Jude Knight's Blog, page 91

Spotlight on Follow Your Star Home and Paradise Regained

 

Released today.

Denmark 839

A Yule Love Story  by Nicole Zoltack

Life and love are never simple when a banished king must turn to a simple healing woman to survive

Kopet Dag Mountains, 1794

Paradise Regained by Jude Knight

In discovering the mysteries of the East, James has built a new life. Will unveiling the secrets in his wife’s heart destroy it?

Scotland, 1807

Somewhere Like Home by Lizzi Tremayne

Highlands to Waterloo—can love prevail over fate?

England, 1814

The Umbrella Chronicles: James and Annie’s Story by Amy Quinton

Prodigal duke seeks professional matchmaker for matrimonial assistance. Prefers foolproof plans in 10 parts. Magical solutions accepted. Missteps likely.

Scotland, 1869

A Wish for All Seasons:A MacKai Family Novella by Rue Allyn

The past keeps Caibre and Aisla apart. Only Love and forgiveness can give them a future.

Wales and France, 1919

The Last Post  by Caroline Warfield

The Great War is over, but how can they marry if he can’t find her?

San Francisco 1922

A Fine Chance  by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

All he needs is a fine chance.

Scotland, 1170 & USA Present Day

One Last Kiss: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novella by  Sherry Ewing

Sometimes it takes a miracle to find your heart’s desire…

*Buy Links

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H4ZY517

Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/2y0SJbd

iBooks: https://apple.co/2ObkLLj

Kobo:  https://www.kobo.com/nz/en/ebook/foll...

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...

 

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon BR: https://www.amazon.com.br/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B07H4ZY517

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Amazon IT: https://www.amazon.it/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon JP: https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon MX: https://www.amazon.com.mx/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon NL: https://www.amazon.nl/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H4ZY517

Spotlight on a SNAFU

Ouch. If you want me, I’m in my table cave sucking my thumb. I’m not adulting today.

If you pre-ordered House of Thorns or bought it on release day, you may have opened it to find somebody else’s book in my cover. Amazon sent out the wrong file. They seem to have fixed it; I bought a copy myself yesterday to check, and got the right book. But if you have the wrong one, please do one of the following:

send it back to Amazon for a refund and buy it again
email Scarsdale Publishing for a new copy (scarsdale@scarsdalepublishing.com).

That kind of took the shine off release day. And the two one-star reviews on Amazon UK from people who didn’t like not getting my book made me want to cry.

Ah well. It’ll all come out in the wash, as my mother used to say. To cheer us all up, here’s the video trailer I made for release day.

https://judeknightauthor.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/lumen5-video.mp4

Secrets on WIP Wednesday

Secrets are the engine of the story. Maybe the characters know what is going on, but the readers don’t. Or the readers know, but the characters don’t (don’t get in the carriage, Mary!). Or only the author knows and everyone else has to read on to find out.

This week, I’m finishing a subscriber short story which will go out in my newsletter in a couple of days. The reader who won the right to chose the ingredients for the story picked a heroine who has a well-founded fear of men, a castle, and an enemies to lovers plot line. With ingredients like that, of course my hero and my heroine were both keeping secrets. I’ll give you an excerpt where their secrets put them at cross purposes.

Please share your excerpts. The secret might be anything, big or small. Let’s play. (Oh, and if you’re not a newsletter subscriber and would like to receive five or six newsletters a year with a short story and some news about me, my books, and my friends’ books, the subscription button is in the right menu.)

Anne had followed them out, her fine eyes flashing scorn as she watched her cousin leave. No wonder Cleghorn wanted her. Edward was fighting his own entirely inappropriate response.

“A large dowry, I take it?” he asked. Margaret’s had been 10,000 pounds. If Anne’s was the same, why was she not married? Ah. The child Cleghorn had mentioned. She had, presumably, followed her sister’s path. A pity. She had been a sweet wee girl.

“Large enough. Clarence thinks it should have been his. You didn’t come here to talk to me about my dowry, Lord Hicklestone. I am grateful for your intervention, but I would like you to state your business.”

