Jude Knight's Blog, page 66
January 27, 2021
Unusual skills on WIP Wednesday
What sets your hero or heroine apart from the ordinary? Share an excerpt in the comments! Here’s an excerpt from To Mend a Proper Lady, which is due to be published the month after next. My hero is admiring the skill of his beloved and her best friend.
“Join me,” Ruth suggested. “A little sword work will soon loosen your muscles.”
Val hoped he was successful in hiding the anguish twisting his gut, but he didn’t attempt to speak; just held up the arm that ended at the wrist.
“That?” Ruth waved away his maiming as if it was a trivial detail. “You can hold a sword in the other hand, can you not?”
Nettled, he followed her into the room. She had had it cleared of furniture, apart from a table against one wall. On it, a number of edged weapons lay—foils, sabres, swords both curiously curved and straight, and daggers of various lengths.
Val was torn between admiration for their quality and nausea at the thought of displaying his incompetence. “I have never fought with my left hand,” he commented.
Ruth was picking weapons up and then putting them down again. “We are not going to fight.” She handed him a large sword. “Here, this looks to be about your size. The weapons act as a weight to force your muscles to work harder. And, of course, the practice steps I use are useful in an actual fight, training the body to particular movements. Like the exercises that we teach our horses. They ensure the fitness of the horse and rider, but also can be used in battle.”
Bemused, Val took the sabre and performed a couple of practice swipes. It felt heavy and ungainly, and he missed his former skill with a deep ache.
Zyba entered the room. Dressed like her friend, she held one of the curving swords in one hand and a long dagger in the other. A slight widening of the eyes was her only reaction to Val’s presence. She inclined her head in a graceful greeting. “Princess, Lord Ashbury.”
“Val is joining us today, Zyba. Val, why not stand in front of me so you can copy what I do.”
Val was slow, that first day. The two women took him through a series of movements of body and sword that left his muscles trembling, and then suggested he rest. He watched, awed, as they moved into a sequence as fluid as a dance, one facing the other, on opposite sides of the room as they continued to honour the quarantine.
They started slow, but the graceful movements of feet and arms sped up gradually, until they were moving with blinding speed, each swing of a weapon enough to eviscerate anyone unfortunate enough to be in reach.
They took it in turns to call out, at frequent intervals, a single word he didn’t know, but whose meaning he guessed at something like ‘swap’ or ‘change’. “Caly,” the one whose turn it was would shout, tossing both sword and dagger in the air and snatching them back again, but with the opposite hands. The game seemed to be for the other dancer—for it was a dance, though without music, fluid and beautiful—to react so quickly that the two sets of weapons rose and fell in unison.
Val could not tell whether his deepest yearning was for the skill they showed, the hand whose loss had robbed him of his own skill, or Ruth, whose movements mesmerised him. Sore though he would be once his muscles caught up with the strain he’d put them under, he would be here tomorrow, too, if they allowed him. Even if his reasons for that were as confused as his desires.
January 24, 2021
Tea with Mrs Fishingham’s daughters
The Duchess of Haverford usually enjoyed welcoming this year’s crop of maidens on the Marriage Mart to afternoon tea. She had begun the practice for the sake of her legion of god-daughters, offering a relaxed environment in which the young ladies could form friendships with others they would meet at fashionable entertainments. Just the girls, away from their mothers’ fussing and with no need to compete for the attentions of prospective husbands. In London, she tended to devote an afternoon a month to the practice. Here in Bath, one event sufficed.
Today’s crop of young ladies seemed unusually frivolous and silly. Or perhaps Eleanor was growing old. As they took their turns to sit with her for a few minutes, she smiled and nodded at their stories of balls they had been to, bonnets they desired, and bouquets they had garnered from suitors. Here came another Fishingham child. She had already endured Miss Eugenia’s quotations from a book of etiquette and Miss Matilda’s boasts of more callers than either of her sisters.
