Bluestocking Belles

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Tea with Ulrick

Sir Ulrick de Mohan made his way from the training field and took the steps two at a time to reach the door leading into the keep of Berwyck Castle. The day had been fulfilling and he was eager to change out of his chainmail and enjoy a good cup of ale after a hard day’s work. The door opened before him and as he went through the portal, he skidded to a halt. He pulled his sword from his scabbard and held it before him. This was not Berwyck!

A man in uniform held out his arm as if Ulrick had been expected. “This way, sir.”

Ulrick took in his surroundings from the costly items in the foyer to the images of paintings hanging on walls that were surely not of his time. God’s Blood! Had he somehow found himself in the future where some of the women who came to Berwyck were from?

He had no answers other than his confusion when he was taken down the corridor into the interior of the castle. Mayhap the woman to whom he was taken would know. She sat in a room of such magnificence he pondered if mayhap he was sitting before a future Queen of England.

“Oh dear,” the woman murmured, once she saw him standing in her doorway. “I haven’t had one of your kind in quite a while. Come in, dear boy, and stop your gawking.”

He scoffed at the dear boy remark, came to stand before her, and bowed. “My lady.”

Her brow rose as she looked him over. “And you are?” she asked lifting a dainty cup to her lips.

He straightened. “Sir Ulrick de Mohan.”

“Welcome to my home, Sir Ulrick. I am the Duchess of Haverford,” she replied. “Tea?”

A sound escaped him. What was this tea? “Where am I?’ he asked instead, whilst his gaze continued to look around the room in disbelief.

“Maybe something stronger would be fitting to calm your nerves,” she replied, waving to what he assumed was another servant standing near the door. A clear glass with an amber liquid was pressed into his hands and he sniffed the contents.

The Duchess said, “I understand time traveling can take a bit out of you.”

He was about to take a sip, when her words penetrated his head. “Is that what I have done? Traveled through time like one of those future women who find themselves at Berwyck’s gates?”

“Well, you’re obviously still not in… the twelfth century was it?  Are you?”

He pondered her words, took a sip of the contents of his cup, and then unstuck the words from his throat in order to answer her. “Aye. I suppose I am not. Whatever am I doing here with you then?”

The duchess sat back in her chair. “What is it you need in your life, good sir, to make you content?”

“Need? I have everything I want in life. There is nothing I need,” he said, setting the cup down after downing its contents.

“It has been my experience that, when a knight happens to cross time and come before me, it is generally because he is missing something in his life. Usually that something is a woman… or a wife. In either case, a lady may just fall into your life whether you are ready for her or not,” she answered, and Ulrick could swear he saw her eyes twinkling mischievously. “The question remains… what will you do with her once she is in your arms?”

“Not one of those future women!” he fumed picking up his glass and then remembering he had already drunk the contents. The duchess saw his dilemma and nodded to the servant, who refilled the glass.

“Who is to say? You are the master of your own happily-ever-after. I am but a slight diversion in your life to give you something to think about when you return to your own time.”

“And will I return? To my own time, that is?” She nodded instead of answering him. Ulrick once more downed his drink and began to feel the pull of the twelfth century calling to him to return.

“Remember my words, Sir Ulrick. What is it you really need in your life to make you happy and complete? You may not be looking for a wife, but do not easily dismiss the gift you will be given.”

One moment he was sitting with the duchess in a world not his own and the next he was back entering the keep at Berwyck Castle. He could only ponder if what had just happened to him really occurred or if he had imagined the whole damn thing!

 

Promises Made At Midnight:

The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Six)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

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Tea with Antiquities

Professor Malcolm Marr waited with some trepidation while the elegant lady in front of him unpacked the box he had brought with him.

He was merely carrying out a commission, he reminded himself, and had followed his client’s instructions to the letter, so whether she liked the result or not, it was not his responsibility.

Still, he found himself anxious not to disappoint the Duchess of Winshire. She was a good and kind person, as well as a powerful one, and he knew the present was for her new husband. A love token. He might not have experienced romantic love himself, but he had seen it in others. He respected the notion.

She had moved aside the wood shavings and the strips of paper, and was lifting out the first item. “Oh! It is beautiful!”

“Chinese, Your Grace,” he explained. “From the Tang dynasty. More than a thousand years old. ” It stood four square on a small marble stand, its neck arched and its bobbed tail proud. The colours were still as bright as the day it was fired.

“How magnificent,” said Her Grace.

