Author: judeknight

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 21

Epilogue

Winshire House, London, January 1813

Eleanor had not visited her friends in Winshire House in nearly a year; had not seen them since they quit London in July, after the series of attacks on the family.

Today, she was going to ignore the prohibitions of the despot who ruled her family. He was convalescing in Kent, and would be away for at least another month. By the time he found out that she had made a condolence call on Grace and Georgie, it would be far too late for him to stop her. She hoped to see her goddaughter, too, who had married James’s eldest son just before the turn of the year, a day before the Duke of Winshire died.

At first, she had thought to go on her own, but Matilda and Jessica wanted to express their sympathies to Georgie’s daughters, who had been their friends since the cradle. Rather, they seized on the excuse to visit with the girls, whom they had sorely missed during the feud between Haverford and Winshire. No one could possibly imagine that anyone in the Winshire family actually mourned the sour old man who had just died.

Since she was going for precisely the same reason, she agreed, and then Aldridge announced that he planned to escort them. “When I am duke, Mama, I hope that the new Winshire and I will be able to work together, and I like what I’ve seen of his sons.”

In the end, they all went, late in the afternoon. Only Jon was missing. A month ago, he had sailed from Margate in Aldridge’s private yacht, and just this morning, a package had been delivered by a weary sailor, with a report from Aldridge’s captain for the marquis, and a brief note from Jon for his mother. “Married. Safe. More news later.” Aldridge grinned at the scrawled words. “Jon has landed on his feet again, Mama,” he told her. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know how he always manages to do that!”

The Winshire drawing room was crowded, of course, but the Haverfords were invited to remove themselves to a private parlour, where their hostesses joined them after the other visitors had completed the polite fifteen minutes and been shown out.

“Do stay for refreshments,” Grace begged, and before long Lord Andrew Winderfield had carried Aldridge off for a game of billiards, the girls from both families had gone up to the twins’ little sitting room, and the older ladies settled in to catch up on all that had happened in their lives while they had been separated.

James joined them part way through the conversation, staying when his sister assured him he was not intruding. I did not come to see him. Of course, she had not. And yet, here he was and she felt herself turn towards him, a sunflower to his sun. She hoped her reaction was hidden from her friends. Thank goodness, my all-too-perceptive son is out of the room.

The new Duke of Winshire. Had my father accepted his offer for my hand, I would still have become a duchess, in the end. And there would be no Aldridge. No Jonathan. Perhaps none of the charities she had brought into existence out of her own urge to make the world an easier place for women.

David would still exist, if his grandfather had not beaten him to death in childhood. He’d been conceived before the Duke of Haverford even set eyes on Eleanor.

None of James’s wonderful children, though.

Perhaps Matilda, Jessica, and Frances might have been born, too, though who knew whether they would have survived and what they might have become without her intervention.

As if her thought had conjured them up, the girls came back into the room, and immediately, the Winderfield girls began telling their elders about “Aunt Eleanor’s house party to support women’s education.”

“Matilda and Jessica have been telling us all about it, Papa,” the elder of James’s daughters told him, perching on the arm of his chair and leaning trustingly against his shoulder. “I want to help girls who want to acquire medical knowledge. What do you think, Papa?”

James looked past his daughter to smile warmly at Eleanor. “Your wards are powerful advocates of your cause, Your Grace.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Ruth, it is your money to invest. Perhaps you could fund a scholarship?”

The others broke in with objections about finding teachers, and strategies for overcoming that obstacle. Eleanor sat quietly in the warmth of James’s smile. Yes, they could be friends. It would be enough. And the charities she had sponsored as Duchess of Haverford would be in safe hands for the next generation. What wonderful daughters her three were.

THE END

(But, as you all know, heroines deserve a happy ending, as since Eleanor is not yet happy, it is not the end. Watch out for Paradise at Last, the final novella in the three that tell the story of the mountain king and the duchess who loved him.

