Dangerous Weakness meets Encouraging Prudence, second encounter Part 1 of 2

Last week Caroline Warfield and I posted a two-part story in which characters from their different books met in the virtual world. Today, exclusively in cyberspace, we tell the story of their second encounter in 1818. The first half is below, and the second half on Caroline’s blog.

Today’s story involves David Wakefield and The Marquess of Glenaire.

David Wakefield is the baseborn son of the Duke of Haverford. He earns his living as an enquiry agent and has acquired twenty years experience by the second encounter. (Encouraging Prudence, work in progress to be published in September 2015)

Richard Hayden, The Marquis of Glenaire, is heir to the Duke of Sudbury. He is also Castlereagh’s protégé, spymaster, diplomat, and fixer (He appears in Dangerous Secrets and will have his own story told in Dangerous Weakness, to be published next winter) He believes he can fix anything, given enough information, but is currently stumped.

Part 1

Chelsea 1818

west-view-of-chelsea-bridge 1790brit museumThe Marquess of Glenaire rarely came to Chelsea.  Duties occasionally brought him to look after the pensioners, the veterans in the Royal Hospital. The area itself, still semi-rural, held little interest.  As his carriage sped down the Brampton Road, however, signs of new development drew his eyes.  He thought the neighborhood, up and coming with the rising middle class, fit the man he sought, David Wakefield.

Fussier members of the haut ton looked down their overbred noses at David’s origins and profession. They called him a thief taker and said it as if the very word smelled of stable muck.  Glenaire knew him for an enquiry agent and a damned good one.

Kate_Greenaway_-_May_dayWhen his carriage came down a stretch of empty road, a rag tag group of children marched past laughing and singing accompanied by two women, nursery maids no doubt. He frowned with distaste. Glenaire preferred children to be few in number, quiet, and in the nursery.

Townhouses had sprung up at the end of the road, one of them the place he sought. He hadn’t waited for an answer to his message requesting an interview. He hoped he would catch the man home.

The door swung open and David himself greeted him.

“Glenaire! I just sat to pen a response to your message.  You didn’t need to come to the wilds of Chelsea; I would have attended you at the Foreign Office.”  He stepped back to welcome Glenaire to the home that also served as his office, taking his hat and gloves and placing them on a table in the foyer.

“The business is personal, Wakefield. I thought it best if I came to you.  I hope the timing isn’t inconvenient.

“Not at all. I’m flattered, Glenaire. As heir to one of the most powerful dukes in the country, you could employ any number of agents.” Wakefield’s face gave away nothing of the curiosity he must be feeling.

“You know there’s a limit to what I can ask the government to do,” Glenaire said. “I have to have someone I trust, not one of His Grace’s minions, do this job.”

“I will help if I can,” Wakefield said. He opened a door, and led the way into what was clearly his office.

Glenaire started to follow, but a slamming door and raucous laughter interrupted him.  The ragtag parade he saw earlier marched through the house and up the stairs. Several of the children stared openly (and in Glenaire’s opinion rudely) at the marquess. Two women brought up the rear.  One was clearly a nursemaid. The other—

712px-English_Townhouse_(3610701791)“Glenaire, you may remember my wife, Prudence Wakefield. Prue, this is—”

“The Marquess of Glenaire,” she finished with laughing eyes. “All of London knows of the marquess.” She didn’t call him “the marble marquess,” but Glenaire thought he could see it in her eyes.  “Let me get the children settled on their lessons and I’ll join you,” she went on.  She gave Glenaire a proper curtsey and climbed the stairs.

Glenaire sat across from Wakefield moments later and sipped a remarkably fine whiskey.  He needed the fortification.   All this exuberant family life unnerved him.  He planned to marry soon, but when he did, his wife would be a proper lady from one of the best families; one who wouldn’t disrupt his orderly life.

Wakefield eyed him with open amusement.  “I’m not sure what I can do for you, Glenaire, beyond what I’ve already reported.   Your friend Baron Ross sold his horse and a fine silver watch in Falmouth. He took ship to Naples, as I told you when we met at the Crock and Bull Inn.”

“That intelligence gave me an excuse to use government agents in Naples. We like to keep an eye on that part of the world. If I can track down a friend at the same time, it is so much the better. I’m grateful.”

Wakefield nodded, sure there was more.

“Jamie’s not the sort to shy about asking friends for help. If he’s in trouble he need only apply to me or to the Earl of Chadbourn or to my sister and her husband. He didn’t. He ran like a scared rabbit.”

“And?

“Something here in England drove him. We know the direction he took; we don’t know why. I need you to find out.”

To find out what happens next, see PART 2

Dangerous Secrets

Rome, 1820

Jamie Heyworth fled to Rome.  He can’t let Nora Haley know the secrets he has hidden from everyone, even his closest friends. Nora fears deception will destroy everything she desires and she certainly can’t trust any man who drinks. A widow, she had enough of both in her marriage. Both Jamie and Nora, however, will dare anything for the black haired, blue eyed little imp that keeps them together, even enter a sham marriage to protect her. Will love—and the truth—bind them both together?

Buy a copy:

Dangerous Secrets and Only for You

Two new releases for you to consider this week, both from fellow Bluestocking Belles.

Caroline Warfield releases Dangerous Secrets today. I’ve just finished Dangerous Works, and will review it as soon as I get a minute, but I can tell you that it was beautifully written, hard to put down, and deeply satisfying. I’m dying to know what happens to the impish Jamie, and will be buying Dangerous Secrets tonight so I can find out.

And Sherry Ewing releases Only for You, a sequel to her time travel novel For All of Ever. I haven’t managed to read For All of Ever yet, but I’m looking forward to it.

 

Royal Regard meets Encouraging Prudence – the whole sordid story

Author’s note: In the virtual worlds of historical fiction, authors create whole societies of characters, interacting with real historical events and even real people. But each virtual world sits alone, never touching the worlds of other authors. Until now.