“My business. Yes. Well. May I sit down?” Edward gestured towards the bench. Sitting would help him disguise his body’s enthusiasm for getting to know her better. This was Margaret’s little sister, for crying out loud! He forced himself to remember the scene that had sent him fleeing England: his betrothed, her eyes shut in ecstasy while his brother pounded into her. Sure enough, the thought helped to shrivel his interest. However lovely she looked, however ladylike she appeared, she was of the same blood as the deceitful bitch that had ruined his life.

“Yes, of course.” Anne nodded. Edward took a moment to remember the question, but when she took a seat at one end the bench, he sat at the other. She was certainly more direct than her sister, no subtle hints, no flirting glances. He would do her the courtesy of being direct in return.

“I came to let you know that I plan to complete the demolition of the castle. It is not a safe place to live, Miss Cleghorn, so you and your sister will need to make other arrangements.”

Her jaw dropped as she stared at him, and the colour drained from her face then flooded back in. “Make other arrangements? You mean to throw us out?” She blinked rapidly.

Were those tears? Edward shifted uneasily. “It is not safe,” he repeated.

She lifted her chin, and her voice was cold when she said. “We have lived here more than seven years, Lord Hicklestone. None of us have been injured.”

Her glare was so potent, he almost looked down at his chest to see if his coat was smoldering. The rumble and thud of a falling rock on the other side of the wall strengthened his determination. “Nevertheless, I could not reconcile it with my conscience to allow you to continue to put yourself in danger, Miss Cleghorn.”

For some reason, that sent her fury up another notch. “You and your conscience ignored us for many years, sir, and we have managed just fine without you. Or your brother.”

What the hell did that mean? “I did not know the condition of the castle or that you lived here. Not until this morning.” His own temper flared. Why was he defending himself to her? She was living rent free on his land! But hold on. Perhaps she could not afford to move?

He needed more information. Mitcham was not able to answer his questions, and he’d ridden over here without asking anyone else. How long had they lived here? Why did John allow it? And now another one. Who had fathered Anne’s daughter? What promises had John made to them – promises he had no intention of keeping, probably, but Edward was not such a louse.

Tea with Bear and Lion

 

Lord Ruthford’s friend had little to say for himself, letting Ruthford carry the conversation with Eleanor while he listened with every evidence of interest. Ruthford was answering Eleanor’s questions about the health of Lady Ruthford, who was soon to deliver her second child. “We must be boring Mr Gavenor,” Eleanor said, when she was satisfied with Ruthford’s responses. “What brings you to London, Mr Gavenor?”

Gavenor examined her face while he considered his answer. Eleanor could see how he got his nickname ‘Bear’. He was unquestionably a large man, both broad and tall, but he handled her delicate little china cups with elegant ease, his speech was that of an educated gentleman, and his clothing — though tailored for ease of movement — was of the highest quality.

“I have a matter of business, Your Grace,” he said at last.

“And then he must be home to his wife.” Ruthford grinned as he spoke. “Bear has recently married, duchess, and should really be back in Cheshire with his Rosa, not here in London traipsing around dusty old houses with me.”

Gavenor took the teasing in good part, his smile genuine. “And Lion should be home making sure Lady Ruthford takes a sleep in the afternoon and a gentle walk after supper,” he responded, proving that he had been listening when Eleanor instructed his friend. Lion was the name by which most of his friends knew Ruthford — most of England, now, since the team of daring soldiers Ruthford had led behind enemy lines during the war was now known far and wide as Lion’s Zoo. Lion, Bear, Centaur, Fox. They all had fanciful animal names, and Eleanor was pleased to see that at least some of them remained friends even two years after they were disbanded.

“Tell me more about your wife, Mr Gavenor,” she said. “What is her name?”

Bear and Rosa are the hero and heroine of House of Thorns, currently on pre-release and to be published this Friday.

***

Bear explains his marriage to Lion in the following excerpt.

“Rosa. Rosabel Neatham. I found her on a ladder picking my roses.” Once he started, the story came easily. “Then a few days after the wedding, I got your message and came to London. So I hope you’re in a hurry to get back to Lady Ruthford, for I do not mean to linger here one day more than I need to.”

