Author: judeknight

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Flaws and idiosyncrasies in WIP Wednesday

 

Characters can’t be perfect, or there isn’t any story, but the flaws and idiosyncrasies that make them human need to be believable, and possibly endearing. This week, I’m sharing a piece from one of my current works in progress, called either Catch the Wind or One Hour in Freedom, in which my hero and heroine are trying to enter a building without being seen. If you have a passage to share that shows a character’s flaws, please include it in the comments.

Matt’s eye caught movement on a rooftop overlooking the street they were on. “Stop!” he commanded, drawing her under the awning of a shop. She followed his gaze, then turned worried eyes to him.

“The building opposite is the one that belongs to my cousin.”

“Then we had better find out who those people are and what they are looking for,” Matt replied. “First, though, is there a back way into the warehouse?”

He knew she would know. Ellie would never have left her daughter in a place she had not thoroughly scouted. Undoubtedly, she knew every path in and out of all the buildings for streets around.

Her mischievous smile confirmed his assessment, though it didn’t touch the worry in her eyes. “Not exactly. Are you still uneasy about heights?”

She tugged on his hand, and he followed her back the way they had come, but only until they could no longer see the observers on the roof.

Across the road and down a little alley between buildings, so narrow that the top levels cut out the daylight. When someone came towards them, Matt had to drop back so they could pass single file, and even then, both they and the other person had to press themselves against the buildings.

Ellie stopped a few yards further on and watched the passerby. He was outlined against the light at the mouth of the alley and then gone. He hadn’t looked back.

As soon as he was out of sight, Ellie opened a door onto a narrow stairwell. Matt followed her inside with a sinking feeling. They were several buildings from Ellie’s cousin’s warehouse, and there were at least two alleys between them and their destination.

Sure enough, they came out on the roof, several floors higher than the observers across the road.

“I am not afraid of heights,” Matt declared. Heights scared him witless.

Ellie had pulled out a plank half buried in rubbish just behind the parapet. Oh, God.

“Help me with this?” she asked.

He took one end of the plank, then helped her push it out until it sat across the alley to the next building.

He thought he was maintaining a stolid expression, but perhaps not, for Ellie took a good look at him and said, “If you want to meet me in the street in thirty minutes, I can do this.”

“I’m coming with you,” Matt insisted, as his gut urged him to let her go on her own.

She didn’t argue, but leapt up on the parapet and ran lightly across the plank to the next roof.

Matt climbed up a little more slowly. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. It’s only two or three paces. You can do this.

Five steps, to be precise, though none of them were long enough to be called a pace. His feet felt like lead and his hips and knees didn’t want to bend. He reached the other roof and jumped from the parapet, his legs nearly buckling as they suddenly loosened. Sweat rolled from his brow and he was shaking all over. He braced himself. There was at least one more alley to cross.

“Next?” He asked, with a fair assumption of calm.

“Two more crosses,” Ellie told him. “The next building is lower, so we need to go down several floors.” She led the way into another stairwell, and then along a hall and through a huge echoing storage place that was currently empty. On the far side of the room, she stopped at a window that was just a rectangular hole in the wall, the glass and frame long gone.

“The alley is much narrower, so it is just a step from one window to another,” she said, and she took that step and dropped before his eyes. He darted forward in a futile effort to catch her, but she halted before he reached the hole.

There she was, perched on a narrow ledge, busy pushing up a sash window. She was right. Once the window was up, all he had to do was step across. It wasn’t even a long step, but every particle of his body was conscious of the drop below.

He took a deep breath and let it out, then took the step.

Two alleys crossed, and he had not shamed himself in front of Ellie. She knew, of course, that he had some difficulty. He hoped she had no idea how much. He hoped he could nerve himself to make the last cross.

 

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Tea with James

(Or brandy, to be precise. This is another excerpt post from Paradise at Last, which will be published as part of Paradise Triptych. It’s on preorder now and out in three weeks. In the excerpt, Eleanor has been sitting by Cherry’s bedside.)

