Tea with a Pirate

Friends, welcome Ruth A. Casie to the blog today, with her account of an interesting visit to Her Grace, the Duchess of Haverford

Eleanor, the Duchess of Haverford is a progressive woman for her time. She judges a person by their character and not their title or purse. Some think she must have been a handful growing up, always open to meeting all sorts of people. There was one time when she visited Sommer-by-the-Sea, a village near Newcastle Upon Tyne, and had tea at the Rostov Tearoom. She was certain she saw the Grand Duke Nikolai Baranov, a Russian spy. Her astute self quickly identified His Imperial Highness’s interest, Lady Patrice Edgemont. Ah, but that is another story for another time.

Today, Eleanor is having tea with a pirate and his wench. Oh, dear reader, did you spill your tea? I should have been more clever in introducing them. Eleanor is expecting Lord and Lady Reynolds today. They have become dear friends who do not stand on ceremony. They are close enough to address each other by their given names. I know, it is outrageous. And close enough to divulge their deepest secrets.

Lady Reynolds, the former Darla Maxwell, was her father’s greatest prize. Graeme Maxwell and his close friend and business partner, Ewan MacDougall, collaborated in searching for a suitable husband for her. Darla has a … magical background, which, as a young woman, she sought to deny. She found it off-putting to those who knew. Therefore, she had it in her mind to never marry. Eleanor is hoping to find out more about how Darla’s magic influenced her life and what changed her mind about marriage.

Lord Wesley Reynolds, the son of the well-known silk merchant, has a most interesting background. Eleanor is looking forward to hearing more about it.

“More tea?” Eleanor asked with the pot in her hand.

“You can warm mine.” Darla smiled brightly and lifted her cup.

“Wesley,” Eleanor said as she warmed Darla’s cup, “you’ve teased me long enough. I still find it difficult to believe that you were ever a pirate and now one of the King’s most trusted men.”

“Wesley’s personal history has several twists and turns.” Darla put down her teacup and placed her hand on the arm of Wesley’s chair. “It has made him the man he is today.” 

Eleanor knew that Darla was Wesley’s devoted advocate. She smiled, understanding theirs was a sincere love match.

Wesley patted his wife’s hand. It was a tender touch, one that didn’t escape Eleanor’s notice.

Wesley turned toward Eleanor. “As a young man, I followed in my father’s footsteps. He was both an excellent silk merchant and businessman. He taught me the silk business, from cultivating the silkworms to making the final cloth to selling and shipping the bolts. I learned by traveling with him and observing him at his work. He was a well-respected merchant and excellent negotiator. When he passed away, I was ready to take over, although I would never be able to take his place.

He picked up his teacup and finished the brew.

“You are aware that there are rumors that you sailed out of the Cinque Ports in southern Europe in the service of the King.” Eleanor was determined to find out more about his pirate days and what he had done to be awarded a title and Glen Kirk Castle. The estate sat on the border with Scotland.

Wesley moved back in his seat as if he wanted to avoid the subject.

“Wesley,” Eleanor’s quiet voice broke the building tension. He looked at her. “If this is difficult—”

Wesley glanced at Darla, who gave him an encouraging nod. He let out a breath and continued.

“I provided the king with the silks he wanted, as I did with many monarchs across Europe. Because of my connections, I was a good sounding board for him. I had my own ships, and one thing led to another.”

“That led you to become a pirate?” Eleanor was not going to let the subject go.

“I had no love for the Spanish. They thought I was a charity, taking my goods off my ship without paying for them. So, I simply took from their ships as payment of their debt. All in all, a fair transaction.”

Eleanor chuckled, a bit unladylike, but she was with friends. “I dare say they deserved it. It sounds like a good life.”

“Over the years, my brother told me what happened while I was in boarding school, how we had to leave our home, and why. I believed Darla’s father and MacDougall, my father’s closest friends, plotted against him and my family. I thought they ruined his business and took his property, all circumstances that led to his death.”

“Oh, dear. That is a deep betrayal. Darla’s father, you say? I surmise you don’t believe that tale now. What made you believe it in the first place? And why the change of heart?” Eleanor’s interest was piqued.

Wesley’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tensed as he struggled to contain his emotions. “I put my trust in someone close and was deceived,” he finally admitted, his voice strained with regret.

Eleanor, seeing Wesley’s turmoil, poured a glass of port and handed it to him.