“I beg your pardon? A few days after the wedding? You married this paragon then abandoned her a few days after the wedding? Why on earth didn’t you write back and tell me to go soak my head?”

Bear’s guilty wince didn’t go unnoticed.

“You and the lady have had a falling out.”

“Not precisely. Rosa doesn’t… That is to say, I thought some distance might help, but Rosa is not one to nurse a grudge. She writes charming letters, and I write back. When I get home, we will put it behind us.”

“If you will take advice from a man married four years longer than you, when you get back to Mrs. Gavenor, discuss whatever it was and clear up any misunderstandings. She is very likely blaming herself for whatever came between you. Women do.”

“Surely not! It was my fault entirely. At least… Lion, I thought virgins bled.” Lord. I did not say that out loud, did I?

Lion took a sip of coffee. “Not that my experience is vast, but I don’t believe it to be an inevitable rule. It depends on the age of the woman, on what kinds of physical activities she has done—my own wife rode astride as a girl and… Well. Let’s leave it at that. And the man’s patience is important.”

Bear groaned. “I should probably be hanged.”

“I see.”

He probably did, too. The ability to pick up small clues and draw correct conclusions was one of his great assets as a commander, and he knew Bear better than anyone else in the world.

“You believed the rumors about her and you still married her?”

“No! At least, I thought they were mostly malicious lies. They started only after her father was no longer able to protect her, and the people most assiduous in pushing them all had an axe to grind.”

“This Pelman wanted to coerce her into bed and used the family feud with her respectable cousins.”

“In a nutshell. Dammit, Lion, it’s obvious to me now. She kissed like an innocent. I thought she was just shy, or nervous about being interrupted by the servants.”

“Ah well. Women are told their first time will be painful, though it is not necessarily so.” He smiled as if at a fond memory, then recalled himself and continued. “You made sure she enjoyed her second time, I assume.” He raised his brows again. “No. You rushed off to London, instead. Bear, tell me you didn’t let the poor lady know you thought she had had previous lovers.” Bear grimaced.

“You did.” Lion wagged his head from side to side. “Bear, Bear, what are we going to do with you? So, there she is miserable in Cheshire because her husband insulted then abandoned her. Here you are miserable in London because you have made a mess of things and don’t know how to put it right. Go home, Bear. Talk to your wife.”

Kissing on Sunday

I have three new releases in the next few weeks: House of Thorns on 26 October, Abbie’s Wish in Christmas Wishes on Main Street on 1 November, and Paradise Regained in Follow Your Star Home on 4 November. Here’s a kiss from each.

House of Thorns , with Bear and Rosa

He kissed her again, another butterfly touch of the lips, then put his hands on her waist and lifted her to sit on the dresser. Now her face was level with his.

“That is better,” he murmured against her mouth. Then his lips met hers again, not a mere brush this time, but a gentle and inexorable advance, setting her lips tingling and taking her breath. His hands slid behind her, pulling her against his chest, so he stood between her open knees, his body pressed tightly to hers.

No, just one hand hugged her, for the other came up behind her head, and tipped it slightly, holding it in place as his lips moved against hers and his tongue swept the seam of her shut mouth once, twice, and again. He hummed with satisfaction when she parted her lips a little, letting his tongue dart inside, and her whole body hummed with pleasure.

Pelman had subjected her to a kiss once; an awkward, embarrassing thing, with her twisting to escape and him boxing her into a corner and pawing her body while he slobbered on her face. The new Lord Hurley, who had also propositioned her when he first arrived at the Hall, had respected her refusal. In fact, he had rather avoided her, and had left again not long after the will was read.

Pelman laughed when she said ‘no’ and waylaid her when she was alone. It had, until now, been her only experience of the pastime, and she had not seen the appeal.

It was very different being the focus of Bear’s undivided attention, the recipient of his tender passion.

She lost herself in the new feelings, grasping his shoulders to bring herself closer to his body, trying her best to imitate the movements of his mouth and tongue.

He pulled away, and rested his forehead on hers, still holding her close. “We had best stop, Rosabel. You are to be my wife, and worthy of all respect, and I have no intention of tupping you on the kitchen dresser. At least, not until we are wed.”

