The Return of the Mountain King

by

Tea with James, Duke of Winshire

An excerpt post, taken from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover.

Winshire looked around as he knocked on the door. The cottage had been kept in good repair, but nevertheless had an air of abandonment. He was trying to nail down what details indicated it was unloved in when the door opened. He turned to ask to be shown to his hostess, or allowed to wait for her inside until she could see him. There she stood, her warm smile the only welcome he needed.

He could feel his own smile growing in response. “Eleanor.”

The Duchess of Haverford stepped back to give him space to enter. “James. Come in!”

He followed her across a small entrance hall to a cosy little parlour, where a fire burned in the hearth and a tray with a tea set waited on a small table between two chairs. Eleanor took the seat closest to the tea pot and waved her hand to the other. “Be seated, dear friend. Would you care for tea?”

Tea was not what he hungered for. For ten years after Mahzad’s death, he had thought himself beyond desire, but Eleanor brought it roaring back the first time he saw her on his return to England. Getting to know her again had only increased his longing; she was even lovelier, both within and without, than when they had first met long ago, before her father accepted the Duke of Haverford’s suit for her hand, and rejected that of James, who was only the third son of the Duke of Winshire.

James was forced into exile and Eleanor was made to marry Haverford.

He kept his feelings to himself. If he told her his hopes, and if she shared them, he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her like this without besmirching his honour and insulting hers.

Eleanor was a married woman and virtuous, even if her husband was a monster. Even if the old devil was rotting from within and locked away for his own good and to protect the duchy. James accepted the offered seat and the cup of tea; asked after the duchess’s sons and wards and caught her up to date with his own family; exchanged comments on the war news and the state of the harvest.

“James,” she said at last, “I proposed this meeting for a reason.”

“To see me, I hope. Since Parliament went into recess and we both left London, I have missed our weekly visits to that little bookshop you frequent.”

Eleanor smiled, and James fancied that he saw her heart in her eyes for a moment, and it leapt to match his. But her smile faded and her lashes veiled her eyes. “That, too, my dear friend. I have missed you, too. But there is another matter I need to bring to your attention.”

She grimaced and gave her head a couple of impatient shakes. “It seems I am always muddying our time together with gossip and scandal. I am so sorry, James.”

“One day, I hope we will be able to meet without subterfuge, and for no reason but our pleasure,” James said. The last word was a mistake. He might be old, but at the word ‘pleasure’, his body was reminding him urgently that he was not yet dead.

Eleanor seemed unaffected, focused on whatever bad news she had to give him. “You are aware, I am sure, of the history of your niece Sarah’s ward?”

“Her son?” James queried. He had assumed Eleanor knew. She was a confidante of his sister-in-law.

“Indeed. What you may not know—what I have just found out—is that Society is making that assumption and spreading the story.”

James shook his head. “I guessed the gossips and busybodies would reach that conclusion, but without proof or confirmation, and with the family firmly behind her, the rumours will die.”

“True, if that was all. But James, you may not know—Sarah may not know—that her little boy’s father is back in England and, if my sources are accurate, seeking a bride.”

James stiffened. “The coward has returned?”

“As to that,” Eleanor said, “Grace always suspected that Sutton and Winshire had something to do with his disappearance, and it is being whispered that his father has recently bought him out of the navy, where he had worked his way up to being a surgeon.”

“And your sources are connecting Sarah and her child with this man?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Not yet. The two rumours are separate. But if the two of them meet, people may make connections. Especially if the child resembles his father.” She shrugged, even that small elegant movement unusually casual for the duchess. “It is all very manageable, James, but you needed to know.”

“I appreciate it, Eleanor.” He sighed. “English Society is more of a snake pit than the court of the Shah of Shahs or that of the Ottoman Sultan Khan.

by

Tea with Ruth, Countess of Ashbury

The new Countess of Ashbury was the Duchess of Haverford’s only guest today. She was shown out to the terrace where her grace sat taking the sunshine while looking over the gardens that sloped to the river. Her curtsey was gracefulness incarnate, and her looks not at all in the common way, but stunning.

“Your Grace, thank you for your invitation,” she said.

Eleanor waved to the chair that had been placed next to her own, and at an angle to it so that she could keep her eyes on her visitor’s face. “My goddaughter Sophia encouraged me to do so, Lady Ashbury. She tells me you have a charitable project that I might be interested in supporting. But first, let us have tea and talk about our families and the weather.”

Lady Ashbury’s amused smile flashed. “I shall feel very English,” she said.

She stated her preferences—black, with a slice of lemon and one lump of sugar–and accepted the cup Eleanor poured. “I have not thanked you in person for your influence in the matter of my sister-in-law, and the scandal she tried to raise,” she said.

Eleanor never did anything so crass as shrugging her shoulders, but she allowed her eyebrows to do so. “You blunted the worst of the rumours when you married Lord Ashbury,” she pointed out. “You are happy, I hope? Sophia tells me it is a love match.”

