turned his full ducal rage on the intruder, and denied everything. But Eleanor took the baby in her arms and fell in love.

She smiled as she watched the three heads bent in concentration. It had taken His Grace nine months to realise that his nurseries were once again occupied, and by then Jessica had joined them, some six months younger and the daughter of a pretty maid who once attracted Haverford’s attention. The combination of youth and prettiness was lethal, for the girl had died in childbirth, and the grieving grandmother brought the baby to Haverford House, to Eleanor. No-one could doubt Jessica’s parentage. She and Lord Jonathan, Eleanor’s second son, were as alike as male and female could be.

Haverford, of course, denied that he’d sired the two girls, and ignored them completely. His solution to the unfortunate results of his careless whoring was to blame the female, a bag of coins (carefully measured to their social position) the only assistance they could expect.

Spotlight on To Tame the Wild Rake

The whole world knows Aldridge is a wicked sinner. They used to be right.

The ton has labelled Charlotte a saint for her virtue and good works. They don’t know the ruinous secret she hides.

Then an implacable enemy reveals all. The past that haunts them wounds their nearest relatives and turns any hope of a future to ashes.

Must they choose between family and one another?

Buy now for delivery on 17 September: https://books2read.com/CMK-ToTame

Prologue

February 1812

The Marquis of Aldridge was closeted with His Grace. The Duke of Winshire, Charlotte’s grandfather, had permitted no visitors for months, ever since an apoplexy robbed his movements of precision and slurred his speech. But this morning he had agreed to see Aldridge.

“He can’t force you into the marriage,” her twin sister Sarah whispered through the spy hole from the servants’ passage in the wall, when she came to tell Charlotte about the visitor. Whether Sarah meant Aldridge or Grandfather, Charlotte wasn’t sure, but Sarah was wrong. Grandfather had already assured her she would be Aldridge’s bride if she had to be carried into the mansion’s chapel bound and gagged.

“My chaplain will marry you right and tight, without you saying a word, and once Aldridge has his hands on you, you’ll obey him like a wife should or suffer the consequences. The boy takes after his father. He’ll know how to handle a reluctant wife.”

Aldridge wasn’t like that. Was he? Five years ago, when he and Charlotte were friends, she would have been certain of him. But his friendship was a kindness to a child. By the time she was old enough to be in Society, her confidence in men had been shattered, and the whispers about Aldridge’s women had been a minor factor in her adamant refusal of his first two proposals.

This time, though, his father and her grandfather had brokered the arrangement, and the Duke of Winshire was determined to bring the unwilling bride to heel. Charlotte was fighting the match with all her powers, but those were few. “I’ll tell Aldridge why I’m unfit to be a bride,” she threatened her grandfather.

“Do that, and I’ll put you, your sister, and your mother out into the street in your chemises,” the old man promised. “Useless coven of females.”

The danger wasn’t as dire as it sounded. Aunt Georgie would make sure they were clothed and fed, and had a roof over their heads. But Charlotte’s threat was even more toothless. Her work depended on her reputation in Society, but even if she was prepared to lose that, she couldn’t condemn her mother or her beloved sister to forever living on the fringes of the Polite World, hidden from view, their very existence an affront.

Would it be so terrible to be married to Aldridge? Yes, and precisely because he was, in his own way, a decent man. She could very easily fall back in love with him as she had when she was fifteen, and that way lay unending heartache. Even if her own scandal remained a secret, he was a rakehell. She could not expect him to remain faithful to any woman, especially one who hated being touched. To love a man who sought his pleasure elsewhere—however discreetly—would be a kind of hell. And then there was the other…

The key rattled in her door and it swung open at the hands of the tall footman who stood guard over her and followed her everywhere she was permitted. Neither he nor his colleague would meet Charlotte’s eyes. “His Lordship the Marquis of Aldridge awaits you in the green parlour, my lady,” said the one in the lead.

Charlotte briefly considered refusing, but they probably had orders to carry her if she wouldn’t go. She tried for a sort of freedom anyway. “Please tell the marquis I will be down shortly.”