Crock and bullThe Bluestocking Belles, as part of the launch of our new website for historical romance readers, created a magical coaching inn—fittingly called ‘The Crock and Bull’—a place for characters to meet from all of our books’ worlds and those of our guests.

Mariana Gabrielle and Jude Knight soon discovered that two of their characters knew one another well. Rather too well, according to all who knew them as young men.

During the course of the party, the Duke of Wellbridge and the Marquis of Aldridge  have referred on several occasions to an incident that saw them banned from an entire town, from the Prince of Wales’ presence, and even—for a time—from England. Until now, even the Duchess of Wellbridge hasn’t known the whole truth.

What was that mysterious event? How do Aldridge and Wellbridge know each other? Why has it been so long since they’ve spoken? Are they still keeping secrets?

Now, exclusively for readers of our blogs, Mariana Gabrielle and Jude Knight have co-written a small bit of backstory shared by a young Lord Nicholas Northope (from Royal Regard) and his protégé in crime, the Merry Marquis of Aldridge (who first appears in Jude Knight’s work-in-progress, Encouraging Prudence).

We will share sections of this scandalous story the week of March 8-13, leading up to the Bluestocking Ball on March 14.

TODAY, THE STORY IN ITS ENTIRETY:

The year is 1801 in Fickleton Wells, Somerset.

Anthony Grenford, the Marquis of Aldridge

Anthony Grenford, the Marquis of Aldridge

The Marquis of Aldridge, heir to the Duke of Haverford, is 21, just down from Oxford. Lord Nicholas Northope, second son of the Duke of Wellbridge has been, at 27, racketing about England unchecked a fair few years without much purpose. And the trajectories of both young lives are about to change.

“I don’t fancy hanging so much, myself.” Lord Nicholas Northope observes, rubbing his fingertips along his throat, the iron chains at his wrist clanking as he considered the length of his neck. “I always thought if Prinny ordered it, I’d be drawn and quartered or boiled in oil. I seem to bring out his bloodlust.”

Nick looks out the window. They have been imprisoned in an old Norman tower at the home of the local baron. Fortunately. With the entire town of Fickleton Wells on the rampage, the local gaol would not have been safe. Even from this place of relative safety, he can see angry townspeople keeping watch from beyond the gate.

The two young noblemen are sitting, cramped and freezing, in torn, grimy clothes, awaiting the Prince of Wales’ pleasure after rather an uproar in one of his royal townships. Wrist and ankle shackles clank at each gesture, chains long enough to allow considered movement, but short enough to impede them if they run.

Back to the wall on the cold stone floor, Lord Aldridge, the Merry Marquis, tosses out, casually, “I don’t qualify for silk myself, you know. I’m just using my father’s second title. Hemp for me, same as you,” Nick thinks Aldridge is taking rather a ghoulish interest in the possible mechanics of his death. “Though I did rather fancy Madame La Guillotine if I were ever put to death. There is something so divinely aristocratic about it.”

“It seems one can only play so many pranks on a monarch,” Nick opines, “before one’s neck is stretched.”

“It wasn’t our fault. Those women…” Aldridge shudders. “I can’t have swived more than three or four, surely? We only had them to ourselves for one evening, after all.”

“I can’t possibly have swived all of them. Though perhaps half… There were… how many? Fifteen? Surely not.”

“I don’t remember much after the dancing. They danced beautifully, didn’t they? The rector’s daughters?”

Both men fell into rather a trance for a few minutes, remembering the plump thighs and comely smiles of the rector’s twelve lovely, lonely daughters.

“Nick, we didn’t do anything… dishonorable… Did we? They won’t really hang us? And the prince—he wouldn’t… Hell, Nick, I played with his little brothers and sisters from the time I could toddle.”

Nicholas Northope, later the Duke of Wellbridge

Nicholas Northope, later the Duke of Wellbridge

Nick shrugged, “And I might have married Sophia. You will do best not to remind him you might have touched his younger sisters with the same hands you used to defile the rector’s daughters. In fact, Aldridge, speaking as a man six years older and wiser, you will not want to mention the princesses—or defiling—at all.”

He can’t keep his chained hands away from his neck.

“My head feels very fuzzy,” Aldridge complains. “Nick, how many hands am I holding up? And what is that elephant doing in the corner?”

“Prinny won’t be fooled by false deliria. I’ve tried it once already and he caught me out by calling a physician.”

Aldridge subsides, grumbling. “Is it not worth trying? And how very like you to steal a man’s alibi before he even has the chance to use it.”

Perhaps Aldridge has a point. “The gin did have rather a sharp taste, to be sure, though. Did you not think?”

Aldridge straightens, clearly prepared to synchronize their stories. “Yes, of course. Assuredly. Quite sharp indeed.”

Nick laughs and shakes his finger. “Do not lie to your sovereign, Aldridge, and if you must, never so poorly as that. The mayor, the rector, and the squire have truth on their side. There can be no doubt of our guilt. I did visit the squire’s wife, and you did enjoy the mayor’s younger sister, no matter what we might or might not remember about the rector’s daughters. We both knew the town was on the prince’s estate—is that not why we were there? To avoid our fathers’ holdings? No, my friend, we’ve been well and truly served up for His Royal Highness’s supper.”

Aldridge utters an expletive, and sinks his head in his hands.

A sound outside the tower room brings them both to their feet. A key turns in the lock.

The Duke of Haverford brushes past the burly guard who opens the door. “Out!” he barks.

Lord Nicholas Northope is no stranger to the ducal disposition and backs into a corner first thing, a tactical error he started making in childhood and has never outgrown. Aldridge, the son of this particular angry duke, stays at rigid attention, which does not avert the ducal fire.

“You miserable, self-indulgent, beef-witted nodcocks! What on earth possessed you? What were you thinking? Don’t answer that. You were not thinking!” Nick and Aldridge shrink, inch by inch, to the size of ten-year-olds. “Northope, I blame you for this mess. Show the boy the town, I said. Give him a good time. Keep him out of trouble. What the hell do you mean by it, eh?”

