WIP Wednesdays

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Conflict on WIP Wednesday

Writing about twins in a double time line, with a book for each, is having its moments. But at least both heroines have someone to talk to. In the following excerpt, my sisters mention key conflicts they need to resolve to find happiness. I’d love to see an excerpt from you where your hero or heroine discusses their principal conflicts.

“You are up early,” Sarah said, appearing in the doorway. “Shall I send for your hot chocolate?”

“A coffee this morning, I think,” Charlotte told her.

Sarah retreated to speak to one of the footmen who waited in the hall to run messages. Charlotte followed her into their shared sitting room. “Could you not sleep, dearest?” she asked.

“No more than you, I think, and for similar reasons.” Sarah sighed. “Are you sure that you cannot marry Aldridge, Charlotte? One has only to see him watching you to know he cares, and he has been remarkably faithful.”

No point in arguing. Sarah knew her too well. “I have given him no encouragement,” Charlotte pointed out.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Which makes it all the more remarkable.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Have you forgotten how I found him when I went for his help?” She had told Sarah the whole story the last night. Charlotte blushed at the memory of Aldridge’s naked body with the two women hovering over it. How was she ever going to look Lady Thirby and her friend in the eyes again? Mind you, at least she had been clothed.

Sarah laughed. “You know as well as I do that the Thirby woman has been chasing him this past two seasons. He is not made of granite, Charlotte. He has been a rake, after all, and you have, as you just said, given him no encouragement.”

“Nor will I,” Charlotte insisted, reining in her errant imagination. “You know I can’t, Sarah.”

“You could tell him why not,” Sarah suggested. “You want him; I know you do. Shouldn’t you let him decide whether what he would lose is more important that what he would gain?”

A knock on the door heralded the maid with their morning beverages. Charlotte contented herself with a glare at her sister. When the door closed behind the maid, Sarah showed she’d understood the message. “I am sorry, Charlotte. It is just that I wish you happy.”

“And am I to wish you happy?” Charlotte asked.

Sarah blushed. “I do not know, sister. Uncle James says that I must listen to what Nate has to say, and I know he is right. I do not dare hope, but I find myself doing so, anyway.”

Whereas Charlotte had no hope at all. Only a yearning that could never be fulfilled, and a grief for the life that should have been hers.

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Inner dialogue, ghosts, and imaginary mentors in WIP Wednesday.

To Claim the Long-Lost Lover has gone to the editor, and I’m about to work on the second half of To Tame the Wild Rake. But first, I’m looking at what comes next. Either Chaos Come Again or The Darkness Within, and I’ve already started The Darkness Within. In The Darkness Within, my hero has an inner dialogue going on with someone called Sebastian. Sebastian harasses, advises, and goads him. Max thinks he is being haunted. It could be a ghost. Or it could be a memory. Or perhaps my hero is unbalanced. I think I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide.

If your protagonist talks to herself or to a dead aunt or to anyone else invisible to all the other characters in the story, please share an excerpt in the comments. Here is mine.

“Stedham was looking for a home; a purpose,” Max told Sebastian. The lieutenant had tried being a steward on an estate, and moved on. He had worked for a while in a lawyer’s office, and a few months more as secretary to a Member of Parliament. The last address the sister had for him was a vicarage, and the last contact a cryptic note from the vicar. Max was heading there now.

“Paul hasn’t been able to settle since he returned from the wars,” the sister had told Max.

Her husband’s estimation was harsher. “He cannot stick to anything. Some of those ex-military men are like that. They need the adventure, the thrills, and they’re no use in ordinary life. He should join up again.”

Max didn’t agree. “Stedham was a good soldier, but he wasn’t made for that life. Not really,” he told the man, but he might as well have talked to the wall.

“You don’t know him like we do,” the brother-in-law said.

“That man wants his wife to himself,” Sebastian commented. “I know jealousy when I see it.”

Max thought the ghost might be right. Sebastian usually was right about the darker emotions. “Stedham needs a place to belong, but his sister’s home wasn’t it.” Stedham could hardly have missed the lack of welcome. Was that why he stopped writing to his sister? But he’d only stayed with the pair for the first two months after arriving home from France in 1814. He’d continued to write faithfully, week after week, until a few months ago.

