Author: judeknight

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Old aquaintances we’d like to forget on WIP Wednesday

Another excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice.

Valeria and three of her sisters-in-law were leaving the modiste when it happened. A couple entered the door just as they reached it, and the three of them stepped out of the way, Valeria a little behind the other three.

Mia stiffened as the newly arrived woman stopped and smirked at her. “Mrs Jules Redepenning. How delightful. And how is my dear Jules?”

“Another Redepenning?” said the woman’s male companion. “Do present me, dear Lady Carrington.”

His voice! Not just the French accent, but the tone, the timbre. They were familiar and hated—but she must be imagining things. It could not be Antoine. Not here. Not in a dressmaker’s shop on London. Ella’s bonnet was in the way of Valeria’s view of the speaker, but a slight lean allowed her to catch a glimpse of his hair, the shape of his jaw, his sneer. Her past roared in her ears, and her mind, her sight, her hearing—everything shut down.

Slowly, the roaring ebbed and the rest of the world returned. Harry, first. She became aware that he was holding her hand in both of his, and then she could see him, sitting next to her, his blue eyes full of concern.

They were in an elegant room with a dozen small round tables, each with several chairs, and a pretty woman in an apron and cap was just placing a tray with a teapot and cups on the table where they sat. Susan, Ella and Mia occupied the other seats at the table, and all of them were looking anxiously at Valeria.

She had no idea where they were, how they got there, and how Harry came to be with them. Antoine! He had been at the modiste’s! Valeria gripped Harry’s hand. It could not be true. Was she going mad?

“You shall feel better after a cup of tea,” Susan decreed, and proceeded to pour one.

“What happened?” Mia asked. “Are you able to talk about it?”

Valeria shook her head. How could she explain? Her mind shied away from even thinking about it, even as her common sense reiterated that the man she had seen could not have been Antoine. She had left him grievously wounded. He was almost certainly dead, and even if he had somehow survived, what would he be doing in London?

The reminder of how she had triumphed in the end gave her strength. “That woman,” she said. “Lady Carrington, was it?”

“Baroness Carrington,” said Mia. “A wicked woman whose crimes have been forgiven by the government, for reasons of State. But not by me.”

“Mia gave her the cut direct,” said Susan, her voice a purr of satisfaction. “Then I noticed you seemed about to faint, and I helped you to follow Mia out of the shop. We met Harry on the footpath outside, and came here to Fournier’s Tea Shop to allow you time to recover. Now sip your tea, dear one, and explain what Lydia Carrington has done to you.”

“Not her. The man with her. Who was he?”

The ladies looked at one another and shook their heads, but Harry said, “You mean Delacroix?”

The roaring returned, but Valeria pushed it back. Someone had whimpered. It was, Valeria realised, herself. Harry had his arm around her shoulders and was saying, “Take a deep breath, darling. That’s it. Now breathe out. And again.”

“Who is this Delacroix?” Susan asked.

“He is something at the French embassy. An aide to the ambassador. A agent for the French government, I imagine. Or at least our own people think so, I imagine, since Lady Carrington is taking him around town, and she works for our side.”

“Lady Carrington is a spy?” Mia asked. “But she was working for the French when she…”

“Never mind that now,” Ella interjected. “Harry, should we send for the carriage and take Valeria home?”

“I shall just drink my tea,” Valeria said. “You do not need to be concerned about me.”

“Lady Carrington does not go into Society,” said Susan. “And if we encounter this Delacroix person at a ball or dinner, we shall not accept an introduction, Valeria. What else do you know about him, Harry?”

“Nothing much. Just that he and Lady Carrington must have been discussing the Redepennings, because when Lady Carrington introduced us, she said… let me think. ‘Colonel Redepenning is the one of whom we have spoken.’ That was it, as nearly as I can remember.”

Valeria was not going to pass out again. Delacroix was here. He was her enemy, and Harry’s because of her. They would have to fight it, and they would. She would tell Harry, and perhaps she could even disclose a little to Harry’s sisters. Yes. They needed to be forewarned.

She took the last sip of her tea, and Susan slipped a little cake, ornately iced with sugar paste, onto her plate. Valeria bit into it and realised it was exactly what she craved. “You know I was captured by the French,” she said to her sisters-in-law. “The captain of the patrol that captured me was Antoine Delacroix.”

Harry pursed his lips, frowning thoughtfully. “This man is Pierre Delacroix. From his interest in me, we must suppose he is a brother or cousin.”

Not Antoine, then. It was a relief, and yet, in a peculiar sort of a way, a disappointment. She had long regretted leaving the man alive, for the possibility that he still breathed in the same world as her nagged at her like a rotten tooth. “He may be looking for revenge,” Valeria said. “That is, if he knows what I did to his brother.”