Wesley accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. His gaze dropped to the ruby liquid as he took a sip.

“Did this have anything to do with the pirate king, McAlpin?”

Wesley chuckled and drank the last of his port.

“I understand why you ask.” He returned Eleanor’s gaze, his eyes reflecting his resolve. “The MacAlpin has the reputation of being a ruthless, savage pirate. But, in all my dealings with him, he proved to be fair and trustworthy. He was instrumental in seeing justice served.”

He paused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, and then he continued. “It was difficult, after years of believing something so strongly that had woven its way into your soul, to become fundamental, your very essence, and then to uncover the truth and recognize you’d been lied to for a very long time.”

He glanced at his wife, his expression showing that the hurt of the deception still remained.

“From the first moment we met on the docks by my father’s ship,” Darla offered, “and I mistook him for MacDougall’s son-in-law, Magnus, I was drawn to Wesley. I was exceedingly relieved to learn he was unencumbered. Very pleased indeed.”

“Darla’s father is a gem merchant. Maxwell and MacDougall were nothing like I expected. After my father’s death, I was told again of their thievery. I had it stamped into my brain, and I didn’t question it. You see, from an early age, I was fostered by the Highland Maxwells. When I came back and worked with my father, he had already moved the family from our home on MacDougall’s island, forced out, I was told. I accepted it as truth, and when my father died, I vowed to take revenge for all the injustices Maxwell and MacDougall did to my father and my family.”

“Wesley thought to use me as a pawn in his effort to hurt my father.” Darla sat still, holding Wesley’s hand.

Wesley gazed at Darla, their hands naturally entwined, a silent bond between them. “That wasn’t one of my shining moments,” he admitted. “The more time we spent together and the more I knew you, your father, and MacDougall, the more I knew I had it all wrong, but evil kept buzzing in my ear, pushing me to carry out my plans.”

Darla met his gaze with understanding. “You found the truth,” she said calmly, her voice steady. “It’s all over now.”

Wesley’s gaze softened, filled with gratitude and admiration as he gazed at his wife. “I’m a very lucky man.” His tone carried a warmth and passion that couldn’t be mistaken.

“More tea? Cook made some delicious scones,” Eleanor offered with a warm smile. “Darla, I understand you have unique insight—”

Wesley’s expression tightened as he got to his feet. “Come, Darla.” His tone was clipped. “We’ve imposed on Eleanor long enough.” He extended his hand to his wife, a silent signal he wanted to leave.

Eleanor, surprised at Wesley’s change in behavior, put down the plate of scones she was offering and, for a moment, was startled into silence. “Forgive me, my lord, if I have offended you or your wife.”

“No, Eleanor. You have done nothing of the sort. Wesley is very overprotective.” Darla, still in her seat, gently took his hand and pulled him toward her. He remained as he was. “I do have a unique ability. I have second sight. I see things before they happen. Some people—”

“Unintelligent, witless ones—” Wesley spit out between clenched teeth.

“Eleanor understands your meaning.” Darla acknowledged before turning toward their host. “Some people believe it’s witchcraft. They say and do foolish things. It is why I kept to myself while growing up. Why I never allowed myself to become attached to a gentleman. How could I get someone I loved tangled in that rat’s nest? Some may see my gift as a blessing, but I assure you it is not. Imagine knowing something terrible is going to happen, and you’re not able to influence it at all.”

Darla put her hands in her lap. “I thought I would never marry. I was satisfied with being alone for the rest of my life. I was wrong. I had no idea that I was waiting for the right person, my soul mate. I never saw that coming until I met Wesley. So much for my second sight. When I found him, I knew I would never let him go. He is my love,” Darla declared as she rose from her seat and stood next to Wesley, “my life.”

“As you are mine,” Wesley said, his wife in his arms. He turned to Eleanor. “Deception and family honor were at stake.”

Darla glanced at Eleanor. “So was my heart.”

Eleanor stood. “I’m glad you found each other. Your story is a breathtaking adventure. I am honored and want to thank you for sharing so much with me.”

“Eleanor.” Darla left her husband’s side and embraced her dear friend. “Thank you for your invitation. We have a long journey ahead of us to Glen Kirk Castle.”

Eleanor walked her guests to the door. “I wish you both safe travels. The lesson I learned from your story is a very profound one. It is a cautionary tale about the destructive nature of revenge and the healing power of forgiveness and love.” She hugged Darla. “Please, you must visit me again.”  