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Spotlight on Highland Hope

Highland Hope

Of Mist and Mountains, Book 1

By Julie Johnstone

Release date 9/28/21

Sometimes the one you love is the very one you cannot have.

Lady Eve Sotherby dreams of escaping her horrid life in England, yet she has nowhere to run. So when she spies a posting for a companion in the Highlands, she seizes the chance to disappear. She’s heard tales about the barbaric Highlanders, of course, but no one can be worse than the beast she once foolishly agreed to wed. And never mind that she doesn’t meet any of the requirements for the position: must have no family, must love the cold, and must know the healing arts. Her depraved relations hardly qualify as family, she’ll wear a shawl, and how hard can it be to learn medicinal ways?

Laird Royce MacLeod rules the fiercest clan in the Highlands with an iron fist, but his two children are another matter. Since the death of his wife, they’ve grown quite unruly. Too busy with his clan duties to tend to them himself, he needs someone with both a spine of steel and a kind heart to subdue them. What he does not need—or want—is to get entangled with a woman who desires anything related to soft emotions from him. So when a mysterious woman appears at his holding showing the sort of mettle he requires, he takes her on, despite her two major flaws: she’s English and she’s beautiful.

Soon, Eve finds herself yearning for the one thing her past prevents her from ever having—the honorable but brooding Highlander. And the Scot who was certain he desired only order and obedience cannot explain the undeniable pull to the chaos and warmth Eve brings to his home. But the more they deny their feelings, the more impossible they become to resist, and when enemies and secrets threaten, Eve and Royce may only survive by surrendering to true love. If only it’s not too late…

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09FP5D7VP

B&N – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/highland-hope-julie-johnstone/1140141838?ean=2940162263289

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/highland-hope/id1584913617

Google Play – https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=I3k_EAAAQBAJ

Excerpt

Eve had never been down to the waterfront village at night. It was quite different from the bustle of the daytime when the village was crowded with vendors hocking their wares. No shouts filled the air trying to get her to purchase something, and she wasn’t being constantly bumped into in the thick of the crowd.

The salt blew on the cool breeze from the water. She could taste it on her tongue, and a dampness still permeated the air, making her skin slick and her hair wave around her shoulders. She followed Alban down the cobbled street that danced with shadows cast from the moon and the candlelight that flooded out of the taverns as they passed. Bursts of noise—merry laughter, raucous singing, and the buzzing of voices raised in conversation—came from the multiple taverns, but Alban’s clipped pace did not allow her to catch a glimpse of the people inside.

His boots clopped on the cobblestones as they walked, and Eve found herself wishing she’d worn sturdier shoes than her thin slippers. The bottoms of her feet stung, but she did not fall behind. This could be her only chance to escape. Alban came to a sudden stop in front of a tavern on the corner across from the water. Music floated out of the establishment, as well as the smell of freshly baked bread. Eve’s stomach growled in response.

Alban pointed to the row of tents in the distance. “That’s the Summer Walkers’ camp.” People scurried in front of the six tents, and at the end of the row, it appeared that two shelters had already been dismantled to leave the area as Frederick had ordered. “The one on the end is the seer. That’s who you want.”

Eve glanced at the tent that sat slightly apart from the others. The flogging pole in front of it—where people were punished when they annoyed Frederick—obscured the view of the opening flap, but candlelight spilled from the shelter onto the cobbled path. Eve counted two people standing in line to undoubtedly have their fortunes read. “You’re not coming with me?” she asked, trying not to sound hopeful that he wouldn’t. If she was alone and they agreed to take the egg as payment to help her escape, then perhaps she could flee now if Alban was preoccupied.

When he shook his head, Eve pressed her lips together on the relieved breath she wanted to exhale and counted her blessings. “I don’t like seers,” he said. “So I’ll be right inside the Black Mule attending to my needs.”

She knew from his earlier comment about a wench what he meant, and she hoped he found one, so he’d forget Eve altogether. “Very well,” she said. She started to turn away, but his hand clasped around her wrist. When she faced him once more, he narrowed his eyes upon her.