Susan raised her eyebrows. “Valeria, darling, what did you do to his brother?”

Harry answered for her, growling, “Left him alive, which was more mercy than he deserved. We have to assume, I think, that he lived long enough to tell his brother. Did the fiend know my name?”

“Yes. It was he who took my marriage certificate and burned it. He laughed, Harry. He said that the rules of war did not apply to a Spanish guerrilos, nor to an English fool who married one.” Lost in memory, she had forgotten everyone except Harry, and was surprised when Susan passed her another cup of tea.

“With your permission, beloved,” said Harry, “I shall warn the whole family to be on the watch against Delacroix. Yes, and the Carrington female, too.”

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Spotlight on “Maggie’s Wheelbarrow” in Merry Belles

Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, by Jude Knight

Maggie hasn’t heard from her husband Will in more than a year—not since he marched out of Spain with his regiment. When she and the children followed him, the battles were over and his regiment was gone. Letters have brought no answers. With all her worldly goods and her son in a wheelbarrow, and her daughter on her back, Maggie sets off from Portsmouth to walk to the Midlands to find out what has happened to Will.

Will Parker has been invalided out of the army. The scars and the limp he has as souvenirs of the Battle of Toulouse are not the worst of it. He also left behind two years of memories. Back home with his mother, he is building a new life. But what is it he is forgetting? 

Meet Will Parker

Will Parker has nearly recovered from battle injuries received more than a year ago, but a blow to his head left a two-year gap in his memory. Invalided out of the army, he lives quietly with his mother and earns his living as a clerk. Deep inside he is restless, as if he yearns something he doesn’t know he has lost.

Meet Maggie Parker

Maggie Parker is determined to take her baby daughter and her little son to their father’s family, though she is not certain where in the Midlands he lives. She buys a wheelbarrow in Portsmouth, puts into it her baggage and her son, and sets out with her daughter on her back to walk as many hundreds of miles as are needed.

Excerpt from Maggie’s Wheelbarrow

Will has just read a letter from the wife he did not know he had. He has read it out loud, and he is surprised at his mother’s reaction.

While he was reading, he was aware of his mother sinking into another chair, but he had not looked directly at her. He did now.

Her eyes were filled with tears but she was smiling. “Thank God,” she said. “I have been so worried.”

“You knew I had a wife and you didn’t tell me?” Will couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“What could I say, Will?” his mother asked. “You had forgotten them, and I had no idea what had become of them. Had she deserted you? Had they all died? How would it have helped to tell you what little I knew?”

She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a drawer on the kitchen dresser. She handed him a package tied with ribbon. “Here. Here are your letters. When you’ve read them, you’ll know as much about your wife as I do. Oh, my dear son, perhaps when you see her you will remember everything.”

Or perhaps not. What would he do if he didn’t know this wife of his? A thought occurred to him. “Margaret. Not… No, it couldn’t be… I didn’t marry Maggie Finch, did I? Sergeant Finch’s daughter?”

Ma nodded. “That’s it. Are you remembering, Will?” She sounded hopeful.

He shook his head. “Not from after Ciudad Rodrigo. From before. She… I doubt there was a man in the regiment who was not at least a little in love with Maggie Finch. Not that any of us would risk the sergeant’s reaction if we showed her the least disrespect!”

He could feel his lips spreading in a grin as he remembered the cheerful pretty daughter of the formidable soldier. “I married Maggie Finch!”

“So, I should hope, Will Parker, since you had two children by her,” said Ma, rather sharply. “Go and wash up for dinner, lad. You can read your letters after.”

Will obediently got to his feet. Maggie Finch. Maggie Parker, now, and wandering the Midlands with his two children in tow. Wandering where? He checked the date and location at the top of the letter. It was dated two weeks ago, and she was not here yet. She had included a village name, as well, and he knew it. Not more than thirty miles hence, but he supposed a woman with two children might travel slowly. On the other hand, perhaps she was heading for a different Ashton.

As he washed his hands and face, he pictured her out in the cold and the rain and shuddered. He hoped she had found somewhere safe and warm to wait out the storm. She and the little ones.

He had a powerful urge to race out the door and start searching for them. In the dark and the rain, it would be pointless. Possibly even dangerous. He would leave in the morning, once it was light, riding in the direction of the village she had left weeks ago.

 

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“The Angel’s Announcement” in Merry Belles

The Angel’s Announcement, a Holiday Homicide by Caroline Warfield

They found the shepherd eight days before Christmas. Dead. Sybilla and Seth have a week to solve it. Will they heal the hurt that lies between them?

Sybilla Somer was seventeen when Seth Caulfield disappeared without a word. For nine long years she wondered why. Now he’s back and she needs his help to solve a murder. There is no one else to do it. 