The Pirate’s Jewel

Deception and family honor are at stake – so is her heart.

Wesley Reynolds will do anything to avenge his family’s banishment from Dundhragon Castle, even throw in the notorious pirate MacAlpin. His plan is to ruin Lord Ewan’s trading network. He has a more devious plan for his father’s ‘best friend,’ the man who abandoned them at the eleventh hour. He’ll ruin the man’s most precious jewel, his daughter Darla. Wesley’s so close to ruining the trade network and succeeding he can almost taste it, but revenge is not nearly as sweet as Darla’s kisses.

Darla Maxwell, beloved by her parents, has no prospects of marriage. Her father and Lord Ewan search to find her the right husband. Darla’s special gifts are frightening to many. She has visions that often come true. The murky image of a man haunts her. She’s sure it’s Lord Ewan’s soon-to-be son-in-law, but the vision morphs when she meets Wesley. The meaning couldn’t be any clearer to her; her destiny lay with Wesley.

When revelations surface, indicating Wesley has been deceived and his revenge misplaced. Will he find the truth of what really happened to his family in time to stop the pirates? Will Darla ever forgive him? Will he ever forgive himself?

Buy Link: Kindle Unlimited

An Excerpt

The ship glided out of the protection of the dock and sailed into the churning channel. Huddled under the sail, hugging her knees, Darla thought she might as well be blind. To add to her discomfort, the aroma of beer from the surrounding barrels was overpowering in the small space.

The rise and fall of the ship had her holding on to the barrels for dear life. Large raindrops that randomly pelted Darla’s shelter intensified. The ends of her canvas hideout fluttered and hammered a beat as gusts of wind plowed into the standing barrels, sending sprays of water through the spaces between them. The tight ropes holding her sanctuary together sang as they strained against the pitching of the ship and the onslaught of the wind and rain.

From her hiding place, she had no sense of what happened beyond its boundary. No way to prepare for the next roll of the ship, gust of wind, or drenching rush of water. Shouted orders, along with the grunts and salty words of the crew, reached her ears above the sound of the howling wind and crashing water.

“Take in the sail. Toss out the sea anchor. We need to keep the ship headed into the wind. Tie a bag of oil to the windward side and toss it over. Let’s hope that keeps the waves from breaking over the side.”

Water that soaked through her makeshift canopy gathered above her and rained down on her, adding to her misery. She lifted her skirt, tucked her mantle close, but the water wicked through her clothes. Soaked and tired to the bone, she gave up trying to keep dry. Drained of any warmth, she shivered and waited for her ordeal to end.

Riding up and down the swelling sea, the rise and fall of the ship continued. The limited air in her space soured. Woozy, she needed fresh air but was trapped with no way out. With her head on her knees, she closed her eyes and prayed for the journey to end.

The thundering snap of a rope, followed by the full force of the wind and water startled her from her daze. Part of the sail slid off the barrels. She grabbed at it, but the wind pulled the canvas from her hand. For a moment, she delighted in the salty air and took a deep breath. The ship lurched and the barrels protecting her came loose from their bindings and turned into crushing weapons.

Strong arms grasped her. She didn’t care if her father found her. Getting free of her prison was all she wanted.

The wind roared down the deck, sprays of water erupted from the prow as the ship bounced and rolled in the sea. Nothing hindered the man’s grip. Finally, she raised her head, but the shroud of fog blanketing the ship made it difficult to see.

Darla strained and made out dark wet hair plastered to his face. The ship shifted beneath her feet. Unsteady, he held her close, she clung to him. She didn’t have to see clearly to know who held her.

Close to his chest, she made out rivulets of blood sliding down the side of his head, but she clung hard to him. She pulled away from his chest and stretched to reach his ear with her mouth.

“You’re hurt.”

He said nothing as he moved them forward.

“You have my thanks.”

He turned and gave her a flash of a smile.

“Wesley.” She smiled at him.

“I was afraid you’d think I was Magnus.” He cupped her head and drew her to his chest. He staggered forward, fighting his way against the wind to reach the entrance. Here, there was some protection from the wind. He made fast work of the door.

The wind howled outside. She let out a breath, but Wesley didn’t stop. He hurried down the narrow passageway into a cabin.

“You’ll be safe here.” He sat her in a chair and then went to leave. “Whatever you do, stay inside.”

