They met, fell in love, married, and never had a cross word or an angry thought from the first introduction until their death 80 years later. It would be a lovely life to live, but it isn’t my life nor that of anyone I’ve ever heard of. Conflict is part of life, and it certainly makes for more exciting stories. Conflict external to the main relationship, yes. But also conflict within the relationship. So that’s this week’s theme. I’m posting a bit from To Reclaim the Long-Lost Lover that gives the reader some strong clues about the conflict to come. Please add your own excerpt into the comments.
Sarah is choosing a husband. That thought dominated all others, and he had been escorted to the door by a footman and was out on the footpath again before he fully aware of being dismissed.
His childhood sweetheart, his first love, was still unwed but planning to choose a husband. His reaction—the sheer revulsion at the thought—had been unexpected. Yes, he had wanted to meet her again, let her know what had happened to him, make peace between them. He had even hoped to find out whether the grown Sarah and the grown Nate might be able to find some sparks of the fire that once burned when they touched.
A third of a lifetime had passed, and he had changed. He must assume she had, too. Perhaps they would meet and dislike one another, or meet and agree to part as friends. But his immediate reaction when Lady Charlotte mentioned that damnable list was to claim his long-lost love as his own.
Nate had walked seven blocks and had passed the street he was meant to turn down. He backtracked to the missed corner. Nothing had changed and everything had changed. He still could not move on with his own life until he knew whether the unbroken connection between him and Sarah Winderfield was all on his side, or whether she felt it too. But now he knew that the clock was ticking.
He needed to meet Sarah, clear up her misconceptions about his disappearance, find out if he still wanted the role that had once been his greatest ambition, and convince her to love him again. And all before she chose another husband.
A thought occurred and stopped him short. She had a short-list. He wasn’t, then, competing against a love match. He stepped out towards his father’s townhouse, a smile spreading as he considered that fact. He’d put the next two weeks to good use, using Libby and her contacts to find out who was courting Lady Sarah, who she favoured, and what they were like. The clubs, too. He’d buy horses and play cards—whatever it took to be accepted into the conversation men had when women were not around. By the time he saw her again, he’d be armed for the battle ahead. He’d know what she looked for in a husband, and also what was wrong with the suitors she was considering.
Really looking forward to this book but please do not talk about Nate walking 7 blocks. We do not have blocks in England just streets and every time I read about blocks in a UK set book it takes me out of the story zone. After the Great Fire of London in 1666 there were plans to rebuild on a grid system but people couldn’t wait to get their businesses and lives back on track. Thank you for the pleasure you have given me and looking forward to the next story
Thanks, Karen. Good advice. In my defense, this is very much a first draft. Glad you’re looking forward to it.
“Miss Faulkner,” he said with deliberation. “Took you long enough to get here, didn’t it.”
She said nothing. In that instant she had judged him and found him wanting. She would not explain herself to him. She was not obliged to do so. She was a free Englishwoman, after all.
“Cat got your tongue, or has my brilliant repartee stunned you into silence?”. That expression on his face was definitely a sneer. He reached over to the side, picked up a china dog, and threw it at her head.
Augusta was the oldest of a large family, and had learned lightning reflexes through necessity. In a flash she reached up, plucked the dog down in mid flight, and flung it back at the buffoon sitting in front of her. Only a last-minute reaction moved her aim from his head to the fireplace to his side. The offending ornament smashed to pieces in the grate.
Yes! Good for Miss Faulkner!