Ah! She remembered this one from last year. The eldest, but the quietest. Miss Fishingham had been a wallflower at last night’s assembly, until the Master of Ceremonies presented Will Chadbourn as a dance partner. A nice boy, Chadbourn, newly come to his title. She had shown plenty of animation talking to him, and had been popular for the rest of the evening. “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday evening, Miss Fishingham?” Eleanor asked.
The girl looked up from the hands she had been studying. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace.”
Nothing more. Miss Fishingham had used up her stock of conversation last night, it seemed. “What did you and Chadbourn talk about with such enthusiasm?” Eleanor asked.
“Crop rotation, Ma’am. His lordship was good enough to explain a new succession planting method that ensures better crops.”
The unexpected answer made Eleanor smile. “And are you interested in crop rotation, Miss Fishingham?”
“Lord Chadbourn certainly made it more interesting than some of my later partners made tying a cravat or collecting snuff boxes,” the girl retorted.
Eleanor laughed out loud. “You have discovered the secret of Social success, Miss Fishingham. Listen attentively.”
“At the risk of terminal boredom,” said Miss Fishingham, then clapped a shocked hand over her mouth. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I quite forgot myself.”
“No apology required, my dear. If I have to hear a description of one more bonnet, I am at risk of dying of boredom myself. So tell me, Charis–it is Charis, is it not? What would you rather be doing than dancing at a assembly?”
***
Charis is the heroine in The Beast Next Door, my contribution to the box set Valentines from Bath.
Spotlight on Earl of Kendall
Congratulations to Madeline Martin on the publication of Earl of Kendal, a novel in the Wicked Earls Club series.
HE HAS A REPUTATION FOR BEING A SCOUNDREL…
Adolphus Merrick, Earl of Kendal, has a past he isn’t proud of, one that could have seen him hanged. Now the gaming hell owner of Mercy’s Door has an even greater secret, one he is so determined to protect that he’ll even do the unthinkable: get married. For a man who doesn’t trust easily, his alluring intended has a way of breaking through his guard and edging into his heart.
SHE IS A BIT OF A HOYDEN…
Lady Sophia Stopford lives her life to the fullest. At least, she did until her father insists that she wed one of his colleagues. She’ll do anything to get out of marrying, including escaping for a thrilling new venture. However, the very man who gave her the idea is now insisting that she return to London as his wife. And while she wants to resist, her attraction to the enigmatic Earl of Kendal has her curiosity piqued and her desire aflame.
TOGETHER THEY WILL CAUSE QUITE THE SCANDAL…
From ballrooms to gaming hells and into the wilds of Scotland, two people who don’t want marriage but can’t seem to resist one another will tumble headlong into an adventure that will change everything. When danger lurks and realities become bleak, can the spark of passion light their way? Or will love and hope be eternally lost to them both?
Amazon – BN – Apple Books – Kobo
ExcerptIn addition to unfeeling, Kendal had been called many other things over the years. A rogue. A thief. An ingrate. Mostly by his mother.
But never had he been called “boring”.
A hint of a smile pulled at his lips.
If only Lady Sophia knew…
A bustle of movement caught his attention. Rich blue silk with a set of eyes to match, long red curls and an overly pleased smile. He took a step back from Lady Bursbury’s path, but his back touched the wall behind him. His stomach tugged a little lower with dread.
There was nowhere else to go.
Not with her fixing him with an unwavering focus.
Bloody hell.
“Lord Kendal,” she said with obvious delight. “What a joy to see you here.”
“Indeed,” he offered dryly.
A glance around the room revealed several opportunities for escape. There was the Duke of Stedton and Lord Hesterton chatting together. Lord Morrey was standing alone, which was as dangerous a situation as the one Kendal now found himself in. And Lord Oakhurst, who had long since removed his golden “W” pin after his marriage to Lady Bursbury’s eldest daughter and his voluntary resignation from the Wicked Earls’ Club, was with his wife and would offer no reprieve.
