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The schoolhouse in WIP Wednesday

An excerpt from A Bend in the Road, a novella for the next Bluestocking Belles box set.

Justin Bannerville dismissed the children for the day and set about straightening the schoolroom. Putting everything away where it belonged was the last task he assigned every day, but it never ceased to surprise him how much even the older children missed. A lid off an ink pot. A crumpled piece of paper tucked out of sight under a desk. (Smoothed out, it proved to be the dart Gareth and Billy had been tossing back and forth until he caught them at it. He had wondered where that had gone.)

Several items went into his desk drawer for tomorrow, when he would hold each one up and ask the owner to collect it. He hoped a moment of shame might make the perpetrators more careful in future, but so far, it had not had the desired effect.

Was he expecting too much? The smallest of powder monkeys soon learned to keep his kit and his duty station immaculately tidy. Mind you, the navy used a heavy hand to enforce discipline, even on those most junior crew members. Justin had never liked the practice. Whipping or birching might enforce obedience, but it created fear and resentment, too. Justin had seen crews turn sour under the rule of a bully, and a surly crew was ripe for mutiny.

Justin would not have used birching in his schoolroom in any case, since he taught both boys and girls. No man worth his salt would raise his hand against a female, and Justin couldn’t consider it fair to birch boys and not girls.

“They are not a bad lot,” he reminded himself. Their untidiness might offend his navy-trained sensibilities, but they were mostly good students. With a few notable exceptions.

“Milly Stone is heading for a sharp set down.” Milly Stone was the daughter of the butcher, and revelled in her reputation as the prettiest girl in the village. She was fifteen, and her ambition in life was to better her mother’s achievement of marrying by sixteen and having her first child before her seventeenth birthday. She had set her sights on becoming the schoolmaster’s bride, and was doomed to disappointment.

“Silly chit. She is half my age and has considerably less than half my wits.”

As if his thoughts had conjured her up, Milly sashayed through the door, all ready for conquest. “Mr Bannerville?” She’d either been stung by a bee or she’d been pinching her cheeks and biting her lips. Given that she had also unbuttoned the top of her dress and folded the pieces back to give herself a decollatage that would not have disgraced the seamier streets of Paris, Justin was placing his bets against the bees.

“Did you leave something behind again, Miss Stone?” He attempted to infuse his voice with both ice and long-suffering boredom. It worked about as well as he expected. Milly was impervious to hints.

“I thought I might be able to help you, Mr Bannerville,” the girl simpered, batting her eyelids so vigorously that Justin imagined he could feel the wind.

“No, thank you. It is time for you to go home.”

Instead, she continued to advance across the classroom. “You are so diligent, Mr Bannerville,” she cooed. “So much better than our last teacher.”

Justin had replaced an elderly lady who used to set the work for her pupils each morning and spend the rest of the day asleep. She had been thrilled to accept when Lord Somerville, the school’s patron, offered her a pension and a little cottage of her own. And Justin had been delighted to take her place—still was, Miss Stone notwithstanding.

“Mrs Caldecott was an excellent teacher in her day, so I am told,” he said. “Do run along, Miss Stone. It is not appropriate for you to be here with me when the other pupils are not absent.”

“I don’t mind.” There went the eyelashes again, stirring up a hurricane. “Da won’t mind, either. He likes you better than my other suitors.”

Good Lord. “Miss Stone, I am not your suitor.”

Milly leaned forward to give Justin a better view of her mammary assets. “You could be, though, Mr Bannerville. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It doesn’t matter if you are poor. Da is rich, and he likes the idea of having a gentleman as a son.”

Time for that set down, Justin. Pity you haven’t composed one. He’d just have to improvise. “Miss Stone, even if I was in the market for a wife, I would not consider a child of half my age.” Or a chit with feathers for brains and no more thought of what marriage entailed beyond a pretty gown for her wedding and the chance to lord it over the other girls in the village.

Another simper warned Justin that the palatable excuse had not been enough. “Da says a man is better to marry a young wife, so he can teach her how to go on.”

Mrs Stone was a timid woman completely in the shadow of her formidable husband and demanding daughter. Justin could not imagine Milly ever becoming a counterpart of her mother, no matter whom she married.