The footmen exchanged glances. “We must escort you, my lady,” said the spokesman.

Might as well get it over, then. If Aldridge was determined to go ahead with the marriage, she would tell him all and let come what may. If she made him swear first not to tell His Grace his reasons for crying off, would he keep his word? He was known for always keeping promises, but most men didn’t believe their honour compromised by breaking promises made to women.

With her mind on the coming interview, she was out of the family wing and on her way down the private stairs before she realised that the halls had been a stirred ant nest of activity, and here, hurrying up to brush past her with a chorus of murmured apologies, came the duke’s covey of physicians.

She turned to watch them ascend and disappear through the door into the family wing. “Is something wrong with my grandfather?”

The quieter of the two footmen replied, “They say he took another fit, my lady. When he was seein’ Lord Aldridge.”

Another apoplexy. Each robbed him of a little more function. She found it hard to summon any pity for the old tyrant, especially since he had undoubtedly set things up to rule them all from beyond the grave. Even if he had not, the unknown uncle who would succeed him was sure to be cut from the same cloth, as had been her father and brother.

If she weren’t so damaged, a dynastic marriage to Aldridge would have been preferable to remaining under the rule of the men of her family. As long as she could avoid the stupidity of falling in love. Kindness and respect lasted longer, and Aldridge was kind to his mother and sisters. Though who knew what a man was really like behind closed doors?

In any case, the point was moot. She would tell him all—or most—and it would be over.

He stood as she entered the parlour. From the artistic disorder of his fair hair to the mirror-gleam of his boots, he was dressed with his usual elegance. His coat fitted his broad shoulders like a glove. The single emerald on the gold pin that anchored his snowy cravat echoed the embroidery on his waistcoat and the glints of green in his hazel eyes. His tight pantaloons lovingly shaped slender hips and muscular thighs. Which she was not going to look at.

He’d chosen a seat on the far side of the room from the door, and he now ordered the footmen to wait outside. “I require a few moments of privacy with my betrothed.” After a moment’s hesitation, they obeyed, leaving the door wide open.

As she took a chair, he murmured, “Are there servant passages near us? Can we be heard if we keep our voices low?”

So that is why he’d chosen a seating group by the outside wall. “Not if we are quiet,” she confirmed.

He was examining her in the way that always made her restless—a steady look, as if he could see her innermost thoughts. “You asked to see me,” she reminded him, to put an end to it.

That broke his gaze. His lids dropped, and he laughed, a short unamused bark. “And you would like to see me in Jericho. Straight to the point, then, Lady Charlotte. Your mother told my mother that you are being threatened with dire consequences if you do not marry me.”

He leaned forward, meeting her eyes again, his voice vibrating with sincerity. “I have never forced a woman, and I don’t plan to do so. I will not take an unwilling wife.”

Charlotte tried to hide the upwelling relief, but some of it must have shown, for he sighed as he sat back, his shoulders shifting in what would have been a slump in a less elegant man. “It is true, then. Given a choice, you will not have me.”

Charlotte had not expected his disappointment, the sorrow deep in his eyes, swiftly masked. Before she could measure her words, she leapt to reassure him. “It is not you. I do not plan ever to marry.”

He grimaced. “That is what my mother tells me. Is there nothing I can say that would change your mind? You would be an outstanding duchess.”

No. She really wouldn’t. Like everyone else, he saw only the duke’s granddaughter, not the woman within. Perhaps, if he had been a man of lesser estate, if he had spoken about affection and companionship, she might have risked it. Not love. Charlotte did not trust love.

Again, he read something of her mind, for he sighed again, and gave her a wry smile and the very words she wanted. “We were friends once, my Cherry, were we not? Long ago?”

Her resolve softened at the nickname he had given her that golden summer, before it all went wrong. “I was very young and you were very drunk,” she retorted.