If Aldridge thinks Nick will step forward to do the honorable thing and admit his part, he has lost his bloody mind.

“Aldridge,” the duke barks as his heir begins to edge to one side. “Stand, boy. I’ll get to you.” The last is uttered in a low steady monotone.

Nick sinks ever-deeper into the corner he should have abandoned when he had the chance.

“Listen to me, and listen well, you buffle-brained nincompoops. You have been banned from Fickleton Wells! Banned! The sons of two of the greatest men in the Commonwealth banned from an English town. How on earth did this happen?”

Nick clears his throat and still manages to squeak, “Patent medicine, Sir, I swear it!” He shoulders his way out of the corner, determined to give his lies confidence. “In the… in the gin… we were… we were poisoned! The brandy, too, I’ll wager. Lucky to be alive… Surely cannot be held responsible for…”

“Rubbish, Northope. Rubbish! I’ll tell you how it happened. You let a pack of women lead you by your willies. Yes, you did. Your father and I have talked to them. And paid them off, the bitches. Because…” he walks right up and taps Nick’s chest as he makes his point. “You. Let. Them. Fool. You.”

Nick’s hand runs around his neck again.

“Your Grace,” Aldridge has suddenly realized that they wouldn’t be banned if they were to be hanged. This has given him an altogether overly optimistic sense of confidence. “They say they are pregnant, Your Grace.” Haverford’s head swivels dangerously in Aldridge’s direction. “It can’t be us, Your Grace. It’s only been a week since we arrived, and surely, virile as we are, we cannot each have impregnated a dozen women in a week? Surely, not even Your Grace could—”

Nick suddenly realizes the benefit of being six years wiser.

Haverford turns all his attention on his son and heir, and Aldridge’s confidence shrinks to a needle point.

“They claim you have been visiting them for months,” Haverford explains, his suddenly gentle tones a sure sign that Aldridge is about to be very, very sorry. And then even sorrier than that.

While Aldridge tries to duck out of sight, Nick moves to a position well away from any more corners. He is a grown man, for heaven’s sake. And there are plenty of places to stand.

“I haven’t finished with you, Northope.”

“Months?” Nick responds, shaking his head, straightening his cuffs. “You’ve been coming here months, Aldridge?”

“Not I, Your Grace. It’s a lie.” Aldridge squeaks.

“I, on the other hand,” Nick offers, “just came to Fickleton Wells for a prize fight. At least that is why your son told me he was bringing me here. If he had another purpose… well… I cannot speak to that…”

Haverford casts his eyes to heaven. “No honor among thieves or scoundrels. Did the Duke of Wellbridge’s wife play him false with the village idiot? Aldridge, if your mother weren’t a saint I would swear you couldn’t be mine.”

Aldridge is casting Nick a look of deep betrayal. “Nick, how could you?”

Nick relents. There is no need to leave all the blame on Aldridge. “Admittedly, Your Grace, we had a bit more gin than two gentlemen should… But I would swear Aldridge and I were both unknown to them. And the gin had quite a sharp taste, rather like… patent medicine. I can’t help but think they are lying.”

“Of course they are lying.” Haverford throws up his hands in despair. “And of course they set out to trap you. And of course they drugged you. And of course you would drink anything put in front of you! Do you think I’m as big a fool as the two of you? But they have the whole town believing them, and the prince half believes them, too.”

“The prince,” Nick gulps. “What is Wales going to do to us?”

Haverford ignores him to continue his version of a fatherly sermon. “I have told you before, Aldridge. And you should listen, too, Northope. Never, ever, indulge yourself with the lower gentry or the middle sort. Servants, yes. Farmers’ wives and such. But never with people who can embarrass me… you. Keep a mistress. Keep ten; your allowance is large enough. Just don’t let your mother know, and stay away from the middle sort. One of our own, if you must, and if she has done her duty by her Lord. But never the middle sort. You have embarrassed me. You have embarrassed Wellbridge. And you have embarrassed the Prince of Wales.”

“On the topic of, er… Wellbridge… Sir?” Nick’s tentative voice demonstrated not an ounce of the Eton/Oxford poise he was so fond of displaying. “Did my, er… father… say what he would do? And Wales? What has he decided?”

“If it were up to me, and if Aldridge weren’t—God help the Haverford name—my heir, you’d both hang. But Prinny is inclined to be generous. I have no idea why.” He fixes Aldridge with another glare. “Your mother may have spoken to him.”

That brought up a very good point.

“Sir, Your Grace,” Nick asks, “might it be possible to bring this up with the Duchess of Wellbridge, not the duke?”

“There will be no discussion of anything with you, Northope. The king discussed it with Prinny, who discussed it with me and Wellbridge; we discussed it with your mothers, and the petty provincials in Fickleton Wells discussed it the length and breadth of England! You are asked not to find yourselves in the royal presence until such time as you are requested. You are further banned, until the general sense of noble fury is abated, from all of Prinny’s estates, his father’s, your father’s, and mine.

“Which. Will. Not. Be. Difficult.” Haverford’s finger drives the point home, “as you are both leaving England. Northope, your father has booked passage and suggests your long-delayed Grand Tour commence immediately on conclusion of this interview. Aldridge will be going to my estate in Outer Strathclyde, to study the wool trade. It is time he took a hand in estate business.”

“But Your Grace, isn’t Outer Strathclyde… didn’t you complain that you can’t seem to keep anyone there under the age of sixty?”

“Outer Strathclyde,” Nick snickers.

Aldridge looks hunted. “Outer Strathclyde,” he whimpers.

“Live to a ripe old age, they do in those parts. Something to do with the fine crisp air. Of course, all the young people have long since gone. But you could learn a lot there, Aldridge.”

“But Your Grace. You said you would never go there because you couldn’t get a woman to…” Aldridge’s voice trails off. Nick thinks he would have been better not to have opened his mouth.