When the clock struck the hour—three bongs—Ruth yawned and stood. “Go to bed, Your Grace. Get some sleep. Please send someone to sit with these two, and I will go to bed myself.”

Eleanor found a footman in the hall, waiting to take messages. She told him to find someone to replace Lady Asbury, and he said Lady Rosemary had asked to be fetched. He set off to knock on the lady’s door.

When he was out of sight, Eleanor realised that she had no idea which bedchamber she had been assigned. She set off for the guest wing on the other side of the stairwell, hoping a footman might be awake there to direct her. But as she crossed the upper landing, she saw light spilling from a doorway downstairs. Someone was in the drawing room.

Perhaps it was Rosemary. Eleanor should check, and if so, send her up to Ruth.

But when she entered the room, she found James sitting, staring into the embers, deep in thought. He must’ve heard her in the doorway, for he turned, stood, and took a step towards her. Whatever he saw on her face, he held out his arms and Eleanor ran into them and burst into tears.

***

James had no idea what kind of nonsense he spouted as he held Eleanor tenderly, supporting her weight with his arms around her, patting her back, letting the long hours of iron control loose in an abandonment of grief.

He had heard the reports, how she had taken charge at the scene of the accident. She did everything that needed to be done, except, perhaps, she could have thought to send someone after the assailant. All the reports he had received so far said the same thing—no one had a single clue that led anywhere.

He was thinking as a military commander. Eleanor’s focus was on Cherry, as it should have been—on getting her to help as quickly as possible. Then she spent fifteen hours supporting Cherry and Haverford through their ordeal—always calm, always encouraging, Ruth had said when he had met her on her way to bed.

The respect she had won from him since his return to England four years ago, that he thought lost, had returned full force.

Eventually, the stormy tears settled to a quieter weeping. He coaxed her to the chair by the fire and sat, settling her on his knee. He wiped her eyes with his handkerchief. She rested against him, totally spent, occasionally hiccupping another sob. “I have made your shoulder all wet,” she murmured.

“Not for the first time,” James assured her. “I have four daughters, remember.” Although it had been years since his had been their favoured shoulder when life was too cruel to bear. He had not held a woman in his arms for a long time, and this one was not his daughter. Tired as he was, his body reminded him that he desired her.

He shifted her slightly away from the evidence of his inappropriate response. “Would you like a port or a brandy? Something to help you sleep?”

She chuckled. “I will sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. But I don’t know which room my things are in. I saw the light and came to see if it was someone who could direct me.” She reached and cupped his face with her hand, and he had to exert an iron control not to turn his mouth into her palm and kiss it. He would not seduce her while she was so emotionally raw.

And his mind raced on to a future time, when she was not so vulnerable. For he would seduce her. Yes, and marry her, too, if she would have him.

She was speaking again, and he must pay attention. “I did not intend to weep all over you. I apologise, James.”

“It was my privilege. You have carried your family today; I am proud to be the person you did not have to be strong for. I think, perhaps, you do not realise how amazing you are, for it is what you always do. It is I who should apologise to you, for my cruel words and my coldness after your mistake with Cherry and your son. I hope you will forgive me for being such a self-righteous idiot. My female relatives have pointed out that I am not so perfect myself that I have a right to demand perfection from my friends. Can we be friends again, Eleanor? Will you forgive me?”

The tears welled again but she smiled as she dashed at them with his handkerchief. “I am not usually such a watering pot,” she complained. “James, if you can forgive me, I can forgive you.

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Spotlight on A Time to Wed

On the run from the life that has let her down time and again, Jaime Abernathy escapes to Scotland – where she falls through time and into the arms of a man from centuries past.

For years, Jaime has yearned to find a place she can call home – and has been let down time and again. She finally followed her heart to Scotland, the home of her ancestors. When she falls in the woods near her ancestral family home, she awakens with a pair of strong arms wrapped around her – and is convinced that she has finally gone mad.