The glow in Lady Ashbury’s eyes, the softening of her voice, all confirmed the diagnosis. “Yes, Your Grace. I love Val, and I love his–our daughters. We would have come to it in the end, I believe. Elspeth Ashbury did us a favour by forcing us to decide sooner, rather than later.”

“Tell me about your daughters,” Eleanor encouraged. “Lady Mirabelle and Lady Genevieve, are they not?”

Ruth needed no further encouragement, extolling the talents and characters of her girls while they drank their tea. However, when Eleanor put her cup aside, she brought her current anecdote to a close, and commented, “But I have been rattling on about my family, which is hardly good manners, Your Grace. Will you further extend your kindness to me by allowing me to rattle on about my cottage hospital instead?”

“A cottage hospital! How interesting. Please tell me more.”

***

Ruth is the heroine of To Mend the Broken Hearted. She meets the Earl of Ashbury when she delivers his two daughters to him after they are sent home from school during a smallpox epidemic. By To Claim the Long-Lost Lover, she is running the cottage hospital mentioned above.

 

by

Announcing the Grand Prize winner

 

Congratulation to Zara

Zara’s name was drawn from nearly six hundred entries in the draw. She has won a print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady, a US$50 Amazon gift card, a personal card from me posted from New Zealand, and a made-to-order story.  Zara got to decide on one character, one object, and a story trope. She has asked for a spirited heroine that is loyal to those she loves, adores animals and books. Her object is a locket, and the story trope is friends to lovers.  I’m looking forward to coming up with something that uses those ingredients.

Thank you to all the people who entered. I hope you’ve had fun. I certainly have. And I think we can agree that Aldridge’s happy-ever-after has been well and truly celebrated.

by

Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 21

Epilogue

Winshire House, London, January 1813

Eleanor had not visited her friends in Winshire House in nearly a year; had not seen them since they quit London in July, after the series of attacks on the family.

Today, she was going to ignore the prohibitions of the despot who ruled her family. He was convalescing in Kent, and would be away for at least another month. By the time he found out that she had made a condolence call on Grace and Georgie, it would be far too late for him to stop her. She hoped to see her goddaughter, too, who had married James’s eldest son just before the turn of the year, a day before the Duke of Winshire died.

At first, she had thought to go on her own, but Matilda and Jessica wanted to express their sympathies to Georgie’s daughters, who had been their friends since the cradle. Rather, they seized on the excuse to visit with the girls, whom they had sorely missed during the feud between Haverford and Winshire. No one could possibly imagine that anyone in the Winshire family actually mourned the sour old man who had just died.

Since she was going for precisely the same reason, she agreed, and then Aldridge announced that he planned to escort them. “When I am duke, Mama, I hope that the new Winshire and I will be able to work together, and I like what I’ve seen of his sons.”

In the end, they all went, late in the afternoon. Only Jon was missing. A month ago, he had sailed from Margate in Aldridge’s private yacht, and just this morning, a package had been delivered by a weary sailor, with a report from Aldridge’s captain for the marquis, and a brief note from Jon for his mother. “Married. Safe. More news later.” Aldridge grinned at the scrawled words. “Jon has landed on his feet again, Mama,” he told her. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know how he always manages to do that!”

The Winshire drawing room was crowded, of course, but the Haverfords were invited to remove themselves to a private parlour, where their hostesses joined them after the other visitors had completed the polite fifteen minutes and been shown out.

“Do stay for refreshments,” Grace begged, and before long Lord Andrew Winderfield had carried Aldridge off for a game of billiards, the girls from both families had gone up to the twins’ little sitting room, and the older ladies settled in to catch up on all that had happened in their lives while they had been separated.

James joined them part way through the conversation, staying when his sister assured him he was not intruding. I did not come to see him. Of course, she had not. And yet, here he was and she felt herself turn towards him, a sunflower to his sun. She hoped her reaction was hidden from her friends. Thank goodness, my all-too-perceptive son is out of the room.

The new Duke of Winshire. Had my father accepted his offer for my hand, I would still have become a duchess, in the end. And there would be no Aldridge. No Jonathan. Perhaps none of the charities she had brought into existence out of her own urge to make the world an easier place for women.

David would still exist, if his grandfather had not beaten him to death in childhood. He’d been conceived before the Duke of Haverford even set eyes on Eleanor.

None of James’s wonderful children, though.

Perhaps Matilda, Jessica, and Frances might have been born, too, though who knew whether they would have survived and what they might have become without her intervention.

As if her thought had conjured them up, the girls came back into the room, and immediately, the Winderfield girls began telling their elders about “Aunt Eleanor’s house party to support women’s education.”

“Matilda and Jessica have been telling us all about it, Papa,” the elder of James’s daughters told him, perching on the arm of his chair and leaning trustingly against his shoulder. “I want to help girls who want to acquire medical knowledge. What do you think, Papa?”

