New Regency 200 Pages

Since finishing Hoveria, have been hard at work on new Regency.

Our hero, Henry St. James Evermond, the Marquess of Falmont has two sisters that have been neglected by his father, that last Marquess. Now that he has the title, he knows that they both must be launched into society and takes them up to Town for the season. Here he finds that he too is affected by what happens when a young lady is presented around town during the season. Lord Falmont had no desire to become attached, but he could not deny that his heart was affected so.

As of today, I am 60,357 words since Monday the 17th At this rate, I may be finished by the weekend and look for a third book to work on this month.

In my last posts I talked of being sick and taking a few days off for that and for my speaking to a reading group. However I have written so much that by the end of the day I should be at 120,000 words for January. A pace of 36,000 each and every week of this year, though last week I had written over 50,000 words. It has worked out at 12,000 words week one, 36,000 words week 2, and 50,000 words week 3. Here in Week 4, and this is a 5 week month, I want to write as much as possible for from Thursday on next week I am taking time off again and may find it hard to write.

There will also be no writing on SuperBowl Sunday…. (See Below)

Though I should have posted Chapter 1 at the 100 page milestone, we have reached 200 pages so here is chapter 1.

1) At Home After Father Was Gone

Henry St.James Evermond, the Marquess of Falmont bounced in his saddle once more. "We have to smooth out the path, don't we lad." He talked to his horse, not as an eccentric would, for though he knew that he had some tendencies society and the Ton might think of so, he wasn't so far from the path of sanity that he made a habit of having conversations with his mounts. No, he had spoken to reassure the both of them. He did not like the many times that morning that he had bounced up off his saddle and landed again. Not that his backside could not withstand the shock, but this estate, as had the others in his inheritance, could stand some improvement.

Improvements that his agents had said his father would not allow.

Slowing to a stop, Henry turned the horse around and slowly walked back to the site where he had felt the uneven road. His father's death was unexpected, and did not come fast, for near the last two weeks of the season he had been struck down, Henry being summoned at once to his side. If the estates in the country showed signs of wear, certainly the London House was the top of fashionable living. Henry had a good allowance though his friends would have said a bit sparse considering he was heir to the title now. His older brother Michael dying three years before from dueling. A foolish thing to be doing, especially over such a small matter of honor.

Michael had been called an unflattering term. Michael also thought he was rather good with a sword and pistol. Three previous duels had proven that. His opponents ended cut, and he unscathed. Henry was with Wellington and the army and so had not been able to talk his brother out of such folly at any time. The fourth time Michael had been not only slower to land a touch upon his opponent, but the man had cut too high upon the neck. Michael was dead in moments, and Sir Claire Everington had fled for the West Indies, doubtless never thinking that he would have killed the heir to a peerage.

Henry dismounted where the path, the nicest to observe the grounds and ride about the Park of Falmont, had caused him to notice it's disrepair. Three estates and all the monies that should have gone to their upkeep his father had spent on the London House, which of course was called with no sense of creativity, the London House. The Marquess, his father had spent thirty years being a Pink of the Ton in London, though few could say they had been invited to Falmont. If they had he certainly would have lost his notoriety.

Now Henry had to restore the balance, though it was not insurmountable. It was just going to be a tremendous task and would take years. With the war over and his return to London society, though, he had the time. With the Marquess having been stricken, he lingered more than a month before succumbing. By then Town was cleared of most of those who had spoken of the previous Marquess as a friend. Not that Henry ever thought that his father had many friends. Many who were in his pocket perhaps, but not friends.

A small memorial service was held in the St. Edmund's Chapel of Westminster Abbey. The Archbishop did not even preside, and the Marquess of Falmont a peer of the realm. Less than a dozen were in attendance, and of those more than half were Henry's friends, not the intimates of his father. Henry was not bitter by the poor showing, for he well knew his father. A man who lacked substance and made much of being a man others wanted to look at and emulate, in fashion and style. He was in short, a Peacock. An attribute that led his parents to separate and his mother to precede his father in death by some years.