Son of the laird of the McDermonts, Alec is torn between avoiding his arranged marriage and keeping peace with a warring clan. Convinced treachery is on the horizon, he needs a plan – and when he finds Jaime alone in the woods, he senses a way out.

When Jaime agrees to a fake marriage, little does she know the depths of Highland clan politics she is falling into. Finding herself caught between Alec and his family, she must help keep the peace before she returns where she belongs… if only she can discover just where that is.

Series Title: To the Time of the Highlanders Book 1

Genre: Steamy Scottish Time Travel

Buy Link: https://mybook.to/ATimeToWed

Excerpt:

“How could the path just disappear?” she muttered in between gasps. 
There! From the edge, she saw the expanse of grass she had been searching for. 
As relief flooded through her, she started running again, this time unaware of where she was stepping. As she reached the place where she expected to be surrounded by lush grass, she found nothing more than a clearing in the woods.
 “Damn it!” she screamed to the trees. Why was nothing making sense?
 Jaime bent down to catch her breath, fighting back the tears of panic stinging her eyes. The light was almost gone now, but she didn’t want to stop yet. Striding fast, but not quite at a jog, Jaime moved through the woods searching for any sign of familiar surroundings. Something, anything that she had seen on the way into the forest.
 As she stepped forward, expecting to feel the soft earth beneath her feet, her body fell forward into the darkness. She shrieked in terror as she flailed her arms wildly around her. The wind rushed past her, and the sides of the dark hole began to move so quickly it looked like stars surrounding her. She fell faster and faster until her vision finally gave out and darkness overtook her.

Meet Ellie

Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion — romance novels.

In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.

Ellie and her husband love nothing more than spending time at home with their children and Husky cross. Ellie can typically be found at the lake in the summer, pushing the stroller all year round, and, of course, with her computer in her lap or a book in hand.

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Witch persecutions, Satanist cabals, plagues of dancing and meowing nuns

The case of the meowing nuns is one of the more bizarre cases of mass hysteria recorded in history. In the 14th century, a nun in northern France began meowing like a cat. Within a week, the rest of the nuns had picked up the practice, and they would spend hours together meowing and purring, sometimes for hours. In the sixteenth century, hundreds of people in Strasburg, also in France, were subject to a dancing frenzy so prolonged that some died of heart attacks and strokes. In both cases, the official explanation was possession by the devil, and the sufferers were forced to pray until they were cured.

In the 17th century, over 19 counties in England organised militias to defenced against ‘Wild marauding Irishmen’, who they believed to be on their way, despite a complete lack of evidence (and Irishmen). That’s a pretty impressive misinformation campaign, and completely without the benefit of the Internet.

The persecution of witches in one place after another over a period of around 500 years is another example of how easily people believe something that isn’t true and not only twist the facts to fit but also see, hear, and otherwise sense things that didn’t happen. Likewise the rash of ghost and monster sightings of the nineteenth century. In the twentieth century, police in a number of countries spent weeks, even months, investigating non-existent crimes because of a whole group of witnesses sincerely believed they had seen them happen, or even been victims.

The Satanist ritual abuse scare of the 1980s and 90s was another widespread phenomenon that has been thoroughly exploded in investigation.

We are creatures of our environment, affected by the beliefs and practices of those near to us. If there is a lesson to learned from this, it is be careful who you listen to.

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Second chances on WIP Wednesday

Second-chance love is a great trope, whether with the original lover or with someone new. One of my current works-in-progress has my protagonists coming back together after an explosive parting years earlier. These two fell in love when they were adolescents running wild in the streets of London. They fell into bed when they met again in Spain during the war, and parted when each believes the other a traitor. Five more years on, he is a Surveyor for the Thames River Police, and she is an assassin sent to kill him.

If you have a second chance love on the go, please share an excerpt in the comments.

