The Realm of Silence

by

Tea with a second-time bride

Susan glowed. Her godmother, the Duchess of Haverford, had never found it to be generally true that a bride responded to marriage with a joy so palpable that it lit up a room. In Eleanor’s experience, marriage crushed the light out of more brides than not.

Susan was one of the rare exceptions, and about time, too. Her first marriage had been disappointing. Captain Cunnngham was not a terrible husband. He was an absent one. In physical fact, most of the time, and emotionally the rest. He had also been serially and frequently unfaithful.

Indeed, Susan had been so disappointed in her first marriage that Eleanor was surprised she had taken the risk of a second. Of course, her second marriage was to a man she had known since she was a child. Eleanor’s friend Henry had told her all about it.

“We all thought Rutledge was courting Susan during her first season, but then he disappeared and a few months later, she accepted young Cunningham. After that, she had nothing good to say about Rutledge. When we heard he had accompanied her north to help her rescue her kidnapped daughter… Well! I certainly didn’t expect them to fall in love and marry!”

Susan had been at least half in love with Rutledge all those years before, of course. Which was the reason she was so upset with him when he abandoned his courtship. And anyone who had seen the poor man yearning after her on the rare occasions they were in the same room knew that he had never ceased to be in love with her.

Eleanor was unsurprised to find that Rutledge’s nasty elder brother had come between the pair when Susan was young, unattached, and naive. He undoubtedly wanted her for himself, the horrid man.

“I need your help, Aunt Eleanor,” Susan said, once she and Eleanor were established with a cup of tea. “I want to reestablish Gil in Society. It is part done, of course, because my friends will accept him for my sake, but so many people still judge him by his brother and his father. He is nothing like them, I can assure you, but those two reprobates brought such dishonour to his name and title that he almost refused to marry me for fear he would never live it down!”

“People need to meet him and see for themselves that he is a good man,” Eleanor observed.

“Precisely.” Susan took a sip of her tea, watching Eleanor over the rim.

“Yes, Susan,” the duchess told her. “I will help you to change the minds of those who tar your husband with his family’s brush.”

by

Spotlight on The Golden Redepennings: Books 1 to 4

Published on 24 March: The box set of the first four Golden Redepenning novels. It’s only $4.99 until the end of the month. In February, it will revert to $9.99, which is still a great price for four long novels.

Order your copy today: https://books2read.com/GRbox-set

Here’s more about the series: The Golden Redepennings

And here are the covers of the four books included in the set:

And, finally, one of the early reviews.

I had read books 1 and 2 several years ago. It’s especially good to binge read such a series. I had forgotten how obnoxious and cynical Alex was at times in book 1 – Farewell to Kindness. In book 2 – A Raging Madness – he takes on the role of knight errant and is less bitter than in book 1. (Well, of course. He has admired Ella for years.)

In all 4 stories there are secrets to be revealed (including surprises for the reader) and many obstacles to overcome, including the reluctance of the main characters to voice their feelings for the other. I felt transported in time and place by these well-paced and carefully crafted stories.

by

Backlist spotlight on The Realm of Silence

The Realm of Silence

(Book 3 in the Golden Redepennings series)

Rescue her daughter, destroy her dragons, defeat his demons, go back to his lonely life. How hard can it be?

“I like not only to be loved, but also to be told I am loved…  the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave.” George Eliot

When Susan Cunningham’s daughter disappears from school, her pleasant life as a fashionable, dashing, and respectable widow is shattered. Amy is reported to be chasing a French spy up the Great North Road, and when Susan sets out in pursuit she is forced to accept help from the last person she wants: her childhood friend and adult nemesis, Gil Rutledge.

Gil Rutledge has loved Susan since she was ten and he a boy of twelve. He is determined to oblige her by rescuing her daughter. And if close proximity allows them to rekindle their old friendship, even better. He has no right to ask for more.

Gil and Susan must overcome danger, mystery, ghosts from the past, and their own pride before their journey is complete.

Buy links

https://books2read.com/TheRealmofSilence: https://books2read.com/TheRealmofSilence

Excerpt

Four years had passed since he last crossed verbal swords with Susan Cunningham, and she looked no older. Did the infernal woman have the secret of an elixir of youth? She had been widowed long enough to be out of her blacks, and back into the blues she favoured: some concoction that was probably the height of fashion and that both hid and enhanced her not insubstantial charms.

As always, she was perfectly dressed, perfectly coiffed, and perfectly behaved. And he undoubtedly looked every bit as if he had been travelling for weeks, apart from the brief stopover in Derby with his sister.

She was breathing quickly, fear for her child flushing her face. To one who knew her, and who watched her closely, she held her composure by a thread.

The crowd of onlookers leaned forward to catch his reply. “Is there somewhere we can discuss your business in private, Mrs Cunningham?”