Henry looked at the ground on the path and then took a note book from his waist coat pocket as well as a small pencil. He began to take a few details of what he saw and what he desired fixed. He and his agent for the estate, Mr. Marks, would go over the lists later and see what priority they could assign to each task. One of the first was the replacement though of mattresses for the beds in the manor. Henry had not been a guest of the house, his house now, since he had left for Eton. Twenty years, or so and the mattresses were not fit. He had to have the mattress replaced in his room, his father's old room with one that the servants used. Those at least had been maintained well enough that they were free of an infestation of bed bugs.

The mattress in his room had been totally filled with them, but then his father had not journeyed to the Falmont for at least five years. He kneeled to look closer at the road and see if this point revealed anything else of detail he wanted to note. The verge was cut rather indiscriminately as well. Henry straightened to his height of just over six feet. Still lean, though if any saw him in his naked form, they would see that two years after Waterloo and there was the slightest addition to his midriff. Henry would know of it, but would any other think he was not thin? He would know for he would lay a finger across his stomach and it was not as flat as it had been when he had been on campaign.

Yet his muscles still were developed and his calves still would be remarked on by the ladies. With the death of his father, his access to the ready had increased and a new set of Hessians had been ordered. His eyes were blue, the same colour as the water of the channel when the sun bounced off it a few hours short of sunset. Hair straight and long enough to be tied with a ribbon. Blonde with a healthy dose of red in it, his mother always said that was from her side of the family. They were of pure lineage from Kent and predated the conquest while the Evermond's say with their own pride that they had come across with William.

Not that there had been a knight of Evermond in Normandy before the conquest, but their was the day after Hastings. Not even family legend had recorded how that came about. Henry felt that his ancestor was smart enough to turn riding against the Saxon shield wall led to a few men surviving the day and assuring William and others that they were knights that had joined his invasion. William looking for those to support him and strong enough to do so may not have questioned their lineage after his success.

The Duke of Normandy back at the conquest was probably assured of those who were in fealty to him, but those others who came to join his army, well he may not have thought to look closely at all their credentials. Now over 750 years later, it would be hard to know for certain, but the Evermond's could not find any trace of their family before the conquest. Since then, they had done well enough. Henry the second granting an ancestor a barony, and then, Henry the Seventh further rewarding them. Knowing who to support at Bosworth had ensured the greater step to being a Marquess.

Henry mused as he remounted his horse, what was he going to say to that? If a king who overthrew another rewarded his ancestor for an act of support, or betrayal depending on your way of looking at things, it allowed the Evermond's to move forward. Not that they had not paid England back many times with sacrifice for the honor of the title they carried. Nineteen members of the male line since Henry the Seventh had served in the countries armies. Six dying in that service. Henry himself had come close two times in Spain and in Flanders.

He rubbed his arm where the easy to reach reminder of that was. The other, was just above his right buttock and though rubbing his back was not embarrassing, he was on a horse and he did not need to rub both areas where he carried scars to remember that he had them. They were obtrusive enough in his ming that he seldom forgot they were there.

"Let's back to the house, shall we girl. The Vicar and his wife are to come for tea and I must change, again." His father would have thought him a fool for thinking that changing clothes so many times a day was a bother. But it was and it would be a fool to Henry's mind that thought changing, even up to four times in one day was something that should be done. Aside from himself on the estate, no one else changed their clothes. The servants and tenants all donned one outfit a day, even his richest tenants, for there were a couple who had ambitions to make their way up the shelves of the social bookcase. No one else was required to get out of their morning clothes to put on riding clothes if they wished to ride about the park, or lands of Falmont. Henry was and now he would have to change into another outfit, and last, late that night, even though he planned to dine with just his sisters Fanny and Beth, he would have to change again.

Shortly after Michael had died, so had their mother, Lady Falmont. Her death brought his sisters home to live with father, for they had been under their mother's care. The year before Fanny was set to have her season, and their father, not inclined to bring a young lady out into society, did not. He sent her here to Falmont with Beth to rot. If father had not denied him access to the estate, he would have visited them. As close as he came was through the good efforts of Mr. and Mrs. Grace, the Vicar and his wife. He had been able to stay in the village a few times under an assumed name and meet his sisters when they attended chapel and took tea at the vicarage later on a few Sundays.

Guess who is going to the Super Bowl Again!!!! Packers