A Twist Upon a Regency Tale

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Spotlight on The Night Dancers

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GFY9FDMJ

Certain that the Marquess of Teign is behind her cousin’s disappearance, investigator Melody Blackmore enters his mansion disguised as a man. Tasked with discovering how Teign’s sons are leaving their tower prison or having food and other items brought in, she soon realizes that the sons are also the marquess’s victims. As her interest in the eldest of the brothers grows, she joins them all in a campaign to bring Teign down.

Allan Sheppard, the Earl of Kemble, is the eldest of Teign’s ten sons. He is weighed down by his frequent failures to protect his brothers from Teign’s beatings and abuse, but determined to keep them as safe as he can until his youngest brother is no longer under Teign’s guardianship.

All they must to do is fool the most recent investigator sent to find out their secrets. But Mel Black is not like the others, and Allan finds that an alliance with her gives the brothers the chance to not only survive, but to thrive.

However, Teign will stop at nothing to punish his sons for escaping him. Only Allan’s and Melody’s growing commitment to one another keeps them steadfast as they uncover evidence of evil beyond imagining.

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Deception on WIP Wednesday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A night’s work doing what?

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Courtship trials on WIP Wednesday

The girls’ chaperone is determined to thwart a courtship in A Gift to the Heart. Three extra ladies on a walk to Hyde Park might deter all but the most determined of suitors. But Bane has an idea.

Ahead of them, Bane and the other two Marple sisters had stopped by a woman wearing a large basket on her back and carrying a tray. Cilla’s sister looked around as Drake and his two ladies approached, and grinned at Cilla, who raised her eyebrows in question.

Miss Livy pointed at the ducks, who were hastening toward the vendor and her customers. Ah! Drake understood what had excited them. Clearly, they knew what the vendor was selling, and what happened after that. “My brother is buying bread to feed to the ducks, ladies. Would you enjoy feeding the ducks?”

“I would love to feed the ducks,” Miss Ruby declared.

Bane heard, and declared, “I have purchased enough for everyone who wishes.”

A cunning fellow, Drake’s brother. In less time than it took to tell, Miss Ruby was tearing small chunks off a loaf of bread and dropping them as she walked toward the Serpentine, a trail of ducks processing behind her. Her sisters, with a loaf each, had hurried ahead, and were feeding those birds who had not joined the exodus.

Bane was carrying three more loaves under one arm and had offered the other to Miss Livy. They followed the Marple sisters and the ducks, but at a slower pace.

“Do you wish to feed the ducks?” Drake asked Cilla, hoping she didn’t, for Bane had bought them time to actually talk, and the bread would not last forever—or even for very long, given that every waterfowl in sight had converged on the three young ladies and quite a few blackbirds and sparrows were darting under the beaks of ducks, chasing crumbs that were too small for the larger birds.

“What I would like is for us to talk, Mr. Sanderson,” Cilla said. “My aunt likes you as a person, but does not approve of you as a suitor. I will make up my own mind, however. And I want to know more about you before I do.” She blushed prettily. “That is, if you are courting me. Do I need to apologize for speaking so openly?”

“You do not owe me an apology,” Drake told her. “Straight talking saves a lot of misunderstanding, and I’m pleased you have spoken so honestly to me. Yes, I am a suitor. Like you, I need to know more but I very much like what I have seen of you so far. Will Lady Marple’s opposition cause problems? For you or for us? Or is it your father’s approval that is most important?”

She tipped her head on one side and regarded him with a steady blue gaze. “My approval is most important. If you gain that, Mr. Sanderson, I shall deal with my father and my aunt.”

 

 

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Spotlight on The Secret Word

What does the tale of “Rumplestiltskin” look like set during the Regency, and written without magic?

My answer is The Secret Word, which – once I started writing it – took on a life of its own. This book is published on September 6th.

The Secret Word

(Book 10 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale)

When Christopher Satterthwaite rescues Clementine Wright from would-be kidnappers, he is offered an opportunity he can’t refuse. Clemmie’s father, a wealthy coal magnate, has been looking for a husband for his only child. Someone with aristocratic bloodlines and no family—someone who can give him the blue-blooded heir he craves, without the interference of noble relatives.

Chris figures he and Clemmie can work together to keep Wright from controlling their every move. As their partnership develops, they fall in love. Wright doesn’t stand a chance against them. Or does he?

And what about the other men who are showing an interest in the child who is soon on the way? Chris’s reprobate grandfather is hanging around like a bad smell, and clearly has a scheme in mind. Chris’s more respectable relatives have not disowned him after all, and are eager to show the as yet unborn child with every advantage—because they regret not helping Chris as a child? Or for purposes of their own?

And then there is Ramping Billy O’Hara, the most sinister of them all, and Chris’s patron.