Haverford, though, just smirks. “Precisely. And so the estate is neglected. But now I have no need to go. My ungrateful son—who could clearly do with fewer women—will represent me instead. And you, Northope…”

Nick knows exactly where he will be going, and if he can go without the ducal blessing, so much the better.

“Hanover, I presume?” he shrugs.

Nick has been recently considering a visit to his old friend, Adolphus, the viceroy, and Prinny will have no objection to Nick causing trouble in his brother’s viceregal Court. Northope second sons have a tradition of travel; it is how the French and Italian titles were acquired, and Nick will be more than delighted to continue the custom. Unexpected, given his brother’s infirmity, but not at all unwelcome. He does hope his father allows him a valet and enough money to eat well.

“Aldridge, you will not disappoint me,” Haverford’s mere tone of voice is a threat to both men… er, boys, who thus comply with the two burly servants come to escort the young lords to their respective transports.

“This is so unfair,” Aldridge hisses to Nick as they are separated. “You are being given the freedom of the globe, while I am being sent into celibate exile in a community of geriatric woollen weavers.”

Nick cannot help but grin. Aldridge is bearing the real punishment for their prank, and Nick is being rewarded with a merry jaunt across the Continent and no way for his father to object to it.

“I’ll remember this day, Northope,” Aldridge calls, as his keepers escort him away. “And I vow my exile will be a short one.”

Nick vows his might last forever.

***

To attend the Bluestocking Ball with Aldridge, Nick (who is now, himself, Wellbridge, at the wise old age of fifty), and dozens of other historical romance characters, go to the Bluestocking Belles’ Housewarming Party, March 14, 12 noon – 8 pm EDT.

Facebook Housewarming Party (The Bluestocking Ball): https://www.facebook.com/events/391482931013517/

Twitter Chat (the Parlour): Follow @BellesInBlue #BellesInBlue

Web Chat (the Solarium) on the Bluestocking Belles Website

A Chat with Our Characters by Sherry Ewing and Jude Knight

PeterThis is Peter Pritchard of Regency Morning Gazette, and I am reporting today from the Crock and Bull Inn, a mysterious accommodation house that has appeared in a number of counties simultaneously, and that is currently providing lodging to a vast cast of characters written by the eight Bluestocking Belles and their guests.

Part 1 of my report will be on Sherry Ewing’s blog, and part 2 on Jude Knight’s.

I am with Amiria of clan MacLaren and wife to Lord Dristan, first Earl of Berwyck, and Anne, Countess of Chirbury, wife to Stephen Redepenning, eighth Earl of Chirbury. Lord Dristan is also known as the Devil’s Dragon, and Lord Chirbury as The Wild Trapper Earl.

The two noble ladies normally inhabit different fictional worlds and different eras. Lady Amiria is normally found in the twelfth century and between the pages of If My Heart Could See You by Sherry Ewing. Lady Anne is from the early nineteenth century, and Farewell to Kindness (to be published 1 April) by Jude Knight.

Thanks to a magical time-spanning ever-expanding coaching inn, and a shared adventure in the nearby woods, the two ladies have found much in common and have become friends.

See Bluestocking Belle Sherry Ewing’s blog for Part 1.

PART 2

medievalI understand that you, Lady Amiria, were able to assist Lady Anne during the unpleasant episode involving her sons.

Amiria: Indeed. When my new friend Anne’s twin sons were kidnapped, I could not stand idly by and do nothing when I could be of some use. ’Tis a good thing I brought my sword and crossbow so I could assist the dear lady. I am an excellent swordswoman.

Do all women of the twelfth century carry such weapons of war?

’Tis most unusual, but I have been practicing with my brother since I was but a child. My father indulged me, since I seemed to thrive in the lists. Then, Dristan himself presented me with this very sword as a wedding gift. He is quite sentimental in offering me presents that are more useful to my skills and talents. I am not one to sit in a solar with needle and thread, you see. (Amiria leans forward to whisper softly) But do not mention that I said such about my husband. He has a fierce reputation to uphold, after all.

And, Lady Anne, I am told that you did not sit idly by.

Anne: I am not the warrior that my new friend Amiria is. But when those at love are at risk I will not stay at home weeping and wringing my hands. Happily, I had my archery equipment with me, and was able to make a contribution to the task of bringing my little boys safely home.

This is not the first time you have drawn your bow in the cause of your family’s safety. The Battle of Abbey Farm? The incident with your guardian?

You have been talking to the servants, I see. I cannot discuss those past matters, Peter. Archery has been my hobby since I was a young girl. And, yes, I have had cause in the past to… defend those I love. And will do so again if their safety is threatened. Or, Peter, their reputations. Let us say no more of that.

Were the kidnappers apprehended?

Amiria (with a scowl): I do not have much patience with those who would steal children to retrieve a ransom from their parents. I, too, am a mother so I know how I would feel if someone dared such an offense with mine. Dristan would not be so lenient as to just let someone who took his children wallow in our dungeon. Nay…he would have their heads sitting on a pike outside our gates as a warning to any with such foolish thoughts.

Dristan and Riorden were not pleased that they were not allowed to kill off at least one or two of the villains who were involved with the escapade. Even a bit of torture to glean information would have made them happy, but times are apparently more civilized here than where we come from.

Anne: I was well satisfied to have my children back and the kidnappers imprisoned. I believe that even their leader, who was injured in the rescue, will live to go on trial. Indeed, (here Anne looks down at her hands and colours slightly) I discovered once again that the veneer of civilization is thinner than we care to think. I hardly like to think of what I said and did to get the information we needed to find the villains and my babies.
But make no mistake. I would do it again.

Were the kidnappers given a ransom?

regency ladyAmiria: Bah! Another annoyance for me. Anne’s husband handed over a fair amount of monies to Mrs Angel. I know she was more involved with the taking of those children than she let on.