He huffed a brief laugh. “Both very true. Still, we could be friends again, I think. I have always hoped for a wife who could also be my friend.” He frowned. “Is it my damnable reputation? I am not quite the reprobate they paint me, you know.”

Charlotte shook her head, then rethought her response. His reputation might outrun his actions, but he was reprobate enough, and the lifestyle he brushed off so casually had destroyed her brother. And her, as well, though not through her own fault.

“Not that, though if I were disposed to marry, I would not choose a rake. Marriage is not for me, however.” She should at least hint at the reason. “I cannot be your duchess, Aldridge.” She hesitated. How should she tell him? Blurt it out? Make a story of it?

The words wouldn’t come, and he must have assumed that she’d finished. His social mask dropped back into place, proud though affable. “I have told your grandfather we will not suit. He asked if you had told me what he called ‘your maidenly reservations’, and I assured him I had not spoken with you. I let him think that the marriage arrangement was my father’s idea, and not mine.”

Marrying her had been Aldridge’s idea? Charlotte put that away to think about later. “Thank you. He has had me locked in until I agreed to receive your proposal.”

Aldridge nodded, unsurprised. The mother network must have included that information. “I am afraid my repudiation of the arrangement made him ill again. I’m sorry to say he took a fit.”

Charlotte shrugged. She couldn’t be sorry, even if that made her a horrible person. Again, Aldridge seemed to know what she was thinking.

“He, like my own sire, is too used to everyone leaping to his commands. We can’t let their refusal to brook denial shape our lives any more than they must.” He stood. “Still, I must hope I haven’t killed him. Will you let me know?”

“I will. And thank you.” She held out her hand in farewell, and he took it, turning it over and placing a kiss in the palm.

Once again, his mask dropped away, and something unfathomable stirred in his eyes. “If you change your mind, or if you ever have need of anything I can do for you, let me know, Cherry. I will always come at your command.”

With that, he dropped her hand and strode for the door, leaving Charlotte less happy than she expected. If he had been a yeoman farmer, or a lawyer, or some other humble man to whom she might aspire—someone who did not require from her the primary duty of a peer’s wife—they might have been happy together. But then, he would not have been Aldridge.

Author’s Note

To Tame the Wild Rake is the last novel in the series The Return of the Mountain King. Can it be read as a stand-alone? Yes, it can. The main plot line is the romance between the Marquis of Aldridge and Lady Charlotte Winderfield. In this novel, you’ll find out about their history, together and separately, what stands between them, and how it is resolved. And I’ll give you a glimpse of their happy ever after in the epilogue.

If you want to know the full story of the villain’s dealings with the two main families in the book, or the stories of the married son and daughter of the Duke of Winshire, and of Charlotte’s sister, you may wish to read the other books in the series. They’re listed in order at the back and on my web, and on retailer sites, you’ll notice that the novels are numbered on the cover.

Beyond that, I write historical romances set in a complex Regency world of my own imagining, where all the most powerful families know one another, and a main character from one book may be a secondary or background character in another. For example, Aldridge has appeared in more than thirteen of my novels, novellas, and short stories, and not only in this series. When I edit, I have to discipline myself to cut out all the detail about these extra people that doesn’t have anything to do with the plot lines of the particular book I’m writing. I don’t want to confuse new readers. But I know readers of my other books enjoy these glimpses of old friends.

This book has one unresolved plot line from the series. What becomes of the relationship between Aldridge’s mother, the Duchess of Haverford, and Charlotte’s uncle, the Duke of Winshire? That story will be published as Paradise At Last in a three-part set later this year. I’m aiming at 15 December. The set, The Paradise Triptych, will include the duke’s novella, Paradise Regained, the duchess’s memoirs, Paradise Lost, and Paradise At Last.

Rescues, Fights, and Other Action Scenes

Action scenes make reading interesting, as long as they make sense. I tend to act things out to see if they would work, which must be hilarious to any invisible bystanders. This week’s excerpt is from the novella I have to have done within the next week. My hero notices a woman being accosted and realises that it is someone he knows. If you have an action scene to share, please pop it in the comments.