Some are villains. Some are on the side of the couple and their child. Only time will tell which is which.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FM8R25VP

 

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Oubliettes – places for being forgotten

An oubliette, as mentioned in my latest novel, The Night Dancers, is a bottle dungeon—that is, a hole in the ground, with no exit or entry except through the hole at the top. The name is French, and comes from the word oublier, to forget. It is a particularly nasty place to imprison people. The man who finished up in the oubliette deserved it.

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Little tame creatures


“How did they allow them to keep rats as pets?” asked my editor at the end of my epilogue, when my nine-year-old boy cousins were racing indoors after a fortnight away, to check on their pet rats. “Were they even domesticated at this time?”

Well, yes. They were. And nine-year-old boys love rats as pets at least in part because it upsets the maids and bothers the adult female cousins. Not my boys’ mothers, of course, who are made of sterner stuff.

Rats as domestic pets might have been familiar in Europe as early as the seventeenth century, and this was certainly  the case in Japan. We have excellent documentation for domesticated rats in England in the early nineteenth century. In fact, the ancestor of many of today’s pets might have been raised by Jimmy Shaw or Jack Black. (This might not have been his legal name, but it is the name under which he was interviewed by Henry Mayhew. The interview the two men was published in a book titled London Labour and the London Poor.)

Jack and Jimmy were ratcatchers. He suppled live rats to the rat pits, a popular blood sport that didn’t end until 1912. Another lucrative income source for him was breeding from rats that had different coloured coats. He told Mayhew ‘I have ’em fawn and white, black and white, black white and red. People come from all parts of London to see them rats. They got very tame and you could do anythink with them.’  He sold them as pets or curiosities, mainly to young ladies. Jimmy Shaw was even more interested in the odd rats. If today’s pets are not descended from those kept by one of these two men, they no doubt originated in a similar way.

Laboratory rats appear to have been used in research from at least 1828, and probably were also saved from the rat pits or bred from such animals. The Albino rat often used in laboratories or as pets is also known to have been around for a while. There was apparently a wild colony of Albino rats in Bath in 1828.

 

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Backlist Spotlight on Thrown to the Lyon

My latest release, The Lyon’s Dilemma, is the sequel to Thrown to the Lyon. The Duke of Kempbury, who is something of an antagonist in this story, is the hero in the next.

Thrown to the Lyon

When Dorcas Anderson saves Mrs. Dove-Lyon from being crushed by a passing dray it sets up a chain a series of events she could not have imagined. The grateful lady insists on presenting to her rescuer a tinder box containing three tokens. Each can be exchanged for a favor from The Black Widow of Whitehall herself.

She needs the first sooner than she expected, when her dead husband’s twin, brother to a powerful duke, has her and her four-year-old son arrested for theft.

When Mrs. Dove-Lyon asks him to help rescue a wrongfully arrested widow, Ben, the Earl of Somerford, is glad to aid Mrs. Anderson, whom he knew and respected when he was with the army in the Peninsula.

Dorcas uses the second token to enlist Mrs. Dove-Lyon in catching Ben’s attention, little knowing that Ben is already wondering if Dorcas is just the wife he needs.

Ben is too slow to declare his interest. Dorcas’s brothers-in-law threaten, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon may have the answer: Another marriage, this time to a man powerful enough to stand against a possibly malevolent duke.

The plan is set. A game of cards will decide the groom. Can Dorcas use the third token to change the odds? Anything can happen when a lady is thrown to a Lyon.

https://www.amazon.com/Thrown-Lyon-Lyons-Connected-World-ebook/dp/B0DGMYS3W9/

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A brief history of umbrellas

Umbrellas were used in China as early as 3,500 BC, and waterproofed with a combination of wax and lacquer by 3,000 BC. They came to Europe through ancient trade routes, but were considered appropriate only for women. In England, they were still considered a female accessory as late as 1790, but a man called Jonas Hanway ignored popular ideas of suitability, and used an umbrella for decades. By the early 19th century, men and women both used umbrellas. The folding umbrella, though, would not appear until the 1850s. Which are some of the things I discovered when I went down the research rabbit hole while writing A Gift to the Heart (coming in November 2025).

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Making enemies on WIP Wednesday

I’ll write the last scene of The Night Dancers before the end of the weekend, and have it out to beta readers before the following weekend. So here’s another excerpt, to celebrate. My hero and his brother have escaped their evil father, and are now looking for allies in their battle to stay free. To that end, they have been invited to dinner by the Duke and Duchess of Dellborough, where they will have the opportunity to put their case.

First, they heard the shouting from outside of the room, coming closer. Then the doors burst open and people scrambled into the room. First, two burly men in Teign livery, holding the Dellborough butler between them, his back facing the room as he protested, “My lord, their graces are at dinner. My lord, you cannot burst in this way.”

The men were holding the poor man by his arms so that his feet couldn’t reach the ground, and after them came several Dellborough and Teign footmen, shoving and pushing at one another.