Seth hadn’t been much older when Sibby’s father and brother drove him out with shouts of “bloody presuming bastard.” They delivered him to press gangs in Great Yarmouth. He assumed she knew. She didn’t, and she certainly didn’t care that his birth was irregular. The navy set him to helping the ship’s surgeon, a stroke of luck. He has returned a warranted surgeon himself.

When Sybilla and Seth are thrown together to solve the murder, to care for a small angel with a broken ankle — and to face the hurt between them, will the work and the season heal what lies between them?

Meet Sybilla

With her father dead, her worthless brother now viscount, and the big house rented out to uncaring tenants, the estate and half the shire relies on Sybilla Somer the spinster daughter for care and leadership. She loved a man once, but he left her. Now she is on her own. At least she was until Seth reappeared.

Meet Seth

Seth Caulfield always knew he was a bastard. The woman he loved, though far above his touch, never cared. When her father separated them ruthlessly, he spent nine years in His Majesty’s navy. He didn’t expect to become a surgeon, to receive a bequest in his sire’s scandalous will, or to discover that he was one of the notorious Clarion bastards. Memories—and hope—drew him home.

Excerpt from The Angel’s Announcement

“Why did you come back?” Sibby demanded. She had asked him that three times now. He choked on an answer and filled her bowl with stew. Hungry as she was, she licked her lips and stared at it, sending a frisson of desire through him.

This isn’t the time for that, Caulfield.

“Slice that bread, if you please, Sibby. There’s a bigger question than the one you asked.”

She did as she was asked, her brow drawn up in a question. She didn’t speak.

“You never asked me why I left. Maybe we should start there.” He accepted a plate with slices of warm bread she had slathered with butter. It ought to be delicious, but he had never felt less like eating in his life. Considering some of the things he had endured, that was saying much.

Sibby waved her spoon in the air. “You disappeared. I went to the fishing shack the afternoon after the one when we, erm, enjoyed each other, expecting to see you, but you never came.”

Her face and tone made it a bald accusation of desertion. They had been young, so very young. Seth opened his mouth and closed it again.

“All right, then why. Why did you disappear without a word, and why did you reappear?” She put her spoon down and glared.

“Why not ask your brother?” he retorted.

“Samuel? What does he have to do with it?”

“You really don’t know?”

Suspicion flooded her expression. “Tell me,” she whispered.

He sank against the back of his chair. “I went to Somerton Hall to ask your father’s permission to marry you.”

“You felt honor bound.” Sibby didn’t appear pleased by that notion.

“I loved you desperately,” he shouted and drew in breath to calm himself. “I wanted you so badly I went, hat in hand, like a damned fool and offered to marry a viscount’s daughter and live with her over a store.” He shook his head at the innocent he’d been.

“He threw you out, and you ran. I’d have run with you if you had asked.” More accusation laced with hurt echoed in the words.

“Oh no. Your father was shrewder than that. He knew you were young and obstinate enough to try it. He beat me with a horse whip and turned me over to Samuel.”

“Samuel? My brother always resented you. You were smarter than he for one thing. Did he beat you as well?”

Seth grunted. “Samuel and the stable master were none too gentle when they hogtied me, bound me over a horse, and took me to Great Yarmouth. They gave me to a press gang.”

Sibby blinked, and her chin quivered. “Press gang? Forced into the navy?” She put her serviette on the table and swallowed. “No one told me.”

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Awkward situation on WIP Wednesday

In An Unpitied Sacrifice, Harry’s joy at his reunion with his wife causes him to forget something important.

“I am looking for a house,” Harry told his father, brothers, and cousin, while Valeria was busy getting to know the ladies of his family. “Valeria is commited to finding the English families of the women and children she brought to England with her, and London is the best place for us to be while we’re busy with that. But I do not like the area where they are currently lodged, and besides, it is not big enough now that I have joined them. If you hear of anything, would you let me know?”

“It will be hard to find anything decent at this time of year,” Gil warned. “The Season is just getting started.”

“You can all move in here,” Father offered.

“Thank you, Father. I shall keep that as an option,” Harry said. “If possible, I would rather get to know my wife and children under a roof that, if not my own, is at least paid for by me. Does that make sense? But more space would be nice. And also servants to do the heavy work.”

The men all nodded, even Father. “I shall ask around,” Alex said, and the others said they would also enquire among their friends and other contacts.

“The priority is to find the information that Valeria’s friends need,” Alex pointed out. “Once they are settled, Harry, you can find something smaller for yourself and your own family.”

“You are right,” Harry agreed. “Father, will you go with me to the War Department this afternoon?”

“Of course, my son. We shall pay a visit to my old friend Arthur, and ask for his authority to wave at various underlings. Do you have the ladies’ names and those of their spouses?”