“Return straight here after your reading, my lady. I don’t need to remind you of the one time you tried to escape, do I?”

She shook her head as a strong wind suddenly blew, as if to remind her of when she nearly froze to death. “No. I’m well aware I would freeze in this weather.”

“You would,” he confirmed, still clasping her wrist. “And in case you were inclined to chance your life, I feel snow coming.”

She frowned. “How can you feel snow coming?”

“The air is heavier tonight, the wind sharper. Snow will be upon us by morning. Get your reading and return. I’m granting you this favor, but don’t mistake it for friendship. I’m your guard, and if you disappeared, mine would be the head my lord would be inclined to remove. So be certain, I’d pursue you to keep my life, and you’d need to run so far and disappear so completely that you’d never be found. Because if you were found, I’d bring you back.”

She got the strangest feeling he almost wanted her to try to escape and was warning her what she would need to do to prevent him or one of Frederick’s other men from finding her, but that was ridiculous. Why would he want to aid her now? She licked her lips. “I’ll return straight after my reading.”

Alban nodded. “I had a sister,” he said suddenly. “She died not two days ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eve said.

“You reminded me of her when I came upon you in my lord’s room. She had hair the same moonbeam color as yours, and Malbec beat her, as well.”

“Was your sister wed to Malbec?”

“She was. And she wasn’t blessed with a child, either.” Alban eyed her knowingly and released her wrist. He reached up to his neck, unclasped his heavy cloak, and settled it on her shoulders. “So you don’t catch a chill while we’re out here.”

Her jaw slackened at the undeniable truth then. He was trying to aid her in escaping, and tears pricked her eyes. She’d been alone in a land of cruel strangers for so long, and here, on the very night she was hoping to flee, she’d found kindness. “Alban, I—”

“Make haste, my lady. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

 

Meet Julie Johnstone

Julie Johnstone is a USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling author. Scottish historical romance, Regency historical romance, and historical time travel romance featuring highlanders, aristocrats, and modern-day bad billionaire bad boys are her love, and she enjoys creating both with a hefty dose of twists, plenty of heartstring tugs, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Her books have been dubbed “fabulously entertaining and engaging,” making readers cry, laugh, and swoon. Johnstone lives in Alabama with her two children – the heir and the spare, her snobby cat, and her perpetually happy dog.

In her spare time she enjoys way too much coffee balanced by hot yoga, reading, and traveling.

https://www.juliejohnstoneauthor.com
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Conversations–I talk to Elizabeth Ellen Carter about rakes

A couple of weeks ago, I had a lovely time on Zoom talking to Elizabeth Ellen Carter about redeeming rakes, unredeemable rakes, and my Marquis of Aldridge.

Here’s the interview.

Check out Elizabeth’s channel for other great interviews.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHbPv1zpUfKsHaCL__oaWRQ

 

 

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Older heroes and heroines on WIP Wednesday

Do you enjoy stories with older characters as the main protagonists? If you’ve written one, please share an excerpt in the comments. I’m currently writing the last book in the Paradise Tryptych: the happy ever after for my Duchess of Haverford and the man she loves. It starts something like this.

Eleanor was tired of wearing black; tired of dresses with minimal trim and accessories that repeated the dismal colour. She hated the unspoken rules that restricted the types of activity a widow might enjoy. She missed her friends and her usual social round. She despised the hypocrisy that expected her to make an outward show of mourning a cruel despot who had never shown her a particle of affection or consideration, and who would have consumed every vestige of her will and destroyed all of her happiness if she had not found ways to manage him.

Above all, she was bored, bored, bored. No. That was not her predominant emotion. She would be honest with herself though she dissembled to the rest of the world. The feeling that currently ruled her life was grief, but not for Haverford.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 20

Thank goodness she had been strong enough to hold out for the right to keep the children. As long as he never saw them, was not expected to acknowledge them in any way, and provided nothing extra for their support, he chose to treat her fostering as an eccentric hobby.