“You have my answer, Miss Stone. I will not change my mind, and if you continue to attempt to flirt with me, I shall tell your father that you are learning nothing at school, which is no more than the truth, and that you should stay at home and help your mother.”

For a moment, Milly looked her age, as she pouted and stamped one foot. “You are so mean,” she declared.

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Tea with the emissary of a reformed villain

Her Grace served the Earl of Chirbury a cup of tea, made just the way he liked it, and passed him the plate containing several of the little cakes that Fourniers of London had sent over just that morning.

“Well, Rede,” she said, as she began pouring her own tea, “You are an emissary, you said in your note asking to visit. Not that you need to ask, dear boy. You are my nephew, and I am always at home to you. If I am at home, so it was as well you asked, for I am particularly busy these days. I have taken over from Cherry on several of her charities while she and Haverford are in Europe visiting Jonathan.”

She took a sip of her tea, and returned to the point. “An emissary for whom?”

“Do you remember Ruth Henwood, Aunt Eleanor?” Rede asked, and answered himself. “Of course you do. You remember everyone.”

“Miss Henwood was governess to your wife and her sisters at the time of their father’s death, and stayed with them when they fled the wicked uncle,” Eleanor replied. “She is somewhere in Spain, is she not? Did I not hear that she was governess to a princess somewhere in that region? What does Ruth Henwood need from me, my dear? I am, of course, willing to help her. Such a dear girl, and so much help to your darling wife.”

“Yes, Anne loves her as dearly as a sister, and indeed, I also think of her that way, though she insisted on seeking a position rather than staying with us at Longford. Her pupil is the Crown Princess of a small principality in the Pyrenees. And she is Miss Henwood no longer. Indeed, it is her husband who needs the favour, and not from you so much as from Haverford. They want to come home to live in England, you see, and he needs to know that your son will tolerate his return.”

“I do not understand, Rede,” said Aunt Eleanor. “Who has Ruth married, and how has that man offended my son?”

“You will understand the second when you know the first,” Rede said. “Ruth is now the Duchess of Richport.”

Readers of my books will, I hope, recognise Richport’s name. He is first mentioned in Revealed in Mist, as the holder of wild parties. And his name comes up again whenever I need a dissolute and amoral aristocrat. In To Tame a Wild Rake, he goes too far. He has offended too many powerful people, and is in disfavour with the Prince Regent as a result. He is about to go into exile to avoid consequences and decides to take Haverford’s beloved along as his wife. Without her consent. The kidnap is foiled, of course. But Richport is concerned that Haverford still bears a grudge.

The story of how the Duke of Richport came to marry a governess was one of the 43 plots I had worked out in a notebook before I wrote my first novel. It is The Duke’s Price, and will be published early in April.

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Spotlight on Lord Appleby’s Gorgeous Imposter (Scarlet Affairs Book 3)

By Cerise DeLand

He’s the last man Viv wants to see.
Vivienne de Massé goes to Paris impersonating her oldest sister, the infamous Drury Lane actress, Charmaine Massey. Viv has a reason…and a plan to avenge the capture and death of their other sister during the Terror. Only one man can stop her.

Tate Cantrell is the only man who sees right through her.
Tate Cantrell bursts into her dressing room one night in Paris and calls Viv’s bluff. He reminds Viv she plays a role—and a dangerous game she cannot win alone.

He declares she needs him. She always has. Indeed, he’s spent the last decade helping the émigré Massé family—and falling in love with charming Viv. Now the Earl of Appleby, Tate works as a spy for Scarlett Hawthorne’s network on the Continent. He alone has the means and the connections to help her….if she’ll let him.

Haunted by their past, they’re desperate to save their future together… If they can survive those who would destroy them.

Read in Kindle Unlimited! Or buy from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1G3LRP

Scarlett Affairs
Book 1 – Lord Ashley’s Beautiful Alibi
Book 2 – Lord Ramsey’s Red-headed Ruin
Book 3 – Lord Appleby’s Gorgeous Imposter

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2025 with Jude Knight

Here’s my publication plan for 2025. I’ve just heard that Jackie’s Climb will be back from the editor by Monday, and The Duke’s Price and The Secret Word are going well, with a deadline of 28th February to keep me on my toes. Hearts at Home will be a repackaging of three novellas that are currently only available in Bluestocking Belles collections. I have it up on Amazon for preorder, and will get it onto the other platforms (and here on my website) during the coming week. I just adore the cover, with its sword left on the hill amid the wildflowers and the sun coming out over the village. The linking theme is returning warriors who find their forever home in the arms of an unexpected beloved. Links to come.