Harry nodded. And yes, Father’s strategy was sound. If they started with a call on the Duke of Wellington and were able to proceed with his blessing, everyone would fall over themselves to be helpful. Otherwise, five Spanish women of dubious marital status, whether they regarded themselves as married or not, were likely to be brushed off as irrelevant to the mission of the mighty British army.

“What are you going to do about Miss Bretherton?” Alex asked. “You’ll need to tell her before someone else does.”

Before Harry could answer, Valeria’s voice came from immediately behind him. “Who is Miss Bretherton?”

Ariadne Bretherton! In the excitement of his wife returning from the dead with three children, Harry had not given the woman he’d been courting a single thought. He turned to face Valeria, and nearly flinched at the hurt she was trying to hide behind an impassive expression.

The only way out of this mess was through it. Charge ahead, Harry, and pray you are not seriously wounded on the way. “She is a lady I completely forgot about the moment I saw you. She is a pleasant person whom I thought might make me a comfortable wife. I could not love again, you see, after losing you. I was looking for companionship and a partner in my endeavours. Also someone to run my house.”

“Oh,” said Valeria, the mask of her expression now so impenetrable that he had no idea what she was thinking and feeling.

He rushed on, trying to elicit a response. “I need to write to her, my love. She is coming to London next week, and Alex is right. I need to tell her before someone else does that my wife is alive, and that I shall not be pursuing a courtship with her.”

“Poor lady. My happiness has been purchased at the cost of hers. Yes, you must let her know. I am sorry, Harry. I changed your plans.”

“I thank God for it,” Harry assured her. “And imagine how much more dreadful it would have been for her had you arrived after the proposal. Or after the wedding!”

“I never imagined you marrying someone else,” Valeria said, in a low murmur that seemed to be intended for her own ears and no one else’s. “How foolish of me.”

“It was a business arrangement,” Harry assured her. “No feelings were involved.”

The look she gave him was scathing. “I doubt that, Harry. I doubt that very much. She would not have accepted your courtship if she did not at least like you, and I gather that things have gone far enough that her family and probably her friends are in imminent expectation of a proposal. Her pride is going to be hurt, if nothing else.”

She was correct, of course, but what could Harry do about it? His wife was the only woman he wanted, and even if that wasn’t the case, he was married. His wife was alive, and he had a family, furthermore. He could not marry Miss Bretherton even if he still wanted to do so.

In fact, he had never wanted to do so, he realised. He had made a plan and carried it out step by step, but his heart—not the organ that continued to pump blood around his body, but the centre of his emotions that he had wrongly believed to be frozen and atrophied—his heart had never been convinced it was a good idea.

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Spotlight on “Forever Hold Your Peace” in Merry Belles

Forever Hold Your Peace, by Rue Allyn

Home from the wars, Captain Prescott Drake is shocked to learn that his fiancée plans to wed someone else. Can he reach her in time to prevent the nuptials? Will she want him, or has their treasured love died the slow death he nearly suffered in a French prison?

Desperate and believing the man she loved is dead, Miss Elizabeth Feddleston seeks rescue in the form of marriage to a kind friend. He knows she does not love him now but has hopes that once she has mourned the man who first won her heart that she will turn to him.

Meet Prescott Drake

Ensign Prescott Aelfwyn Drake, only son of an obscure country baron answered his country’s call to arms. What good was the comfortable life of a baron, if Boney ruled the world with his iron fist. Prescott had been on leave before receiving his first orders when a friend invited him to a local assembly. There Prescott met the woman of his dreams. He knew the charming Miss Elizabeth Eloise Feddleston was meant for him. Lacking in fortune, her stellar reputation and innate kindness were far more important to him. On the night before he was to leave to join his regiment he proposed. She accepted and they planned to wed as soon as Boney was defeated and Prescott could resign his commission.

Meet Elizabeth Feddleston

Miss Elizabeth Eloise Feddleston had expected to marry for convenience. Betts was the daughter of a widowed country squire, whose gambling losses had devastated the family. From the age of eight she’d managed the household and raised her twin siblings. The local vicar had helped where he could. Her father passed shortly after she reached her majority. His heir was a self-righteous, penny-pincing bigot who at their first meeting informed her she would marry as he pleased or be thrown from the house. Her siblings would be sent to a school for orphans sponsored by the religious sect he favored. She’d sought refuge with highly placed friends who offered shelter and safety for both her and the twins. Under a duke’s protection she attended her first assembly and fell in love.

An excerpt from Forever Hold Your Peace

A treasured locket open in her hands, Miss Elizabeth Eloise Feddleston sat by the window of the elegant sitting room—part of the suite assigned her at Leigh Chase. She stroked the pad of one thumb across the miniature within.