Rather than stay awake until the early hours of the morning, Matt had feinted going out to dinner, and his pursuer turned quarry had taken the bait. He’d subdue the man, find out what he wanted and who sent him, hand him over to the local constables, and still have an early night.

The light glinted on a pair of weapons in the intruder’s belt and suddenly Matt knew why he had been dogged all evening by the sense he was missing something obvious. He knew who was breaking into his room, even in dim light when all he could see was her back. Who else carried short daggers with three blades in a trident? His subconscious had seen past her male disguise. Probably even the disguise as the veiled widow.

Once, he would have said his heart would recognise her anywhere. Apparently, that was still true, which was why he had long since stopped listening to the unreliable organ.

She bent to his door, a lock pick at the ready.

“No need, Elektra,” he told her. “It is unlocked.”

He had to give her credit. She did not start, nor show any other outward sign of alarm. Perhaps she froze for a brief second, but nothing more. “Matthias. It has been a long time.”

“If you have come to finish what you started in Spain, I suggest you turn around and leave. And keep going.” He was annoyed at the bitterness in his voice. His feelings for Ellie—any feelings, including the hatred he had nurtured since her betrayal—were a weakness. She was a vicious she-wolf, and would tear into any weakness without mercy.

“I made a mistake in Spain,” Ellie told him. “I trusted the wrong person. I have regretted it ever since. I am not here to attack you, Matthias.”

An apology? Did she think that would make things right between them? “Whatever your errand, you have wasted your time. We have nothing to say to one another.” No point in letting fly with all the accusations he could mount against her.

After their last confrontation—after she had sworn she was only following orders and then disappeared into the night never to return—he had set out to prove her innocence of the accusations against her, only to find her treachery confirmed at every turn.

If he let go of the volcano of words stored up inside him, he knew he would not stop. It would be no wiser to begin a verbal battle than to let free the physical desire that had sprung to full life as soon as he had seen her. Hatred and lust could apparently coexist, but he would as soon touch a viper. “Leave, Elektra.”

Instead, she opened his bedchamber door and stepped inside.

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Tea with Miranda

Miss Miranda de Courtenay squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and entered the parlor of the Duchess of Haverford. This wasn’t the first time she had been introduced to Her Grace nor was this the first time she had been in the Haverford household.

Brief glimpses of memory flashed quickly across her mind. Miranda’s stupid bet with her sister Grace had almost been Miranda’s ruin at Hollystone Hall. Of course, Miranda could look back on it now and be thankful she had left the manor still a virgin. She should have never set her caps so high as to actually think she could get the Marquis of Aldridge to propose marriage to a girl of her inexperience and young years. Her bet had been destined to fail from the start.

The duchess was sitting near a window where the sunbeams seemed to float into the room. A tea trolly was near at hand. Miranda gave her best curtsey still curious as to why she had been requested to join the duchess for tea. The reason did not matter in the least. When the Duchess of Haverford summoned you, it was best that you present yourself post haste!

“Miss de Courtenay. A pleasure to see you again. Please take a seat and let me pour you a cup of tea,” the duchess said politely.

“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Miranda murmured taking the china cup and taking a sip of the tea that she hoped would calm her overly active nerves.

The duchess took her time assessing her before she spoke. “You must be wondering why I asked you to join me here today.”

Miranda’s cup rattled on the saucer before she put the tea down on a nearby table. “It has crossed my mind a time or two.”

“I am not here to discuss your past… indiscretions,” the duchess began.

“Your Grace, I—”

“There is no need for you to explain, my dear. I am only concerned that going forward you shall remain wary of putting yourself into situations that could once more be the ruin of your reputation.”

Miranda attempted not to fidget in her chair. “Your Grace is all too kind to be concerned for me. However, I assure you that with my brother and sister having me live at their estates in the country, there are have been no further opportunities to… get myself into trouble.”