Anne: My boys must have been fed, for they were in good spirits. Whatever her sins, she looked after them. And she returned them safe and sound. I am grateful that they were not at the apprehension of the villains, where they may have been hurt.

Amiria: Since Mrs. Angel had a daughter, Connie, I can only pray she will use some of the coinage in taking better care of the young girl and show her a better life. I may live my life in hose, boots, and tunic on most days, but I am still a lady and my mother’s daughter, and I am able to show a fair bit of compassion now and then.

Anne: Her Grace of Wellbridge invited mother and child to stay at the inn, and will undoubtedly help the woman to find respectable work, should she want to do so. My husband suspects that she is seeking work of a quite unrespectable kind, but we shall hope for the best.

At this point, a servant comes to tell the ladies that their husbands are waiting for them to join the wedding party, and they leave.

So this is Peter Pritchard, signing off from the Crock and Bull inn.

Dangerous Weakness meets Encouraging Prudence – Part 1 of 2

Author’s note: Today, exclusively in cyberspace, Caroline and Jude Knight tell the story in which two of their characters meet. Half is on Caroline’s blog, and half on Jude’s. Below is Part 1, and the link to Part 2 is at the bottom.

In the virtual worlds of historical fiction, authors create whole societies of characters, interacting with real historical events and even real people. But each virtual world sits alone, never touching the worlds of other authors. Until now.

The Bluestocking Belles, as part of the launch of our new website for historical romance readers, created a magical coaching inn—fittingly called ‘The Crock and Bull’—a place for characters to meet from all of our books’ worlds and those of our guests.

Caroline Warfield and Jude Knight soon discovered the two of their characters had worked together in the past.

David Wakefield is the baseborn son of the Duke of Haverford. He earns his living as an enquiry agent. (Encouraging Prudence, work in progress to be published in September 2015)

Richard Hayden, The Marquis of Glenaire, is heir to the Duke of Sudbury. He is also Castlereagh’s protege, spymaster, diplomat, and fixer (Dangerous Weakness, yet to be published.)

 PART 1

The year is 1807.

David Wakefield, enquiry agent, has been asked to meet the Marquis of Glenaire at Glenaire’s office in the London headquarters of the Royal Horse Guards.

Horseguard buildingThe Marquis of Glenaire leads the way through the Horse Guard Building, along halls and down staircases, until they come to a small door that let out into a service alley.

The man doesn’t seem to be a typical aristocrat, afraid of getting his hands dirty. David Wakefield knows them well, the spoiled sons of the aristocracy, sitting at desks and giving order while better men take the risks and do the work.

Glenaire’s reputation suggests he is brighter than most, and good at the shadowy work he did for the KIng. To be fair, he also seems determined to be fully involved in the errand he has employed David for. David isn’t feeling at all fair. His investigation into the murder of the courtesan Lilly Diamond is not going well, and his other investigation, for his friend Rede, is also stalled.

This job started like any other. “I need to hire a thief taker,” Glenaire had said without preamble when David was shown into his office.

“I am an enquiry agent,” David told him. Thief takers have a reputation of being little better than the criminals they round up for the reward. David objects to the term.

Glenaire had waved aside the objection, getting straight to the job he wanted to hire David for: tracking a man. “I need to know where he goes tonight. I will follow him myself, but I need someone to back me.”

In the ensuing discussion, Glenaire had agreed he would back David. “I cede my place to the Shadow,” he said.

Remembering, David narrows his eyes. Only two people know that David Wakefield and the Shadow are one and the same. The government contact who sometimes hires him, and who gave him the usename for his work as a spy. And David’s lover, the spy called Mist, whose real name is Prue.

It must have been Tolliver. The government contact has been talking out of turn.

David catches up with Glenaire at the mouth of the alley. Glenaire’s job is to point out the man he suspects of being a French spy, then follow David’s instructions to the letter.

The suspect is where they think he will be; a nondescript man known by half-a-dozen names and as many professions. And David and Glenaire soon fall into the rhythm of passing the sentinel position from one to the other, making them harder to detect as the follow the man through the streets and clubs of London.

The job is to follow, to watch were the man goes, and to see who he meets. David has drawn his own conclusions about why he is now threading his way through the London streets instead of one of Glenaire’s usual operatives.

The Marquis suspects that the spy will meeting someone from his own office.

To find out what happens next, see PART 2

Royal Regard meets Encouraging Prudence – Part 2 of 4

Authors’ note: In the virtual worlds of historical fiction, authors create whole societies of characters, interacting with real historical events and even real people. But each virtual world sits alone, never touching the worlds of other authors. Until now.

11025188_432122276937344_5770461272420998884_nThe Bluestocking Belles, as part of the launch of our new website for historical romance readers, created a magical coaching inn—fittingly called ‘The Crock and Bull’—a place for characters to meet from all of our books’ worlds and those of our guests.

Mariana Gabrielle and Jude Knight soon discovered that two of their characters knew one another well. Rather too well, according to all who knew them as young men.

During the course of the party, the Duke of Wellbridge and the Marquis of Aldridge have referred on several occasions to an incident that saw them banned from an entire town, from the Prince of Wales’ presence, and even—for a time—from England. Until now, even the Duchess of Wellbridge hasn’t known the whole truth.

What was that mysterious event? How do Aldridge and Wellbridge know each other? Why has it been so long since they’ve spoken? Are they still keeping secrets?

Anthony Grenford, the Marquis of Aldridge

Anthony Grenford, the Marquis of Aldridge

Now, exclusively for readers of our blogs, Mariana Gabrielle and Jude Knight have co-written a small bit of backstory shared by a young Lord Nicholas Northope (from Royal Regard) and his protégé in crime, the Merry Marquis of Aldridge (who first appears in Jude Knight’s work-in-progress, Encouraging Prudence).

We will share sections of this scandalous story the week of March 8-13, leading up to theBluestocking Ball on March 14.


The year is 1801 in Fickleton Wells, Somerset.