There was nothing for it, Kendal would have to allow Lady Bursbury to engage him in whatever scheme was afoot.
“There is no escape,” she said pleasantly.
“I’m well aware.”
She batted her eyes. “I’m sure you recall our previous conversations about Lady Sophia Stopford, my lovely young niece.”
How could he forget when she’d approached him regularly since Lady Sophia’s coming out?
“Indeed,” he replied coolly.
Nancy studied her fan. “As it were, she is currently in need of a suitor.”
His gaze wandered toward a small crowd of men surrounding Lady Sophia. “I believe she is hardly in need.”
“Well, ‘in need’ being that she hasn’t found the right one.”
“Please don’t tell me you still think I am.” He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing how much she knew of his involvement with Lord Gullsville. That would explain her persistence on this matter. But would the man truly have confessed his dire financial straits to Lady Bursbury? Though she was his sister-in-law through marriage, surely he wouldn’t—
“Yes, of course, you are the man I think would suit her.” Lady Bursbury snapped her wrist delicately, and a blue silk fan unfurled. “I’m so glad we’re of the same mind after all this time.” She waved it before her face, sending her red curls billowing backward.
“We aren’t.” He squared his shoulders so she would see, as well as hear, his determination. “I have no intention to wed.”
Lady Bursbury stopped mid-fan and blinked up at Kendal. “But you’re an earl.”
“With a reputation that I doubt you want your niece associated with.”
Lady Bursbury gave a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re a better man than all that. You don’t have me fooled, and you know as well as I do that marriage is inevitable for any titled noble.” Her fan snapped closed, and she tapped him lightly on the forearm with it. “Simply keep her in mind is all I ask. You can’t deny she’s beautiful.”
With that, she sailed away, leaving those last words in his mind as she no doubt was off to make some other chap miserable with her matchmaking schemes. Kendal nearly breathed a sigh of relief, except Lady Sophia made her way toward him with the same determined stride as her aunt.
Heaven help him.
Lady Bursbury had not been wrong when she’d said he couldn’t deny her niece’s beauty. With wide blue eyes and a ready smile revealing her straight, white teeth, Sophia was absolutely lovely.
Sophia stopped in front of him, tilted her head and gave a little laugh. “You look as though you fear I might hit you on the head and drag you off to a chapel.”
He offered a tight smile. “That’s how it works, isn’t it?”
She laughed again.
Evidently, he was not that boring if he could elicit not one laugh from her, but two. Not that he cared. Because he didn’t.
“I should like to apologize for my aunt.” Candlelight played off Lady Sophia’s honey-colored hair as she spoke. The style was not as elaborate as she usually wore it. Likewise, her gown appeared equally as simple. Absent such frippery, her own natural beauty was able to shine through.
“It’s hardly the first time she’s approached me.” He slid her an intentional stare. “You needn’t worry that you cause offense when it comes to men who are boring.”
Her cheeks colored with a pretty blush. “I’m terribly sorry. I only meant you don’t dance or flirt.” She grimaced somewhat, albeit in a delicate, ladylike fashion, looking as though she’d rather be anywhere but there at that moment. “You aren’t boring if one listens to gossip.”
He bit back a smile at her apparent discomfort. Because he did dance. And he did flirt. He just hadn’t cause to do either in some time.
“Gossip?” He lifted a brow. “Pray, tell me what do they say about me.”
Her gaze flitted to the gold “W” nestled in the center of his cream-colored cravat. She licked her lips, an innocent and unintentional slow tease of her tongue. “That you’re wicked.”
He leaned closer, hoping to intimidate her into leaving. “And how do you feel about wicked men?”
Sophia centered the focus of those large blue eyes on him. “Intrigued.”
Meet Madeline
Madeline Martin is a USA TODAY Bestselling author of Scottish set historical romance novels filled with twists and turns, adventure, steamy romance, empowered heroines and the men who are strong enough to love them.