That fetched a considering nod. “Miss Foster, may I present Colonel—no, Lord Rutledge? He and I grew up on neighbouring estates. Lord Rutledge, Miss Foster’s niece Patrice is, we presume, with my daughter.” She indicated the child shifting nervously from one foot to another nearby, with Miss Foster firmly gripping her shoulder. “Patrice’s sister Clementine. But shall we seek privacy for our discussion?”

Until this moment, Gil had wondered if he was setting up a false trail. After all, he was not certain he’d seen Amy in Stamford. Why would The Goddess be hunting for her in Cambridge if she was a day’s hard ride away? But the girl had been dressed like the child Clementine, and was of the right age and appearance. Besides, if he were wrong he’d make it up by devoting himself to helping with the search. The interview in Essex with his reluctant sister-in-law would need to wait until The Goddess’s child was safe.

He gave Moffat the signal to deal with their mounts and the packhorse, and followed Mrs Cunningham into the inn. Susan, he said silently, though underneath that silence earlier names sounded in his head. Joan. Athene. Boadicea. Just as her father had named his sons for battle-tried kings and emperors who led successful armies, he had given his daughter the names of female warriors: a saint, a Goddess, and a queen. The ten-year-old girl who followed the boys at their games demanded and won a more common name, but to his mind it had never suited her as well as those bestowed upon her before God, at her baptism.

He expected her to demand answers as soon as they were private, but she had never behaved like the other women he knew. She stood, seemingly at ease, one golden brow arched, and waited for him to speak. She took his breath away. She always had.

“How long have the two girls been missing?” Saturday, the ostler said, which would fit. But it seemed unlikely such a devoted mother would have so long delayed the search.

“Saturday,” Susan confirmed, “though the school found out only today, and told me when I arrived unexpectedly.” She seemed to think that required further explanation. “I was journeying back to London from Michael’s estate in the north, and diverted on a whim to visit Amy.

The girl could have been Amy, then. “What would she be doing in Stamford?”

“Stamford! I can imagine no reason why she and Patrice might go to Stamford, or how? I have been asking about carriages, but… Wait. You saw her in Stamford?”

“Yesterday morning. I did not see her clearly. She was dressed like Miss Clementine here. One of those bonnets. Black half boots. A skirt and coat thing. Both blue. Wool, I think.”

“A pelisse, yes. In bishop’s blue over a lighter coloured skirt. The Fellowes’ Academy requires all its students to dress the same. And her companion would also have been wearing the uniform.”

“She was with a boy. Or, at least, someone dressed as a boy. Thin face. Dark hair from what I could see under the cap. Tall for a girl, if it was a girl. Taller than Miss Cunningham by perhaps five inches. Their governess, or whoever it was, ordered them into the post chaise and they took off on the North Road.”

“Governess.” Susan’s brows drew together as she thought about that.

“It must have been someone else,” Miss Foster proclaimed.

by

Tea with Gil

The invitation had been for the new Viscount Rutledge, but Her Grace of Haverford was unsurprised to find his mother had accompanied him. The duchess had never warmed to Lady Rutledge, but the woman must be tolerated for the sake of her son, who deserved her support. Lord Rutledge, or Gil as his friends called him, faced an uphill battle to reinstate the wealth and reputation of the title he had just inherited after the excesses of his disgraceful rakehell of a brother.

“Of course, Rutledge is nothing like his brother,” Lady Rutledge complained. “My dear Gideon knew what he owed the title. Why, he would never have missed the Season. As for involving himself in estate business like some kind of peasant! Gideon would have no more demeaned his whole family in such a manner than he would have appeared in public in last year’s fashions.”

Eleanor was well aware of how the former Lord Rutledge spent the Season when he and his mother came up to Town, leaving the man’s poor little wife at home in the country. Gideon Rutledge seldom appeared in a gathering for polite Society, and would have been evicted from most had he tried. He was, however, to be found throwing money like water wherever vice and debauchery reigned. Hence the challenge facing his successor.

The duchess entered the lists on the side of the new viscount. “I am always delighted to see a peer who values the welfare of his people and his estate above his own pleasures,” she said. “Lord Rutledge, your many years of successful leadership in the service of the King will undoubtedly stand you in good stead as you face these new challenges.”

“Rutledge’s only challenge,” Lady Rutledge insisted, “is finding a wealthy bride willing to accept such a barbarian.” She shrugged. “The title covers a multitude of sins.”

Eleanor only just avoided showing her astonishment. To call one’s son a barbarian before a mere acquaintance! Was the woman mad? “It certainly did,” she countered. “How glad you must be that your second son is so much more responsible and civilised than your first.”