Rosa reluctantly let him go, and he stepped back a little so he could lift her down to the floor. She was pleased to see he looked almost as dazed as she felt. “Would you call me Rosa?” she asked.

“If you wish, though Rosabel suits you. Beautiful rose. My beautiful Rosa.” He still held her waist, and he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her hair. “I will move to the village this afternoon, Rosa, and will ask the rector to post the banns tomorrow.”

On prerelease at 99c from Amazon

Abbie’s Wish, with Claudia and Ethan

Ethan squeezed Claudia’s hand, trying to lend her his strength. She squeezed back as she answered. “Just Carly and Trent. And their children.”

“Okay.” The voice sounded smug. “Don’t call the police. Just be waiting. Alone. One of your friends can drop you off but they had better be gone by the time I get there, or else. You and I are going to take a little trip.”

“And you’ll let Abbie go?” Claudia asked.

“Abbie will be fine. As long as you follow instructions.”

Beep. He had ended the call. Claudia turned to Ethan, her eyes huge and swimming in a face drained of color, . Her own arms hugging him as if he was the one solid rock in a stormy world reassured him, and he dropped a kiss on her hair.

“We’ll get her back, Claudia,” he vowed.

(Waiting for links. Watch this space.)

Paradise Regained, with James and Mahzad

She was avoiding his eyes, bending over her weapons, putting the arrows neatly away into the quiver and unstringing the bow. “They said you refused to go and that you told your father’s men that you would not leave your wife.” She whirled back to face him, snarling in her turn. “I say little difference if you did, since you are never here anyway and spend no time with me when you are.”

James was reeling from her dozen blows, some of which had got completely under his guard, but this last remark matched so closely to his own feelings about Mahzad that he struck back.

“You’re the one who is always busy and who never has time for me. You are too busy being katan and mother and friend to everyone in the valley. You’ve made it more than clear you don’t need me, and you don’t want me around.” He took a step closer toward her, crowding her against the table. “But this is my valley. They are my children. You are my wife. It’s about time you remembered that.”

He seized her and forced his mouth down on hers, intending a punishing kiss that overwhelmed her defenses and reminded her he was master in this area as in others, but she met his force with her own passion, softening under his invasion, molding her body to his as she clutched his head to pull him closer. His original intent forgotten, he poured all his longing into the kiss, trying to communicate his love and his frustration, losing himself in the touch and smell and sound of this one woman who was to him above all others.

Until she broke the kiss and shoved him away. “I cannot believe you blame me for all this,” she said. “Just like a man.”

And she stalked away, leaving him alone.

Follow Your Star Home, preorder links on the Belle’s website

Different points of view on WIP Wednesday

I tend to write in deep point of view for both hero and heroine, partly because that’s the way I tell the story to myself, living inside each character through each scene and seeing it through their eyes. It has the advantage that I can show the reader misunderstanding from both points of view, and that’s the theme of this week’s work in progress Wednesday. Give me a couple of extracts that contrast what one character thinks is happening with what another thinks. Mine is from The Beast Next Door, my offering for the Belles’ Valentine box set.

How the man Eric had become be content with a country mouse like Charis? She loved him more with each day that passed, each meeting they had, each story he told. The boy had grown into a strong man, and a good one.

In the first moment of awed wonder that he wanted to court her, she had not questioned the bond between them, but as day after day passed with no sign he saw her as more than a friend, her misgivings grew. How could Charis expect to capture and keep the attention of a charming, handsome, experienced man of the world? She was the least pretty of the Fishingham sisters, the odd one, the bluestocking; awkward and anxious in company; impatient with gossip and social lies.

He showed no sign that she bored him, but then his manners were excellent. He showed no sign that she attracted him, either. He never tried even to hold her hand, let alone kiss her. For her part, her whole body hummed with tension when she was near him, reverberating like a tuning fork to its own perfect note.

Surely he must feel something?

***

Eric was living a kind of blissful agony. Charis trusted him enough to meet him in private, and he’d honour that trust if it killed him. Some days, tense with need, he felt it might. As soon as the weather cleared enough for travel, he was heading east to the midlands, where her uncle and guardian lived. He’d seek Mr Pethwick’s permission to ask Charis to be his wife, and none of this nonsense about long betrothals, either. The sooner he could have Charis at his side all the time, where she belonged, the better. Even the thought spread a grin across his face. No more lonely nights.