The Marquis of Aldridge, heir to the Duke of Haverford, is 21, just down from Oxford. Lord Nicholas Northope, second son of the Duke of Wellbridge has been, at 27, racketing about England unchecked a fair few years without much purpose. And the trajectories of both young lives are about to change.

Nicholas Northope, one day to be Duke of Wellbridge

 

PART 2

A sound outside the tower room brings them both to their feet. A key turns in the lock.

The Duke of Haverford brushes past the burly guard who opens the door. “Out!” he barks.

Lord Nicholas Northope is no stranger to the ducal disposition and backs into a corner first thing, a tactical error he started making in childhood. Aldridge, who is the son of this particular angry duke, stays at rigid attention, which does not avert the ducal fire.

“You miserable, self-indulgent, beef-witted nodcocks! What on earth possessed you? What were you thinking? Don’t answer that. You were not thinking!” Nick and Aldridge shrink, inch by inch, to the size of ten-year-olds. “Northope, I blame you for this mess. Show the boy the town, I said. Give him a good time. Keep him out of trouble. What the hell do you mean by it, eh?”

If Aldridge thinks Nick will step forward to do the honorable thing and admit his part, he has lost his bloody mind.

“Aldridge,” the duke barks as his heir begins to edge to one side. “Stand, boy. I’ll get to you.” The last is uttered in a low steady monotone.

Nick sinks ever-deeper into the corner he should have abandoned when he had the chance.

“Listen to me, and listen well, you buffle-brained nincompoops. You have been banned from Fickleton Wells! Banned! The sons of two of the greatest men in the Commonwealth banned from an English town. How on earth did this happen?”

Nick clears his throat and still manages to squeak, “Patent medicine, Sir, I swear it!” He shoulders his way out of the corner, determined to give his lies confidence. “In the… in the gin… we were… we were poisoned! The brandy, too, I’ll wager. Lucky to be alive… Surely cannot be held responsible for…”

“Rubbish, Northope. Rubbish! I’ll tell you how it happened. You let yourself be taken in by feminine wiles. You let a pack of women lead you by your willies. Yes, you did. Your father and I have talked to them. And paid them off, the bitches. Because…” he walks right up and taps Nick’s chest as he makes his point. “You. Let. Them. Fool. You.”

Nick’s hand runs around his neck again.

“Your Grace,” Aldridge has suddenly realized that they wouldn’t be banned if they were to be hanged. This has given him an altogether overly optimistic sense of confidence. “They say they are pregnant, Your Grace.” Haverford’s head swivels dangerously in Aldridge’s direction. “It can’t be us, Your Grace. It’s only been a week since we arrived, and surely, virile as we are, we cannot each have impregnated a dozen women in a week? Surely, not even Your Grace could—”

Nick suddenly realizes the benefit of being six years wiser.


To find out whether Prinny has them served broiled, fried, or fricasseed, go to Mari Christie’s blog tomorrow, March 11, 2015 (EDT).

To attend the Bluestocking Ball with Aldridge, Nick (who is now, himself, the Duke of Wellbridge, at the wise old age of fifty), and dozens of other historical romance characters, go to the Bluestocking Belles’ Housewarming Party, March 14, 12 noon – 8 pm EDT.

Facebook Housewarming Party (The Bluestocking Ball)
Twitter Chat: Follow @BellesInBlue #BellesInBlue
Web Chat on the Bluestocking Belles Website

Royal Regard meets Encouraging Prudence – Part 1 of 4 now available

Authors’ note: In the virtual worlds of historical fiction, authors create whole societies of characters, interacting with real historical events and even real people. But each virtual world sits alone, never touching the worlds of other authors. Until now.

The Bluestocking Belles11025188_432122276937344_5770461272420998884_n, as part of the launch of our new website for historical romance readers, created a magical coaching inn—fittingly called ‘The Crock and Bull’—a place for characters to meet from all of our books’ worlds and those of our guests.

Mariana Gabrielle and Jude Knight soon discovered that two of their characters knew one another well. Rather too well, according to all who knew them as young men.

During the course of the party, the Duke of Wellbridge and the Marquis of Aldridge have referred on several occasions to an incident that saw them banned from an entire town, from the Prince of Wales’ presence, and even—for a time—from England. Until now, even the Duchess of Wellbridge hasn’t known the whole truth.

What was that mysterious event? How do Aldridge and Wellbridge know each other? Why has it been so long since they’ve spoken? Are they still keeping secrets?

Now, exclusively for readers of our blogs, Mariana Gabrielle and Jude Knight have co-written a small bit of backstory shared by a young Lord Nicholas Northope (from Royal Regard) and his protégé in crime, the Merry Marquis of Aldridge (who first appears in Jude Knight’s work-in-progress, Encouraging Prudence).

Mariana and I will share sections of this scandalous story the week of March 8-13, leading up to the Bluestocking Ball on March 14.

The year is 1801 in Fickleton Wells, Somerset.

The Marquis of Aldridge, heir to the Duke of Haverford, is 21, just down from Oxford. Lord Nicholas Northope, second son of the Duke of Wellbridge has been, at 27, racketing about England unchecked a fair few years without much purpose. And the trajectories of both young lives are about to change.

See Mari’s blog for part 1.

Writing process blog tour

dangerousworksToday, I’m having my moment with the torch of the Romance Writers’ Blog Hop. It has been passed from writer to writer for some time. Not only do you get to know a little about me and my writing process, but I get to introduce you to fellow romance authors so you can learn about their individual writing styles and processes.

I was nominated by my friend Caroline Warfield, writer of Dangerous Works and the forthcoming Dangerous Secrets (release date 18 March). With a 4.9 star average rating on Amazon, Dangerous Works tells the story of a scholar who dares scandal to learn what she needs to know to illuminate her study of Greek poetry, and the man she trusts to teach her.

You’ll find Carolyn on:

Her blog

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

My writing process

Now to answer the questions about my writing process.