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Family matters on WIP Wednesday

This is a segment from Jackie’s Climb, which is with the publisher for editing.

Pol remembered when his grandmother had been a lively and compelling force in the manor. Back then, when he first arrived, she and the dower house where she lived had been his sanctuary from his cousin’s bullying and his aunt’s nagging.

It was thanks to her that he had been taken from the kitchen and given a room of his own—a small one, but on the family floor. She had insisted on him being allowed to take lessons with Oscar. He had even—back in those days—taken his meals with the family on the occasions that the older Lady Riese joined them, rather than in his room or with the servants.

She had begun to fade, though, losing focus, regularly stumbling, falling asleep throughout the day. Perhaps she had had some kind of fit or perhaps it was grief over the loss of her last surviving son.
By the time Pol escaped into an apprenticeship with the steward, she was barely in the land of the living, spending most of the day asleep and frequently failing to recognize the members of the household, including her own grandsons and granddaughter.

Nonetheless, Pol visited her most days. Unless she was asleep, she was always welcoming, even if he had to reintroduce himself every time. Today, her sour nursemaid—more keeper than maid or nurse—reluctantly admitted the dowager was awake and would see him.

She was sitting by her window, looking out at the garden, but when he spoke, she turned to face him. “I know you, young man, do I not?”

He said what he said almost every day. “I am Apollo, Gran. The son of your son, Richmond.”

“Richie. He hasn’t been to visit me. You look like him, a little. His eyes were blue, though.”

Pol had heard that before. He had his Italian mother’s dark brown hair and brown eyes. “How are you today, Gran?”

She waved a frail hand—her skin was crinkled and age spotted, the blue tracery of veins clear under the translucent skin. “Well enough, young man. Well enough.” She frowned at him and then her face cleared. “Richie went to Italy,” she declared. “He met a girl there.” She grabbed his hands and gazed into his eyes, her own distressed. “Aaah. Poor Richie. He died. The poor girl had a baby. I told Frederick to write to her and invite her to bring her little boy home to England. He belonged with his family, young man, even if he was half Italian.”

She frowned. “Did he come? I think he came. Who did you say you were, dear?”

Frederick was the name of her husband, Pol’s grandfather. Had grandfather written to Pol’s mother? Then Mamma had ignored the invitation. But perhaps that was the reason he had been sent to England after Mamma died. If so, the welcome he received had been far less than Gran remembered. He had come believing his parents were married. His mother had been addressed as Signora Riese, and he had been called Apollo Riese. Discovering he had no right to the name had been only the start of the shocks in store.

“My lady has had enough, Mr. Allegro,” said the maid. “She is becoming confused. It is time for you to leave.”

Pol was prepared to argue, but Gran’s brief burst of energy had gone. Her hands slipped from his and her eyes drifted shut. “I will come back tomorrow,” he said. She was getting worse, and the tonics that crowded her dressing table didn’t seem to be making any difference. It was time to take her away.

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Surplus print books for sale

I have around eight boxes of books that I purchased for a book launch several years ago. It was stymied by rain and illness, and I need the shelf space. I’m willing to sell them at cost, but the tricky bit is that I’m in New Zealand, so you’d have to also pay the cost of postage and packaging. Which, depending on where you are, could be significant, but given how cheap the books are, probably worthwhile.

I’m busy trying to add print books to my shop, but I need technical help to sort out the tax and freight modules of WooCommerce, so I’ll get onto that when my favourite tech whizzes are back in action after the holiday. Meanwhile, if you’re interested, we can do it the old fashioned way, with an email through the contact form on this website, and a follow up in which I work out the freight and send you an invoice via Paypal, you pay, and I send.

(Isn’t it hilarious to call that the old fashioned way? Times change!)