It was Lady Rutledge’s turn to gape. “Gideon? Are you calling Gideon uncivilised? Why, he always dressed in the first stare of fashion, and he knew all the on dits. He was even invited to Carlton House and the Duke of Richport was an intimate friend.”  She sat back proudly, clearly confident that she had rousted the opposition with the final argument.

Gil Rutledge caught Eleanor’s eye. He gave a slight shake of the head, before asking, “The landscape over the fireplace, Your Grace, is that one of the ducal estates? I do not recognise the house, but the painting is truly lovely.”

Eleanor accepted the change of subject, and followed his lead in ruthlessly keeping conversation during the remainder of the call on innocuous topics. Lady Rutledge followed the footman out after the requisite half hour. Gil remained long enough to say, “Thank you, Your Grace. It does no good to talk sense to my mother, but I appreciate you making the effort.”

“Hurry up, Rutledge,” Lady Rutledge’s voice called, but the duchess put a hand on the viscount’s sleeve to detain him.

“Lord Rutledge, I have heard many good things about you. You have the respect of much of Society; certainly of those who count. My nephew stands your friend, I know, and my son and I are pleased to know you. Remember that, when your mother’s insults become burdensome.”

The young man’s sombre mood lifted a little and he smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said again.

***

Gil Rutledge is the hero of The Realm of Silence. Check it out for more about the burdens he faces and how a love he believes he does not deserve finds him anyway.

 

by

Tea with Kitty

The Duchess of Haverford sat straight in her chair and examined Lady Kitty over her tea cup. Long gone was the little girl who once visited Haverford Castle in Margate, trailing behind her eldest sister, and being solicitous of the next in age, dear little Meg, whose mind had stalled forever in childhood. Now in her twenties, Kitty had also left behind the debutante, thrilled with the gowns and glitter, loving the dancing, engaging with every sign of enthusiasm in the endless round of entertainments.

She had never shown much interest in the marriage-mart reasons behind the Season, and — for her — the gloss faded from the social whirl quite quickly. She’d had suitors aplenty. Her Grace had witnessed it for herself, and Kitty’s sister had confirmed that they’d received a number of formal offers. But Kitty refused them all. Was it because of the close friendship she’d formed with Euronyme Redepenning? Mia, as she was called? Kitty and the wife of Lord Henry Redepenning’s youngest son were the same age, had many of the same interests, and had been inseparable these past five years.

But Mia had left London this very week, sailing to South Africa to be with her husband. And with her husband’s mistress, which seemed very peculiar to the duchess.

How to begin? “Kitty, my dear, what are your thoughts on marriage?”

“It is a venerable institution with much to recommend it,” the younger woman replied, a smile dancing in her eyes.

The duchess tipped her head in acknowledgement of the quip, but raised one eyebrow.

Kitty seemed to come to some kind of a decision, for she gave one sharp nod. “Aunt Eleanor, I would like to marry, but I think it unlikely. I will not marry where I do not trust, and I trust few people, I regret to say. My family. My friends. How does one become friends with a man in our world, where every interaction is governed by rules and monitored by prying eyes?”

Unconventional, but perceptive. A man who could not be trusted was the source of much unhappiness, as the duchess knew all too well. “You are young to be so suspicious,” she commented.

Kitty put her cup down on the table beside her chair and leant forward. ” Has anyone ever told you about what happened between me and the Earl of Selby?”

The incident between Selby and Kitty happened in Farewell to Kindness, where the heroine is Kitty’s sister, Anne. Alex, who appears in the excerpt below, is the hero of A Raging Madness, next in the series. Both books are discounted for the rest of May, to celebrate the publication of the third novel in the series, The Realm of Silence, which is already available on my bookshop and comes out everywhere else tomorrow.

Clink on the links for blurbs and buy buttons.

Farewell to Kindness is currently discounted to 99c wherever it is sold as an ebook.

A Raging Madness is available with a discount of $2.75 off the list price of $3.99 on my bookshop only (the Buy from Jude Knight button). Use the discount code KWMS6GNW at checkout.

Excerpt from Farewell to Kindness

“And is Miss Kitty with Miss Meg?” John asked.

“No, indeed. She went off to bed a good ten minutes ago. You go too, Price.”

With a sense of alarm out of all proportion to the circumstances, John left. He had no reason, beyond Jonno’s concerns and a stirring uneasiness, to run down the eastern stairs instead of up the servant stairs to his own room in the attic. But run he did.

On the floor below, he stopped. The ladies’ bedchambers, including Miss Kitty’s, were mostly to the left. Acting on instinct, he turned right, to pass the room where Miss Ruth had slept.

He stopped as he came level with the closed door. Something moved inside. A struggle? Thumping and muffled cries. He tried the handle. Locked. Shouting himself in his alarm, he hurled himself against the door. Once, twice. The third time it burst open, and he fell through the doorway, catching himself with his hands before he crashed to the floor.

