Author: judeknight

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Spotlight on Jackie’s Climb

(Book 9 of A Twist Upon a Regency Tale)
Jackie’s busy life—as a stableboy each morning and seamstress all afternoon—is threatened when she catches the eye of the local Viscount. Oscar Riese wants her in his bed, and is prepared to ruin her mother to remove all her other choices.

Apollo Allegro, a poor relation to the Rieses, has been Oscar’s steward, secretary, factotum and general dogsbody for more than half his lifetime. Pol works in the background, doing what he can for the locals, and for his frail and fading grandmother. Oscar’s threats to Jackie and her mother are the last straw that drives him into open rebellion.

When Jackie climbs into Riese Hall to steal the money her mother needs for the extortionate rent, their lives intertwine and take a different direction. Pol arranges their joint escape. But escape is not enough. Pol is beginning to uncover the Riese’s crimes, and Lady Riese is determined to eliminate the threat—even if that means killing Apollo, his grandmother and Jackie.

Jackie has more than one climb ahead of her—through the ranks of society and up the wall of a tower—before she and her hero can find their happy ending.

Meet Jackie

Jackie Haricot leads several lives, some more exciting than others. In the mornings, she is Jackie Bean, stable boy at the squire’s. Each afternoon, she is the dressmaker’s seamstress. Evening sees her transformed into Mademoiselle de Haricot du Charmont, daughter of an émigré comtesse. And from time to time, she goes out at night as Jack Le Gume, travelling gamester, to use the card skills her father taught her to help her make ends meet.

Meet Apollo

Apollo’s mother died when he was nine, and he was exiled from her home in sunny Tuscany to the cold rooms of Riese Hall, his father’s ancestral home in England. There, he was told that his parents had never married, and he was put to work by his aunt and cousins. His grandmother was the only one to offer him welcome and love, and she had faded into a shadow of her former self.

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Meet a new heroine on WIP Wednesday

I’ve made a start on A Gift From the Heart. The Winterberry sisters are my heroines.

