Someone in a review recently wrote that my characters have terrible families. I’d protest that some of them have lovely families. My James and his children — not his father and brother, though. The Redepennings, except for Rede’s sister. Candle Avery and his mother (but not his father). Okay, so the cap does fit, somewhat.

Of all toxic relationships, a toxic family relationship is one of the worst, and therefore gives huge scope for an author.

Does your work in progress have a jealous, selfish, mean, or plain nasty relative? Please share in the comments.

Here’s my hero from To Reclaim the Long-Lost Lover, with his father and stepmother.

“Go on, Libby,” he encouraged her. “What terrible flaw have you noticed that I must needs amend to be acceptable to a suitable lady?”

“Well…” she chewed on her lower lip, examining him with anxious eyes. “You have not been much in Society, Nate,” she offered, eventually.

Nate was trying to work out what she was driving at when his father spoke from the door to what he misleadingly called his study—a room in which he drank brandy and slept in front of the fire. “She’s right, for once. You are too free and easy, Bencham. You’ve no idea how to go on in the Beau Monde. And you don’t have the right connections. No friends from school or that sort of thing.”

No, because his father had tutored him at home, reneged on the promise to send him to Oxford in order to keep him as an unpaid secretary, and then connived with the Duke of Winshire to have him abducted and impressed onto a naval ship.

“I was at school with some of Society’s important hostesses, Westford,” Libby said, her soft voice meek and apologetic. “If we were to go to London with Lord Bencham…”

Lord Westford interrupted her with a rude snort. “I see your game,” he told his wife, scowling. “You think to jaunt up to Town, do you? And spend my money on fripperies, I suppose.” He began to shake his head, and Nate spoke quickly, before the old tyrant denied Libby what she clearly saw as a treat. Once he’d spoken, he’d not renege. Nate had hoped to escape his father’s presence, but he could hardly deny that Libby’s case was worse than his. She was stuck with the man until death did them part.

Nate smiled broadly. “What an excellent idea, Libby. Using your connections, I should soon have invitations to places I can meet my future bride, and I’m sure you can counsel me on my manners and dress, too.” Westford was purpling. Time to apply a little flattery. No, a lot of flattery—applying it with a shovel rather than a trowel would be no more that the earl considered his due. Nor would he note the barb Nate buried in the compliment.

“My lord, I know you will agree, for you have mentioned her ladyship’s useful connections to me before. What great foresight you showed in choosing a bride who could be of such assistance to your heir, especially since I was unable to complete my own education as a gentleman.”

The earl’s scowl deepened. For a moment, Nate thought he had misjudged Westford’s acuity, so he was relieved rather than annoyed when the earl grumbled, “You’d be married already, and likely have given me a grandson by now, if you’d paid more attention to your duties and less to making up to that girl. Instead, here you are, barely more than a savage, and now I have to go to the expense of a London Season for a woman who can’t even give me sons. You are a great disappointment to me, Bencham. Beyond a doubt I need to go to London to make sure you don’t marry to disoblige me.”

He turned his glower on Libby. “Lady Westford, you shall need to dress to reflect credit on me. You shall have a strict budget, and I shall expect an accounting.”