The second piece bore signs that it, too, had once been brightly painted, but now—except in the cracks, it was the white of the marble from which it had been carved. Another horse, this one caught forever in a trot, its mane and tail flowing in the wind of its silent passage. “Greek, ma’am, in the Hellenistic style, so just of two thousand years old.”

“Beautiful,” the duchess breathed. “Professor Marr, these are perfect.”

Her smile took years off her age and reminded Mal that she had once been the reigning beauty of her time. “Nothing from Egypt? I know that is your specialist area.”

“Nothing on the market at the moment, Your Grace.”

“You have done very well, my dear. Now drink your tea and I shall drink mine while gloating over these two wonderful statuettes. My husband will be as thrilled as I am.”

She turned the full force of her smile onto the two pieces, and Mal let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He had not made a mistake. He hated seeing the lovely remnants of the past in the hands of people who would not appreciate them, but that didn’t apply here.

He felt obliged to point out, however, that such horses were not rare, as such things go. “There are many such items available if one knows where to look, Your Grace.”

“As you do. You are not going to tell me that they are turned out in great quantity by a little workshop in East Wapping, I hope.”

He laughed at that. “No, Your Grace. They are genuine. They are also unique, in that every piece that is found is a little different from every other.”

“They are perfect,” she repeated. “You must not fret, Professor.” She changed the subject. “Now. I understand you are off to York. A public lecture, is it?”

“One for the York Antiquarian Society, Ma’am. I am taking in their full schedule of lectures while I am there.”

“You have a relative in York, I believe.”

“A godmother. Rose St Aubyn. I’ll be staying with her while I’m in York.”

“Oh!” The duchess sounded surprised, but she changed the subject, asking him about recent work, and they passed another thirty minutes in pleasant conversation before he took his leave.

Eleanor looked at the door as it closed behind the esteemed scholar. Perhaps she should have told him that Rose St Aubyn was away, and that the house was soon to be occupied by the daughters of the deceased Earl of Seahaven. But Eleanor remembered the eldest from her brief London season. Fiercely intelligent. Deeply interested in ancient civilisations. That had been years ago, of course, but Lady Elizabeth had not ‘taken’, and nor had she married since.

Perhaps the professor and the bluestocking might suit? Stranger things had happened. And if the young man thought to stay in the house the young lady occupied, they would certainly meet.

Malcolm Kentigern Marr is the hero of Rue Allyn’s “The Butler and the Bluestocking”, a story in Desperate Daughters. And he certainly does meet the lovely Lady Elizabeth.  Now published by still only 99 cents. Price goes up to $5.99 after 23 May.

 

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Spotlight on “A Countess to Remember” in Desperate Daughters

A Countess to Remember: By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes love finds you when you least expect it…

Patience, the young Dowager Countess of Seahaven cares for a bevy of stepdaughters, and a Season for each to find husbands seems out of reach. There’s been no chance for romance herself but fate intervenes in the form of Richard, Viscount Cranfield, in York for his sister’s Season. Will Patience allow herself time for love?

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

Patience smiled at the girls while her toddler came and plopped herself on her lap. She gave brief introductions to the stepdaughters Richard had yet to meet before she continued. “As you can see, we can be a somewhat rambunctious group, and it was too nice a day to leave the younger children at home.”

Richard nodded. “No reason why they shouldn’t enjoy the outing. With the weather particularly warm for April, an al fresco party is just the thing.” Were they chatting about the weather again, and this time initiated by him? He almost groaned aloud. Surely, he could think of another topic of witty conversation to amuse her besides the weather.

Milton excused himself to speak to the other young ladies on the next blanket giving Richard a small amount of privacy to have Patience all to himself.

“You look particularly lovely today, Lady Seahaven.”

“Thank you, Lord Cranfield,” she said bouncing the child on her lap.

Complementing her came as easily as taking his next breath, and her blush only enhanced her beauty. Dressed in a white gown, the square cut of her garment just rising above her breasts was decorated in tiny embroidered rosebuds, and he wondered if she had taken the time to sew them herself. Not that it mattered if she could sew or not… He was generally more interested in getting a woman out of her gown than into it. But the dress became her along with her matching bonnet. Was he becoming some sort of dandy? Thinking of the intricate detail of a gown would be more in line with something his friend George would consider and talk about. God forbid if Richard was becoming more like him!