At the time, Lucilla Winterbury thought the Twelfth Night rumpus to be perfectly justified. And just! Unwise, perhaps, but only because she did not want even a hint of it reaching her father. For if Father knew what she and the other young woman at the party had done, he would shut her sister Olivia in her room forever, and Cilla he would never let out of his sight again.
Father had been reluctant to allow Cilla and her sister Olivia to go to Marplehurst Hall for a twelve-day Christmastide party. No. He was reluctant for Cilla to go. Cilla was his younger daughter and his pet. As he had told Livy more than once, his elder daughter could go straight to the devil for all he cared.
In the past, he had never given permission even for Livy to go. Lady Virginia Marple, hostess of the event, was his younger sister, and the two did not get on. Indeed, perhaps his dislike of Livy was rooted in his fraught relationship with his sister, for he frequently said that Livy was just like Aunt Ginny.
As to the party, Aunt Ginny had only begun them after the end of her period of mourning for her husband, and for the first three years, neither Livy nor Cilla could have gone. Neither would have left their mother during her long illness, nor could they attend while they were in mourning for her.
The following year, Father said that Aunt Ginny had grown wild since she was widowed, though he would not disclose any details.
This year, Aunt Ginny descended on him in person, and demanded that both daughters be released into her care. Aunt Ginny was Father’s younger sister, and he swore that Livy was exactly like her. Cilla and Livy listened to their conversation from the secret passage that ran beside the fireplace.
“Olivia may go,” Father said, “but Lucilla is not out, Virginia.”
“It is an all-female party, Horace,” she told him. “My own daughters, goddaughters and their mothers. I want my nieces with me. Other girls of Cilla’s age will be there. Younger girls, too. It is disgraceful, by the way, that Cilla has not yet made her debut. The girl is nineteen, after all.”
“You shall leave me to know what is best for my daughter,” Father insisted. He sniffed. “Lucilla is delicate. I would not expect you to understand.”
Father had always insisted that Cilla was delicate. Mama had been delicate, and Cilla looked just like her, but had always kept excellent health. Livy said that Mama’s delicacy was caused by Father’s bullying, which might be true.
“Then the matter is easily resolved,” Aunt Ginny retorted. “I shall look after Cilla, and so shall Livy. You may be confident that we will not allow her to become overtired or stressed. Though I think you should trust Cilla’s good sense, Horace.”
Father was firmly of the view that women had no good sense, but were instead creatures of emotion. Livy said that this proved Father to be a creature of emotion.
“I cannot reconcile it with my conscience,” Father insisted. “Olivia may go.”
“Both of my nieces,” Aunt Ginny insisted. “I do not wish my other guests to think I am ashamed of the connection, Horace.”
Cilla winced. Father would not like that. Wealthy though he was, he was still only a merchant in the eyes of the people Aunt Ginny counted as friends. The remark worked, though. After a few other objections, each of which Aunt Ginny countered, the sisters were permitted to leave with their aunt.
They had a fabulous time. Cilla already knew and liked her cousins, and she soon made other friends. As for Livy, away from Father and in an all female environment, she blossomed. It helped that, on the first night, her slice of the Christmas pudding contained a silver crown, making her the Lady of Misrule for the whole of the party.
She threw herself into the role, showing the sly humour that she normally shared only with Cilla. It fuelled a seemingly endless succession of merry tricks and hilarious games, and inspired others to offer suggestions of their own.
Everyone was enjoying themselves. Everyone, that is, except Aurora Thornton, a girl from the next village, who did her best to join in but was clearly unhappy. Cilla tried to draw her out of her shell, but to no avail.
“It is odd,” one of the cousins said. “Rory is not normally like this.”
“She was happy when the party started,” said another cousin. “Very happy. I thought she had a suitor, but if she did, he has disappointed her.”
Poor girl. Cilla had never had a suitor. From the stories she was hearing this week, perhaps that was a good thing.
In the end, what caused Aurora to sob her heart out on Cilla’s shoulder was a game, for one of the girls claimed that she could read the cards and tell fortunes, and the fortune she told for Aurora was a tall fair headed man who would be faithful and true.
“But he wasn’t,” Aurora wailed. “Colin was not faithful, and he wasn’t true. He made all kinds of promises, and they were all lies, for he is ma- ma- ma- ma- married!” The final word was broken by sobs, and even though the young ladies—the mothers and aunts were closeted with a bottle of port and had left the damsel to their own devices—even though the young ladies gathered closely around, it was some time before the story was told.
She had had a secret suitor, who became her lover. He lived in this village, and so Aurora had arrived full of hope, certain she would be able to make arrangements to see him, to find out why he had not visited for several weeks.
And on Christmas Day, when the house party attended church, she did see him—in his pew with a woman and two children. A few questions to those who lived locally soon confirmed that they were his family—his wife and their offspring.
“Well,” said Livy, when she understood all, “you are not with child, and nobody knows except us. And we are all your friends, Aurora, and will keep your secret. The question is, what do we do to Colin Sanderson to embarrass him in public the way he has embarrassed you in private?”
Cilla had never been prouder of Livy. Though some of the maidens had been horrified to have a ruined women among them, Livy had reminded them that Aurora was a sheltered innocent and Sanderson a mature man who should have known better.
“He set out to ruin her,” she said, fiercely. “Who is to say that any of us would have fared better, believing his lies and his promises as Aurora did.” And one by one, they nodded their heads.
Even the most censorious promised to keep the secret, and all of them had suggestions about making Sanderson pay. The plan they came up with for New Year’s Eve was masterly, Cilla thought.
New Year’s Eve, in Marblestead, was the Festival of the Lady of Misrule, where the women took over the town and the men stayed indoors out of their way. It was the perfect time to make a fool out of a lying deceiver.
They had to enlist the groom who was sweet on Cilla’s eldest cousin to lure the Sanderson mountebank to the tavern in the village, but everything else, they could handle themselves.
It would be the highlight of the party.

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Memories on Monday – 10 years since Farewell to Kindness was published

Ten years ago, my first historical romance novel was published. Ten years! It hardly seems like any time at all, and yet I feel as if I have been writing and publishing forever.

As the first is series, Farewell to Kindness is permanently 99c in US dollars.  If you haven’t read it, buy it today. I hope you’ll be glad that you did.

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Spotlight on The Duke’s Price

As a governess, Ruth Henwood has always put her pupils first, sometimes sacrificing her own interest. The choice facing her now could become the highest sacrifice of them all.

