To Tame the Wild Rake

by

Happy Sixth Birthday to A Baron for Becky

A Baron for Becky was first published on 5th August 2015. It introduced one of my most popular characters, but didn’t give him a happy ending.

Now, finally, the Marquis of Aldridge is hero of his own book. To Tame the Wild Rake will be published on 17th September, and is currently on preorder.

Presents for you

Free and discounted

To celebrate my book birthday, I’m giving away A Baron for Becky on Bookfunnel. It’s free for two days.

It’s also free on my SELZ bookshop.

I’m reducing it to 99c on Amazon as soon as their system gets over a glitch and lets me into the pricing field.

Haverford House website

I’ve set up a new website, a subsite of this one, to give you biographies, background information, images, a family tree, and excerpts. Lots of excerpts.

So far, I have a family tree and a couple of introductions, but I plan to post something new every day between now and the publication of the new book. Keep checking. I’ll also have contests and giveaways.

by

Family men on WIP Wednesday

I love showing  how my hero reacts to children. You can tell a lot about a man in such circumstances, especially in a time when single men of rank and fortune had little to do with children, even if they had much younger siblings.  Often, too, even fathers–even mothers–saw their children only when they were neat, tidy, and being presented for inspection. So the image above, of a wife feeding her baby while the rest of her children play and their father looks on, is rather sweet. I love the cushion under Mama’s feet!

My excerpt shows a father who doesn’t follow the usual custom, and my hero’s reaction to his host’s clear affection for his daughters.

When Aldridge was announced, he found Ashbury sitting cross-legged on the drawing room hearthrug, a little girl leaning on each knee, his single hand busy with charcoal over paper. The earl glanced up and smiled. “I’ll just be a moment, Aldridge. Help yourself to a seat.”

Aldridge felt one eyebrow rise. He had seen fathers who enjoyed their children’s company —his half-brother David Wakefield, for one. But he’d not before been in a home where children were permitted to make themselves at home in the drawing room, let alone where attention to them took priority over guests, even unexpected ones. Watching the vignette on the hearthrug left him charmed and wistful.

A short time later, Ashbury folded the sketch he had been working on as if it was a fan and handed it to one girl child, and picked up another folded paper from between his knees to give to the other. “There, my sweets. Make your courtesy to Lord Aldridge before you begin, if you please. Aldridge, my daughters, Mirabelle and Genevieve.”

Both girls stood to curtsey. “Good morning, Lord Aldridge,” they chorused, as their father clambered to his feet.

Aldridge bowed. “Lady Mirabelle, Lady Genevieve. May I enquire what your father has been drawing for you?”

The smaller of the two girls approached, holding out the paper. “Paper dolls, Lord Aldridge. Look. We cut out around the lines and then we can paint and dress the line of dollies.”

Ashbury had a talent. The front fold of the fan showed half a fine lady, her hand and skirt remaining uncut on the fold on one side, the rest of which had been cut away, one dainty toe stretched to the bottom of the page, the tip of her half bonnet touching the top. The details of the lady were lightly sketched in, a row of ringlets, one fine eye with lush lashes, half a Cupid’s bow in a sweet smile, the neckline of a morning gown and its high waist, a hint of lace at cuff and hem.

Aldridge smiled at the child and handed her back her paper. “Your father makes a fine sketch,” he commented.

“Now up to the desk with you, ladies,” said Ashbury. “I’ll come and admire your work after I’ve talked to Lord Aldridge. Aldridge, can I offer refreshments? An ale, perhaps?”

Aldridge demurred. “I did not mean to interrupt your day, Ashbury. I was just seeking direction to the clinic your wife supports. I’m hoping to find Bentham there.”

Ashbury had crossed to the door to speak to someone in the hall. “Possibly,” he said, as he came back into the room. “It is clinic day, and several of the doctors attend, including my wife, as it happens.”

Aldridge had heard that the lady still worked as a doctor, though he hadn’t been sure whether to believe it. He certainly didn’t know of any other peer who would allow his wife to do such a scandalous thing as provide medical services to slum dwellers.

Ashbury went on, “But do join me for an ale, if you have time. Ah!” He turned back to look at the door, as a pair of maids came in with trays. “Thank you, Sally, Maud.”

He sent the maids away and again broke protocol by serving his daughters with a drink each from one jug and two slices of seed cake, before pouring the sparkling amber contents of the other jug into two tall tumblers and passing one to Aldridge along with another slice of seed cake.