Frances had been the third, her birth a scandalous secret even Haverford did not want disclosed. Eleanor loved the three girls with all her heart, loved them as fiercely as she loved her two sons. And she could not regret bringing them into her home, selfish of her though it was.

She had learned better, especially after the disastrous end to David Wakefield’s time under the Haverford roofs. For years now, she had been quietly settling her husband’s by-blows in less scrutinised households, carefully supervised to ensure they had the love and care she wanted for those who shared blood with her sons.

As for the three sisters, their origins and the prominence of the family meant they would face many barriers in a quest for a fulfilling life. If only they did not so strongly bear the Grenford stamp! Still, with her support and that of her sons, all would be well. She hoped. She prayed.

Time to announce her presence. “Miss Markson, is this a good time for an interruption? I have come to take tea with the young ladies.”

***

Hollystone Hall, December 1812

Eleanor smiled at the family gathered in her private sitting room. Matilda was pouring the tea, and Frances was carefully carrying each cup to the person for whom it had been prepared. Jessica was sitting on the arm of Aldridge’s chair, regaling him with stories about the kitten she had adopted from the kitchen. Cedrica sat quietly, as usual, but the distracted smile and the glow of happiness were new, and her thoughts were clearly on her French chef, whom she had, unless Eleanor missed her guess, kissed in the garden last night.

Jonathan—dear Jonathan, back in England and arriving by surprise on Christmas Eve—was making Jessica laugh with faces he was pulling out of Aldridge’s view, though from the quirk in the corner of Aldridge’s mouth, he was well aware of his brother’s antics.

Eleanor smiled around the room at her children, her heart at ease to have all five of her children with her. Two sons of her body, and three daughters of her heart. Deciding to bring the girls into her nursery had been one of the best decisions she had ever made.

Eleanor accepted another cup of tea from Frances, exchanged a smile with Matilda, and saluted the other three with her cup. How fortunate she was.

If she had been a cowed and obedient wife, her life would have lacked much richness. She had regrets—who didn’t? If she’d been braver, she would have permitted the girls to call her ‘Mama’, rather than ‘Aunt Eleanor’.  But that would have been a red rag to the duke’s bull. The safer path was, probably, the right one.

Eleanor caught Frances’s eye and patted the seat beside her. “You did that very well, my dear,” she told the girl. Frances was much younger than the other two, and Eleanor was pleased she’d be at home for a while longer. Perhaps, by the time Frances married, one of the others would have given her grandchildren. She smiled again at the thought. Yes, Eleanor had been very fortunate.

 

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Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 5

Fifth contest over. Congratulations to Carolyn, our winner for week five.

Week five contest

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Fifth week prize is:

  • an ecopy of a title from my backlist of books (winner’s choice)
  • a face mask in history themed fabric from RegencyStylebySusana
  • an ecopy of the Bluestocking Belles collection Fire & Frost

Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

  • A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of origin
  • A print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady
  • A personal card signed by me and sent from New Zealand
  • A made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.

This week’s discount is 99c for Farewell to Kindness

Runs from 21st September to 29th September

Available at this price from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Farewell-Kindness-Golden-Redepennings-Book-ebook/dp/B00TXRW4KA/

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/farewell-to-kindness

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is Lost in the Tale.

Runs from 21st September to 7 October. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/lost-in-the-tale

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Brothers on WIP Wednesday

Or sisters. Sisters would be fine. Share an excerpt that features a brother or sister or similar age cousin to your hero or heroine. I’m just finishing my beta draft for the next Bluestocking Belles box set, and I have a rather lovely brother. Awkward, much? Yes, quite a bit. But he means well. In the excerpt below, he decides a family connection will do a better job of presenting his sister than he can.

Chloe changed the subject. “I am visiting Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters tomorrow morning. Aunt Swithin, will you come with me? I can go with my maid, if you prefer.”

Martin surprised her. “I will escort you, Chloe. I wish to pay my respects to Lady Seahaven, and I should visit our sisters.”