Two men want her as their mistress. The Spanish war hero, the Duque de la Sombras, plans to wed the Princesa Isabella, Ruth’s fourteen-year-old pupil, but promises not consummate the marriage if Ruth will come willingly to his bed. The English rake, the Duke of Richport promises help her and Bella to escape Isabella’s tiny Pyrenean kingdom, but his price is the same.

Ruth’s decision must be guided by what is best for Bella. No matter that one man repels her, and one man is a risk to her heart.

Richport lost his heart to his wife when he was seventeen, and had it broken and trampled on. He has managed very well without a heart in the twenty-six years since, gaining the nickname Duke of Depravity. His offer to Ruth is a heartless joke—he always intended to help her and her charge. But if she takes him up on the offer, he will be happy to school the governess in the ways of the flesh.

Little does Richport realise that his heart is back on the line once more.

But love is not their worst risk. The duque is in hot pursuit, and is determined to take back what he believes to be his own.

Published on 1st April. https://books2read.com/u/4A0gGK

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Hooking the governess on WIP Wednesday

This is the last work-in-progress excerpt from The Duke’s Price. By next Wednesday, it will be a published book!

Ruth was responding to him. She might not realise it, but Perry did. Physically, the signs were obvious, but emotionally, too, she had softened towards him as he told his stories, ably supported by Walter, who had been with him through it all.
He had not intended to mention Lockswell or the young man’s mother. He never spoke of them, but Bella’s faintly hostile attitude, at first amusing, had begun to grate. Clearly, Ruth had told her pupil what the price was for his assistance, and she was indignant on her mentor’s behalf. Polite, but ever so slightly scornful. When she mocked his age, he had responded without thinking.

If he was not mistaken, the fact he’d been a widower for more than half his lifetime had softened the girl’s attitude, though he had not been seeking her pity. No doubt she’d invented a whole romantic story about the poor duke grieving for the love of his youth.

What would she think if she knew the truth? What would Ruth think? She would probably pity him more than ever—yes, and despise him too, the weak innocent ignorant creature he had been, a dupe of his uncle and his faithless wife.
There was a reason Perry never spoke of the youth he had been and the mistakes he had made.

Ruth, he was pleased to note, did not take it on faith that he was a pitiable widower, pining for his long-dead wife. She was warier than ever. Whatever she thought of his personal revelations, she was not allowing it to overwhelm her good sense.
It was already too late for her, did she but know it. He had her hooked, senses and emotions. Only by the most careless of mishandling would he lose her now. And Perry was far too experienced to mishandle a seduction.

He had already planned the next step, and when they arrived in Toulouse, he set about putting it into action. Once again, they walked to another inn after leaving the hired carriage and team. Perry ordered a suite of their best rooms, and it was perfect—three bedchambers, a single dressing room, and a shared sitting room, which included among its furnishings a dining table. The bill had used up almost the last of his gold, but tomorrow he would sell a couple of jewels and they would be in funds again.

Since Bella clearly knew that Ruth had agreed to be his lover, he did not have to disguise the sleeping arrangements, so he assigned Bella to the middle-sized room, Walter to the smallest room, and him and Ruth to the largest. Bella opened her mouth on what was, by her expression, going to be a complaint. Ruth waved her to silence.

“I have ordered a bath for you ladies to be brought to Bella’s room,” Perry said, “and one for me and Walter in the dressing room. Once we have bathed, our dinner will be served in the sitting room.”
Ruth looked relieved, which was ever so slightly insulting. Did she think Perry was so inept that he’d insist on bathing with her when they had never done more than kiss? Nor would he do more than kiss tonight, even though his inflaming touches had left him as aroused as they had her. Perhaps more aroused, for he knew where the amorous journey led.