He broke into a run. He would intervene to help any woman, but he’d seen that redingote before. Some primitive part of him had no doubt of the identification. Mine! it growled, and when one of the insolent tormenters dared to put a hand on Miss Tavistock’s arm, grinning at his companions, Dom had to fight back a red fog of rage.

Fighting eight men might feed the possessive beast, and he was confident they’d all walk away bleeding. But he couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t overwhelm him in the end, and then what would happen to Miss Tavistock?

He nudged one of the men out of his way and stepped into the circle, already talking, waving the pin he’d just pulled from his cravat. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not think it would take me so long. I found it, though.” He waved the pin with one hand and knocked the offensive hand from Miss Tavistock’s arm with the other, making it look purely incidental to taking her hand inside his elbow.

“When I suggested you stroll ahead, my dear lady, I did not intend you to take the shortcut to your brother’s home. Though I suppose we must hurry. Lord Tavistock will be sending out the servants to find you, and he may never let me escort you again if he finds I allowed you to step ahead of me.”

Several of the men stepped backward when he called Miss Tavistock ‘lady’, which is why he had done it. They fell further back when he mentioned Lord Tavistock. Dom could deal with the rest. Grooms, by the look of them. He raised a single brow as he pretended to notice them for the first time?

“Do you know these persons, my lady?” he asked, allowing his voice to drip doubt as thick as treacle.

“No, Lord Finchley, I do not,” Chloe replied. “I was just declaring my disinterest in any acquaintance.” Clever girl. Dropping his first name to give him a spurious title had several more of the grooms slinking back into their mews.

Dom allowed the other eyebrow to drift upwards as he fixed the ringleader with a glare. “You made a mistake,” he told the man. “Don’t compound it.”

But there’s alway at least one idiot. The man took a swing at him, just as one of the other grooms exclaimed, “Here, that’s Cap’n Cuckoo. Leave ’im be, Ted. That’s Do-or-Die Cuckoo, that is!”

The warning came too late for the idiot, whose blow had missed its target when Dom swayed to one side. The fist came in handy for tugging said idiot away from a collision with Miss Tolliver, which would have been a piece of impertinence too far.

Idiot stumbled a few feet away, propelled by the force of his missed swing, and then roared as he caught himself and turned back towards his tormentor. Oh dear. A bull-brain. The man who had recognised Dom was shouting further warnings at Idiot, who ignored him.

“Would you be kind enough to step to the side of the lane?” Dom murmured to Miss Tavistock, who further showed her intelligence by immediate compliance. She was out of the way just in time. Bull Idiot charged, both fist swinging. Again, Dom shifted out of the way, but this time, he stuck out a booted foot, so Bull Idiot hurtled into the dust of the alley.

He rose again, still roaring. In Dom’s peripheral vision, a few of the remaining bystanders clenched their fists and hunched forward. Those on one side halted at a few words from Miss Tavistock. On the other by the groom who’d called Dom by his old army nickname interposed himself between the would-be assailants and the battle.

Dom was, for a few moments, too busy to pay any more attention to those who were watching, as he allowed Bull Idiot a glancing blow so Dom could get close enough to finish the fight. A kick to the family jewels, a fist to the chin as Bull Idiot bent in half, the side of the hand to the back of the neck as he went down.

Dom stepped over the groaning man and offered his arm to Miss Tavistock. “Shall we continue our walk, my lady?”

 

Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 3

 

Week three contest.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Third week prize is:an ecopy of a title from my backlist of books (winner’s choice)a face mask in history themed fabric from RegencyStylebySusanaan ecopy of the Bluestocking Belles collection Valentines from Bath Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of originA print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady A personal card signed by me and sent from New ZealandA made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.This week’s discount is 99c for To Mend the Broken Hearted

Runs from 7th September to 15th September

Available at this price from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08VHWS1SD/

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/to-mend-the-broken-hearted

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is If Mistletoe Could Tell Tales .