Meanwhile, he shouldn’t be meeting her like this, but he couldn’t bear to have her so close and not spend time with her. He should ride up to Fishingham Hous and introduce himself to her mother and sisters; see her in chaperoned company away from the temptation to kiss her witless and more. Each day it became harder to honour the vows he’d made to himself, to pay his future wife the respect she deserved by keeping his hands off her.

How would Mrs Fishingham react? From what Charis said, anyone with a title or wealth would be acceptable. Charis deserved better than that, and so did he. She wanted him for himself; not for his place in Society or his fortune; not even for the boy he was, though she was the only person alive who knew him well from his childhood. After all their conversations, she wanted the man he had become. He didn’t believe that would change whatever her mother and sisters said, but he saw no need to risk it. Besides, he didn’t want to share his time with her in polite conversation with others.

When the rain stopped it came almost a a relief from the churning of his thoughts and the struggle with his lust. His attention so focused on his errand, he forgot that the clearing weather meant the Fishinghams could resume their assault upon Bath.

Tea with the Fishingham ladies

 

Mrs Fishingham could not stop exclaiming about the beauty of Haverford House, her own good fortune, and the duchess’s condescension in inviting her and her daughters for tea. The daughters giggled nervously every time the duchess addressed a comment to them, and spent the rest of the time gazing about them.

Her Grace had met the eldest child, Charis, and found her delightful. A pity she was married, and not included in the invitation. The duchess’s good manners and her sense of her position required her to treat them better than they deserved, for silliness and vulgarity were not crimes. If Her Grace snubbed them or even cut this afternoon tea short, word would percolate out through the walls in the mysterious way gossip had, with none of the servants in the least to blame for spreading it. They were not to the duchess’s taste, but nor did they deserve to become social outcasts.

The girls were probably not nearly as foolish as they appeared. The mother certainly was, and it was a wonder that she had managed to raise Charis as a kind, courteous, gracious, and intelligent woman.

Fortunately, the regulation half hour was nearly at an end. Her smile became more genuine as she waited for the torment to be over.

The Fishingham ladies appear in the story I am writing for the Belles 2019 Valentine box set. More news to come in the next three months. In the excerpt below, they are travelling home after an assembly.

As always, Mama used the trip home to compliment or castigate each of her daughters for their performance. Matilda had danced twice with the same man; one, furthermore without a fortune to commend him. On the other hand, she did not miss a single turn on the floor, and went into supper with a marquis, so could be forgiven much. Eugenie had missed several dances, giggling in a corner with the Lacey sisters. “It will not answer,” Mama pronounced, “for their brother is too young, and is heir to a dukedom, besides. You are pretty, Eugenie, and of good birth, but a duke is above your touch.”

However, though her supper escort was not titled, he had the redeeming feature of an enormous fortune, so Eugenie, too, was forgiven.

Charis’s turn began with the usual complaint about hiding in corners, but Mama’s scold was perfunctory. “For the second part of the night, you did very well, my dear,” she said. “I knew you could if you only tried. You are the most aggravating… But there. I was so pleased to see you dancing with Lord Chadbourn; amusing him, too, for everyone could see the pair of you chatting away as if you were old friends. Whatever could he have been saying that entertained the pair of you so well?”

“He was explaining the new method of crop rotation, Mama,” Charis said.

Mama’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Truly? How peculiar.” She frowned but then her face cleared and she shook her head as if to clear it. “No matter. He looked to be enjoying himself, so of course other young men wanted to follow his example. You did not miss a dance from the one with Chadbourn until Lady Wayford engaged you in conversation.

“Interrogation,” Matilda muttered to Eugenie, but not quietly enough for Mama to miss the remark.

“ You will refer to Lady Wayford with respect, young lady. Her interest in Charis was most gratifying. Word is that she seeks a husband for her disreputable son — imagine if she were to choose Charis!”

“Mama!” Charis protested. “Why would I want a disreputable man for a husband?”