UPDATE: It’s more than I expected to send to the US, Europe and the UK! Ouch. Still worth talking about buying from me direct. If I order from a US based print-on-demand service and send, you’ll get a good rate, but no signature. Over to you.

Only while stocks last!

 

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Backlist Spotlight on If Mistletoe Could Tell Tales

Wanted: love stories for a carriage-maker’s daughter, an admiral’s child, the unwanted wife of an earl, a nabob’s heiress, a duke’s cousin, and a fanatic’s niece

In this 2017 box set, you’ll find Jude’s four published Christmas novellas plus two Christmas-themed stories from her lunch-length reads collections. All together in one 97,500 word volume for your holiday pleasure.

Candle’s Christmas Chair (A novella in The Golden Redepennings series)
They are separated by social standing and malicious lies. He has till she finishes his mother’s chair to convince her they belong together.

Gingerbread Bride (A novella in The Golden Redepenning series)
Mary runs from an unwanted marriage and finds adventure, danger and her girlhood hero, coming once more to her rescue.

Magnus and the Christmas Angel (from Lost in the Tale)
Scarred by years in captivity, Magnus has fought English Society to be accepted as the true Earl of Fenchurch. Now he faces the hardest battle of all: to win the love of his wife.

Lord Calne’s Christmas Ruby
Lalamani prefers her aunt’s quiet village to fashionable London, its vicious harpies, and its importunate fortune hunters. Philip wishes she wasn’t so rich, or he wasn’t so poor.

A Suitable Husband
A chef from the slums, however talented, is no fit mate for the cousin of a duke, however distant. But Cedrica can dream. (first published in Holly and Hopeful Hearts, a Bluestocking Belles collection.)

All that Glisters (from Hand-Turned Tales)
Rose is unhappy in the household of her fanatical uncle. Thomas, a young merchant from Canada, offers a glimpse of another possible life. If she is brave enough to reach for it.

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Spotlight on A Widow’s Christmas Rogue

Jessica Lady Colyton has no intention of being a wicked widow and no time for rogues. Her father, her brothers and her husband were rogues enough for a lifetime. However, she has joined the Wicked Widow’s League, seeking help after her husband’s will proves to be just one more blow from a controlling and manipulative man.

It has been a difficult year. When her new friends organise a holiday in a country cottage for her, she blesses them—right up until she finds a naked rogue in her bed.
Martin Lord Tavistock is no rogue, unlike his father before him. The man’s early death in sordid circumstances brought him a title and a barrow-load of responsibilities. His uncle’s strict upbringing has given him little taste for pleasure and no skill in making friends.

He wants only to go home to Yorkshire, shunning the Christmas house party to which his matchmaking sister has invited him, and the beauties she has undoubtedly lined up to tempt him. When he wakes up in a strange lady’s bed, naked, tied down, and clueless as to how he arrived at her cottage, he wants no part in whatever plot is underway.

Trapped by a snowstorm, he and his furious hostess must form a reluctant alliance to survive, and that will be the end of their acquaintance. Won’t it?

Except that Martin doesn’t want to fight his attraction to Jessica, and she hopes that his promises of pleasure will prove that her experiences with Colton were not her fault. They can walk away after three days and nights of lovemaking. But will they want to?

Preorder The Widow’s Christmas Rogue, and find out what happened to Aldridge’s sister Jessica and Chloe’s sister Martin (from Lord Cuckoo Comes Home). Published 24 December on Amazon and 27 December everywhere else.

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Christmas Cookie Hop–Christmas Mince Pies

Welcome to my stop on the Christmas hop. Here’s the link to Heather’s master list of hop stops: https://www.heathermccollum.com/kitchen/

And here’s the Facebook page for the hop: https://www.facebook.com/events/3866532973589852/ This page gives you the details of what you have to do to be in the draw for the $150 gift card.

Christmas mince pies are part of my memories of Christmas. Mum’s shortbread, mince pies, and Christmas cake rich in fruit–yum! Don’t let the name put you off. The mince in question is minced dried fruit, seasoned with spices, and the case is a rich buttery short pastry. Christmas mince pies are served during the Christmas season throughout much of the English-speaking world. And they are oh so easy to make, if you can get your hands on some Christmas mincemeat. (If you can’t, read on for a recipe for that part of it, too. If you’re making your own, you’ll need to start three days before you make the pies, and you need a heap of ingredients, but the recipe is easy-peasy.)