Runs from 7th September to 22nd September. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/if-mistletoe-could-tell-tales

Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 19

 

Aldridge put down his cup. “Wales is not best pleased with His Grace at the moment. A matter of a loss at cards.”

Eleanor and her elder son grinned at one another, and her younger son perked up, looking from one to the other.

“Should one be grieved by the loss of a fosterling,” Eleanor mused, “and take one’s sorrows to, let us say, a Royal princess who might be depended on to scold her brother for the behaviour of one of his favourites…” Eleanor stopped at that. Jonathan did not need the entire picture painted for him. He gazed at her, his eyes wide with awe.

“His Grace will not dare make a fuss. If His Royal Highness finds out that the very man he sent to save him from the offended citizens left a cuckoo chick in the nest of an esteemed leader of the community…”

“Precisely,” Aldridge agreed. “Mama, you are brilliant, as always.”

The duchess stood, leaving her cup on the table, and both boys. “Let us, then, go up to the nursery, and make sure all is well with your new baby sister.”

***

Haverford Castle, Kent, November 1812

Haverford had not even hinted at coming to her rooms since Jonathan had brought Frances to join her nursery—the little girl a greater gift than her son could ever know. The scandal of the child’s existence was a secret Haverford needed to keep from his royal cousins, and she had been able to use her knowledge of that secret to secure her wards’ future under Haverford’s reluctant and anonymous protection, and to ensure her continued freedom from his intimate attentions.

It had been an unpleasant negotiation, determined on her part and rancorous on his—not that he much wanted his aging wife, but he resented having his will forced. In return for his agreement, she had promised to continue as his political hostess, and to maintain the myth of a perfect Society marriage.

Why was she spoiling a perfectly good afternoon thinking about His Grace? She came up here to explore quite different memories.

Backstory in WIP Wednesday

I write a joined-up Regency world; one in which the families in the Upper Ten Thousand are related in a complex network of kinships, friendships, and other associations. People from different books and even different series went to school together, or use the services of the same private enquiry agent or the same bookshop of restaurant. They attend one another’s wedding and stand as godparents for one another’s children. I didn’t set out to do that, but it is just the way I think. One of my cross-series families is the Haverfords, particularly the Duchess of Haverford and her eldest son, the Marquis of Aldridge. Since Aldridge’s HEA is being published this month, more than six years after he first appeared on the published page, I’m publishing some of the Haverford backstories on a website for the purpose. https://haverfordhouse.judeknightauth... Go check it out. I’ve also written some descriptions of the houses the family owns, and I’m publishing extracts from all the books that Aldridge appears in. Here’s one of the backstory pieces:

The Haverford family have long believed that their ancestors were once kings in their part of Kent. This may be true, but if so, it was in the dim past before the Saxons. Possibly before even the Romans.

Certainly the family were powerful in the region from early times. Baron Chillingham is now the least of the ducal titles, but the earliest holder of that title was descended from Richard of Caen, one of the knights who crossed the Channel with William the Bastard. Richard, or so family historians believe, married the daughter of the man whose lands he had been granted, thus beginning the family practice of making politically astute marriages.

A later marriage brought a marquisate into the family. The Scottish Marquis of Aldridge came south with King James VI of Scotland, when that monarch inherited the crown of England. His only child, a daughter, inherited the title. When she was wooed and one by the current Baron Chillingham, her eldest son inherited both titles.

(If you have wondered why Aldridge is a marquis and not a marquess, it is because the Haverfords do not hold with changing a perfectly acceptable Scottish word that has been in their family for generations just because the French use the same spelling.)

The Aldridges continued the astute political maneuvering so typical of their family, staying in favour with the Stuarts sufficiently to be rewarded with a ducal title on the Restoration of Charles II, but without annoying the Parliamentarians enough to have their castle at Margate levelled or their palace in London confiscated.

Now the Haverfords, they continued to enjoy royal favour, with some very deft footwork when James II gave way to William of Orange.