“They will be thrilled, Martin.” Mama had given her second husband, the Earl of Seahaven, two daughters, Emma and Merry. They had remained with the Earl of Seahaven when Mama died, and Uncle Swithin insisted on Chloe being returned to her brother’s household.

Chloe had kept in touch in the intervening years, but Martin had only met his half-sisters after Uncle Swithin’s death.

“Lady Dorothy was telling me about their ball, Chloe, and I had an idea. What do you think of us asking Lady Seahaven to include you as one of her protégées?”

“She has been very kind about including me in when she and her step-daughters make visits,” Chloe observed. Lady Seahaven and the Bigglesworth sisters had started with some personal connections and a few recommendations from relatives, and had brokered them into introductions to most of York Society.

“Precisely,” Martin agreed. “They know many more people than we do, and their ball will be much better attended than any entertainment I could put on for you. But I would not wish you to be neglected in such a big crowd of sisters.”

Aunt Swithin cackled. “Only three sisters that count, Martin. Lady Seahaven is giving the ball for the Seahaven Diamonds, and quite right, too. Next to them, no one will notice that our Chloe, nor any other female, either.”

“Aunt Swithin,” Martin protested, “Chloe would make a fine match for any gentleman of discernment.”

“Josepha and the twins can only marry one man apiece,” Chloe pointed out, though privately she agreed with Aunt Swithin’s assessment. Short and dumpy as she was, she suffered by comparison to the four Bigglesworth sisters who were her age and older, but the three younger girls would have been reigning beauties even in a London Season.

They had been dubbed the Seahaven Diamonds after their first public appearance in York, and the sooner they selected from among their swarming suitors, the better all the other marriageable ladies in York would like it.

“Besides, Aunt Swithin, it isn’t just about the ball. If Lady Seahaven agrees to sponsor me, hostesses who are inviting the Seahavens will include me in their invitations. I will have many more opportunities to meet eligible gentlemen.” And much good it might do me, for I shall still be unfashionably plump, two years past twenty, and far too opinionated for most gentlemen.

Martin nodded. “That is what I thought. I shall ask Lady Seahaven, then, shall I? I will, of course, offer her the money I planned to spend on a party of some kind. Do you think that would be the right thing to do?”

Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”

After dinner, he showed Chloe some books and trinkets he had brought for the little girls, including some for Lady Seahaven’s little Jane, who was only three. “If I am giving gifts to our sisters, I can’t leave the baby out,” he said.

Sometimes, Chloe was quite hopeful that, out from under Uncle Swithin’s shadow, Martin was becoming almost human.

When they saw her the next day, Lady Seahaven was delighted to take Chloe under her wing, “Though it seems silly for me to be your sponsor, Miss Tavistock, when you and I are the same age. At the very least, you must call me Patience, as your step-sisters do. When they are not calling me ‘Mama’ to tease me.”

She objected when Martin offered to help finance the ball, “and any other expenses you incurr by allowing Chloe to join you.”

“But, Lord Tavistock, your sister is part of the family. I cannot think it proper to charge you a fee.”

“The fact is, Lady Seahaven, that I am at a standstill,” Martin explained. “Patience and I were tutored at home, as you know, and our guardian was not a warm man. Nor were those social connections he did maintain at the right social level for a viscount’s sister. Aunt Swithin is as much out of here depth as I am, and besides, grows more peculiar by the day.” As Patience could see for herself, since Aunt Swithin had barely said good morning to her hostess before announcing that she would go and find Bess, who did not have cotton wool between her ears.

Martin leaned forward in his seat, gifting Patience with a winning smile. “If you will treat Chloe as one of your own flock, I am persuaded she will fare much better than my aunt and I could have managed on our own. I would not think of putting a monetary value on the advantage to Chloe of your sponsorship, compared to the poor launch I would have made of it. You are doing me an enormous favour, and all I can say is thank you. But I have budgeted for a season for Chloe, and it is only fair that the money I was going to spend doing a poor job should be given to you to help you do a far better one.”