How to make the pastry

You’ll need: 1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour, 1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar, 2 teaspoons mixed spice, 2/3 cup butter, softened, 2 tablespoons grated orange zest, 1/4 cup ice water, 1 large egg, beaten. You’ll also need a jar of sweet Christmas mincemeat. )

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Oil or butter your mini tart tins.

Sift the flour, half the sugar, and the spices into a bowl. (You can use pumpin spice or cinnamon or make your own mixed spice with 8 parts cinnamon, 4 parts ground allspice, 1 part ground nutmeg, 1 part ground ginger, and a pinch of ground cloves.)

Use a pastry cutter or two forks to mix in the butter until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Fingers work, too.

Stir in the orange zest. Sprinkle with ice water and gather the dough into a ball.

How to make the little pies

Roll out on a lightly floured surface to 1/4 inch thick. Use a round cookie cutter to cut into circles. If you don’t have a cookie cutter, the rim of a glass will do. Choose one a bit bigger than the mouth of your tart tins. Also use a star cutter to make the star for the top. If you wish, you can cut out other shapes, or even use smaller circles to give the pies covered tops.

Line your mini tart tins with pastry.

Fill each cup with about a tablespoon of sweet mincemeat filling. Add your top piece of pastry. If you making a full lid, cut a cross in the centre to stop the mincemeat from bubbling out the sides. When the tray is filled, brush the tops with egg.

Bake in the oven until golden brown–about 15 or 20 minutes.

Cool slightly on a wire rack and then dust with the remaining icing sugar.

How to make Christmas mincemeat

2 large apples (a tart variety is best), peeled, cored, chopped

1 cup apple cider (substitute if you don’t want alcohol. Cranberry juice would be interesting, but whatever you wish)

1 cup candied red cherries

⅔ cup dark brown sugar

½ cup dried apricots, chopped

½ cup dried cherries

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup dried currants

½ cup dried figs, chopped

1 tablespoon finely grated orange zest

½ cup fresh orange juice

½ cup golden raisins

½ cup raisins

¼ cup lard–or, if you don’t have lard, unsalted butter works

½ teaspoon ground allspice

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon kosher salt

3/4 cup dark rum, or you can use brandy or whiskey or something non-alcoholic

Fundamentally, you put all the ingredients into a bowl and leave them to soak overnight. Then, the next day, you simmer them stirring occasionally, until most of the liquid is evaporated. Maybe 25 minutes. Remove from the heat. Stir in another quarter cup of whatever alcohol (or non-alcohol) you’re using, and put into sterilised jars.

You can use after 24 or 48 hours, or you can keep for up to a year.

Hop to the next stop on the cookie hop: Glynnis Campbell

# Name Author Links
1 Heather McCollum https://www.heathermccollum.com/kitchen/
2 Callie Hutton http://calliehutton.com/2024/12/welcome
3 Allison B. Hanson https://allisonbhanson.wordpress.com/
4 Jane Charles https://www.janecharlesauthor.com/christmas-fun
5 Katherine Bone https://www.katherinebone.com/
6 Alanna Lucas https://alannalucas.com
7 Jude Knight https://judeknightauthor.com
8 Glynnis Campbell https://glynnis.net/ChristmasCookies
9 Anna St. Claire https://www.annastclaire.com/contests
10 Brenna Ash https://www.brennaash.com/parlor
11 Tabetha Waite https://www.authortabethawaite.com/contact
12 Kate Bateman https://www.facebook.com/kcbatemanauthor/
13 Eliana Piers www.facebook.com/groups/elianasbeaumondereadergroup
14 C.H. Admirand https://www.facebook.com/CHAdmirandAuthor
15 Rachel Ann Smith https://www.facebook.com/rachelannsmit11
16 Margaux Thorne https://www.facebook.com/margauxthorneauthor/
17 Sara Adrien https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565938324623
18 Ruth A. Casie https://ruthacasie.com/blog/
19 Maeve Greyson https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMaeveGreyson
20 Tina Gabrielle https://www.facebook.com/TinaGabrielle
21 Christina Diane https://christinadianebooks.com/cookiehop/
22 Melanie McCarthy https://www.facebook.com/groups/1159564541120841
23 Edie Cay ediecay.com
24 Aubrey Wynne https://www.aubreywynne.com
25 Misty Urban https://www.mistyurban.com/holiday
26 Elizabeth Rose https://www.facebook.com/ElizabethRoseNovels
27 Tara Kingston https://www.facebook.com/TaraKingstonAuthor/
28 Rebecca Paula https://www.facebook.com/rebeccapaulaauthor/
29 Terri Brisbin https://terribrisbin.com/news/?p=1975
30 Sydney Jane Baily https://sydneyjanebaily.com/2024-cookie-hop/