James looked past his daughter to smile warmly at Eleanor. “Your wards are powerful advocates of your cause, Your Grace.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Ruth, it is your money to invest. Perhaps you could fund a scholarship?”

The others broke in with objections about finding teachers, and strategies for overcoming that obstacle. Eleanor sat quietly in the warmth of James’s smile. Yes, they could be friends. It would be enough. And the charities she had sponsored as Duchess of Haverford would be in safe hands for the next generation. What wonderful daughters her three were.

THE END

(But, as you all know, heroines deserve a happy ending, as since Eleanor is not yet happy, it is not the end. Watch out for Paradise at Last, the final novella in the three that tell the story of the mountain king and the duchess who loved him.

by

Conversations–I talk to Elizabeth Ellen Carter about rakes

A couple of weeks ago, I had a lovely time on Zoom talking to Elizabeth Ellen Carter about redeeming rakes, unredeemable rakes, and my Marquis of Aldridge.

Here’s the interview.

Check out Elizabeth’s channel for other great interviews.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHbPv1zpUfKsHaCL__oaWRQ

 

 

by

Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 20

Thank goodness she had been strong enough to hold out for the right to keep the children. As long as he never saw them, was not expected to acknowledge them in any way, and provided nothing extra for their support, he chose to treat her fostering as an eccentric hobby.

Frances had been the third, her birth a scandalous secret even Haverford did not want disclosed. Eleanor loved the three girls with all her heart, loved them as fiercely as she loved her two sons. And she could not regret bringing them into her home, selfish of her though it was.

She had learned better, especially after the disastrous end to David Wakefield’s time under the Haverford roofs. For years now, she had been quietly settling her husband’s by-blows in less scrutinised households, carefully supervised to ensure they had the love and care she wanted for those who shared blood with her sons.

As for the three sisters, their origins and the prominence of the family meant they would face many barriers in a quest for a fulfilling life. If only they did not so strongly bear the Grenford stamp! Still, with her support and that of her sons, all would be well. She hoped. She prayed.

Time to announce her presence. “Miss Markson, is this a good time for an interruption? I have come to take tea with the young ladies.”

***

Hollystone Hall, December 1812

Eleanor smiled at the family gathered in her private sitting room. Matilda was pouring the tea, and Frances was carefully carrying each cup to the person for whom it had been prepared. Jessica was sitting on the arm of Aldridge’s chair, regaling him with stories about the kitten she had adopted from the kitchen. Cedrica sat quietly, as usual, but the distracted smile and the glow of happiness were new, and her thoughts were clearly on her French chef, whom she had, unless Eleanor missed her guess, kissed in the garden last night.

Jonathan—dear Jonathan, back in England and arriving by surprise on Christmas Eve—was making Jessica laugh with faces he was pulling out of Aldridge’s view, though from the quirk in the corner of Aldridge’s mouth, he was well aware of his brother’s antics.

Eleanor smiled around the room at her children, her heart at ease to have all five of her children with her. Two sons of her body, and three daughters of her heart. Deciding to bring the girls into her nursery had been one of the best decisions she had ever made.

Eleanor accepted another cup of tea from Frances, exchanged a smile with Matilda, and saluted the other three with her cup. How fortunate she was.

If she had been a cowed and obedient wife, her life would have lacked much richness. She had regrets—who didn’t? If she’d been braver, she would have permitted the girls to call her ‘Mama’, rather than ‘Aunt Eleanor’.  But that would have been a red rag to the duke’s bull. The safer path was, probably, the right one.

Eleanor caught Frances’s eye and patted the seat beside her. “You did that very well, my dear,” she told the girl. Frances was much younger than the other two, and Eleanor was pleased she’d be at home for a while longer. Perhaps, by the time Frances married, one of the others would have given her grandchildren. She smiled again at the thought. Yes, Eleanor had been very fortunate.

 

by

Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 5

Fifth contest over. Congratulations to Carolyn, our winner for week five.

Week five contest

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Fifth week prize is:

  • an ecopy of a title from my backlist of books (winner’s choice)
  • a face mask in history themed fabric from RegencyStylebySusana
  • an ecopy of the Bluestocking Belles collection Fire & Frost

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 origin
  • A print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady
  • A personal card signed by me and sent from New Zealand
  • A 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 Farewell to Kindness

Runs from 21st September to 29th September

Available at this price from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Farewell-Kindness-Golden-Redepennings-Book-ebook/dp/B00TXRW4KA/

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/farewell-to-kindness

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is Lost in the Tale.

Runs from 21st September to 7 October. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/lost-in-the-tale

by

Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 4

Fourth contest over. Congratulations to LL, our winner for week four.

Week four contest

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Fourth week prize is:

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 origin
  • A print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady
  • A personal card signed by me and sent from New Zealand
  • A 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

by

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.