A secretive smile softened his lips before he left, closing the door behind him. She ran to the door, looked through the small hole, and watched him make his way down the passageway, his broad shoulders nearly scraping both walls.

About Ruth A. Casie

Hi! I’m Ruth A Casie. I write historical adventures from the shores of medieval Scotland to the cobblestone streets of Regency London. My stories embrace strong woman and the men who deserve them. Within the pages you’ll discover ‘edge-of-your-seat suspense, mind boggling drama, and heart melting emotions. Grab your favorite cup of tea, or an ale if you prefer, and join my heroes and heroines as they race across the pages to find their happily ever after. I hope my stories are your next favorite adventures!

Spotlight on Knight of Darkness

Knight of Darkness:
Knights of the Anarchy (Book One)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes finding love can become our biggest weakness… 

Wymar Norwood understands responsibility. His two brothers have been in his care since his parent’s death. With his title and lands stripped from him by the usurper Stephen, he aligns himself with the Empress Matilda, the rightful Queen of England. If he can win her favor and become her champion knight, he prays all will be returned to him.

Lady Ceridwen Ward of Norwich is out to prove not only to herself but the Empress that she is more than capable of protecting those she loves. She hides herself in the guise of a knight and follows along with her men to Lincoln to raise her sword for the Empress’s cause. But life can become complicated, especially after your identity is revealed.

But Wymar and Ceridwen have a common enemy who is bent on revenge. They will need to search their souls and overcome grief in order for their love to survive life’s greatest test.

Buy Links or Read for #FREE in Kindle Unlimited:

Dragonblade Link: https://amzn.to/47Gu0Hp

Learn more on Sherry’s website at: https://www.sherryewing.com/books/knight-of-darkness-the-knights-of-the-anarchy-book-one/

Excerpt from Knight of Darkness

He shivered at her touch for ’twas most unexpected. He was even more surprised when she leaned toward him. She hesitated but an instant before she placed a chaste kiss upon his lips. She must have realized the inappropriateness of her impulsive gesture for just as suddenly as her kiss had occurred, she jumped from his lap and began to leave the river’s side.

“I should not have done that,” she tossed over her shoulder as she climbed up the bank.

“Ceridwen,” he called to her.

“Here is your mantel,” she answered, barely looking at him as she tossed the garment into his face.

He whipped it away and reached for her hand. ’Twas then he saw her tears cascading down her cheeks when she raised her face to meet his. “Tears on so fierce a warrior as you?” he teased her gently as he wiped them away with his thumb. He hoped the words would spark her indignation. Surely that would be enough to distract her from her sadness and fear. But to his dismay, her tears did not abate.

“I am a woman before all else and even I can have a moment of weakness.” She turned away from him even though he did not let her go.

“You are hardly weak, Ceridwen. In fact, I have never met another woman with the courage to enter battle as you have done.”

“But I was weak back there,” she shouted pointing toward the river. “I should never have kissed you, let alone gone into the woods without my guards to protect me.”

“Are you truly crying over such a little kiss or are you more upset with yourself for what almost happened to you?” he questioned. He turned her around and saw the anguish upon her visage.

“Perchance all of it! I do not make it a habit of kissing men, I assure you.”

He tried to make light of the situation. “I never assumed you did with the meager sampling you gave me. ’Twas not the kiss of an experienced woman.”

“’Tis not the first time I have been kissed.” She defiantly lifted her chin as though to prove the truth of her words.

“Then ’tis apparent you have only been kissed by a relative or someone who knew not how to pleasure a woman.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Mayhap I am. I have the distinct feeling you should be kissed often and I may be the man to show you how ’tis properly done.” He pulled her closer.

“Do you honestly think you are man enough?” She did not seem to object to him pulling her closer into his embrace, although she was not agreeing to anything like him giving her a demonstration either.

“Now ’tis you who are but jesting with me. I can assure you that you will not go wanting whilst in my bed.”

“I never said I would bed you. We were talking about a simple kiss, and nothing more,” she protested.

“There is nothing simple about a kiss, when it is done properly. Why, I am told if you put in enough effort, the act can be most pleasant.” He took a step closer and heat radiated between them like a burst of fire.

“What is it you are doing?”

His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her completely up against his body. “Testing the theory that I am man enough for the likes of a Viking shield maiden like you.”