As he picked himself up, the Earl of Selby cast him a fierce look.

“Get out,” Selby ordered. The dirty swine held Miss Kitty pinned to the bed with his upper body, one hand muffling her cries while the other fumbled at the buttons of his breeches. “Get the hell out, man. This is none of your business.”

John grabbed the bastard by the shoulder, swung him around and planted a fist straight into his superior nose, sending him lurching backwards.

Miss Kitty slithered quickly off the bed, and ran to the door, where Miss Mia—who must have been woken by the shouting—wrapped an arm around her.

John put himself between Lord Selby and the doorway.

“You hit me!” Lord Selby said, incredulous. “You broke my nose!”

John figured he probably had. Certainly if the pain in his hand was anything to go by, he must have caused considerable damage to the bastard’s face.

“I’ll see you swing for this,” Selby hissed. “Striking a peer is a capital offence. You’ll swing for this.”

“Rubbish,” Miss Mia said, from the doorway. “You were drunk and you bumped into the bedpost. We all saw it.”

From below came a stentorian bellowing. “What’s going on up there? Jonno, get up those stairs and report, man.”

“Mrs Redepenning, this man attacked me.”

Miss Mia thrust out her chin. “Lord Selby, the Earl of Chirbury’s trusted friend protected a guest in his Lord’s house.”

Selby tried to dodge past John, who blocked him. Jonno came running along the hall and skidded to a stop behind Miss Kitty and Miss Mia. “Major wants to know what’s happening.”

“This man attacked me!” Selby roared. “I want him arrested!”

“This so-called gentleman attacked Miss Haverstock,” Miss Mia interrupted, “and Price came to her rescue.”

“Stop saying that,” Selby commanded. “I intend to marry the girl. There’s no need for all this fuss.”

The two women looked at him, shocked. “Marry?” Miss Kitty said.

Selby smiled, looking smug even with the blood dripping from his nose. “I’ll wager you didn’t think to catch a peer, did you?”

Her eyes flashing, Miss Kitty took a step away from Miss Mia’s protective arms. “Marry? Me? Marry you?”

Selby looked even more smug. “Of course you’re surprised, a village girl becoming a Countess, especially one with such a questionable past. But yes, I’ll marry you. What do you think of that? That changes things, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in England,” Kitty hissed. “You slimy, disgusting slug, you.”

“Here now!” The smug look gone, Selby frowned. “You have to marry me. I’ve compromised you.”

“I don’t see any compromise,” Miss Mia argued. “Kitty has been with me the whole time.”

“But I have witnesses,” Selby looked at John, and at Jonno.

“I didn’t see nowt,” John said. “Did you Jonno?”

Jonno, a grin burgeoning, shook his head.

“Jonno, a hand here!” The peremptory command came from the stair landing. Jonno glanced in that direction, then ran toward it.

Miss Mia, looking after him, said, “Alex, how did you get up the stairs?”

“On my behind,” the Major replying, hobbling into view, leaning heavily on Jonno. “What’s all the noise?”

“Thank God you’re here,” Selby said, importantly. “You can sort this out.”

Major Alex let Jonno help him to a chair. Miss Mia led Miss Kitty into the room, her arm still protectively around her, keeping as far away from Selby as they could.

“All right,” Major Alex said, “what’s going on?”

Several voices started at once, and he roared, “Quiet! Selby. You first.”

“I want this man arrested. He hit me,” Selby commanded.

“A good one, too,” Major Alex observed. “I take it he deserved it, John?”

“He was trying to rape Miss Haverstock, sir,” John replied quietly.

“I’ve already said I’ll marry the girl,” Selby interrupted, impatiently. “He hit me, do you hear? He hit a peer. That’s a hanging offence.”

“Do you have witnesses to that, Selby?”

“Well, yes, Mrs Redepenning, and Miss Haverstock. They both saw him.”

The two ladies shook their heads. “I wasn’t even here,” Miss Kitty said, smiling at Miss Mia. “Mia and I were in her room, playing chess.” Miss Mia nodded. “Price wasn’t here, either, Alex. Lord Selby imagined the whole thing after he walked into the bedpost.”

Major Alex nodded. “Fair enough.”

Selby spluttered. “What do you mean, fair enough? It’s all lies. I’ve compromised the girl and I have to marry her! She has to marry me.”

“She doesn’t want to, Selby.”

“But… I’m an Earl. She would be a Countess.”

“You’re a slug,” Mia commented. “A slimy, disgusting slug, just as Kitty said.”