“No one belongs,” Sebastian argued. “Belonging is an illusion, and the ones you love most are the ones who most hurt you.”

Max ignored the oblique reference to Sebastian’s death.

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Reunited on WIP Wednesday

Morland, George; The Soldier’s Return; Lady Lever Art Gallery; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/the-soldiers-return-102607

A lot of my short stories and novellas use the childhood sweethearts reunited plotline. It’s fun, for one thing. It lets me use more mature characters, for another. And, in shorter fiction, it gives credibility, since the romance can continue from where it left off once they are reunited, rather than needing to develop from first attraction to happy ending in just a few thousand words.

Here’s the opening of my next newsletter short story, due to be sent out in the next few days. If you have a reunion scene, please feel free to share it in the comments.

At first, Magda thought it a prank. There Luke was, stretched out prone across the vegetable garden between the onions and the cabbages, crushing the spring carrots. At any moment, he would leap up laughing, as he had once before, long ago, when they were children.

Perhaps not a prank, then, but a humorous reminder of the years of their friendship, long ago, before the earl’s younger son was sent away to join the army a month from his eighteenth birthday. He’d been gone for fifteen years, until she spied him in the tavern this afternoon, drinking with their old friends from the village, Will from the tavern and Ned from the forge.

After Luke left, Will and Ned had not been able to stand out against their parents and maintain—at least in public—their friendship with the witch’s by-blow granddaughter against the steadfast enmity of the wives of both the squire and the earl.

They were sisters, Luke’s mother Lady Compton, now the Dowager Countess, and Lady Frederick Barlow, widow of the squire who had preferred to ignore Magda’s existence and mother of the squire who, even today, made her life as difficult as he could.

Despite their parents and the two ladies, Will and Ned watched over her from a distance, keeping the squire’s sons from any but the more the subtle forms of persecution. Several times they had risked their own necks, or at least the displeasure of the two most prominent families in the district, to protect her from unpleasant advances and outright assault by nasty friends visiting the young gentlemen of those families.

Old friendship, too, must have been the reason why Will employed her as a cook, once he took over his father’s tavern. A job meant wages so she could look after Gran, and save a nest egg to escape from this place.

Luke was still lying on her carrots. Perhaps he did not realise she was there. “Luke?” Though she supposed, now that she was no longer fifteen nor he eighteen, she should call him Lord Lucas. Or Major De Grenville, perhaps. “Major De Grenville?”

He did not move. Did not spring to his feet, his sea-blue eyes dancing, asking her to share the joke. Now that she was closer, she saw the bruise on his cheek, and a trickle of blood, dried now, that had meandered down his neck from the hair at the back of his head.

She leaned closer; skimmed her fingers over the matted evidence of an assault or fall. Though if a fall, he must have descended from a height head first, for the lump was high up in his hair and had split with the force of the blow.

Magda felt for the pulse in Luke’s neck, and released a breath she had not been aware of holding when it throbbed, strong and even, under her fingers. She pressed his left shoulder with her hand and spoke to him again. “Major De Grenville?”

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Relatives on WIP Wednesday

I am always tempted to commit family saga. I really have to rein myself in during short stories, but in the rest of my books, especially my regencies, I have plenty of room, since my characters wander back and forth between books and even series. I have relatives. Lots of relatives. And the number is growing now that quite a few of them are married.

I particularly like women relatives. Some of them are villains, some of them silly, but many of them are my heroine’s best friends and greatest supports. At the very least, they give her someone to talk to, someone to encourage her to follow her dreams, as the best female friends do. Give us an excerpt, if you’d like, with relatives of the hero or heroine in your work in progress. Mine is from To Claim the Long Lost Lover.

Within the hour, Sarah came looking for Nate. “My mother and my aunts wish to meet you, Nate.” He took her hand, feeling unaccountably nervous. Lady Sutton had every reason to despise the man who had run off with her daughter and then abandoned her, even if he had reasons, good reasons, for both actions.

He felt no better when he arrived in the drawing room, where three great ladies of Society sat side by side like justices in a courtroom, though they were seating on a long sofa behind a low table. Around them a number of other richly dressed ladies occupied chairs and coaches. In his fancy, they would be the jury in the coming trial.