The duchess’s brow rose. “Your quest for a title gentleman is well known within Society. Living in London or the country and knowing you as I do, I have no doubt that trouble shall follow you if you continue on your current course of finding yourself wed to nobility. Do not be so foolish as to put yourself in another situation as you did at Hollystone Hall.”

Miranda gulped at the horrible reminder of what Aldridge and Gren had proposed; to be a shared mistress between them. God forbid if she ever found herself in such a circumstance again.

“I assure you, Your Grace, that I have learned my lesson well,” Miranda answered quietly.

“Splendid!” the duchess declared. “Now tell me of Bath and how your family has been fairing since I have last seen them.”

Miranda began filling in the duchess on the mundane matters of living in the country. Before long, her audience with the Duchess of Haverford was at an end. Somehow, Miranda had survived the meeting. She couldn’t leave fast enough and for once, looked forward to returning home to the boring routine her life had become.

Did you think you knew Miranda de Courtney? Jude’s review of Before I Found You

I’m so pleased Sherry Ewing has finally given Miranda her match in Before I Found You. Miranda made her first appearance in A Kiss for Charity, in which her older sister was the heroine. With her determination to garner herself a title, and her foolhardy boldness in picking my Marquis of Aldridge as a target, she certainly attracted my attention. The lesson she received from Aldridge and his brother Gren didn’t take. In The Earl Takes a Wife, she is up to her old tricks. This time, her machinations trap her brother and her best friend into a forced marriage.

How was Sherry going to make her a sympathetic character, so that we readers wanted her to succeed? The answer is given in Before I Found You. All I can say is that Jasper at first seems better than she deserves. But he sees her as she is, and she becomes the woman he thinks her. A beautiful love story, and one I strongly recommend.

Before I Found You

Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady. But when a handsome stranger crosses her path at a Valentine’s Day ball, her obsession with titles dims. Might love be enough?

Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball. He has a new ship to run, passengers to book, and cargo to deliver. But one look into a young lady’s beautiful hazel eyes, and he becomes lost. Does love at first sight really exist?

Their paths continue to cross until they are both stranded in Fenwick on Sea. Their growing connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s childish quest for a title at all cost. But what if the cost includes love?

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4XDrva

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Spotlight on The Bachelor Betrayal

He wants justice
Underestimating Marcus Black is the last thing his enemies ever do. After all, the respected Earl of Westwood is a deadly threat… when her Majesty needs him to be. And his only goal is to avenge his brother’s murder. Which would be much easier if the viciously-skilled Lady Kaitlyn Montrose wouldn’t swoop in, knee him in the bollocks, and then run off with his only lead…

She wants revenge
Kat is determined to avenge her beloved uncle’s murder and nothing will stop her. Especially not the devastatingly handsome, and equally lethal Marcus Black. The fact that he’s after the same target is a complication she hadn’t planned on.  And as much as she enjoys taunting him, she has a job to do—one that doesn’t include sparring with the infuriating man at every turn. Except Kat has a new plan… one that Marcus will just hate.

Now they’ll have to work together… if they don’t kill each other first
Individually, Marcus and Kat are deadly. If they worked together, they could be unstoppable. But when attraction gets in the way of vengeance, it’s more than hearts on the line. And only one person can win…

THE BACHELOR BETRAYAL by Maddison Michaels

Release Date: 14 February 2022

Buy Link: www.books2read.com/TheBachelorBetrayal

 

AUTHOR BIO:

Indoctrinated into a world of dashing rogues and feisty heroines when she was a teenager and picked up her first ever historical romance, Maddison Michaels has been a prolific reader and writer of historical romance ever since. She is the bestselling author of six books, including THE DEVILISH DUKE which won the 2019 RWA Australia Historical Romantic Book of the Year.