E-mail your completed list of cookie names to Heather@HeatherMcCollum.com with “Historical Romance Authors are Sweet” in the subject line. Good luck!

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Sightseeing on WIP Wednesday

In a book full of lies, deceit, assault, attempting kidnapping, theft, and other offences, I was happy to send my hero and heroine on a day of sightseeing.

The following morning, the duchess provided not just the guidebook and a maid, but also a carriage and a driver, waving off protests and thanks. “There is no need for thanks, Apollo, Jacqueline. My dear Clara was a Godsend in the early days of my marriage. I have no idea how I would have survived without her. I am only too happy to be able to repay her many kindnesses.”
Nor would she hear of them seeking work just yet. “I know I am being selfish, dear children, but I am not willing to give Clara up, yet. However—it is foolish, I know, but people will have these ideas—you cannot run a dressmaking business from my husband’s house, Jacqueline, and Apollo, you must not abandon your grandmother and your betrothed for a new position. Not yet. Surely it cannot hurt to just take a holiday for a week or two. While David Wakefield looks into your problems.”
How could they argue when she presented it as a favor to her? Not to mention that a week or maybe two of holiday was enormously appealing, especially when they expected to spend it together.
It was a gloriously day. Just the day to be out and about in London in a sociable, or two-bodied phaeton, with the maid and driver up before and Jackie and Pol in the seat behind, the whole of London at their feet.
Their first goal on the first morning of their London adventure was Westminster Abbey. “It was built by the order of Henry the Third,” said Jackie, reading from the guide book. “Or rebuilt, rather. There has been a church and abbey here for more than a thousand years.”
“Henry the Third is… what? Six hundred years past?” Pol commented. “It is certainly a magnificent building!”
“Breathtaking,” Jackie agreed, and insisted on seeing the choir where kings of England were crowned, each of the chapels, and dozens of tombs, including those in Poet’s Corner. Pol, who was taking a turn with the guide book, read, “It says, ‘never could a place be named with more propriety.” They spent perhaps fifteen minutes reading the epitaphs of luminaries such as Chaucer, Spencer, Shakespeare and Milton.
For sixpence each, they were allowed to climb nearly three hundred steps to the top of one of the western towers, to look out over London. The maid was offered the chance to accompany them, but looked so alarmed at the prospect that Pol suggested she make her way back to the carriage and gave her a couple of pennies to purchase tea or ale from a street vendor.
They were not alone on the tower, however. A kindly verger explained the vista spread before them: the Banqueting House at Whitehall, St. James’s Park, with the Parade and Horse Guards, Carleton House where the Prince of Wales had his principal residence, the gardens of the Queen’s Palace, the Green Park, the western end of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park, with the Serpentine curling amongst the green trees and lawns. Looking towards the Thames, they could see both Westminster and Blackfriars bridges, with the river spread between them. Beyond, St Paul’s Cathedral, with the sun falling on, was exquisitely beautiful.
“We shall go there, shall we not, Pol?” Jackie said.
And they did. They visited St Paul’s Cathedral, drove past Queen’s Palace and Carleton House, and through Green Park and Hyde Park, all before the fashionable hour.
They returned to Winshire House to describe the sights they’d seen to Gran and Maman, and to read out what the guide book has to say about the Tower of London, which was to be their first stop the following day.
And Pol managed to find an unused parlor after dinner, as they made their way upstairs to bed, so Jackie finished the day thoroughly kissed, and went to sleep dreaming of more. It was a perfect day.