What do I write?

AzedCompWords5Tempting though it is to give Hamlet’s answer (“Words. Words. Words.”), I’ll behave. So what do I write. The short answer is ‘historical romance’, but this is my blog, so I’m allowed to give the long answer.

The novel and novella I’ve written, the two I’m working on, and the ones I plan to write in the next few years are set in the early 19th century. I do a lot of research to get the details accurate, and I include snippets about world and local events as part of the background to the action.

So ‘historical’ works.

Every plot so far tells the story of two people being attracted to one another and falling in love, and finishes with the two main protagonists starting a ‘happy ever after’ that I try to make believable.

So ‘romance’ works too.

And the first three novels also include elements of mystery and thriller. So I’d be quite comfortable with those designations, too. (The novella, though, is a straight sweet historical romance.) If people like the protagonists of my 2nd novel, I may go on to write about more of the cases they investigate together, and those will be historical mysteries rather than romances.

Bath houseI have some book ideas for other historical periods: for example, the elves that whisper stories to me want me to write a murder mystery set in Edwardian times in Rotorua. But, at the moment, I’m sticking with the early 19th century.

I’ve also started (and abandoned) a number of sf books that I may go back to eventually. And the short stories I had some success with in the dim dark ages of my youth qualified as literary, being otherwise unclassifiable and universally gloomy.

What am I currently working on?

BookcoverCCC2I’m continuing to market my first published fiction in 30 years, my novella Candle’s Christmas Chair. Candle is available free from all major ebook outlets and is doing well — more than 25,500 copies downloaded in its first 5 weeks and over 100 reviews in various places, with an average rating of over 4 stars.

I’ve just sent my debut novel, Farewell to Kindness, to the proofreader. It will be on prerelease early in March and published on 1 April. In Farewell to Kindness, an earl on a mission of revenge is attracted to a widow who lives rent-free in one of his cottages, and whose daughter is the image of his predecessor, his deceased cousin. Rede, the hero, doesn’t want to be distracted from his quest to destroy the villains who killed his family. Anne, the heroine, wants to stay in hiding to avoid the villains after her and her family. Love is both unexpected and inconvenient. Farewell to Kindness is the first in the series The Golden Redepennings.

BookcoverEPI’m writing the first draft of Encouraging Prudence, starring the thief taker (bounty hunter) who helped Rede in Farewell to Kindness, and the spy he loves. Sent to investigate a blackmail scheme, the two uncover blackmailers, murderers, traitors, difficult relatives, and one another’s vulnerabilities.

I’m also researching for A Raging Madness, the second in The Golden Redepennings. Alex, Rede’s cousin, is coming home through Cheshire when he meets a woman he can’t stand and can’t forget. Ella thought Alex was the last person on earth she would turn to for help. She knows what he thinks about her. But when her evil in-laws seek to have her committed to an asylum, she is forced to seek his protection. I need to find out more about the canals through Cheshire.

And I’m beginning to plot a novella — another Farewell to Kindness prequel — for a boxed set I’m putting together for Christmas 2015 with a group of friends. Tentatively called Gingerbread Bride, it tells the story of a woman with a reputation for running away.

“Not away,” Mary said, definitely. “To. I run to. There’s a difference.”

“Away. To. It doesn’t matter. You’re a lady now; not a little girl. Surely you must see that you have to go home?” Richard didn’t expect Miss Waterford to listen, though. When had she ever?

“You can’t stop me, Lieutenant Redepenning. You can’t stop me, and you can’t catch me.” She flung her last words behind her as she heeled her horse into a flying gallop, striking his with her whip as she passed. “No-one can!”

Richard, shouldered to one side by the horse, sat where he’d landed, watching the two horses and the Admiral’s daughter receding into the distance. Annoying, arrogant, impudent, self-willed little bitch. What a woman!

How do my historical romances differ from others in the genre?

google-romance-novelBooks in the general category ‘historical romance’ cover a huge range of different eras, plot tropes, character types, tonal styles, and subcategories. And self-publishing has opened the door for writers to produce work that broadens the range still further.

I write strong determined heroines that, in ways that can be defended as historically feasible, refuse to accept the constraints society would place on them. I write heroes that can appreciate and respect my heroines. And I write villains that you’ll love to hate.

I also create complicated plots with a large cast of characters, and I enjoy using settings that don’t comply with the ballroom/house party scenes that are often found in historical romances.

My first two books take place in the same part of England, west of the Cotswolds. But Encouraging Prudence ranges more widely and finishes in another country altogether (Sweden, I think, but I’m not there yet).

I don’t stick to the world of the Beau Monde. Dukes, Earls, and Barons are fun and fascinating — the rock stars of their era. But the hero of my first book had a career as a fur trapper before he inherited an Earldom, and the heroes of the next two books are both commoners.

Why do I write historical?

enclosureI love reading historical romances, and I love doing research. I’ve been passionate about history since I was a little girl. One of my career aspirations during my teenage years was archaeologist. I fell in love with the late Georgian era when I began to read regency historicals that included information about canal building, balloons, the first gas lights, and all the other incredible innovations of the explosion of invention that changed society between the 1750s and the 1850s.

I see many parallels with today. To take just one example, my period includes the enclosure movement (it was started in England before it moved to Scotland). Intended to make farming more efficient, it resulted in wealthy landowners cut farm labourers off from keeping livestock and collecting foodstuffs from the commons. People who thought they had a historic right to use the common land to feed their families were suddenly cast into dire poverty. Today, companies are laying claim to intellectual property rights over plant and animal bloodlines, even human dna. And they’re taking ordinary people to court to prevent them from using what was once free to all.

Writing historical romances helps me to work through some of this stuff. The trick is to make it an essential plot point or part of the background, and not a lecture.

How does my writing process work?

Or, at least, will bie editing after work.

Coloured pens make everything better. Note the map of the village of Longford at top centre.