She lives a glitter-filled life in Jacksonville, Florida with her two daughters (known collectively as the minions) and a man so wonderful he’s been dubbed Mr. Awesome. She loves Disney, Nutella, cat videos and goats dressed up in pajamas. She also loves to travel and attributes her love of history to having spent most of her childhood as an Army brat in Germany.
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January 22, 2021
Maps of Regency London
I set out to read about the slums of London in 1814, and found myself with two wonderful maps. The one above was produced in 1812, and shows the city a couple of years before my work-in-progress. Look at the parks and wide streets to the west of the ancient heart of the city. To the east we see industry and docks. That was the way the wind blew. Even when Shakespeare was alive, the city’s stink reached noses fifty miles away. It wasn’t any sweeter in Regency times, what with coal fires and the smell of a million people, all their associated animals, and the sewage they collectively produced. Of course the rich preferred to live to the West.
The second map was the last to show every single building in London, and was drawn in 1799. You’ll find a digitised, fully scaleable, version of it here. As the characters in my 3rd and 4th Mountain King books venture into the slum kingdom of my villain, this is going to be extremely useful. Now to decide precisely where to put my imaginary Devil’s Kitchen.
January 20, 2021
Rivals to the love interest on WIP Wednesday
One common barrier to happiness in romance–although often a spur to the developing interest between the main couple–is another love interest, whether former, would-be, or prospective. In this week’s post, I’m inviting you to share in the comments an excerpt from your work in progress about rivals to the love of one of your protagonists. Mine is from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover, and my heroine is on the hunt for a husband.
After four days at the house party, Sadie was fighting the urge to order her carriage and escape. Lola had not arrived, instead sending a message to say that something had come up concerning the school and she would be there as soon as she could.
Some of the more disreputable house guests had taken Lola’s absence to mean Sadie would be susceptible to their charms, which was more than a little insulting. One had even told Sadie that he was pleased to see her without her twin, since Lola was a bluestocking and a prude, and out to spoil a man’s fun.
As if Sadie, without Lola, would not have the brains to see that Parkswick was all glitter and no substance! In their first year as debutantes, Society had dubbed her the Diamond and Lola the Saint. They seemed to think Sadie’s fashionable colouring and figure were the sum total of her being, and being beautiful must necessarily mean being stupid. Lola’s preference for a quieter social life and her dedication to educational causes meant, in their eyes, she was some kind of a religious fanatic, determined to spoil their fun.
Parkswick’s fun, in this case, fetched him sore toes from Sadie’s riding boot. When the fool chose to take that as clumsiness, she decided that threatening him with her cousin would provoke less gossip, if a lower degree of personal satisfaction, than a sound punch to his mating equipment. Drew’s marksmanship had become legendary in his first months in England, when he had shot the buttons off an opponent’s jacket in a duel, then repeated the feat at Manton’s with a succession of volunteers.
She hadn’t, in fact, told her cousin. Drew presented as an affable easy-going young man, slow to take offence and always ready with a joke to diffuse a tense situation. But scratch that surface, and the warrior lurked beneath. As her escort, Drew would take any threat to her seriously, and she wasn’t convinced that Parkswick deserved to be thrashed or worse.
Besides, on their way to the house party, she had asked him to give her space to get to know the three men she had been considering from her husband short list, and she hated to have to admit that was a mistake. Still, if the rakes and scoundrels couldn’t take a hint from her ever colder demeanour, she might have to ask Drew to have a quiet word.
Sadie sighed. Her husband list was shrinking, too. Out of three candidates at this party, two had disqualified themselves already. Drew had found out that Lord Hurley was an inveterate gambler and needed a wealthy wife to fund his habit. Sadie had no objection to a man marrying her for her dowry, but not if he was likely to wager it away and leave her and Eliza penniless.