Finally, the instigators of this riot—Teign himself, with Farnham at his elbow—strode into the room, Teign’s voice thundering, “I shall see Dellborough now, and those scoundrelly sons of mine. Dellborough, how dare you harbor these traitors!”

The Duke of Dellborough had risen to his feet. “Good evening, Lord Teign.” He looked down the long table to where his wife sat at the end. “My dear, are we harbouring traitors?”

The duchess remained seated, regarding Teign with the expression of a householder who has found a cockroach in the flour bin. “Lord Teign,” she said. “What is the meaning of this unseemly and violent invasion of our home?”

The marquess glared at her, looked around at the luminaries gathered at the table, and made a visible effort to rein in his temper. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he snapped, with a perfunctory nod in place of a bow. “I had to see your husband, to tell him not to support my sons in their rebellion. I shall just be taking them with me, and leave you to get on with your dinner.”

“Lord Kemble?” said the duchess. “Do you wish to go with your father?”

“I do not,” Allan replied, managing to keep his voice calm, despite the anger and grief he always felt in his father’s presence.

“And what of you other brothers?” said the duchess, managing to speak over Teign’s angry retort.

All seven Sheppard brothers replied. Where it was, a “no”, an “I do not”, or “not likely”, their answers amounted to the same.

“You have your answer, Lord Teign,” said her grace. “If you wish to pursue any complaint you have against my husband, please have your secretary arrange an appointment with Dellborough’s secretary.”

Teign sneered. “What kind of a man are you, Dellborough? Letting a female speak for you?”

The duke chuckled. “A wise and happy one,” he replied, and exchanged a warm glance with his duchess. What an inspiration! Thirty years or more, and their love for one another was palpable.

“A man who bows to a woman is no man at all,” Teign announced. He added, “A woman should know her place—silent, obedient, and in a man’s bed. If she forgets it, she should be beaten.”

Good work, you old sinner. You have now alienated all the great ladies Dellborough and his wife had invited to dinner and most of the men.

Dellborough lifted an eyebrow at his wife, and she commented, “An interesting if primitive view. Tell me? How has it contributed to your domestic and marital happiness?”

The duke smirked.

Teign’s sneer deepened, and he turned on his footmen. “Seize my sons, you fools. Have you forgotten what we came for?” Allan clenched his fist and prepared to leap to his feet.

“The marksmen in the minstrels’ gallery will shoot anyone who attempts to carry out that order,” Dellborough drawled. “Up to and including Lord Teign.”

Startled, Allan looked up. Sure enough, from the shadowy depths of the minstrel’s gallery, several rifle barrels pointed at Teign’s footmen, who were backing away despite the imprecations of their master.

Dellborough picked up his wine glass and leaned back in his seat. “My dear guests, I apologize in advance for the spilling of blood, but better to execute these invaders cleanly than to allow brawling in my duchess’s dining room. Teign, your language, sir! Please do remember that ladies are present.” His drawl edged into insolence.

From a lifetime of observing the marquess, Allan could tell he was on the pointing of losing his temper. Could he pushed over?

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Tea with a scandalous woman

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire, was reserving judgement.

The Duke of Kempbury was coming to visit, and bringing with him his new duchess. Some were whispering, with approval, that he had finally wed the lady to whom he had been ten years ago. Others assured their friends that they’d had doubts about that betrothal at the time. A duke marrying the daughter of a mere gentleman? And not even the legitimate daughter, but the child of a long ago mistress, whom he and his wife had raised with their own daughter.

Eleanor had been sympathetic at the time. She firmly believed that a child should not be blamed for the sins of his or her parents, and Adaline Fairbanks had been raised as a lady.

Then came the scandal, ending the betrothal, justifying the critics and casting Miss Fairbanks into Society’s outer darkness. Those who had stirred the scandal broth at the time were doing so again now that Adaline was finally the Duchess of Kembury.

Hence Kempbury’s call on Eleanor yesterday, to assure her that the betrothal had been broken over a misunderstanding, that the scandalous encounter had been a plot against Adaline, and that his lady was innocent.

Eleanor had to wonder whether he had been duped. After all, credible witnesses placed Adaline Fairbanks in an intimate embrace with the Duke of Richport. However, Kempbury was no fool. He insisted that Eleanor would understand all if she only spoke to his wife.

So here she was. Waiting to have tea with a scandalous lady.

They would be here any moment. Eleanor resolved that, whatever had happened in the past, she would support Kempbury. And his duchess, too, if that lady could convince Eleanor that she was a fit mate for duke. Scandal could always be turned around, when a person knew how to manage it.

 

The Lyon’s Dilemma

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party, particularly one attended by her. Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel. The one woman put on God’s earth to lure him from his duty. But Kempbury’s purpose is strong. Nothing she can offer will tempt him from his chosen path.

Only 99c until July 30th.