 

by

Family in WIP Wednesday

Today, I’ve typed THE END in To Tame the Wild Rake, which is the fourth novel in The Return of the Mountain King, and the long-awaited love story for the Marquis of Aldridge. My excerpt is from that novel, and shows Aldridge with his half-brother, David. The two have become easier with one another since their confrontations in Revealed in Mist (four and a half years ago in author time, seven years in book time). But there’s still an edge there.

“I don’t like this unrest in the slums,” Aldridge said to his half-brother, David Wakefield, as they rode side by side to Winshire house to visit their newly discovered nephew.

“It is bad,” Wakefield agreed. “Arson attacks, riots, assaults—all seemingly unrelated, and all against philanthropic organisations.”

“Supported by the Haverfords, the Winshires, or both,” Aldridge pointed out.

“Which is not necessarily a link,” Wakefield cautioned. “The ladies of both families are heavily involved in many different charitable ventures.”

Aldridge raised an incredulous brow. “Are you telling me that you don’t see Wharton’s hand in this?”

Wakefield shrugged. “So far, the incidents appear to trace back to widely disparate sources. Individuals with a grudge, such as the chimney sweep who broke into the orphanage on Fairview Street with ten of his mates, purportedly to find boys to replace those he claims the trustees stole from him, or the brothel keeper with a grudge against Vicar Basingstoke’s mission to offer alternative occupations to sex workers.”

“It’s Wharton,” Aldridge insisted.

“You could be right. But I can’t prove it, Aldridge. It may be a series of coincidences.”

Aldridge shook his head. “I don’t believe in that level of coincidence.”

Wakefield grimaced. “Whether it is a plot or coincidence, those behind the attacks have overstretched. The little people of the slums have been hurt, and my agents can scarcely keep up with all those wishing to slip us bits of information.”

They broke off the conversation as they moved into single file to pass a stopped cart that blocked most of the street, and only resumed once they had turned the corner into a wider avenue.

“A dozen people have been taken into custody, all of them linked to at least one of the crimes, none of them to all of them. And none of them are known to be working for Wharton. I have to follow the evidence. I’d hate to miss something by concentrating on him when something else is going on — or someone else is behind all this turmoil. But if there is a link, I’ll find it.”

“I’ve suggested that Mama and the girls leave early for Christmas with our sister Matilda, but Her Grace insists that they have accepted several invitations for the next week.” Aldridge sighed, then shook his head. “At least she has agreed that none of them will go anywhere without armed footmen in attendance.”

“Your men are well trained,” Wakefield agreed, “and if the ladies will stay out of the slums, they should remain safe. So far all of the attacks have been in areas no lady should visit.”

Aldridge response was a rude noise, which drew a smile from his brother. Like the Winderfield ladies, the Haverford ladies took a hands-on approach to philanthropy, and several of the institutions they supported were based in areas that Aldridge would prefer his ladies to stay away from.

“It could not come at a worse time,” he told Wakefield. “I have to leave in the next couple of days if I am to get to Haverford Castle and back in time to escort the duchess to the Hamners’. I need to see the duke’s condition for myself and make sure the doctors are very clear about what I expect from them. If I don’t go now, while the weather is reasonable, it could be a month or even two before I am able to make the trip.”

“What do the doctors say?” Wakefield asked.

Aldridge snorted again, this sound closer to disgust than laughter. “Three of them, and all of them with a different opinion. One wants to dose him with mercury. One insists on a scalpel to remove the worst of the growths. One counsels leaving him to his well-deserved misery.”

He nudged his horse closer to Wakefield and lowered his voice. “His mind is all but gone, David. This time last year, he was reliving times past, when he was still one of the foremost rakes of the ton and a power in the realm. Now—or so my people say—he’s little more than an animal, and a wounded animal at that. A dangerous, nasty animal driven by constant pain.”

“How long?” Wakefield asked.

“How long can he last? None of the three doctors in attendance is prepared to give an opinion. The disease will kill him, but Bentham says he could survive a long time in this condition. Or his heart might give out tomorrow. You’ll look in on Tony while I’m gone? He should be safe with the Winderfields, and Lady Charlotte says they will take him to Shropshire with them when they leave for Winds’ Gate.”

“The broken arm will slow the boy down for a while, and even someone as crazy as Wharton is not going to make a direct assault on Winshire’s mansion,” Wakefield reminded him.

“True. I take it you’ll be telling Winshire what you’ve told me about the turmoil in the slums?” Aldridge didn’t mind Wakefield working for the Duke of Winshire, but it amused him to let his half-brother know that he knew about it.

Wakefield didn’t rise to the bait. “Of course. And I’ll keep you both informed as I find out more.”