Lord Colyford had seemed promising. He wanted a wife to mother his little girls and provide a son or two. Since Sadie wanted a father for her daughter and more children, it would be an even bargain. He was pleasant to talk to, treated her as if her opinions had value, and showed no signs of descending into sentiment. This was to be a practical marriage, with respect and affection, surely, but Sarah had done with love. The twinge when she thought of Nate was a scarred-over wound, mostly sound but subject to the occasional phantom pain. So she had been telling herself, trying not to build anything on the visit her sister had told her about, or his expressed desire to explain himself.
Perhaps next week I’ll share the excerpt in which Lord Colyford shows himself in his true colours.
January 18, 2021
Tea with Lord and Lady Hicklestone
Gossip had followed the new Lord Hicklestone and his bride from their country estate to London. Well. Of course it had. The poor man’s predecessor had been a scoundrel and a rake of the worst sort, seducing maidens high and low then refusing to take any responsibility for the consequences. Within a month of the brother inheriting the earldom, he married a neighbour with a young daughter, the gossips in the local villages and in London had a field day, and the young couple arrived in Town to copious servings of cold shoulder and the cut direct.
But the Duchess of Haverford did not allow anyone to tell her what she should think. She invited them to tea, and her ladyship’s aunt and the child too. She asked no questions, but she observed. Lady Hicklestone and Miss Cleghorn acknowledged that Society was unwelcoming, but declared that they were not concerned about the opinions of those who did not form their own. A noble view, but impractical, and Lord Hicklestone’s frown hinted that he, too, saw the difficulties.
This little family deserved her support. “I am pleased to know you all, and I shall be opening doors for you,” she informed Lady Hicklestone as they stood to make their farewells. “You will begin to receive invitations. I trust you will accept them, for little Miss Estelle’s sake and for those of any future children, and for the good Lord Hicklestone might do in the House of Lords.”
Lady Hicklestone’s eyes widened and she nodded. “I had not thought of the impact on Edward and Estelle,” she admitted. “I shall follow your advice, Your Grace.”
***
To find out about Edward’s courtship of Anne, read “Anne Under Siege” in Chasing the Tale. This collection of eleven short stories is currently USD 99c, but will go up to $2.99 shortly.
January 17, 2021
Spotlight on The Debutante and The Duke
I’m delighted to welcome Collette Cameron to the blog today, with her new release The Debutante and the Duke.
All she wants is her freedom. All he wants is her…Rayne Wellbrook shouldn’t be living in a luxurious London manor. She shouldn’t be the step-niece to a powerful duke, either. And she most certainly shouldn’t be sneaking into the neighbor’s gardens–even if the house is unoccupied. Or so she thinks until a rakishly handsome Scot startles her one morning. Though she’s wary of men and even leerier of nobles, this man with his too-long hair and piercing blue-green eyes sends her heart to frolicking. When he insists on an introduction, Rayne flees but can’t get the enigmatic new neighbor out of her thoughts.
Fletcher McQuinton, Duke of Kincade, is only in London long enough to put the finishing touches on his new business ventures, and then he intends to head straight back to Scotland. His meddling English mother has other plans, however–namely finding him an appropriate blue-blooded wife to become the next duchess. Fletcher has vowed to never take an English aristocrat as a wife, but when he comes upon a delightfully intriguing woman climbing his garden wall, he begins to reconsider his reluctance.
Can two polar opposites who are so perfectly wrong for each other overcome all that stands between them? Only one thing is certain. The road to happily ever after is about to get very bumpy…
Meet Rayne
Chapter One Excerpt
17 Bedford Square
London, England
2 June 1810
Singing softly, Rayne Wellbrook gently swung the heavy wicker basket she held. She skirted the fountain burbling in the center of the paved circle bordered by a quartet of stone benches in her aunt and uncle’s elaborate gardens.
Between each ornate bench, marble statues of Greek goddesses and gods stood as majestic, silent guardians. Ribbons of morning sunlight cast them in luminous golden hues and gave each an ethereal appearance.
“I sow’d the seeds of love,” Rayne sang a little louder.