As he continued to watch Patience with her daughter, Richard had a vision of his own child held in the arms of the countess. Given their kiss the other night, he knew his feelings were reciprocated no matter that they had only just met. Could this possibly be the start of something that could last a lifetime? Only time would tell. If anything, they had a friendship that was blooming right before his very eyes, and he had to admit he had missed her company since the ball. A smile came to his face as he remembered having the opportunity to have two dances with her. A waltz had kept her in his arms. A faster-paced dance kept their fingertips touching and laughter on their lips. At the time, he had wished he could have danced the night away with her. However, that would have caused a scandal.

He realized Patience was struggling to rise with a wiggly toddler balanced on her hip. Rushing over, Richard held onto her elbow until she finally stood on solid ground. She raised those glorious blue-grey eyes to him in obvious gratitude.

“My chivalrous knight coming to my rescue,” she quietly said, beaming up at him with those glorious eyes before continuing, “Will you perhaps show up next on a white steed?” Her twinkling eyes told him much, and he couldn’t resist the smile that turned up the corners of his mouth.

“If my lady so commands me, I will be more than happy to come to your rescue whenever you have need of me. I just so happen to have a white horse in my stables to await your pleasure.”

Her laughter rang out, causing Richard’s heart to swell. “I really think I’m going to have to be careful around you, my lord. You continue to turn my head with such flattery,” she teased.

He leaned forward. “I would never tire of giving you the compliments you so deserve, my dearest lady,” he murmured for her ears alone, before stepping back as protocol dictated.

Before she could comment, the squirming toddler made it known she no longer wished to be held by her mother. Patience put her down and before she could grab hold of her hands, the young girl wobbled over to Richard and grabbed him around his legs. His eyes widened in surprise until the little crumb crawler with curly auburn hair raised her blue eyes up to him and spoke.

“Papa up!” she demanded holding up her tiny hands for him to take.

“Jane!” Patience moaned in embarrassment.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters was published on 17 May. You can still get it today and tomorrow at the preorder price of 99c. After that, the price goes up to $5.99.

 

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Tea with music

What the musicians at an event were given for refreshments varied by country, Jack had found. In Austria and in some parts of Italy, they were treated as honoured guests, welcome to eat the same supper as their audience, and even to mingle if they so desired. In other places, they might be served lukewarm tea or a light ale with, if they were lucky a slice of bread. At times, they even needed to forage for themselves, or bring their own meal and a flask of something.

Tonight’s soiree in Paris was proving to be exceptional, much to Jack’s surprise. When he was hired to perform, he expected to be ignored most of the evening. Tonight’s hostesses were a pair of English duchesses. The English, he had discovered in Vienna, tended to regard musicians as hired help, and his growing reputation as a composer made no difference to that assessment.

He thought the audience would be more focused on conversation than on music, and that he’d need the brioche in the bag he had tucked into his music satchel. He was wrong on both counts.

He had been introduced by the elder of the two duchesses, Her Grace of Winshire, who had instructed everyone to sit and listen. Which they did. They were both attentive and appreciative, and the first hour and a half flew by.

Then, when the younger duchess, a daughter-in-law of the Duchess of Winshire, announced supper, the elder led a team of servants over with supper for the orchestra, and carried Jack off to a table for two, where a tempting array of food was laid out for his selection.

He ordered ale from the waiting servant, since he never drank anything stronger when he was performing. The duchess’s preferences must already be known, for someone brought her a service of tea.

“You must be wondering why I have taken you to one side like this, John Sutton,” Her Grace said, after the ale was served and the servants retreated.

If the lady had been twenty years younger, Jack would have assumed a seduction attempt, but as it was, all he could do was incline his head in agreement.

“You are John Sutton, known as Jack, the musical second son of Baron Allbury.” She stated it as a fact. Jack could not have answered anyway. His mouth was open as he wondered how she knew.

“It is my job, Jack. May I call you Jack?” He nodded, and she continued, “I have been a duchess since I was in my teens. Knowing the peerage and all their connections is part of my obligation to my position. I was not personally acquainted with your father, but I knew your mother, a little, and a cousin of hers told me about your split from the baron, and its cause. In my opinion, having heard your music, the world would be a poorer place if you had obeyed Lord Allbury.”

Jack’s lips twitched into a smile, but he sobered, thinking of his father.

“The former Lord Allbury, that is. I am sorry for your loss, Jack. Father and brother. That is a hard blow.”

Jack rather liked this duchess. He’d known other English ladies who would be congratulating him on inheriting a barony. Not that he wanted it. Her Grace, though, started with condolences. “Thank you,” he said.

“Will you be going home?”  she asked, then gave a short laugh. “Your eyes say ‘not the old besom’s’ business’, and you are quite right.”