“His shocking reputation is the reason for our opportunity, Charis,” Mama explained. “We are not wealthy and normally I would not look as high for one of you, but those considering the Wayford title and lands must consider the reputation of this earl and his predecessors. Both his older brother and his father were wild, and if you were to be fortunate enough to marry the earl, you could not expect him to be attentive or faithful.”

“He is scarred, too, Mama,” Eugenie said. “Lady Eleanor and Lady Alice met him in London, and they say he looks very fearsome. He is haughty, too, they say. Almost as haughty as Lady Wayford.”

“Go on,” Mama encouraged. “I normally abhor gossip, as you all know.” She sighed, heavily. “But I will make an exception for the sake of my dear girls.”

Charis exchanged glances with her sisters. Far from abhorring gossip, Mama was addicted to it, and had a biweekly subscription to the Teatime Tattler, despite the cost of having it delivered from London.

Eugenie frowned as she reported, “He frowned the whole time, and they tell me that he acquired the scars duelling. Are you sure, Mama?”

Mama gave a dismissive wave. “A title, Charis, and more pin money than you can dream of. I daresay he will leave you to live with his mother, and only visit to get an heir on you, so you will hardly need to spend any time with him. Just think! Perhaps he will let you remain at home!”

“Hardly, Mama,” Matilda said. “What would Society say about that?”

“Impertinence,” Mama scolded, but confirmed the justice of Matilda’s observation by adding, “a long visit would be perfectly acceptable. My Charis, a countess.”

Charis saw no point in arguing that such a marriage would be hell on earth. Lady Wayford was just being polite, and there was nothing in the encounter to encourage the castle Mama was building from pure air. Another day and evening at Bath was over, and they were nearly home.

Surely, this close to Christmas, the fine weather could not hold much longer?

Staking the castle

You’ve all read them. The stories where the heroine is at risk because a father, uncle, brother, or husband has lost the family fortune, or where the hero cannot wed because he had inherited an impoverished estate from the gambling waistral who was the previous incumbent.

Gambling, especially the gambling of the upper classes, is a frequent plot device in our Georgian and Regency stories, as it should be since it was a frequent feature of Georgian and Regency lives.

Not just upper class lives, of course. People at every level of society, both men and women, loved nothing more than a bet, on anything from a horse race or boxing match to which cockroach would be first to run the length of the table.

For the most part, our stories look at the upper classes, though. We are compelled by what Arthur Pitt, in explaining the focus of his Masters dissertation, calls:

… the undeniably romantic allure of the richly decorated gaming clubs or the reckless gambling of dynastic fortunes [which] rather trump[s] the dingy and dull penny games played against street walls or in alehouses. (Arthur Pitt, MA dissertation, A Study Of Gamblers And Gaming Culture In London, c. 1780-1844)

Card and dice games

Card games – whether for no, low, or ruinous stakes – were everywhere. Evenings at home or out at dinner would often include card games. Hostesses holding a ball or party usually had a card room, where those fond of such games could spend the evening. Gentlemens’ clubs also set aside a room or two for their members to play cards, as did gaming ‘hells’, both low and high.

Some ladies supplemented their income by ‘holding the bank’ in private card parties held in their houses. As long as they retained the appearance of merely being a hostess, and not in business, such a venture would dent their reputation but might not ruin it.

Whist (the precursor of Bridge) was very popular. Four players, in two teams, chose a trump suit and played a strategic game to win each round (called a trick). Loo is also often mentioned. It is played in a similar way to Whist, except the dealer deals an extra hand, which a player can choose to pick up and play in preference to their own.

Piquet was a game for two players, with a complicated scoring system and the potential for huge wins or losses.

Vingt-et-un is today called Twenty-One (same name, but in English). Each player draws one card at a time, in an attempt to get cards that add as close to 21 as they can get, but without going over.

In Faro (or Pharoah – or Basset, the game Pharoah was derived from), the dealer takes cards from a special wooden box and lays them face up on the table. One suit of the cards is pasted to the table in numerical order, and players place their bets by putting what they want to stake on one or more cards. Various rules decide whether a card drawn from the box wins for a player with a stake on the same number, or loses.