Sarah bobbed a curtsy. “Aunt Eleanor? Mama? Aunt Georgie? May I make known to you my husband, Lord Bentham?”

Nate bowed to each of them. He had seen the duchess at various entertainments this season; Lady Sutton, he recognised from years ago, when she’d attended church from Applemorn, which made the third Lady Georgiana, the duke’s sister.

Sarah continued around the room. Charlotte, he knew, and Ruth. He also recognised the duchess’s ward, Miss Grenford, with whom he had danced on the night he first waltzed with Sarah, who sat side by side with her sister, Lady Hamner.

The lady with the infant on her knee was the younger Lady Sutton. She was married to the duke’s eldest son, who had arrived this afternoon with his wife and daughter, and immediately taken command of a large segment of the battle planning that continued in the study.

Nate was also presented to Lady Georgiana’s friend, Miss Chalmers, and Lady Rosemary, another daughter of the duke.

Once he had been conducted around the room, he was instructed to sit. “There, Lord Bentham, if you please,” said the dowager Lady Sutton. She pointed to a chair that had been placed a few feet away from and facing the long sofa. Again, he was uncomfortable reminded of a trial, an impression that was reinforced when Lady Sutton and Lady Georgiana nodded at the duchess, and she spoke.

“We are Sarah’s godmother, mother, and aunt, Lord Bentham. We have stood beside her and suffered with her since you persuaded her to cast propriety to the wind and abscond with you and then disappeared.”

She put up a hand when Nate opened his mouth, and he closed it again. She waited for a moment, as if to see whether he intended to continue his interruption, then nodded to Lady Sutton, who continued, “We understand that you were not responsible for your own abduction, but we wish to hear your explanation for the rest. Why did you elope with Sarah? Why did you not write to her? Why did you not return as soon as you were able?”

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Caring on WIP Wednesday


I do love a strong masculine hero who shows his caring side. One of the scenes in Farewell to Kindness, where the hero tenderly washes his beloved’s wounds, is based on an experience in my own life. I’d been in a car accident, and had been through the windscreen. My betrothed came to me at my mother’s house, and gently washed all the blood and glass out of my hair.

Today’s theme is caring for one’s beloved, and I have a piece from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover. Please feel free to share an excerpt in the comments.

Nate fussed over the scrapes and cuts on Sarah’s wrists, the bruises she’d accumulated when she was being manhandled. Wilson had ordered up a hot bath, and he insisted on staying while she undressed so that he could inspect all of her wounds.

Since she was a small girl, Sarah had only ever been unclothed in front of two other people—and that rarely—her maid, when in her bath, and her husband, in the dark and under the sheets on the three nights—four now—she had spent in bed with him. Stripping in front of him in full daylight had her blushing like a young maiden, which she had not been for eight years.

He set her at ease with his manner: crisp and matter of fact, focused on checking that her injuries were no worse than she said. He finished by taking her gently in his arms and pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “Now have a long soak, my love.” He stepped back and held out his hand to help her into the water. The scrapes stung as she lowered herself, but once she was immersed, the heat felt wonderful.

Nate knelt beside the tub, so his head was close to hers. “Wilson is bringing you a soothing herbal tea. If you will permit, dearest heart, I shall go up to see Elias. I daresay some of today’s doings might have reached the nursery, though I hope his nursemaid will have had enough sense to keep it from him. If not, I will be able to reassure him that you are home and well.”

A swift knock at the door was followed by Wilson’s entrance, with a tea tray. She could smell some of Cook’s delicious drop scones, and suddenly realised that she was hungry.

“Go, of course, she told him. “Tell him I shall be up to see him later.”

“After you have had a sleep,” Nate told her, firmly. “I shall be back by the time the water cools, and shall dress those cuts, then tuck you into bed. Wilson, stay with your mistress and make sure she doesn’t go to sleep in her bath.”

It had always annoyed Sarah when other people made decisions for her, but it was very nice, she decided, when the person doing the deciding loved her to distraction, had suffered when she was taken, and needed her to let him take care of her. Her hero.