I’m still working this one out. I thought I was a planner, and I carefully planned each chapter of my first novel and my first novella. Then I went off in a different direction with each, following the characters on their own journey. This meant a lot of rewriting, going back to seed later ideas into earlier chapters.

With the current novel, I know where each quarter of the book takes place; I have a fair idea of the main plot pivot points; I know more or less what the main conflict is. But I’m only plotting in detail a chapter or two ahead. It’s going well, but I expect I’ll need to do a lot of rewriting, going back to seed later ideas into earlier chapters.

Two things that are working well for me are setting a daily word count and creating detailed character sketches of my key characters.

I started with no daily word count. I wrote when the inspiration elves consented to whisper to me. Then I set a count of 500 words a day and all of a sudden those elves started visiting me more often. Now, I’m writing a minimum of 1300 words a day, six days a week. And I need to keep that up if I’m to meet my writing schedule. According to my beta readers, the chapters I wrote more quickly are better than the ones that took me ages. Go figure.

I have an one page questionnaire for each minor character and an eight page questionnaire for my main protagonists. By the time I’ve worked my way through all the questions, I know them well, and once I know them well I know what they’ll do in any particular situation. I do the minor characters as I need them, but I do the protagonists before I start my first draft. I originally kept the character sketches in the OneNote database for the novel or novella I was working on, but my books cross in so many different ways that I’ve now created a new database in OneNote just for characters.

I also keep Pinterest boards for visual inspiration, and I draw maps and house plans so that, when my characters are moving around, I can visualise what they’re up to and work out what route they need to take and how long they’ll spend getting there.

Up next,  Jessie Clever

In the second grade, Jessie began a story about a duck and a lost ring.  Two harrowing pages of wide ruled notebook paper later, the ring was found.  And Jessie has been writing ever since.

Armed with the firm belief that women in the Regency era could be truly awesome heroines, Jessie began telling their stories in her Spy Series, a thrilling ride in historical espionage that showcases human faults and triumphs and most importantly, love.

Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and two very opinionated Basset Hounds.  For more, visit her website at jessieclever.com.

Jessie just wrapped her Regency romance Spy Series, but as creativity often plagues those blessed with it, Jessie discovered a whole new story erupting from what she thought was the end.  So she is hard at work on the follow-up series she likes to refer to as the Spy Series: The Next Generation.

But before the next series debuts, be sure to check out the heroes and heroines of the Spy Series, starting with Inevitably a Duchess: A Spy Series Novella.

Inevitably a Duchess Jessie Clever Spy Series Novella 102214Blurb:

Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, waited for her, watching as the agony of marriage broke the woman he loved.  Lady Jane Haven had to find a reason to survive, a purpose to carry on when it seemed God would not just let her die.  But when fate finally offers them a chance to be together, a treasonous plot threatens to keep them apart.  And when it becomes more than just a matter of survival, Jane must find the strength to be his duchess.

Meet Jessie on social media:

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Review: A sense of the ridiculous

Ridiculous Final ArtHeather King‘s delightful book, A Sense of the Ridiculous, tells the story of Jocasta, a squire’s daughter who begins the novel disappointed in the calibre of her suitors. Surely somewhere, she thinks, there must be someone who laughs at the same things she does?

Jocasta is also beset by a great aunt who disapproves of Jocasta’s hoydenish ways. After a week of lectures on her behaviour, Jocasta has had enough. She breaks out, and meets with disaster, thrown from her horse and knocked unconscious.

Enter our hero Richard, the son of an inkeeper, who is surprised to discover that the unconscious boy he takes home is actually a rather lovely girl.

The happy ending was never in doubt (to the reader; the protagonists had a few nasty moments). But the journey is great! King adds some fun twists and turns along the way: amnesia, a brother who sees his search for his missing sister as a fine opportunity for attending sporting events, a robbery that threatens to derail the hero’s courtship.

King writes characters with depth: Richard and Jocasta are finely drawn, and the supporting cast also come to life on the page. I particularly liked the brother, and hope to see him in a future novel. He has some growing up to do in order to find his own happy ending, and that should be fun to read.

The dialogue sparkles, particularly the exchanges between Richard and Jocasta, where they share their sense of the ridiculous. All in all, a great read. I recommend it.

Journaling to become a better writer

JournalingCongratulations to Danielle Hanna, whose book ‘Journaling to become a better writer‘ has been released today. Here’s her bio, as published on her website:

Danielle Hanna has been penning fiction since she was only four and keeping a journal since age five. In “Journaling to Become a Better Writer,” she bares pages from her own journal to illustrate the emotional depth and storytelling skill that can be achieved simply by writing the events of your life.

Side-by-side with her examples, she delves deep into techniques to explore what makes a story worth telling, what goes into real-life story structure, how to get in touch with your emotions, how to observe the world around you with laser focus, and how to bring passion into every word you write.

Along the way, she shares the most traumatic plot twist of her own life: the stripping away of her family and her search for someone to finally call “Daddy”–a quest which almost claimed her life.

Part writing how-to book, part memoir, part self-discovery guide, this volume will go far beyond breathing inspiration into your journaling and your novel writing. Whether you’re a multi-published author, a life-long journal writer, or have only dreamed of putting pen to paper, discover the story you were born to tell.

Hanna has written a ‘how to’ book, and illustrated it with compelling excerpts from her own life. The book can be read on several levels: as her personal story, as a guide to writers on how to improve their craft through journalling, and as a guide to everyone on how to use writing skills in their journal to improve their self-awareness and get a better handle on their personal journey.

She is a highly skilled writer with an excellent grasp of structure and pace. I really liked the format – journal entry then lessons to draw. I loved her sense of humour. I loved her raw honesty. I wanted to cry in places, and I was so happy that Sam turned out to be the Daddy she needed.

Most of her how-tos I do, and her system is great. People will find it really helpful. I know this, because descriptions are my real raw spot. Definitely not my strength! I’ve been applying her step by step approach ever since I read this book in beta version, and it really helps.