Major Alex’s eyes lit with appreciation. “That would seem to be a clear no, Selby,” he told the fuming Earl. “Jonno, John, the Earl appears to be shaky after his accident. Take him to his room and lock him in. Bexley’s valet has been doing for him, hasn’t he? Tell the man to pack the Earl’s effects. He will be leaving first thing in the morning.”

by

Meet the heroine on WIP Wednesday

An elegant establishment for young ladies, by Francis Burney

Last week, we talked about the reader’s first encounter with our hero. This week, let’s spotlight the heroine. Put an excerpt in the comment that shows the first time your heroine appears in the book. Mine is a scene from The Realm of Silence — a scene less than a couple of weeks old, written in response to a request from my editor, who thought my first effort at a first meeting was a bit lame. (She put it far more politely than that.)

Susan Cunningham fumbled for the chair behind her, her legs suddenly too weak to keep her upright.

“Missing?” she repeated, frowning as she tried to make the word mean something else. Anything else. “But where? How?”

Mrs Fellowes, the proprietor and headmistress, took the chair behind the desk, her lips pinched and her nostrils flared. “The school has been much deceived, Mrs Cunningham. The girls clearly planned this escapade very carefully. We could not have discovered their absence any earlier.”

“I don’t understand…” Susan frowned, trying to think through the panic that howled and gibbered in her mind. “How can she be missing?” Slowly, as if working in thick mud, her mind pulled some more facts out of the headmistress’s complaint. “How long has she been gone? Who is she with?”

“We could not have known,” Mrs Fellowes insisted. “The girls sent a note saying they were going to the art exhibition with Miss Foster, Miss Grahame’s aunt, and that Miss Cunningham would stay with her friend for the remainder of the weekend. This is a common occurrence, Mrs Cunningham, and has your approval.”

That was true. Patrice Grahame was Amy’s dearest friend. Wait. The weekend? “This was yesterday?” she asked. Please let it be yesterday. Surely two sixteen-year-old girls could not travel far in one day?

Mrs Fellowes sniffed. “Not Sunday, no. The notes were sent on Saturday morning, Mrs Cunningham, and Miss Grahame and Miss Cunningham have not been seen since.”

She unbent a little, “I was in the process of writing you a letter when you arrived unexpectedly.” A slight edge to that last word. Mrs Fellowes did not approve of parents who arrived during term time, and without warning. But Susan had been passing on her way to London, with only a ten-mile detour between her and her daughter.

Not to the point. Susan reined in her skittering thoughts and pursued the question of why two girls could be absent from Saturday to Monday with no one the wiser.

“Did Miss Foster not report the girls missing?”

“She also received a note, in which the girls said Miss Grahame would be staying at the school with your daughter. I am very disappointed in them, Mrs Cunningham. They are not biddable girls, but I had not thought them liars.” She sniffed again, jerking her chin upward as she did so. “You will wish to speak to Miss Foster. You have her direction, I imagine.”

Susan was ushered firmly to the door before she could formulate a response and did not think to ask what measures had been taken to find the missing girls until she was halfway to Miss Foster’s townhouse. She continued on, as more and more questions crowded her mind. Perhaps Miss Foster knew the answers. If not, she would go back to the school and demand explanations. Later.

by

Tea with Gil

 

Her Grace of Haverford eyed the young man in her parlour with some amusement. Not, perhaps, as young as all that. The new Lord Rutledge must be approaching forty years, but he had the type of face that looks mature at twenty and ages changes little thereafter. In his eighties, he would still be a handsome man.

A lifetime of careful observation of those who surrounded any duchess allowed Her Grace to detect his discomfort, though he held himself like the cavalry officer he once was, and his face hinted at the reason for his nickname. Rock Ledge, they called him. The man who never showed emotion. The duchess saw the slight stiffness around his eyes and mouth, the nervous flick of his eyes towards the maid, rapidly schooled to refocus on his hostess, a thumb and forefinger pressed rigidly together. Rutledge clearly expected this experience to be unpleasant.

“Thank you, Milly. You may leave us,” the duchess said to the maid. The girl went obediently, closing the parlour door firmly about her.

Rutledge straightened still further, and his eyes widened.

To business, then, and to put the poor boy out of his misery. “Rutledge, I have called you here today to offer my support.”

He was wary, of course. “Your support, Your Grace?”

He had a reputation as a blunt man, refreshingly blunt, her friend Lord Henry had said. She would not beat around the bush, then. “Your brother was a wicked man, rightly shunned by Society. You are the opposite, I am told by those I trust. Society will not, however, change its mind about the Rutledges. Not without some direction.”

Rutledge blinked rapidly a couple of times, before saying, “Direction from Your Grace must always be successful.”

A most tactful way to express doubt. She allowed her amusement to show in a smile. “I have known one or two failures, my lad. But I do not anticipate difficulty in this case.”

“I am an unworthy cause, Your Grace. I have no wish to shine in Society.”

“You will bury yourself in the country, I have no doubt, and ignore us all. But that will not do for your wife and children.”