“I am no Viking shield…”

“…who talks entirely too much.”

Wymar lowered his head and he watched whilst her eyes widened in surprise. She may be fierce on the outside but he had the distinct feeling that despite what she had said, she had not much experience with a man. His lips gently brushed against hers. Teasing her to awaken the woman hiding just beneath the surface of the fierce warrior she had chosen to become. His name passing her lips whispered between them on her breath. He almost smiled in satisfaction that he had been right.

’Twas enough for him to continue his exploration of her mouth and from her response as he deepened their kiss, she was more than willing to allow him to instruct her on the art of kissing.

Meet Sherry Ewing:

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. An award-winning and bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

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Accepting the mission on WIP Wednesday

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In Hold Me Fast, my hero chooses to go looking for his childhood sweetheart:

“Tamsyn is back in England,” he said, more to himself than to his brother, testing the words out loud as if hearing them would make them truer. She was still seperated from him, as much by her chosen lifestyle as by three hundred and fifty miles and seven years. But she was, at least, in the same country.

“You should go to London,” Bran said. “Find out why she stopped writing. Find out why she didn’t come home.”

She stopped loving him. The thought cut the way it always did, lacerating his heart yet again. But what else could it be? She had a ticket she could have used at any time. The Earl of Coombe might have stopped franking her letters, but he did keep his promise to make her famous. She had just been on her second tour through Europe, for crying out loud. She must have money to burn, plenty to buy her own tickets, frank her own letters.

Her silence was her message to Jowan, and all the more fool him for the hope that lingered, somewhere in the remote corners of his mind and heart.

“I must assume she changed her mind,” and if his jaw was set and his foot tapped with the tension in his frame, his voice was commendably even.

“Or she thinks you did,” argued Bran. “Look, Jowan, the girl you told me about isn’t one who would cut you without a word.”

Why was Bran pressing this? Couldn’t he see how much it hurt? “She changed,” Jowan pointed out. “Or I was wrong.”

Bran shook his head. “You are not wrong about people. You recognised me right off. In any case, you haven’t let her go. If you’re right, this is your chance to dig out the last of your hope and start to heal. If I’m right, the lady might need to be rescued.”

Jowan was still thinking about the pain of losing all of his hope, and Bran’s last few words took a moment to make sense. “Rescued?”

“If she wants to come home and can’t? For whatever reason? Yes. Rescued.”

Jowan shook his head. “How can I leave? We haven’t finished the shearing and then it will be planting time. I’ve the plans to sign off for the new mine.” He shrugged. “You know the list as well as I.”

“And how to make it all happen,” Bran pointed out.

Jowan put his knife and fork down while he thought about that. Bran was right. He could stay here with Jowan’s authority, and do everything Jowan would do himself. “I could go to London,” he said, testing the words on his tongue.

Tea with a proud Grandpapa

One of Eleanor’s favourite times of day, when they were in London, was after the afternoon callers had left, and before she had to prepare for whatever entertainment the evening would bring.

When they were in residents at one of her husband’s country estates, the pace of life was quite different, with earlier mornings, far fewer evening engagements, and callers only a few times a week. Or not at all, if the weather was inclement.

But in London, the late afternoon was one of the few spaces of time in any day that she and James could be alone. Alone or, as now, with a very special visitor. Only their grandchildren were allowed to intrude on their special time together. Twice a week, they would invite one, or at the most, two, of the growing tribe of offspring, from both her family and his.

Today’s guests were the two daughters Ruth had accepted as her own when she married Val, the Earl of Ashbury. The shy demure little misses Eleanor and James had first met during Val’s tempestuous courtship of James’s daughter were much more confident now, and they adored their Grandpapa. And their Grandmama, but especially their Grandpapa. And no wonder, Eleanor thought, as she watched James gallop the girls around the room, first Mirrie and then Ginny. He adores them. He adores all our little ones, and I adore him all the more for it.

Should she point out that the girls were growing a little large for pig-a-back? No, for James, excellent though he was, was only a man, and would ring the room three more times each, just to prove how strong he was. “When you are done, my loves,” she said, instead, “I have tea and cake, and after, a new book to read to you all.”

Covers for A Twist Upon a Regency Tale, season 2 (plus a Lyon’s Den book set in the Twist universe)

The day a lioness attacked the Royal Mail

A print of the oil painting that commemorates an unusual danger of the road.