“And I sow’d them in the spring,
“I gather’d them up in the morning so soon…”
Mama had been an opera singer until she married Papa and had instilled a love for singing in Rayne from the time she was able to speak. Mama and Grandmama had been gone for nine years now—Papa far longer. Rayne couldn’t even remember her soldier father.
Closing her eyes for a long blink, she filled her lungs with the sweet fragrances of jasmine, peonies, roses, and other vibrant summer blossoms festooning the zealously maintained pathways. Patches of lush green grass complemented the fastidious flower beds—each diligently attended by the cheerful gardeners the duke employed.
Mostly cheerful, that was.
All except for the fussy, meticulous head gardener.
Heaven forbid that Fitzroy—the surly curmudgeon—should find a single insolent weed or impertinent spent blossom amongst his beloved lower beds. The wizened, stoop-shouldered man even groused when the “damned impudent birds”—his words, not Rayne’s— used his fountains as birdbaths.
In point of fact, he objected when they used the birdbaths as birdbaths.
At present, a pair of bluish-black feathers floated in the middle layer of the fount’s rippling water. Those avian offenders bespoke an early morning dip by a cheeky crow or raven, as the otherwise pristine water was too deep for smaller birds.
Chuckling, Rayne imagined the forthcoming scene.
Assuredly, Fitzroy would get his feathers ruffled as soon as he spied the evidence the trespassing birds had left behind. A string of colorful expletives would fill the fragrant air. Especially when he noticed the disrespectful droppings currently marring Zeus’s noble head and impressive shoulders.
Fitzroy would gripe and scold while suggesting several inspired ways in which to dispose of the feathered interlopers. Then he’d promptly send a younger, more agile gardener up a ladder to restore Zeus’s tattered dignity.
Rayne plucked the feathers from the fountain—a small act of kindness. She’d dispose of them near the garden’s back border.
Meet Collette
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author COLLETTE CAMERON® scribbles Scottish and Regency historical romance novels featuring dashing rogues, rakes, and scoundrels and the strong heroines who reform them. Blessed with an overactive and witty muse that won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she’s lived in Oregon her entire life. Although she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. A confessed Cadbury chocoholic, you’ll always find a dash of inspiration and a pinch of humor in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.
Website: http://collettecameron.com
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January 15, 2021
An odd snippet of history
I’ve started thinking about my newsletter story for February. My inspiration this time is the Seekers song, The Carnival is Over.
When I looked up the lyrics to see if I’d remembered them correctly, I found out that Tom Springfield, who wrote the lyrics, had adapted a tune to a Russian song, written in the late nineteenth century, about a Cossack revolutionary and robber. In the original, the Cossack Stenka Razin is wedding a Persian princess, captured during a raid down through the Caspian Sea. After one night, his followers accuse him of allowing his woman to make him soft. So he picks her up and throws her into the Volga River in order to keep peace within his band.
What a chilling little tale as background to a lovely song!
See a video clip of the Seekers singing The Carnival is Over. For the original lyrics to the Stenka Razin song and a translation, scroll through the Wikipedia article, here.
January 13, 2021
Gossip on WIP Wednesday
Drawn and engraved by Robert Cruikshank
The gossip trope that often appears in Regency novels has been given a wider audience by screening of Brigerton. As one of the perpetrators of The Teatime Tattler, it’s one I’m fond of. You can do a lot with gossip, and–of course–it’s not just specific to the Regency!
So this week, I’m sharing an excerpt in which my hero of To Claim the Long-Lost Lover goes seeking gossip about his beloved. I’d love you to share an excerpt from your work in progress where you use gossip to further the plot.
Nate found that Sarah’s interest in finally choosing a husband had caught the attention of the bored young men who inhabited the clubs, moved in packs to entertainments in both high and low society, and whiled away their hours by wagering, gossiping, and competing within their set: corinthians, dandies, young blades.