Hazard is a dice game, rather than a card game. Players bet on the numbers to be rolled.

Of course, gaming tables were just the start. Next week, I’ll take a look at the Betting Books, and later at horse racing.

This blog post on Jane Austen’s World has a list of further links at the end. https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2008/11/30/gambling-an-accepted-regency-pastime/

I also consulted:

https://harlequinblog.com/2011/02/gambling-in-regency-england/

https://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2012/09/a-profitable-vice-gambling-in-regency.html

https://www.cherylbolen.com/gambling.htm

https://allaboutromance.com/gambling-in-historic-england/

http://www.riskyregencies.com/2012/05/21/regency-gaming-hells/

Dwellings on WIP Wednesday

 

Where do your characters live? And do you describe the place? This week, I’m looking for an excerpt that gives us a sense of a dwelling place that you describe in your work in progress. As always, give your excerpt in the comments so we can all enjoy it.

Mine is from House of Thorns. It is the house Rosa moved to after she was evicted to make way for the new owner.

Bear shook his head. He’d seen many such warts on the landscape; some landowner’s idea of workers’ housing, tucked into any corner — however unsuitable — that placed them out of sight of the local landowners and those they wished to impress.

Miss Neatham could not possibly live here. Bear looked for a street name, but there was none. He tried the key she had given him in the door of the third house on the left. What the hell had Pelman been thinking, putting a lady of Miss Neatham’s refinement in a slum like this?

Bear pushed the door open and let himself into a narrow hall, where he removed his coat and hat, and looked around a little helplessly for a hook or a rack or even a chair to lay them over. In the end, he draped the coat over the newel post of the staircase, and put the hat on the floor by the door. Puddles began to spread across the bare board beneath both. At least he wasn’t destroying Miss Neatham’s carpet.

Where would he find the father? He called out. “Mr. Neatham?!”

All he heard was the rain driving viciously against the outside of the house and his coat dripping on the floor.

Bedridden, she had said. Upstairs then. “Mr. Neatham?” He repeated the call at the turn of the stairs, and again when he reached the landing.

“Who’s there?” the voice from the room at the end of the short passage above the stairwell shook with fear or age, or perhaps both.  “Who’s there? Go away! I am armed. Rosie? Rosie, someone is in the house. Run, Rosie. Get the constable.”

Bear pushed open the door to find an elderly man, not much larger than the rose thief herself, propped up on pillows in his bed, clutching a sheet to his chest, his eyes wide. He flourished a candlestick, his gaunt wrinkled face showing more terror than aggression.

Bear stopped in the doorway. “Mr. Neatham, your Rosie sent me.”

Mr. Neatham lifted his chin and sniffed. “I do not know you, sir.” The voice, thready with age, bore the same hallmarks of birth and education that distinguished his daughter’s.

Bear bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. Hugh Gavenor, at your service.”

The room contained little beside the man and the bed. The corner of the bedside table rested on a stack of broken brick in lieu of a leg. A battered trunk and a few garments hung on hooks along one wall completed the room’s furnishings. The room was clean, almost painfully so, except the strong smell of fresh urine hinted another clean — of the frail body before him — was overdue.

Neatham seemed to have forgotten his alarm in his puzzlement. “Gavenor? I know no Gavenors.”

“I purchased Thorne Hall.” Bear stepped toward the bed, stopped, and waited for Neatham to react to his approach.

 

Cover reveal — House of Thorns

 

Later this month, all going well, Scarsdale will publish House of Thorns as part of their Inconvenient Marriage series. Last week, they sent me the cover. What do you think? I’ll give you preorder links as soon as I have them.

House of Thorns

Bear Gavenor has fled the marriage mart for the familiarity of his work; restoring abandoned country manors to sell to the newly rich. He doesn’t expect to find a potential wife stealing his roses.

Lying gossip has driven Rosa Neatham from respectable employment, and now she has been turned out of her home to make way for the new owner. But a fleeting return to collect some roses for her ailing father changes her fortunes.

In a marriage that offers more inconvenience than convenience, can this unlikely couple beat gossip, misunderstandings, and their own self doubts to find happiness?