The handsome soldier depicted stared out at her with an intent moss-green gaze. His square chin framed a generous mouth. The resolute set of his broad shoulders spoke of the strength of his courage and determination. Captain Prescott Aelfwyn Drake had given her the locket as a remembrance on the day she accepted his proposal of marriage. A marriage that would never be, for darling Prescott was dead.

Betts sniffled back a tear. She had cried too much already. ‘Twas past time to lay Prescott and his memory to rest.

Outside the December day was gloomy and drear, entirely too close a match to her thoughts. The wind howled as it battled with the branches of the trees which more often than not fell to the snow, ice and cold of the windy assault. In Betts’ heart, fear and worry did battle with her every attempt at the calm control she relied on to deal with disasters big and small, since the day of her mother’s passing. That had been sixteen years ago. She’d been seven when she’d made her way from the nursery to her father’s study and found him mumbling into a glass, which she later learned was Scotch whisky. Strathnaver’s best—nothing but the best for Squire Feddleston, regardless of what economies were necessary to acquire said best.

“London gentlemen won’t respect a man who wears shoddy clothes, serves second rate whisky, rides ill-bred hacks…” the list went on.”

She pushed painful memories aside and tried to concentrate on the future. Tried to convince herself she was doing the right thing. The only thing. To save her brother and sisters from soul-killing lives planned by their cousin and new guardian, marrying Sir Tellus Leigh was the right thing, the only thing.

In a few short weeks, on Christmas Day, she would be married. Not to Prescott, the man of her dreams, but to a kind, warm, generous man, a friend who deserved better than the half measure of love that had been all she could promise him in exchange for the protection he offered her and her family.

She knuckled away a second tear. It should have been Prescott standing beside her in the church. However, Prescott Drake was dead, as were all of the dreams they had shared. In the wake of the news that he was missing presumed dead had come a string of disasters that had led her to this moment.

It was imperative she marry quickly. Her lips twitched with a failed smile. No, she wasn’t enceinte. It was her siblings’ welfare that necessitated her quick nuptials.

 

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Spotlight on “Single Belles” in Merry Belles

Single Belles, by Elizabeth Donne

For Violet Hughes, this Christmas does not ring in a season of good cheer. One friend betrays her confidence, telling a certain gentleman Violet has feelings for him, while another begins her own bold pursuit of the very same gentleman. Despite being determined to fight for what she wants, Violet is thwarted deliberately at every turn. Someone among the single belles is her secret enemy. Surely it’s not her best friend, her infamous pranks suddenly taking a darker turn? Whomever it is, Violet will have to foil their plot to make her Yuletide wish come true.

Meet Violet

Violet Hughes, a serious-minded young woman, has tolerated the pranks of her best friend for years until they begin to interfere with Violet’s growing feelings for Victor Blayne.

Meet Victor

Victor Blayne, a sterling fellow and heir to the Blaynes’ estate at Hamptonlea House, has enjoyed the close and comfortable friendship of Violet Hughes since childhood. This Christmas, however, his decision to take a wife might very well change that.

Excerpt from Single Belles

“It’s not too late, you know.” Her brother pressed on. “At present, she is fascinating merely because she brings talk of new adventures. When that novelty wears off, she will become like the rest of us. But if she endears herself to him in these early days, he will never realize how ordinary she is.”

Violet’s mouth fell open. “You think she is ordinary? Come now, Donovan, Pearl is so much more than that. Her beauty, the way she carries herself…”

“Are all learned,” he finished for her. “Do you think a man cares for these things when looking for a wife?”

“Why, certainly I do! You show me a man for whom beauty and poise are not attractive elements. I will not believe it unless I see it with my own eyes.”

“Elements, yes, dear sister, but not the essence of what he looks for. If Pearl had remained here with us, she would have nothing to offer him now. You and Victor, on the other hand, have always been kindred spirits. Take your love of riding, for example. The two of you are like centaurs, at one with your steeds. I cannot imagine Victor happy with a wife who is unable to ride with the same passion he does.”

Violet fell silent at these words. There was so much of her kinship with Victor that she had simply taken for granted. It had formed organically over their entire lives, and she had never questioned it. Their closeness just was. She hadn’t really considered how enviably comfortable they were with each other. It would certainly be a sound foundation for a life together. Goodness, some marriages never reached such solid connection, only enduring years of dull co-existence.

What had she been thinking, handing it all over politely to Pearl Thompson as if she had no claim of her own? She wouldn’t just be losing the chance to be with Victor. She would lose the freedom they had to ride like two spirits unleashed. No more walking on his arm in the garden, talking of constellations, or lying side-by-side on the lawn, watching as clouds drifted by and trying to outdo each other for the most obscure image the floating shapes conjured up.