The twinkle in her eyes soothed his irritation and he answered her. “I have not made up my mind, Your Grace.”

“Going home is not committing yourself to accepting the burdens of the title, Jack. Why not go and have a look. Perhaps a last goodbye. Perhaps not.” She rose. “Now. I shall let you have the rest of your supper in peace.”

Jack Sutton is the hero of Mary Lancaster’s Concerto”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication. Price goes up to $5.99 after 23 May.

 

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Spotlight on “Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match” on Desperate Daughters

Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match by Alina K. Field

After years of putting up with her late husband’s rowdy friends, Honoria, Lady Twisden has escaped to York where she can paint, investigate antiquities, and enjoy freedom. Then her stepson appears with a long-lost relation in tow. Promised York’s marriage mart and the hospitality of his cousin’s doddering stepmother, Major August Kellborn is shocked to find that his fetching hostess is the one woman who stirs his heart.

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

Major August Kellborn, late of his Majesty’s army, beat back an impulse to seize young Sir Westcott Twisden by the neckcloth and shake him.

He’d had long experience beating back that sort of urge with the young nodcocks he’d shaped into officers. He could do so now as well.

Gus paced to the window and looked out a sparkling clean pane onto the narrow street. Their traveling chaise wasn’t visible, but Sir Sancho stood unaccompanied, busily watering a lamppost.

Gus had been in his cups the day he’d met Twisden at a horse market in Brampton, else he wouldn’t have allowed the young pup the informality of his first name, respectable though Wes was. The malaise of his first long winter’s sojourn at Whitlaw Grange, his new estate near what was once the Debatable Land, had made him more sociable than was his wont.

Still, he’d found the friendly lad more sensible than most his age, and the family connection had intrigued him. His late mother had written frequently about the Twisdens, the jovial late baronet and his amiable wife. He knew of their mutual ancestor, Sir Ebenezer Twisden as well, and so, he’d jumped at the chance to visit Twisden Hall. His very resemblance to the old warrior was astonishing, and Gus had been impressed with the well-run estate. Much of it the late baronet’s sensible widow’s doing, Gus’s valet had learned.

And so, when Wes proposed visiting his stepmother and attending the York races and then sweetened the deal with the notion of a marriage mart—it had been a very long, lonely winter—Gus agreed to this sojourn in York.

He turned back to his young erstwhile host. “Practically doddering, you said.”

Wes looked up from pouring spirits from a flask into a tumbler. “What?” His blue-eyed innocence was genuine. Wes saw his stepmother as an ancient, when she could scarcely be much beyond thirty. He ought to have paid more attention to his mother’s descriptions of the Twisdens.

“I cannot stay under your stepmother’s roof, Wes.”

“Whyever not?”

“She is not by any means doddering. She’s a widow, and one young enough that even with you here some of the time…” Wes had planned to depart for several days to visit his Grandmother in Harrogate. “The presence of a single man in her household might stir gossip.”

“She’s three and thirty and is known to be very proper. Plus…” He glanced back at the closed door and lowered his voice. “Though she’s clever and good, she’s plain.”

Gus gazed back at the now empty street. Perhaps plain was the right word to describe each of Lady Twisden’s entirely unremarkable features. But taken as a whole, he would call her appearance amiable, moving, and in fact… pretty. The spark in her eyes when she spotted him, the color rising in her cheeks, those had stirred him as well.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Tea with Iris and Ivy

The two girls paused in the doorway. They were as alike as two peas in a pod, and the expression on both faces said, why has this duchess asked to see us?

“Come on in, ladies,” Eleanor said. “Please, take a seat. Which of you is Iris and which Ivy?”

They were both beauties. If their stepmama managed a Season in York for them, they would be a huge success, even with little dowry. And Lady Seahaven would give them that chance, if Eleanor’s information proved to be accurate.

“I am Iris,” said the girl whose cream-coloured gown was trimmed with purple ribbons. The other, in a dress nearly identical except for the green ribbons replied at the same moment. “I am Ivy.”

“I should say Lady Iris and Lady Ivy, should I not?” Eleanor asked.

The sisters looked at one another.

Eleanor spoke before they could decide what to say. “I had the pleasure of meeting up with your sister, Lady Dorothea, last week, when I asked to meet the cook of the delightful cakes I enjoyed with my tea. Speaking of which, how do you take your tea? Milk? Cream? Sugar?”