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Seduction on WIP Wednesday

Another excerpt from The Duke’s Price

Ruth was responding to him. She might not realise it, but Perry did. Physically, the signs were obvious, but emotionally, too, she had softened towards him as he told his stories, ably supported by Walter, who had been with him through it all.
He had not intended to mention Lockswell or the young man’s mother. He never spoke of them, but Bella’s faintly hostile attitude, at first amusing, had begun to grate. Clearly, Ruth had told her pupil what the price was for his assistance, and she was indignant on her mentor’s behalf. Polite, but ever so slightly scornful. When she mocked his age, he had responded without thinking.
If he was not mistaken, the fact he’d been a widower for more than half his lifetime had softened the girl’s attitude, though he had not been seeking her pity. No doubt she’d invented a whole romantic story about the poor duke grieving for the love of his youth.
What would she think if she knew the truth? What would Ruth think? She would probably pity him more than ever—yes, and despise him too, the weak innocent ignorant creature he had been, a dupe of his uncle and his faithless wife.
There was a reason Perry never spoke of the youth he had been and the mistakes he had made.
Ruth, he was pleased to note, didn’t take it on faith that he was a pitiable widower, pining for his long-dead wife. She was warier than ever. Whatever she thought of his personal revelations, she was not allowing it to overwhelm her good sense.
It was already too late for her, did she but know it. He had her hooked, senses and emotions. Only by the most careless of mishandling would he lose her now. And Perry was far too experienced to mishandle a seduction.

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Travelling with the wicked duke on WIP Wednesday

Another passage from The Duke’s Price, now on preorder.

“We did not have much packing to do,” Bella told DeAth, when they were settled in a comfortable carriage and on their way to the next town. “Ruth and I shall need to go shopping, DeAth. Or should I call you ‘Papá’?”

Ruth found herself sharing an amused smile with the unaccountable man.

“DeAth will do,” he said. “I hope to reach Toulouse tonight. I am certain that city will have shops to supply suitable clothing and other items for a wealthy merchant’s ladies.” He turned questioning eyes to Ruth. “If we are delayed on the road, will you be able to manage for one more night?”

“We will,” Ruth assured him.

“Why not ‘Papá’?” Bella enquired. “Do you feel too young to have a daughter of nearly fifteen, DeAth?”

He didn’t allow Bella’s impertinence to ruffle his equanimity. “I know I am old enough to have a daughter of your age. I do not, as it happens.” He grinned. “At least, as far as I know. But I do have a son, Bella. My heir, the Marquess of Lockswell.

“He will be twenty-five this year.”

“Goodness!” Bella said what Ruth was thinking. “You cannot have been more than a boy!”

DeAth laughed outright at that. “Are you asking my age, young lady? I am three and forty, and yes, that means I was married at the age of seventeen.”

“You are a widower, then, excellensia? DeAth, I mean?” Bella asked.

Ruth should really remind her that such personal questions were impolite, but Ruth also wanted to know.

“These twenty-three years. And that is enough, senorita. No more questions.”

He started telling them a story about his last trip through France, making an amusing tale of being chased out of town by burghers who had been treating him as one of their own until a Frenchman he’d met in London recognised him as the Duke of Richport.

When that episode had reached its end, with a lucky escape thanks to a sympathetic barmaid, Walter mentioned another escape, this time in Greece, and that led to a further tale and then another, so that Ruth was surprised when they rolled into a village and stopped at an inn for the first change of horses.

“It is very hard, Ruth,” said Bella when they had a private moment while the men were busy. “To lose his wife when he was not yet twenty. I wonder that he has not married again. Perhaps he loved her very much, and cannot bear to see another in her place. Perhaps that is why he is a rake. Do you not think that is possible, Ruth?”

Ruth thought it was more likely he had been a wicked youth, and that his wife had died of a broken heart. Ruth was going to take it as a warning. Don’t let his charm, his storytelling and his kindness fool you into thinking he is a good person. He reinforced the lesson repeatedly over the course of the day, letting his hand linger as he helped her in and out of the carriage, or ushered her through a doorway at one of the inns they visited on the day.

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Ten year celebration

Next Saturday, March 15, 2025, The Bluestocking Belles will hold their 10th Anniversary party. The party takes place in the Brigade FB group (link at the bottom). We have Twelve hours of guests, fun, prizes and conversation about books. I’ve included the list of guests in the photo above.

NOTE: Daylight Savings time happens in the US on March 9th. The time is 10AM EDT. It is easiest to remember the party is at the same time as in New York (NYT). So, 10AM in New York is when the party starts.

Come! Stay or pop in and out. Come the next day; the posts will be there. Invite your friends.
Here’s the Brigade: https://www.facebook.com/groups/BellesBrigade

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Putting on the top hat

In the first draft of The Secret Word, I used the term “top hat”. Then I looked it up and found I was too early for the name. Though the first top hat was made in the 1790s and they quickly became popular, they were not called top hats until Victorian times. In 1810, they went by several names, depending on the variety. Isn’t research fun.