If ever there was a time to change the timeline of a story so that I could include a little known snippet of truth is stranger than fiction, this was it. Researching for the journey to London that my hero and his brother make in Hold Me Tight, I came across a story about a danger that the coachmen of the Royal Mail could not have expected. They were prepared for highwaymen, storms, obstacles left deliberately or accidentally on the road, even attacks by dogs. They could not have expected what happened on 20 October 1816.

It was winter, a Sunday evening, and already dark when the mail coach pulled up outside the Winterslow Hut on the outskirts of Salisbury. Before the guard and coachman could deliver the mail, something large attacked one of the horses. The horses began kicking and plunging, and the passengers, alarmed, leapt out of the coach and raced into the inn, locking the door, leaving the driver, and the guard, Joseph Pike, shut outside.

In the dim lamplight, it took the two men a few minutes to figure out what was happening. A lioness had attacked Pomegranate, one of the lead horses, She was clinging to the horse’s throat with her claws dug in, and was raking the horse with her hind feet. Pike reached for his gun, but was stopped by the owner of a travelling menagerie, who begged them to let him and his men try to contain the beast. He sent his dog to draw the lion off. When the large dog attacked, she abandoned the horse to deal with this new threat.

The people from the menagerie managed to chase the lion into a granary and confine her there. A local paper at the time said:

Her owner and his assistants followed her upon their hands and knees, with lighted candles, and having placed a sack on the ground near her, they made her lie down upon it; they then tied her four legs and passed a cord round her mouth, which they secured; in this state they drew her out from under the granary, upon the sack, and then she was lifted and carried by six men into her den in the caravan.

The mail was delayed by a mere 45 minutes.

I’ve been delayed by wondering if I can move my story back three years without overcomplicating things. I didn’t want my hero and his brother (especially his brother) to be old enough to serve in the long war against Napoleon. Ah well. This snippet of history is not going to go away. I’m sure I can use it in another story.

Ruined heroine on WIP Wednesday

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And when I say ruined, I mean ruined. Poor Tammie. She was Tamsyn Roskilly long ago, and in the first scene of the book her boyhood love is thinking about going to London to find her. I’ve just started her book, Hold Me Fast, which is inspired by the folk tales Tam Lin, Thomas the Rhymer, and a host of stories about the Fairy Queen stealing away a musician to play at her feasts.

Every so often, Tammie Lind was struck by a sudden moment of clarity—a step into reality, as it were. Moments when she saw the company she was with, and her own behaviour, through the eyes of Tamsyn Roskilly. It was a sort of haunting, for Tamsyn had been killed long ago, smothered under Guy’s manipulations and Tammie’s own weaknesses.

Today, Tamsyn gazed with scorn at the fellow denizens of the laughing gas party. Ether was the drug of choice today. Tammie herself was as high as a kite, floating high above such mundane concerns as tomorrow’s rehearsal and the foolish fellow pawing at her. He was a peer of some sort. A boy with pretensions to being a songwriter. Guy would own him within a few weeks, and Tammie was part of his bait.

The boy was far too drunk on ether to do more than squeeze and prod. Tamsyn was indignant on her behalf. Silly Tamsyn. Tammie had not owned her own body in more years than she could, at the moment, count. She tried it anyway, numbering the years on her fingers, but she became lost in the mystery of whether a thumb counted as a finger and forgot the question.

She was vaguely aware that Guy was free from Tamsyn’s scorn. Tamsyn avoided looking at him. Wise Tamsyn. As usual, Guy sat a little apart, the untouchable Lord of Coombe, amused at the havoc he had caused. He seldom indulged in more than a taste of the various substances he supplied to his sycophants and the people, like Tammie, that he owned.

Tamsyn despised them all, and she hated Guy. Reality was overrated. Tammie no longer bothered with such emotions. She lined up for another turn at the gas, to nail Tamsyn’s soul back in the coffin of her imagination, but Guy stopped her with a word to the attendant.

“No more for Miss Lind. She has a rehearsal tomorrow. Tammie, time for bed.”

Tammie wanted to whine and howl. Instead, she turned obediently towards the stairs, but the sudden movement set her off balance, and as she steadied herself, she saw Guy nod towards the boy, who followed her to her room.

Tamsyn had made a mistake seven years ago, and since then, Tammie had paid and paid and paid. The boy was making a mistake now. Tammie felt a distant pity for him, but in the end, she would do as Guy ordered.