Writing historical romance is Maddison’s way of time traveling back to Victorian London to experience a cornucopia of intrigue, romance and adventure all from the comfort of her living room! She also loves incorporating her previous 16 years experience as a police officer into the mystery and suspense elements of her books.  She lives in Sydney, Australia with her own handsome hero, beautiful daughter and fur baby, and she always starts her day with a cup of liquid gold…coffee – just quietly, she’s addicted to the stuff!

Maddison absolutely loves to hear from her readers and you can find her at http://www.maddisonmichaels.com/ or on most social media platforms!

 

Author Links:

Website: http://maddisonmichaels.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MaddisonMichaelsAuthor/
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/mmichaelsauthor
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/maddisonmichaelsauthor/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17367583.Maddison_Michaels

Amazon Author Page : https://www.amazon.com/Maddison-Michaels/e/B079LXRLQ7

Bookbub:     https://www.bookbub.com/authors/maddison-michaels

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The internet, research, and getting my protagonists from Coventry to London by mail coach

Print or electronic for research? When a period, place, event, or individual is crucial to my story, and I want to immerse myself in accurate historical research and accounts contemporary to the time, I prefer print. I can bookmark passages that are particularly relevant, and have several books on my desk so that I can cross-reference between them to check particular details as I write.

When I want a quick fact, I love the internet. Yesterday, I wanted to get my protagonists from Birmingham to London by mail coach. They were in a hurry. They had the money. I needed to know

  • the time of year (fixed by the event they were attending, the assizes)
  • the state of the light
  • the time the coach departed Coventry
  • when and where the coach completed its run in London.

The internet, with a bit of hunting around, mainly in old digitised memoirs and books by early twentieth century coaching enthusiasts, told me.

  • The assizes weren’t held in Birmingham for another thirty years. I had to move the action to Coventry. The Coventry assizes were in March.
  • Time and place calculators abound. I found out the sun and moon times really easily.
  • The mail coach I decided to use left from Chester. That service did the 188 mile distance in a single 24 hour run, leaving Chester at 8am and the Golden Horn in London at the same time.

For a daily service in each direction the operators needed:

  • 4 stage-coaches, (at any one time, one coach was travelling south, another travelling north, and a spare coach was kept at each end of the route to allow for maintenance, breakdowns, etc.)
  • 188 horses, (a team of four every eight miles, horses rested every other day, a simple equation that works out at one horse per mile of route.)
  • 8 coachmen (drivers, 50 miles each per day)
  • 4 guards (each did 24 hours on-duty then 24 hours off)
  • Payment of stage-coach tax (a sum per mile)
  • Payment of road tolls (substantial sums)

A full load was 5 passengers on a mail coach, 4 or 6 on a post-coach, and 16 on an ordinary stage-coach. [The Stagecoach Industry: http://www.carlscam.com/coachindustry.htm]

These days, we’re becoming very aware of the negatives of the internet. It can be a time waster and an emotions vampire. Misinformation abounds, and research requires disciplined checking of credibility. But for purposes like mine, it is wonderful. And okay. Maybe nobody who reads the resultant book will know or care that the Coventry Assizes is in the correct month, or that I moved my Coventry action forward two hours to give my protagonists time to catch the coach. But detail matters to me. So there you go.

Oh. And now I want to write a character who is a mailcoach driver or a guard with a family at each end of his run.

(By the way, I do want to write about the Assizes. Some other time.)

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Weddings on WIP Wednesday

About a third of the way through one of my current works in progress, my heroine and hero marry. It is a marriage of convenience–her wealth for his protection. She has a cousin who wants to control her finances; he has inherited a bankrupt estate and some rapacious relatives.

So a lot more to go, but I hope I get some of the challenges they face into wedding scene. The first half was in a post last month on the wedding bouquet. Here’s the second. Please let me know what you yjoml in the comments. And if you’re an author, I’d love you to share a wedding of your own.

She had attended weddings in Greenmount, and was familiar with the ceremony, but it was different as a bride. The admonitions, the solemn declarations, the vows, that moment when Peter placed his ring on her finger—every word resonated with some deep and previously unsuspected romanticism in her soul.