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Action heroes on Work-in-Progress Wednesday

I do like a story with action–where something happens of more consequence that who asks whom to dance or what trim is purchased for a hat or gown. So my poor characters are kidnapped, chased, beaten, battled with, stolen from, abandoned, operated on, shipwrecked…

As always, I invite you to post an excerpt from your current work-in-progress; this week, an action scene.

Mine is from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover.

Nate held on as Aldridge raced his phaeton towards the address Lady Charlotte had given them, weaving close to buildings, feathering past carriages, missing pedestrians by inches, turning corners on a single wheel.

Nate, Drew, and the duke had been about to go upstairs to the nursery when Aldridge arrived, asking anxiously for Charlotte. He had word of a trap set in Clerkenwell; someone who planned to compromise and marry Sarah’s sister. What would the kidnappers do when they found out they had the wrong sister, and a married woman, at that?

If they arrived in time, it would be thanks to Aldridge’s driving skill. On any other day, Nate would be demanding that he slow down, take care. But with Sarah in trouble, he couldn’t go fast enough. He just gripped the side rail of the seat and gritted his teeth, and prayed as he had never prayed before.

How would he tell Elias if anything had happened to her? How would he survive losing her again?

Aldridge hauled the horses to a halt beside a carriage with the Winshire coat of arms. “You’re Lady Sarah’s driver?” he asked the man who sat nervously atop the carriage, a musket across his knees.

“Aye, sir.” The coachman looked towards a narrow gap between the buildings. “I’m waiting for Lady Bentham.”

Nate leapt to the ground, the pistol Uncle James had given him in one hand and his dagger in the other. “How long since my wife went in there, driver?”

“Perhaps fifteen minutes, sir?” the driver answered. “Is there something wrong?”

Aldridge shouted at a man who was lounging against a wall. “You there?!” The man spat a stream of yellow bile into the street and sneered. A coin appeared between Aldridge’s fingers and disappeared as quickly.

“I am the Marquis of Aldridge and I am giving you two options. You make sure no one touches my carriage or my horses or those of Lady Bentham, and you get a crown. Anything happens to either team or rig, and I find you and extract your brains through your nostrils, burn them, and sell them as pie filling. Your choice.” He held up the coin. “A shilling now, the rest when I come back.”

The man straightened. “Done.” He held out a hand and caught the coin that Aldridge tossed even as Nate ran past him into the alley.

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First kiss on WIP Wednesday

How about a kiss, folks? Put your excerpt in the comments so we can all see it. Mine is from To Claim the Long Lost Lover, which is finally wending its way up to the crisis.

For eight years, memories of their kisses and embraces had fueled her dreams. Tender at first, almost tentative, this kiss set those memories in the shade from the start, and as the heat rose and his free hand pressed her closer; as she spiraled into a a space out of time and place where nothing existed by him, the memories slipped away to be replaced by new ones.

Somehow, the brandy glasses were gone, and both of his hands were on her, and hers on him, untying and stripping off his cravat, fumbling undone the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling his shirt from his pantaloons so she could slide her hands up under it, to stroke and caress his warm firm skin, silk over steel, much more of it than back when he had been a skinny youth just shooting up from boyhood and still inches short of his adult height.

Such random thoughts surfaced and drifted away as he released her for long enough to wriggle out of his waistcoat, pull the shirt over his head, all the while kissing her as if the touch of her lips was keeping him alive.

Then his hands were on her again, and he was kissing her neck and then lower. With her bodice now completely unfastened, her gown slipped down her body to pool around her feet, and she kicked free of it and curved her spine so that he had room to continue to feast while she pressed the rest of her body to his.

The knock on the door was repeated twice before either of them surfaced enough to notice.

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The marriage business on WIP Wednesday

It is the nature of romance that a couple find love, within marriage or without, before the vows are exchanged or after. Of course, historical romance stretches the canvas. Throughout history, people have married for reasons other than love: security, family arrangements, the need for an heir, the desire for companionship and children. In my current work in progress, I have examples of several such approaches.

In my first excerpt, my sisters are discussing a marriage for companionship and children.

“It will have to be the right sort of person. And even if you find someone who will become father to your son and keep your secret, people will talk,” Charlotte warned.

Sarah shrugged. “As Uncle James says, people can talk all they like, but if they can’t prove anything, and if the leaders of Society accept him, the scandal will disappear.”