“The Winderfield Diamond?” said one rakish gentleman, when Nate managed to bring her name into a conversation over brandy. “Nothing there. She looks lovely, I’ll grant you, but not safe. Even before those terrifying cousins arrived, a man’d risk his future offspring getting too close. Seems very sweet, right up until she freezes you into an ice block.”
“And her sister!” His friend shuddered. “Cut you into little strips with her tongue, that one.”
“Anyway,” Rake One commented, “she’s looking for a groom. Don’t know why this season, when she’s turned down more proposals than any other female on the Marriage Mart. Truth to tell, I only chanced my arm because of that. I usually leave the virgins alone, but I thought she’d decided on spinsterhood.”
“Anyone would have,” his friend commiserated. “Did myself.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t like men.”
“Then why is she getting married?” the first rake asked.
They considered the perplexing conundrum of a woman who did not find their advances appealing while Nate thought about how satisfying it would be to punch them.
Someone sitting nearby interrupted their silence. “Bit of a honey pot all around. Looks, money, connections. A man could do worse. And if she doesn’t warm up in bed, that’s what mistresses are for.”
“Good luck with that,” another opined. “She’s already turned away don’t-know-how-many fortune hunters. The war office should hire her mother and her aunt. Their intelligence gathering is impeccable.”
The topic drifted and circled, but kept coming back to what gossip had gleaned about Sarah’s intentions and expectations. Nate didn’t have to say a word. He sat and sipped his brandy, and before an hour had passed, he had a list of eight men that, the company agreed, the Winderfield Diamond was considering.
Other conversations added two more, and rounded out a picture of a settled man with interests beyond fashion, gambling, and sports. Of the seven landowners, four were peers and three untitled gentlemen. The three younger sons all had independent incomes from their own successful enterprises, one as a Member of Parliament in Commons, one an architect, and one a barrister. Nine of the ten preferred country to London living. Four were widowers, two with children.
One factor they had in common was that all had a name as philanthropists, in some measure. That was another thing Nate had learned about the Winderfield family in general and Sarah and her twin in particular; they not only supported good causes, they actively worked in charitable ventures as diverse as barefoot schools, orphanages, and support for military widows and their children.
Most of the useless fribbles who gossiped in his hearing were contemptuous of such efforts. “Not going to be able to make silk out of that kind of sow’s ear.” The young viscount expressing that opinion was only saying what his fellows thought. “They’re born in the gutter and they belong there. Don’t have the brains for anything else, and will rob you soon as look at you.”
January 11, 2021
Tea with Lord and Lady Gamford
“How kind of you to invite us, Your Grace,” said the Marchioness of Gamford, with a graceful curtsey. She was a tall woman, but the husband bowing beside her was even taller. So this was a godson she had not seen since his uncle sent him overseas more than seven years ago, in part to separate him from his bride.
They’d been wed as children. Eleanor would have prevented such an early marriage, had she any sway with the father of either bride or groom. But those two best friends had made up their mind, and would listen to no one. Not their wives. Not their brothers. And certainly not the children themselves.
The friends’ deaths a few days later, in an ill-fated curricle race, had allowed the families to keep the newly weds apart. Somehow, they had survived their separation with their marriage intact, and in love, unless Eleanor was very much mistaken. Which she was not. Not even a fool could miss how Lord Gamford hovered over his wife, seating her as if she were made of delicate porcelain, and Lady Gamford, in turn, looked up at him as if he had hung the moon and stars, all for her delight.
“It is very kind of you to come, my dears,” Eleanor replied. “I do hope you will call me Aunt Eleanor, for I am godmother to Hal, here, and hope to be friend to you both.”
“Please call me Willa,” the marchioness requested, lowering her lashes, shyly.
She served them each with their preference of tea, and before long, they were chattering like old friends, and Eleanor was delighted to have her curiosity about their courtship satisfied without any vulgar questions.
***
To find out about Hal’s meeting with the grown up Willa, read “The Marquis Returns” in Chasing the Tale. This collection of nine short stories is currently USD 99c, but will go up to $3.99 shortly.