If he married someone else, he would have to be respectable. The dynamic in the group would shift. Their friendship would become a shadow-version of its former self.

Fear gripped Violet’s heart with fingers that squeezed until she gasped aloud.

“Are you alright?” her brother asked.

“I… I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.

Donovan considered her in silence. Then, as if reaching a conclusion, he nodded his head slowly and smiled with satisfaction. “You understand at last. Good. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

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Deception on WIP Wednesday

I’ve just sent The Night Dancers back to the editor. One final proofread, and its done. Here’s a snippet to be going on with. Mel, dressed as a man, had infiltrated the tower from which her employers’ sons have apparently been escaping at will:

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The evening meal was delivered at seven o’clock—merely bread and water, as the previous investigators had told her. But, as they had also said, the brothers produced wine from somewhere. The pot of soup, too. It had been simmering on the stove all afternoon, but disappeared when the bell rang to announce the arrival of the bread, leaving nothing behind but its enticing smell.

It was magic, two of the agents had claimed. It was collusion with the servants, another hypothesized. The fourth had been too badly beaten to express an opinion, and it would only have been an opinion, for none of the investigators had discovered any evidence.

The marquess had found no wine nor any food when he had had the tower searched after each investigator reported. Indeed, many of the items she had seen in the bedchambers had apparently disappeared between when the other investigators saw them, and when the searches were made.

Magic was unlikely, in Mel’s opinion. She’d certainly never seen objects appear and disappear in a way that defied nature. The tower must have hiding places that the marquess knew nothing about, and if it had hiding places, it might also have hidden ways in and out.

Though if that is the case, why do the marquess’s sons stay? Why do they not just leave? Almost all of them are of age.

Mel accepted a glass of the wine, but made certain to spill it discreetly, for the other investigators must have been drugged somehow, no matter how they denied it. The soup was served from a common pot, so should be safe enough.

Mel returned to her room after dinner, and drank sparingly from the water she had brought with her. She then sat in the chair by the room’s little fireplace, for her intention was to remain awake and thoroughly search at least the public rooms once the brothers had all gone to bed.

Although I am feeling remarkably sleepy. That was her last conscious thought.

When she woke up, her head ached and her thoughts moved sluggishly, as if through a fog. Light was filtering in around the edges of her drapes, and she could hear the muffled hum of conversation.

She forced herself to sit up, hoping it would help. Pain stabbed at her temples, and the room seemed to reel around her for a dizzying moment, but then stabilized. In the dim light, she could see this was not the room at her sister’s house where she lived between assignments.

Oh yes. The tower. The marquess’s sons. They must have managed to drug her, despite her precautions! Well, then. From now on, she’d eat only what she had managed to bring with her in the hidden compartment of her bag, and drink only water.

She pulled back the curtain nearest the bed. From the light, it was early morning. What were the brothers doing out of bed?

Mel wasn’t at all certain she could walk across the room, so she crawled, and opened the door just a crack. Not enough to see, but enough that the voices from below floated up to her ears.

“Ought you to check on Black?” That was Lord Kemble.

“I won’t disturb him. I gave him enough of the drug to knock him out for the night, but he could be stirring about now.” That was Lord Baldwin—the one with medical text books and herbals on his bookshelf. “If we leave him alone, he might sleep as late as we do.”

“Then let’s all go to bed,” Kemble said. “A good night’s work, brothers.”

A night’s work doing what?

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Spotlight on “Mistletoe and Midnight Wishes” in Merry Belles

Mistletoe & Midnight Wishes

By Sherry Ewing

Can the magic of a midnight wish dispel the dark clouds of the past?

Mr. Joseph Morledge has taken on an almost impossible task. He has purchased the manor house that came to his family in his mother’s dowry. But his father’s deeds have left it haunted with memories best forgotten. Determined to fully renovate the house and reclaim the future, he sets Christmas as his target. But the woman he has long held in his heart has plans of her own.

For more years than she can count, Miss Charlotte Darby has hidden her feelings for Joseph Morledge, her brother’s best friend. Some untold code of honor between men has made him keep her distance. But when the opportunity comes to help him redecorate his house, she won’t take no for an answer.

As Joseph and Charlotte work to remake the manor into the home it should be, Joseph begins to realize that his house will not be a home without Charlotte as his wife. Has he left it too late to declare his love? Or will mistletoe and midnight wishes work their magic?

Preorder for December 20th: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/merry-belles/

Meet Charlotte

For more years than she can count, Miss Charlotte Darby has hidden her feelings for Joseph Morledge, her brother’s best friend. Some untold code of honor between men has made him keep her distance. But when the opportunity comes to help him redecorate his house, she won’t take no for an answer.