The Duke of Haverford shown on the family tree here has continued several family traditions. He is a canny politician, a determined custodian of every treasure ever accumulated by the family, a profligate womaniser, and a terrible husband and father.

The Duchess of Haverford is a Grande Dame of Society, a renowned political hostess, and godmother to half the younger generation of the ton. She is also connected by blood or by marriage to a huge number of noble and gentle families.

Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 18

It was much as Eleanor already suspected, though the villain in the piece was neither of her sons. Lord Jonathan Grenford, arriving in Fickleton Wells to inspect and pay for the offspring of a horse pairing that he coveted, found that the whole town, except for the owner of the horse, gave him a cold shoulder, and no one would tell him or his groom why.

Only on the last night of his stay did he hear the story. He came back to his hotel room to find a woman waiting for him. “A gentlewoman, Mama, but with a ring on her finger, and quite old — maybe 30. I thought… well, never mind that.”

Aldridge gave a snort of laughter, either at Jon’s perspective on the woman’s age or at his assumption about her purpose.

Jon ignored him. “Anyway, I soon realised I was wrong, for there on the bed was a little girl, fast asleep. The woman said she belonged to Haverford, and I could take her. I argued, Mama, but I could see for myself she was one of us, and that was the problem. The woman’s husband had accepted Frances when she was born, but as she grew, she looked more and more like her father.”

“He resented being cuckolded, I suppose,” Eleanor said, “Men do, my sons, and I trust you will remember it.”

Both boys flushed, the younger one nodding, the older inclining his head in acknowledgement, the glitter in his eyes hinting he did not at all appreciate the gentle rebuke.

“He took his frustrations out on Mrs Meecham, which she surely didn’t deserve after all this time when I daresay he has sins of his own, and on little Frances too, which was entirely unfair. Mrs Meecham said that if Frances remained as a reminder, the Meechams could never repair their marriage, and that she feared one day he would go too far and seriously hurt or even kill the baby. So, I brought her home. Can we keep her, Mama?”

Eleanor looked at Aldridge, considering.

“She is not mine, if that is what you are thinking, Mama,” her eldest son told her. “She might have been, I must admit, but she was born fifteen months after I was last in Fickleton Wells. I’d been in Scotland for six months when Mrs Meecham strayed outside of her pastures again.”

Six months after the scandal, His Grace the duke had travelled back to Somerset, to pay damages to the gentlemen of Fickleton Wells who claimed that their females had been debauched. He had greatly resented being made a message-boy by the Prince of Wales, and had been angry with his son and the females he had shamed for their indiscretions and beyond furious at the cuckolded gentlemen of the town for imposing on his ducal magnificence with their indignation. The mystery of Frances’s patrimony was solved.

“She is so sweet, Mama, and has been through so much. She needs tenderness and love. Don’t tell me I must give her to foster parents or an orphan asylum. I know His Grace will not be pleased, but…”

Eleanor smiled. “The problem with Fickleton Wells, Jon, as I’m sure Aldridge is aware, is that it is a Royal estate. Wales was mightily annoyed at what he saw as an offence against his dignity. He insisted on Haverford making all right.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped. He clearly thought this presaged a refusal.

Aldridge was seven years more sophisticated and had been more devious from his cradle. His eyes lit again with that wicked glint of amusement. Eleanor nodded to him. “Yes, Aldridge, precisely.”

Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week two

Week two contest.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Second week prize is:an ecopy of a title from my backlist of books (winner’s choice)a face mask in history themed fabric from RegencyStylebySusanaan ecopy of the Bluestocking Belles collection Holly & Hopeful Hearts .Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of originA print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady A personal card signed by me and sent from New ZealandA made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.This week’s discount is 99c for To Wed a Proper Lady

Runs from 31 August to 7th September

Available at this price from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0841CJ7TQ/

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/to-wed-a-proper-lady-the-bluestocking-and-the-barbarian

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is Hearts in the Land of Ferns .

Runs from 24 August to 6th September. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/hearts-in-the-land-of-ferns