Chloe was impressed by the speech, and so was Doro, who commented, “That is reasonable, Patience. Lord Tavistock’s money added to ours will allow us to make more of an impression than either of us could manage on our own.”

That settled, Martin was carried off to the schoolroom by an ecstatic pair of schoolgirls. At twelve and ten, and used to a house full of women, Emma and Merry were awed and fascinated by their adult brother.

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Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 4

Fourth contest over. Congratulations to LL, our winner for week four.

Week four contest

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Fourth week prize is:

Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

  • A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of origin
  • A print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady
  • A personal card signed by me and sent from New Zealand
  • A made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.

This week’s discount is 99c for To Claim the Long-Lost Lover

Runs from 14th September to 22nd September

Available at this price from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096RLJJBZ

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/to-claim-the-long-lost-lover

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is If Mistletoe Could Tell Tales.

Runs from 7th September to 22nd September. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/if-mistletoe-could-tell-tales

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 20

Chapter Nine

Hollystone Hall, December 1812

The Duchess of Haverford waved her dresser away and stood so she could better see Matilda, Jessica, and Frances. Yes, even Frances was to go to tonight’s fancy-dress ball, for a short while and under the strict supervision and care of her sisters.

How lovely they were! Matilda and Jessica had faced a difficult first Season with grace and courage. Even Eleanor’s influence could not overcome their murky origins. Society could be remarkable stupid.

Eleanor had had high hopes of the Earl of Hamner, although he also showed an interest in Lady Felicity Belvoir. If he did not stay the course, somewhere out there was a man who would look past Matilda’s parentage to her beautiful nature: her kindness, her intelligence, all the wonderful qualities that made Eleanor so proud of her.

Jessica was more of a worry in a way, covering her hurt at any snubs by layering on more charm, until she skirted the edge of flirting. Perhaps there was someone here at this house party who could give Jessica the love she needed?

At least Frances was safe for a couple more years, and perhaps, by the time she made her debut, her sisters would be married and able to help her.

In some ways, Eleanor wished they were all still in the schoolroom.

Haverford Castle, July 1810

Eleanor paused in the doorway of the schoolroom, where her three foster daughters were drawing under the supervision of their governess. The subject was a collection of objects: a flower in a rounded glazed bowl, a trinket box open to display a set of coral beads that trailed over the edge onto the polished surface of the table, a delicate statuette of a gun dog, with proudly pointing muzzle.

A difficult composition for such young girls, though little Frances was talented, and the older two girls competent enough. At thirteen, Frances had inhabited the Haverford nursery floor for nearly eleven years, and by the time of her debut, in three or four years, the scandal of her existence was likely to be minimal. Except that she, the youngest of the three, most resembled their shared father.

Matilda would face the ton first. At sixteen, she was as much a beauty as her mother had been, with the dark hair and stunning figure that had made her mother a reigning beauty of the demimonde, though she was only an opera dancer. A courageous one, too, who—given the chance to start a new life back in her homeland of Ireland—braved Haverford House to beg for a safe home for her daughter, perhaps a tenant farm on an out-of-the-way Haverford estate.

It was just chance that Haverford was away on that occasion, and that Eleanor had just been arriving home. Or an intercession of the divine. Haverford would have turned his full ducal rage on the intruder, and denied everything. But Eleanor took the baby in her arms and fell in love.

She smiled as she watched the three heads bent in concentration. It had taken His Grace nine months to realise that his nurseries were once again occupied, and by then Jessica had joined them, some six months younger and the daughter of a pretty maid who once attracted Haverford’s attention. The combination of youth and prettiness was lethal, for the girl had died in childbirth, and the grieving grandmother brought the baby to Haverford House, to Eleanor. No-one could doubt Jessica’s parentage. She and Lord Jonathan, Eleanor’s second son, were as alike as male and female could be.

Haverford, of course, denied that he’d sired the two girls, and ignored them completely. His solution to the unfortunate results of his careless whoring was to blame the female, a bag of coins (carefully measured to their social position) the only assistance they could expect.