He looked down at his hands, which had formed fists before he could prevent them. She watched them slowly relax, waiting for his response, which came after a long moment. “You have been honest with me, Your Grace, and I will return the courtesy. I have no intention of perpetuating the Rutledge line.”

His intentions, if Henry was correct, were not the only ones to be considered. And Henry knew Rutledge nearly as well as he knew Susan, his own daughter.

No need to tell Rutledge that his days as a single man were numbered. “I see. Well then, we shall talk about something else.”

She passed him the cup of coffee she had prepared for him, and he took it with thanks, nearly spilling it at her next comment.

“I believe you have recently spent some time with my goddaughter, Susan Cunningham,” she said.

Gil Rutledge is the hero of The Realm of Silence, available from this site’s bookshop on 15 May, and from all other eretailers on 22 May.

Excerpt

Gil Rutledge sat in the small garden to the side of the Crown and Eagle, and frowned at the spread provided for his breakfast. Grilled trout with white butter sauce, soft-boiled eggs, grilled kidney, sausages, mashed potatoes, bacon, a beef pie, two different kinds of breads (one lightly toasted), bread rolls, a selection of preserves, and a dish of stewed peaches, all cooked to perfection and none of it appealing.

Two days with his sister, Madelina, had left old guilt sitting heavy in his stomach, choking his throat and souring his digestion. And the errand he faced had yet to face did not improve his appetite.

He cut the corner from a slice of toast and loaded it with bits of bacon and a spoonful of egg. He was too old a campaigner to allow loss of appetite to stop him from refuelling. He washed the mouthful down with a sip from his coffee. It was the one part of the breakfast Moffat had not trusted to the inn kitchen. His soldier-servant insisted on preparing it himself, since he knew how Gil like it.

No. Not his soldier-servant. Not anymore. His valet, butler, factotum. Manservant. Yes, his manservant.

Gil raised the cup to the shade of his despised older brother. “This is the worst trick you’ve played on me yet,” he muttered. The viscount’s death had landed the estranged exile with a title he never wanted, a bankrupt estate, a frail frightened sister-in-law and her two little daughtersleft to his guardianship but fled from his home—and an endless snarl of legal and financial problems. And then there were Gil’s mother and his younger sister. His mission in leaving Gloucestershire had been to avoid war with the first and make peace with the second.

With a sigh, he took another sip, and loaded his fork again. The sooner he managed to swallow some of this meal, the sooner he could be on the road.

Beyond the fence that bordered the garden, carriages collected their passengers from the front of the inn. Stamford was on the Great North Road, and a transport hub to half of England, with roads branching off in every direction. As Gil stoically soldiered his way through breakfast, he watched idly, amusing himself by imagining the errands and destinations of the travellers.

Until one glimpsed face made him sit forward with a start. Surely that was Amelia Cunningham, The Goddess’s eldest daughter? No. This girl was older, almost an adult, though still dressed as a schoolgirl.

He frowned, trying to work out how old little Amy must be by now. He had last seen her during his most recent posting to England, before he was sent overseas to Gibraltar then on to the Peninsular wars. At the beginning of 1808. He remembered, because that was when he parted with the best horse a man had ever owned. More than four years ago. The Goddess who held his heart had been a widow these past two years and Amy must be—what? Good Lord. She would be sixteen by now.

He craned his neck, trying to see under the spreading hat that shielded the girl’s face, but she climbed into a yellow post chaise with a companion—a tall stripling boy of about the same age. And the woman who followed them was definitely not The Goddess; not unless she had lost all her curves, shrunk a good six inches, dyed her golden hair black, and traded her fashionable attire for a governess’s dull and shapeless garb.

No. That was not Susan Cunningham. Amy would have a governess, presumably, but the boy was way too old to be Amy’s brother Michael. No. The girl could not have been Amy.

The door closed, the post boy mounted, the chaise headed north, and Gil went back to his breakfast.

by

Meet the hero on WIP Wednesday

We set the scene for our book by the way we meet our main characters. Does the reader like them? Have we picked up their lives at an interesting or crucial moment? Are they showing a little of who they really are? Is there a hook that intrigues — perhaps something that tells us the nature of the coming conflict?

Sometimes, I start a story several times, looking for that right place in my characters’ lives to bring them onto the page. Sometimes, I start with a secondary character or even (in one case) one who kicked off the whole sequence of events for the heroine, but was dead before the rest of the story takes place. In today’s excerpt, I introduce the hero of The Realm of Silence, less than a fortnight away from publication on my website shop, and so only just a work-in-progress in the most technical of senses.

Please feel free to drop your own excerpts in the comments (just heroes, please. I’m saving villains and heroines for a later blog.)

Gil Rutledge sat in the small garden to the side of the Crown and Eagle, and frowned at the spread provided for his breakfast. Grilled trout with white butter sauce, soft-boiled eggs, grilled kidney, sausages, mashed potatoes, bacon, a beef pie, two different kinds of breads (one lightly toasted), bread rolls, a selection of preserves, and a dish of stewed peaches, all cooked to perfection and none of it appealing.