From this day forth, she and Peter were bound together, the bond between them as deep as the links of blood, no longer individuals from two different families but a couple in a family of their own. In sickness or in health, for richer, for poorer, they repeated after the vicar.

Ariel’s mind echoed the phrasing: in happiness or in misery, in love or in hate. She had seen both conditions in the families that lived in Greenmount.  Marriage was for a lifetime. As she stood before the vicar, gazing at Peter with her hands in his, hope swelled. She had been prepared for a cold alliance, a marriage of convenience. With Peter, she could dream of so much more. Kindness, respect, even friendship. And perhaps children.

The vicar pronounced them husband and wife, and called on them to sign the record of the marriage, then said, with a flourish, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lord and Lady Ransome.”

Peter tucked Arial’s hand in his arm, and turned them both so that they faced their witnesses. Clara was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. Miss Pettigrew smiled as if she was personally responsible for the wedding, and proud to have pulled it off. Angelica and Violet were so happy they bounced. And Mr Richards, who truly was responsible for the wedding, beamed broadly.

Behind the small group of chairs, the servants stood silently, every one of them with smiles on their faces and several with tears in their eyes.

Then Captain Forsythe broke the spell of stillness in the room by grabbing Peter’s free hand and shaking it. “Congratulations, Peter. I am so happy for you.”

The two girls hurried forward to speak to Peter, and Captain Forsythe turned to Ariel. “I’ve always thought Peter was a lucky devil, Lady Ransome, and winning you for a bride proves it.”

Arial thanked him, though she was inclined to think the luck was on her side. She held out her arms to the girls, and received an enthusiastic hug from Violet and a shy one from Angelica. Then Clara was there, laughing and crying, and Miss Pettigrew with modest good wishes for the happy couple.

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Tea with Lord Colyton’s daughters

(Another excerpt post from Paradise at Last)

Colyton’s mother and Colyton’s three daughters arrived in London several days before the wedding. Lady Colyton had been living retired in the country for some years and had never moved in the same circles as Eleanor, so a dinner Cherry hosted was the first opportunity that Jessica’s family had to meet the lady.

“Perhaps she was over-awed by her company,” Cherry said, charitably, the following morning.

“Yes, perhaps.” Eleanor voiced the agreement, but privately thought that Lady Colyton thought herself too good for the company. The brief and rare comments she had made were all animadversions about the morals of the fashionable world.

Jessica had no concerns. “I am not marrying Colyton’s mother, Aunt Eleanor.” She shrugged. “Colyton says she will be moving to a townhouse in Cheltenham as soon as we are wed. I will be there to supervise the children and the servants, so she will no longer be needed.”

If Colyton’s mother was less than happy about the marriage, his daughters were ecstatic. Eleanor had asked to meet them, and Colyton brought them for afternoon tea with Eleanor, Cherry, Jessica, and her sisters. The three little girls were polite, but very quiet. However, when Jessica asked if they would be her attendants at the wedding, along with Frances, the youngest girl pounced on her heels with glee. The eldest cast an anxious glance at their father. The middle child piped up, “Grandmere says that children do not go to weddings. Children should not be heard, and preferably not seen.”

Jessica met Colyford’s eyes as she said, “I am sure your grandmother will agree that on her wedding day a bride has a right to decide who comes to the wedding. Unless your father forbids it,” and an incipient glare hinted that he would be in for an argument if he tried, “you shall come to my wedding.”

Colyton frowned.

Eleanor could not resist. “Perhaps Lady Colyton, living retired as she does, does not realise that the rules are different for close relatives of the bride and groom. When the Earl and Countess of Ashbury married, his daughters were her attendants, and at the time, they were younger than any of you.”

“Yes, and my nephew was at my wedding,” Cherry said.

Colyton inclined his head. “How can I refuse my bride? I shall speak with Mother.”