Meet Joseph

Mr. Joseph Morledge has taken on an almost impossible task. He has purchased the manor house that came to his family in his mother’s dowry. But his father’s deeds have left it haunted with memories best forgotten. Determined to fully renovate the house and reclaim the future, he sets Christmas as his target.

Excerpt from Mistletoe and Midnight Wishes

Still… he always kept Charlotte at a distance, since she was his best friend’s sister which by an undeclared gentleman code of honor made Joseph feel she should be off limits. And then there were Michael’s feelings for the lady. He could never act against his brother’s possible happiness even if it cost Joseph his own.

Her hand came to rest on his arm. “You’re lost in thought, Joseph. Are you sure this was a good idea?” she asked softly.

“Everyone keeps asking me that and it’s the same thing I’m beginning to question. But the answer remains the same. The deal is done and the manor is once again with my family,” Joseph stated, as he began ushering her from the house. “I would prefer if you don’t come inside. I’d rather you see the place once the renovations are complete.”

“But we came to help, didn’t we, Garrett,” she replied, as they met her brother outside.

“Any way we can,” Garrett said, slapping Joseph on his back.

“And I appreciate your offer but I’ve got this in hand,” Joseph answered, even as a wagon began making its way up the drive. “Besides, won’t you be busy with your charge this summer?”

Charlotte waved her hand in the air. “Lola and her father the Earl of Stanhope are off on an extended holiday together. Father, daughter time I suppose.”

Garrett chuckled. “The earl will have his hands full without Charlotte as the girl’s governess, and only a nanny to help him manage the child for the summer.”

“Lola won’t need lessons in reading and writing or any of the other academic studies I have planned for her upon their return,” Charlotte answered. “So, you see, Joseph. We have more than ample time to help you in any way we can lend assistance.”

“We can discuss this more at a later date. First, I need to access the manor and voice my plans with the workmen for the refurbishment. Garrett, we can talk later about how you might help. Charlotte will need to abide by my wishes.” Joseph watched as Charlotte took on a look that said an argument was forthcoming.

“Really, Joseph, I am not some delicate flower that cannot withstand a bit of hard work. Why, I’ll have you know—”

“Charlotte!” Michael’s voice called from the doorway as he hurried to reach her side. “How wonderful to see you… and Garrett, too.” Michael beamed staring at the young lady who was of the same age.

The adoration his brother felt for Charlotte was more than evident, and Joseph stepped back as he always did. But he did not miss the brief glance the lady bestowed upon him, causing his heart to flip end over end in his chest. Joseph wasn’t sure if he imagined the whole encounter but he kept the memory in his heart until their paths would cross again.

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Spotlight on A Gift to the Heart

When the Queen of Misrule takes over the town, sins are laid bare, and brothers lose their hearts.

When Cilla Wintergreen supports her sister’s plans to punish the man who ruined their friend, she helps in a miscarriage of justice, for they catch the wrong man. But no harm is done, except to her imagination. She cannot forget the sight of their victim, half naked, his torso shining in the candlelight. Just as well she is unlikely to meet him again. Until she does.

When Drake Sanderson is mistaken for his licentious older brother Colin, he readily forgives the women who captured him. After all, they release him when they realize he isn’t Colin. But the event changes his life, for one of those women captures his heart, and he won’t give up until she agrees to be his wife or marries another.

When Livy Wintergreen tries to take revenge on a cruel seducer, and catches the wrong man, she puts in train a series of events she could not have imagined. For she had long thought she was too old, too contentious, and too independent to find a man to love her.

When Bane Sanderson rescues his brother from female revelers out for retribution, he did not expect their queen to consume his heart and mind, until courting her seems the only sensible course of action. If she is not put off by his scars, his irregular birth will disgust her. But he must try.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FTFYXNXB

Two brothers, two sisters, two love stories.

An Excerpt from A Gift to the Heart

Livy had come down to earth with a crash. Everything had been going so well. Sanderson had come in response to the letter. He had drunk the wine she had given him and passed out. Her collaborators had helped to strip him and put on the goat’s head. Exactly as they had planned.

And, oh, the uplifting sensation of striking back at all the men who thought they could have whatever they pleased while denying the same freedom to women!

Pacing beside the ass, surrounded by her temporary subjects, she had felt powerful, free, and above all, accepted. And then he had arrived. The man in the hood. Riding through the gathered women to haul their prisoner up onto his horse, and then delivering the devastating words that laid bare her mistake.

It didn’t help that something about his voice, his posture, his sheer presence made her tingle, and not in an unpleasant way. A ridiculous and shaming reaction to a complete stranger she had just offended.

Why had she insisted on having none of the locals in the room before Sanderson had been blinded by the goat head? She had meant to protect them from retaliation, and instead, she had led them into a debacle.