She took his hand. At least tonight was only the seeming of the thing. He would sleep off the ether and by the time he woke, she would be at rehearsal. Everyone would believe he had been favoured by the Devon Songbird. Perhaps he would believe it himself.

Sooner or later it would be true. Guy had used her that way before and she knew how it went. Blackmail material or bribery or simply yet another way to soften the boy’s resistance and break his spirit until he was putty in Guy’s hands.

Tammie was desperately trying to claw her way back to the floating sensation, but the harder she tried, the further it receded. Perhaps a shot of the gin she had hidden in her room. Guy had taken the last of her secret laudunum.

The boy threw himself at her as soon as she closed her bedchamber door. He clawed at her gown, increasingly frantic as the buttons refused to open for him. “Patience, my lord,” she soothed. “Lie down on the bed, and I shall prepare myself for you.”

He blinked at her, swaying on his feet, his surge of energy draining away.

“Lie down on the bed, my lord,” she repeated. She would sleep in the dressing room tonight. It would not be the first time.

She found the gin where she had hidden it, in a bag concealed within the folds of the new gown Guy had chosen for her to wear for a command performance at one of Society’s balls. Thank whatever diety looked after harlots and drunkards for this season’s fuller gowns.

Just a couple of fingers. She would be watched more closely now that he had her booked for so many performances. This would have to last until she could bribe or blackmail someone into supplying her with another bottle.

Without it, she would be dependent on Guy for each dose. He knew she needed a small drink of laudanum before a performance—on stage or in a drawing room. Just enough to quiet the jitters. Then, afterwards, if he was pleased with her performance, there would be something more powerful as a reward.

Tamsyn had tried to give up the substances that Guy insisted Tammie needed. More times than Tammie could count. Twice, she refused until he forced it down her throat. Once, she managed to evade her minders and hide until the craving turned to cramps and nausea, then vomiting as pain seized her whole body, then bad dreams so bizarre that they exceeded anything that she’d experienced while under the influence.

In one of those, the monsters that invaded the refuge she’d found proved to be men sent by Guy. Or perhaps the monsters were unreal and the invaders retrieved her while she was unconscious.

Whichever it was, Tammie woke up in the house Guy was renting at the time, in the half-floating half-dreaming state that said he had already given her something.

Tammie never allowed Tamsyn to run away again. Giving up opium and alcohol was hard enough, but worse was being brought back when she thought she was free.

It hurt too much to think about it. Tammie poured another two fingers. “You have had more than enough today,” Tamsyn scolded. “You will pass out if you drink that, too.”

“Fair point,” Tammie conceded.

She slid open the door. The boy was sound asleep on the bed, flat on his back, snoring. Tammie moved him so that he lay on his side, with a pillow behind his back to keep him from rolling. There. If he vomited, it would go on the sheets instead of drowning him. She patted his cheek. “Run as fast as you can, my lord,” she whispered. “The Earl of Coombe is not your friend. He is not anyone’s friend.”

Even if he had heard, he would not listen. She returned to the dressing room, tossed down the gin, stretched out on the maid’s pallet, and waited for oblivion.

Tea with Arial and a story

The Duchess of Winshire had been one of the early supporters of Arial, Countess of Stancroft, as she attempted to establish herself in Society. The courageous lady had faced down gossip and scandal, fomented by her wicked cousin and her husband’s nasty step-mother. Her dignity and grace under fire had won Eleanor’s admiration and her heart, and her door was always open to Arial.

Today, Arial was seeking her help. “It is for my sister Rosalind, Your Grace,” she explained. “She has been abducted. My husband had ridden after her, and so has her betrothed, Lord Merrick. One of the neighbours saw her being taken. The silly old biddy did not raise the alarm until we after we had discovered that Rose was missing. We think we know where she has been taken, and I trust Peter and Merrick to get her back, but I need to manage the gossip! It is too late to put a gag on the neighbour, so we must instead, I think, make Rose out to be the heroine that she actually is. I will tell you the whole story, and then I hope I can count on your help.”

Eleanor did not hesitate. “You have my help, Arial, but please, tell me what actually happened.”

***

This kidnapping takes place in Inviting the Wild, which is about going to the publisher in the next dayRose attempts to prevent the abduction of the elderly gentleman next door and is carried off as well. More about that closer to July, when the book is due for publication.