Two days with his sister, Madelina, had left old guilt sitting heavy in his stomach, choking his throat and souring his digestion. And the errand he faced had yet to face did not improve his appetite.

He cut the corner from a slice of toast and loaded it with bits of bacon and a spoonful of egg. He was too old a campaigner to allow loss of appetite to stop him from refuelling. He washed the mouthful down with a sip from his coffee. It was the one part of the breakfast Moffat had not trusted to the inn kitchen. His soldier-servant insisted on preparing it himself, since he knew how Gil like it.

No. Not his soldier-servant. Not anymore. His valet, butler, factotum. Manservant. Yes, his manservant.

Gil raised the cup to the shade of his despised older brother. “This is the worst trick you’ve played on me yet,” he muttered. The viscount’s death had landed the estranged exile with a title he never wanted, a bankrupt estate, a frail frightened sister-in-law and her two little daughters—left to his guardianship but fled from his home—and an endless snarl of legal and financial problems. And then there were Gil’s mother and his younger sister. His mission in leaving Gloucestershire had been to avoid war with the first and make peace with the second.

With a sigh, he took another sip, and loaded his fork again. The sooner he managed to swallow some of this meal, the sooner he could be on the road.

by

Tea with Ella

 

Susan had allowed Ella to refuse most of the invitations that poured in after the shocking incident at Lady Sutton’s soiree. Everyone wanted to meet the new Lady Renshaw, who had been drugged and assaulted in the midst of a party attended by half the ton. Ella had no desire to meet their avid eyes and turn away their eager intrusive questions, and Alex and Susan agreed. However, “You must appear at some of these,” Susan had said, “so that people know you have nothing of which to be ashamed.”

But Ella was ashamed. She had lied, and intended to keep on lying. Every time someone addressed her as ‘Lady Renshaw’ she had to subdue a flinch. But Alex and his father had come up with the fiction of their marriage to protect her, and she could not, would not shame them by exposing the untruth.

Still, the knowledge she was an imposter made her reluctant to face her hostess today. This was one invitation Susan insisted on her accepting, assuring her that the Duchess of Haverford was a kind woman, and one of the most influential of Society’s great ladies.

She stood as the great lady entered the room. “Lady Renshaw, how kind you are to come to see me,” the duchess said, taking Ella’s hand and directing a kiss in towards the general vicinity of Ella’s cheek. “Now. How can I help you and young Alex? He is, you know, one of my favourite godsons, and everyone will tell you I am godmother to half the ton. Take a seat, my dear, and tell me how you have your tea.”

Ella let the duchess’s warmth and evident affection for Alex washed over her and began to relax.

Excerpt from A Raging Madness

Ella, watching Alex treating a crowd of admiring females to his best imitation of a man pleased with his lot, was surprised when Mrs Fullerton spoke at her elbow. “Silly hens. He is being polite, of course, but I dare say our new Lord Renshaw is hating every minute.”

Ella controlled her surge of irritation. She had no place objecting to Mrs Fullerton’s possessive ‘our’, or her implicit claim to understand Alex. Diplomatically, she replied, “I was surprised at how quickly the news had travelled. He only heard this afternoon.”

“I owe you an apology, Lady Melville. I was very rude when we last met. I was jealous, you see. Alex never looked at me the way he looks at you.” Mrs Fullerton gave a deep sigh. “But one must accept reality. He has eyes only for you, and I was quite horrid. I am ashamed of myself, truly.”

She seemed sincere, her eyes meeting Ella’s, a tentative and apologetic smile just touching the corner of her lips. Ella suppressed the urge to ask how Alex looked at her and gave way to the impulse not to correct Mrs Fullerton’s misconception about Ella’s and Alex’s relationship.

“We all do things we later regret, Mrs Fullerton. Think nothing of it.”

“You are very gracious.” Mrs Fullerton lifted her glass to her lips. “Bother!” Somehow, she had managed to spill quite a large splash of the drink on one shoulder of her gown, a red spreading stain against the pastel green. “Lady Melville, I hate to impose, but could you…”

What could Ella say? She accompanied Mrs Fullerton to the ladies’ retiring room, helped her sponge out the liquid, and waited by the door to the large drawing room while Mrs Fullerton went out to the front hall to retrieve a shawl to cover her shoulders.

She returned with a footman in tow. “Have you tried the punch, Lady Melville? It is strongly spiced but hot and quite pleasant.”

She collected two glasses from the footman’s tray and pushed one into Ella’s hand.

“Drink up, Lady Melville, and then we shall go and rescue Lord Renshaw.”

It was over spiced, but Ella did not wish to be rude. She took a large sip and another.