Though they didn’t seem downhearted. They were carrying on with the plans they’d had for the evening before the Maplehurst Hall party had joined them. Blankets had been spread out on the ground. Some of the matrons were carrying around baskets of food.

Several of the villagers were passing out jugs of wine. A group was singing. Livy had heard the tune before, but the scandalous lyrics were new to her.

“Come along, Miss Wintergreen,” said a girl from the village that Livy had met earlier in the evening. “Come and have fun.”

Livy allowed herself to be led to where her sister and other people from the house party were sitting, all mixed in with the villagers and other neighbors. “I am so sorry,” she said to them. “My mistake has ruined the evening.”

“Not your mistake,” someone protested. “You had no way of knowing that the silly boy would take the letter to the wrong brother.”

The whole neighborhood—but not the house party—had known that Colin Sanderson was holding a scandalous gathering at his house for Livy’s cousin Jasper Marple and his friends, all of whom were apparently cut from the same cloth. Mrs. Sanderson had gone to spend Christmas with her mother and had given every maid under forty leave to do likewise. Mr. Sanderson had responded by bringing in a carriage load of scandalous women from the nearest town.

“It sounds as if Colin Sanderson well and truly deserved a shaming,” Cilla observed. “What a pity we got the wrong brother. We didn’t even know there was more than one brother.”

“If I had asked someone who knows him to look…” Livy said.

“They are kind of alike,” another of the villagers offered. “Mr. Drake and Mr. Colin. Though I doubt Mr. Colin Sanderson looks so good with his shirt off! Mr. Drake works on the farms and such.”

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Wedding day on WIP Wednesday

This is an excerpt from my novella for a Dragonblade anthology that will publish next year. My hero and heroine are substitutes for their older siblings in an arranged marriage. Here’s my bride.

When Mima woke on her wedding day, she was not miserable.

She had met her groom. Pel was someone she thought she might have liked, had their families not been at war, and had they met under different circumstances. Their marriage, she cautiously hoped, might not be as terrible as she feared.

Then her best friend Isabelle, one of her female cousins, arrived with the maid carrying the breakfast tray. “You are not getting married without me, Mimmie,” said Bella, “even if you are marrying an ogre.”

“He is not an ogre,” Mima protested, and found herself telling her friend about the night-time visit.

Bella took a predictably romantic view of the encounter. “Oh, I could swoon,” she declared. “He climbed to your balcony, Mimmie! How delicious! Is he handsome? Of course, he must be. It would be a travesty were he not, after he braved all those guards so he could meet you.”

“Do not tell the others,” Mima warned her, as giggles from outside of the door heralded the arrival of the rest of her cousins.

Moments later, she was engulfed in a feminine avalanche, and the next two hours were filled with pampering, primping, praise, and lots of laughter. Almost everything she wore, from the skin out, was new—most of it given by or borrowed from her cousins.

The cream silk gown had been intended for special occasions, and she supposed there were few occasions more special than one’s own wedding. Even so, Bella had declared it needed a little more, and had spent the past two days adding little embroidered flowers to the bodice and hem, each of them a tiny work of art, each chosen to express a suitable sentiment—asters, white carnations, and forget-me-nots for love, myrtle for luck, peonies for a happy life, violets for faithfulness.

One of the other cousins had taken scraps of the fabric and the lace that trimmed it, and made a bonnet to match, decorated with left-over ribbon from the gown and silk flowers that matched those Bella had embroidered.

A third cousin, nearly as deft with her needle as Bella, had embroidered matching slippers for Mima to wear on her feet, and others had searched through their drawers or the local drapery shops for stockings, garters, petticoats, and all the other items Mima needed to do the Ruthermonds proud at the wedding.

Even without her sister’s presence, Mima felt buoyed up on a tide of family love. In fact, if she were to be honest with herself, this way was better. She and Marge had never had more than a cordial relationship, and it had frequently been much less.

Marge seemed to believe Mima was her rival for everything—possessions, talents, parents’ affection and attention. What Marge had, she would not share. What Mima had, Marge wanted.

Marge was the older by three years. Marge was also—at least according to Mama and Marge—cleverer, prettier, and more talented. Mima had to concede the “prettier.” Marge was an English rose—a peaches and cream complexion, golden hair, blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a figure that displayed to advantage in everything she wore.

Mima had dark brown hair. Her blue eyes were closer to a faded grey. And she was undeniably… curvy, a charitable aunt put it. Plump, said Mama and Marge.

Today, though, as she examined herself in the mirror, she felt almost beautiful, and the compliments from her cousins lifted her confidence still further. Let Marge sulk in her tower while Mima married Lord Pelham Townswell! Never had Mima been happier to be the recipient of something—or in this case someone—rejected by Marge.