There would be difficulties. The chief among them, finding someone. The right person needed to be tolerant, supportive, respectful of women, understanding of a youthful mistake with consequences. She doubted she could find such a paragon in society, so she would have to look outside.

Even once she discovered suitable candidates, she would need to audition them very carefully. If they refused what she asked of them, she could not marry them. After that, their silence and their co-operation would be imperative.

“Darling, what of Nate?” Charlotte asked.

“I have to believe he is dead,” Sarah said. “He has been gone eight years, Charlotte. In all that time, he has never tried to contact me. If he is still alive, he doesn’t want me. Elfingham said he took money to leave me, and at first I thought he lied, but eight years, Charlotte!”

Charlotte nodded. She, more than anyone, knew that their brother had been unreliable. “Very well,” Charlotte said, settling herself back on her cushions and picking up her pen and the pad of paper on which she had been making notes. “Let us make a list.”

The father of the hero has made a marriage for an heir, and it hasn’t worked out for him.

“You need a wife, Bentham. Three sons, m’ brothers had between them and all of them single.” Nod. Nate could agree that his cousins had been single.

“You need to marry some well-behaved girl with wide hips,” Nate’s father insisted, “and bed her till you get a son on her.”

Nate’s father, Earl of Lechford thanks to the marital dereliction and deaths of his three nephews, was determined that the Lechford line would continue through what he insisted on calling ‘the fruit of my loins.’ He would have been happy to bypass his banished son, except the well-behaved girl he’d taken to wife once he inherited had produced three sickly daughters at twelve-month intervals, birthing the third with such difficulty she was unlikely to ever get with child again.

That left Nate, whom he reluctantly remembered and set about retrieving, setting the hospital where Nate worked into turmoil by searching for him under Nate’s honorary title as heir. To be fair, being called Bentham was better than ‘fruit of my loins’, as if Nate existed only by reference to his father. Mind you, that was certainly Lord Lechford’s view. His world had revolved around himself when he was merely the Reverend Miles Beauclair, third son of an earl and the vicar of three little villages on the ducal estate of one of the earl’s friends. His world view had not expanded when he came into his unexpected inheritance.

And in the third excerpt, we meet the sisters discussing their list, and why one man should not be on it.

“Aldridge probably is ready to set up his nursery,” Charlotte noted. The cross through Aldridge’s name had been the subject of some debate. The twins agreed that the duke’s terminal illness meant Aldridge must be in need of a bride, but otherwise disputed his suitability for Sarah.

Charlotte argued that Sarah was not seeking a love match, and that Aldridge met all her specifications for a husband.  “He would be a kind, courteous, and respectful husband, Sarah. He is not out for your money or your social position—he has more than enough of both. You get on well with his mother. And they have so much scandal of their own that they’re hardly likely to cavil at yours.”

Sarah countered with all of the marquis’s well-known character flaws, and then won the argument with a sneak attack. “Besides, while I do not want a husband who loves me, nor do I want one who has been dangling after my sister these past four years. He wants you, Charlotte, not me. Besides, even if I was prepared for the embarrassment of being married to a man who loves my sister, I doubt if Aldridge is going to accept such a substitution.”

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The war between thoughts and actions on WIP Wednesday

What we do and say isn’t necessarily a reflection of what we’re thinking, and part of the fun of writing is to let readers into the thoughts our characters are not willing to share with those around them. This week, I’d love to see any excerpt you care to share where a character’s actions are being driven by thoughts they’d rather keep to themselves. Mine is from To Tame a Rake. Charlotte has sought Aldridge’s help to rescue a boy who has been kidnapped. The boy has already escaped, but Aldridge rescues two prostitutes.

Aldridge sent his footmen home. “Get some food into you then sleep,” he told them. Tell Richards I’ve given you the rest of the day off.”

Lady Charlotte was glaring at him. “I will do myself the honour of escorting you to Winderfield House, my lady,” he told her.

She put her chin up, her nostrils flaring as she took in a deep breath to wither him.

“It is my duty, as I’m sure my mother would insist.”

“I need no other escort but Yahzak and his men,” Lady Charlotte said, looking to her fierce guard captain for his support. Yahzak backed his horse a step, his face impassive, saying nothing. Her statement was undoubtedly true from the point of view of her physical safety.