Another of those looks, full of the kind of communication known only to twins. Iris spoke for them both, asking for tea with a small quantity of cream and a half spoon of sugar.

Eleanor continued speaking as she prepared the cups. “Hearing that the lovely miniatures of the landscape had been painted by a pair of Bigglesworth twins, I remembered that Henry Seahaven had twin daughters. By his third wife, was it not?”

Iris nodded. “Did you know our mother, Your Grace? We do not remember her.”

“I am sorry, Iris. I did not have that pleasure. I knew your father. He came to London to vote his seat in Parliament, and we were occasionally at the same entertainments, but your mother married here in the north and stayed here through most of her marriage. You appear to have inherited her artistic talent, young ladies.”

The girls blushed, duplicate roses blooming on their cheeks.

“Tell me about yourselves,” Eleanor invited.

Shyly at first, but with increasing confidence, they spoke of their lives in a little cottage in a village near Harrogate, where they sold their artwork to tourists such as Eleanor, who had come to take the waters.

It was clear that they had no thought of a Season or of romance. Their attention was all on helping their family. What charming and well-behaved young ladies these Bigglesworth girls were! Eleanor determined to help them if she could. Perhaps, if the opportunity she had heard about came through, Eleanor could put the word in the ear of a few hostesses to ensure that the girls had plenty of invititations?

Iris and Ivy Bigglesworth are the heroines of Elizabeth Ellen Carter’s  “The Four to One Fancy”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication.

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Spotlight on “A Duke for Josefina” in Desperate Daughters

A Duke for Josefina by Meara Platt

Lady Josefina would much rather spend her time studying plants and their healing properties, but her father, the Earl of Seahaven, has died and left the family impoverished. Marriage seems her only alternative until she meets the handsome Duke of Bourne in an apothecary in York’s ancient Shambles. He offers her an intriguing proposition, a fake betrothal and a king’s ransom as reward if she returns with him to his estate and finds a cure for his sister’s illness. But will the true reward be his heart?

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

Josefina regarded him as though he were demented. “Marry you? Marry you? You are asking me to marry you?”

She did not realize their steward had just come up behind her and had heard her repeat his proposal. The man rushed to the major domo to report the news, was overheard by several other stewards who were now reporting it to the patrons they were charged to serve.

It took no more than a minute for the whispers to swell to an excited buzz around the tea room, as though a thousand bees were now buzzing around their hive.

Josefina was now laughing at the preposterous notion, a response the other patrons mistook for joyful acceptance. After all, who would not be overjoyed to marry the Duke of Bourne?

Was he not the catch of the season?

The catch of a lifetime?

Well, he had truly gotten himself into a fix.

He had meant to say, a pretend marriage…or rather, a pretend engagement. Then he could scoop her away to meet his sister and aunt, all proper since everyone would believe she was his betrothed. After she had reaped her plants and turned them into medicinal powders and tinctures, he would have dumped an enormous monetary settlement on her and allowed her to quietly end their betrothal.

But he had said ‘marry’.

Forgotten that crucial word…pretend.

There was no help for it now.

He took Josefina’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “Smile, Josefina. Everyone is looking. And yes, I am going to marry you.”

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Tea with Harriett

Harriett Staunton offered Eleanor another cup of tea. When the young lady had offered her resignation to the committee for the Foundation for the Education and Enrichment of the Lives of Ladies of Talent, she had explained merely that she intended to move to York.

Eleanor invited her to stay on after the meeting. A girl with Harriett’s questionable birth faced many challenges on the marriage market, and those challenges were magnified in London. Eleanor would help, if she could. But she needed to understand what motivated Harriett.

“Why York, Miss Staunton? Are you escaping your family or London Society?”

Perhaps Harriett picked up Eleanor’s genuine concern, for she did not take offence. “Perhaps a little of both, Your Grace. I have been educated as a lady, but my birth in the merchant classes means that I would not be accepted at the upper levels of London society if I was even invited to any of the events here.”

She took a deep breath and continued, “And the irregular nature of my birth means that the merchant classes also reject me.” A shadow of pain passed through her eyes. Eleanor, who knew more than most how less honourable men think, wondered at the insults the poor girl might have suffered from those who thought their birth on the right side of the blanket entitled them to look down on those less fortunate.

“So you do hope for a husband,” Eleanor concluded. “And, very sensibly, you think that a Season in York is likely to give you the opportunity to meet men who are not so fixed on status and on impressing other people.”

“In a nutshell,” Harriett agreed.