An instant before the drug in the drink hit her, triumph flared in Mrs Fullerton’s eyes, and Ella knew she had made a mistake. She opened her mouth to shout for Alex, but suddenly the footman had a hand over her mouth and another under her elbow and was hustling, half carrying, her through the door Mrs Fullerton held open.

“I will give you a few minutes to make it look good,” she said and whipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Ella was struggling against the footman and the fog trying to close in on her mind, the dizziness that wanted to consume her. She stamped at his foot, kicked back at his shin, but her soft indoor slippers made no impression. She squirmed, trying to jab her free arm as low as possible, and he twisted away with an oath, his footman’s wig falling from his head to disclose hair nearly as white.

He pushed her from him so that she fell face forward onto a sofa and in an instant was on her, tugging her head back by the hair, straddling her torso. “This will do well enough,” he commented, lifting himself enough to push up her skirt and petticoats.

Ella fought to retain consciousness, the pain of her pulled hair helping to keep her from sinking into the fog. “Scream,” she instructed herself, as her assailant’s free hand fumbled at her buttocks, and she shrieked as loud as she could.

Doors burst open: the one onto the hall and a double set into the drawing room next door, and the room filled with people.

It was her worst nightmare come again: the indrawn breaths of shock, the buzz of excited comments, the avid staring eyes. The last thing Ella heard before she sank into oblivion was the amused drawl of the man on her back. “Oh dear, Lady Melville. It seems we have been caught.”

A Raging Madness is book 2 of The Golden Redepennings. Book 3, The Realm of Silence, will be out this month.

 

by

Authors in Bloom, and zucchini fritters

Dianne Venetta_AIB Logo_2015

PROMOTION IS OVER: CONGRATULATIONS TO THE WINNERS

My ebook special edition has been won by ELF. Thank you to all who entered.

***

Welcome to my blog. I’m delighted to be an author in bloom, though down here in New Zealand, we’re sliding into Winter while you Northern hemispherites are busy preparing your Spring gardens.

But it is never too early to plan what to do with the harvest, and prizes are don’t have to wait for any particular season. Am I right?

 Zucchinis, courgettes, or as we call them when I fail to pick every day, marrows

There cannot be an easier or more prolific crop on the face of the planet. Plant, feed (they love manure and compost), and — whatever you do — don’t forget. Once they start to produce, you’ll need to pick daily, or one day you’ll come out and find a marrow the size of Africa smothering everything else in the garden.

We usually plant several different types: green torpedoes, yellow torpedoes, and both green and yellow patty-pan shaped. Picked little, they slice into salads. I also liked them fried with a breakfast of eggs and bacon, or cut into small cubes in a salsa. You can grate them for fritters whatever the size, but bigger is faster.

This year’s marvelous discovery was that grated zucchini freezes really well. Most of the liquid drains out of the zucchini while it is defrosting, making even better fritters than the fresh stuff. Yum!

Zucchini fritters — Paleo and auto-immune system friendly

Tips: weigh your zucchini before grating. It’s easier. Get out as much water from the zucchinis as you can. This is really important. If you don’t freeze the grated zucchini, salt it to draw the moisture, then twist it in a cloth. If you have time, leave it overnight in paper towel. Really squeeze the last drop out of it.

1 pound of zucchini, grated and drained (about 2 of medium size)
2 green onions, thinly sliced
/4 cup almond flour (or arrowroot or coconut if nuts are a problem)
1/4 cup of freshly grated parmesan (if you can take dairy)
2 eggs (if you can’t take eggs, try this gelatin substitute)
salt and pepper to taste
1 tsp lemon juice

Put everything in a bowl and mix.

Heat two tablespoons of your choice of cooking oil in a pan and wait for the pan to get super hot. When the oil is shimmering, add spoonfuls of the mixture and fry until golden brown, about two to three minutes each side.

Serve with sour cream and extra green onions. Or with eggs, mushrooms, and homemade hollandaise sauce. Or with spinach and salmon. Or with applesauce. Or any way you like, really. We make up huge bowls of these and use them often.

GIVEAWAY

Comment on this blog post and note in the Rafflecopter that you’ve done so. That’s all you need to do to be in the draw to win your choice of my prizewinner special edition ebooks, and answer the extra questions to be in the draw for an advance reader copy of The Realm of Silence, to be sent early in May.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

GRAND PRIZE

We are giving away a Kindle Fire or Nook (winner’s choice) along with a 2nd prize of $25 gift card to those who participate in the whole hop by visiting each and every spot and leaving a comment or email through the blog post or the giveaway.

Where to find out if you have won.

Winners will be posted on the first and last websites in the hop (Dianne Venetta and BloominThyme). I’ll also post my own winners here.

 

Hop along for more great tips, recipes, and giveaways