“Nonetheless…” Aldridge replied, not wanting explain—barely wanting to acknowledge to himself—his burning need see her safe inside her own home before he surrendered to the fatigue that was his reaction to the night they’d spent.

Especially that moment when he had stood by the mouth of that alley expecting Wharton’s hirelings, only to see Charlotte emerge, putting herself right in the path of danger when he had thought her safely out of the way observing from the rooftops.

That moment of heart-stopping fear had given way to anger when they’d ridden beyond the reach of the slum boss, and he’d been fighting ever since to contain his temper, to speak with her and the others with calm and civility.

Her obstinacy over the prostitutes had nearly defeated his control. Didn’t she understand how her own reputation could be tainted by association?

His civilised self knew that Saint Charlotte was nearly as well known for her virtue as for her works of charity, and that wouldn’t be changed by housing a pair of refugees from a brothel, especially two witnesses who could help bring down a dangerous criminal.

Actually, the value of the investigation was a good point to make if anyone dared criticise his ladyship in his hearing. Not that it soothed his irritation in the slightest. He was being irrational and he knew it. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

On the ride back through the steadily brightening streets, she ignored him, though he rode beside her. Probably as well. He didn’t trust himself to speak without disclosing more of his feelings than was consistent with dignity.

She had clearly been stewing, however. In the forecourt of the Winshire mansion, when he dismounted and reached her stirrup ahead of Yahzak, ready to help her down, she allowed the privilege, but stepped out of his reach while his body still hardened from her touch, turned both barrels of her ire on him and let fly.

“You take too much on yourself, Lord Aldridge. I am grateful for your help this past night,” (she didn’t sound grateful), “but that does not give you the right to dictate my behaviour or comment on my decisions.”

Aldridge managed to keep his reply courteous, even pleasant, despite his pathetic emotional state. “I want only to protect you, my lady.”

“Because I am not capable of protecting myself?” she demanded, with heavy irony. “Because I don’t have a family of my own to support me?”

“No!” He clamped his mouth shut on the next words on his tongue. Because you are mine. She would kill him. Or castrate him.

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Family in WIP Wednesday

Most of my characters live in the middle of family, some loving and close, others hateful or distant. We learn a lot about people by how they behave to their parents, siblings and children, and what makes them behave that way.

This week, I’d love you to share an excerpt that shows your main character or characters with family, either the one he or she was born into, of the one they have created through friendship.

Mine is from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover. Nate has escorted his half-sisters to The Regent’s Park, to meet the son he has only just found out about, and Sarah has told him that she wants to build a future with him and Elias.

Sarah smiled up at Nate, and he desperately wanted to lean under her very fetching hat and kiss her, but just then Norie screeched, “But I want to go on the bridge!”

The nurse, who was unfortunately as timid as Letty, was making ineffectual noises, but Elias said firmly, “You cannot, Norie. It is not safe. My Mama says it caught fire, and it might collapse if we go on it. Then the fishes will nibble your toes, and you would not like that.”

Norie narrowed her eyes.

“Go on bwidge,” Lavie demanded.

“Go to the tea shop for cake,” Nate suggested, swinging her back up into his arms, and the distraction worked magnificently. “Would you like to join us for cake, Master Elias? You and your family?”

***

Elias opened his mouth to reply then shut it. Sarah was pleased to see him remember his manners. “May we, Mama?”

At Sarah’s nod, he managed a creditable bow. “Yes, please, Sir.”

“To Fourniers, then,” Nate said, and shared a smile with Sarah when the boy offered his arm to Norie in imitation of his elders. Charlotte grinned at Sarah and took Drew’s arm.

What a procession they made!

Drew and Charlotte led the way, with Elias and Norie, and then Nate and Sarah with Lavie still enthroned on Nate’s other arm.

The cluster of nursemaids followed with Phillida still in her baby carriage but now awake and chattering in baby gurgles at everything they passed.

The footmen brought up the rear and the guard spread out on both sides of the path.

Quite a sight, if somewhat wasted on the noon-time park crowd of children and their nursemaids, off-duty soldiers, and scurrying citizens using the park as a thoroughfare between Westminster and Mayfair.