“I wish you every success, Harriett,” Eleanor said. “How can I be of assistance? Are you planning to stay with friends?”

“You are very kind, Your Grace. I have rented a townhouse, and will be living with trusted staff members, including my companion. But I very much appreciate your good wishes.”

“I shall write to a few of my friends and ask them to make sure you are on their invitation list, my dear. Please write to me and let me know how you get on.”

Harriett agreed, and they spoke for a while about places in York that Eleanor had visited and that Harriett might enjoy.

When the guest had left, Eleanor called for her writing desk and set quill to paper. She knew just the person who might take Harriett’s quest to heart.

“Dear Lady Beaumont…”

Harriett Staunton is the heroine of “I’ll Always Be Yours”, a story in Desperate Daughters. On preorder now. Only 99c until publication.

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Spotlight on “Lord Cuckoo Comes Home” in Desperate Daughters

Lord Cuckoo Comes Home: By Jude Knight

Dom Finchley only came to York as a favor to his half-brother, who asked him to attend a meeting there. After a devastating break with the Finchley family followed by ten years at war, he is keen to get the favor done and then leave to build the home he’s never had. A place to call his own.

Then he meets Chloe.

Chloe Tavistock is past the age for the marriage market, and unfashionable in her shape, her opinions, and her enthusiasms. She is not going to find a husband in York, whatever her fond brother might think.

And then she meets Dom.

Two people who have never fitted in just might be a perfect fit.

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

“Did you always want to be a soldier?” Chloe asked.

“Yes, for as long as I can remember. Gary and I had complex battles with battalions of soldiers back in nursery days. We planned to join up together and win glory for King and country.” His wistful smile faded, and his face hardened. “After Pevenwood threw me out, I thought I was going to have to take the King’s shilling.”

Chloe gasped. “He threw you out?”

Dom’s shrug belied the hurt that lingered in his hazel eyes. “Perhaps an exaggeration. It was my eighteenth birthday. He said I could continue to live in one of his houses until I reached my majority, but I could choose one he didn’t visit. He said I was no son of his, and that he’d more than fulfilled any obligation he might have had to his wife’s brat by paying for my education until I could stand on my own two feet. I asked if I might have the money to purchase a commission, and he turned me down flat. So, I walked out.”

“The old fiend!” Chloe wished he was here. She would—she would push him in the lake, that is what she would do. “What a nasty old man! Well done you for becoming such a good person despite him!”

“I am not a saint,” Dom warned. “But I will try to be a good man for you, Chloe. I can promise, if nothing else, that I want a true marriage, where both parties are faithful. Where they respect one another, and look after one another’s interests.” The wistful smile returned. “And I would like to be an involved father.”

It sounded appealing. Chloe barely remembered her own father. Her step-father Lord Seahaven was more absent than cruel. He ignored all the females in the nursery, and it was well known that his only interest in children was in siring an heir. As for Uncle Swithin, he readily explained to anyone who would listen that a family was a yoke around the neck of a godly man, and his cross in life was to be burdened with a wife and his nephew’s children.

She returned Dom’s smile. “Did you, then? Take the King’s shilling and win a commission in the field?”

“I went to all the relatives I could think of. As a last throw of the dice, I even went to the Duke of Haverford, and was being refused an audience when the Marquis of Aldridge arrived and invited me to talk to him, instead. He purchased my commission and paid for my kit. He said it was the least he could do for a brother.”

“That was good of him. And you have stayed in touch. He is the duke, now, isn’t he? His seal was on your letter.” Aunt Swithin had often read bits from the gossip columns about the duke when he was the Marquis of Aldridge. He had married two years ago and disappointed many avid readers by becoming a devoted husband.

Whatever his past, Chloe was predisposed to like him for his kindness to Dom.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c

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Help spread the word about Desperate Daughters.

Share our contest page and our Bachelor and other memes to any of your social media accounts. Each share gets you an entry into one of the weekly draws and the Grand Prize draw.

Enter the Week One draw here: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/bb92b0a64/?

Find memes here: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/desperate-daughters/sharing/

Read more about Desperate Daughters here: https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/desperate-daughters/

 

Weekly prize

Every entry goes into the draw to win:

We’ll draw a winner each week for four weeks.

Grand prize

Every entry also goes in the draw to win:

  • $100 gift card
  • a made-to-order story. The winner gives Jude Knight some ingredients for a story (one character, a plot trope, and an object). Jude writes the story and the winner gets an ecopy at least three months before it is published anywhere else, and their name in the dedication at publication.