WIP Wednesdays

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Travelogues on WIP Wednesday

 

I write by seeing the scene in front of me and recording what I see, so the descriptions in my books are informed by the scenes and scenery that I’ve stored in my memory over a lifetime. Do you have sections of description in your work in progress that you’ve lifted from real life? Share it in the comments.

Mine is the ferry crossing that begins the novella I’m currently writing. My regency protagonists are on a scow — a flat-bottomed coastal sailing boat — on their way to an island off the coast of Wales. I sailed as a teenager. I’ve also had the vicarious experience of sailing in historical movies and video trips. But disembarking from the boat on the beach at the other end? That part of the journey was loosely based on a trip I took a couple of weeks ago, when my beloved and I took a water taxi along the coast of the Abel Tasman National Park. Above is one of the photos I took, and below is what I made of it in the story.

A speck in the distance grew as the minutes passed. The scow tacked, and tacked again, but each oblique passage brought a clearer view – a rock resolving into a mountain that, as they approached still closer, developed a flat plain that spread out from one side.

The other passengers crowded back on deck to watch, mostly in silence, as the three-man crew scurried from one task to another, speaking to one another in unintelligible trills and verses. Philip’s manservant was watching them rather than the island, frowning a little.

“We are nearly there, Rene,” Philip told him.

“A long walk from the harbour to the house, Mr Taverton,” Rene countered. “If you can call this a harbour.” The boat glided along a small u-shaped indent in the coast, craggy rocks either side and a tiny beach at the head of the bay that sloped up to the rough grassy fields.

Turning at the sound of a rattling chain, Philip saw the anchor winch turning rapidly, chain and then rope uncoiling under the supervision of a seaman.

“Why has he let down an anchor?” The speaker was a small lady, whose fashionable redingote did not hide delectable curves. “Are we to wade to shore?”

“We are continuing towards the beach,” Philip pointed out. In the village, while he waited, he and the other two men had exchanged names and speculated on what might be ahead of them, but the three ladies had kept to the little parlour set aside for their use. Still, the little lady had spoken first. Should he introduce himself?

“If I may, Sir, mademoiselle…” Rene’s interruption was tentative.

Philip nodded his approval and Rene continued, “They will ground the boat as close to dry land as they can, and then use the anchor to winch themselves off again, when it is time to leave. I saw this many times in my village when I was a boy.”

Even as he spoke, the scow nudged gently into the sand a few yards from where the waves washed and retreated. Two of the sailors ran to fetch along a cleated plank that had been tucked along one side of the deck.

“Now, mademoiselle, you shall see how to reach the shore dry shod,” Rene said.

The lady turned to smile at the manservant before returning her attention to the makeshift gangway now being created from the bow of the boat. Philip caught his breath. Sparkling eyes shone from a heart-shaped face framed by dark blonde curls that had escaped the confines of her bonnet and that gleamed gold where the sun caught its threads.

For a long moment, until he wrenched his eyes elsewhere, they focused on lips he would have given a year of his life to touch, to kiss. She was lovely. She was also a lady, and therefore not for Philip Taverton, unemployed tutor and secretary whose origins were far more humble than his present appearance might indicate.

The plank was laid. One by one, the passengers disembarked, two of the females accepting a steadying hand from a sailor who walked in the sea beside them. Not his lady. She waved away the support and strode boldly down the plank followed by a more plainly-dressed girl of around the same age whom he took to be her maid.

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First impressions on WIP Wednesday

 

We try to make an emotional connection between our protagonists and our readers as soon as we can in the story. We also need to show the character flaws that make our protagonists interesting. Balancing these two, especially when the characters have personality aspects or life histories that are going to upset some readers, is crucial. So we try to show them doing something nice early on. I’ve just been reading a book where the hero is a drunken cad when he is 20, and frightens heroine, who is only 15. He goes on to turn his life around, and comes back to court her. Ella Quinn manages the empathy by starting the story before he got drunk, making the reasons for his state of mind clear. You could say the story has two sets of first impressions — those the protagonists make on the reader, and those they make on one another.

How about you? What first impression do your characters make? Pick an excerpt that shows the first appearance of the hero or heroine, or what one of them thinks about the other on first meeting.

Mine this week is a newly written passage from To Wed a Proper Lady, which comes immediately after the rescue of the little boy that has already been published as part of The Bluestocking and the Barbarian (you can read it here).

“Oh my,” Felicity said. Sophia had not even noticed her until she spoke. All of Sophia’s attention was on the rider. Oh my, indeed.

“So that is what all the gossip is about,” her sister added. “No wonder he has ruffled the feathers of the biddies and the sticklers. He looks very exotic, does he not? And yet, he speaks like one of us and has the most elegant manners.”

“We must be glad he was there, and in time to help,” Sophia said, struggling to keep her voice calm when the thud of her heart must be audible throughout the village. “Tommy might have been badly hurt.” She managed to drag her eyes away from the retreating horsemen. Undoubtedly, Lord Elfingham had forgotten her already. He did not look back.

She turned towards the Children’s Sanctuary. Felicity fell into step beside her, still talking.

“I must say, he was not at all what I expected. To hear Hythe, one would think him a wild barbarian, uncouth and fierce, without manners or education.”

Sophia repressed a snort with some difficulty. “Hythe has been listening to the wrong Haverford. Our Godmama knew Lord Sutton, his father, when he was only a third son, before he left England to seek his fortune. Aunt Eleanor says that Lord Sutton was married to a Persian princess, and his children were raised as royalty, as well as English ladies and gentlemen. They were, Aunt Eleanor says, given the finest education.”

“His Grace of Haverford has forbidden Her Grace and Lord Aldridge to attend any event at which they might meet Lord Sutton or any of his children. Is that because she and Lord Sutton were once acquainted?”

Sophia knew that look on Felicity’s face. With the least encouragement, she would be interrogating the dowagers and the old maiden aunts, and increasing the storm of scandal around Lord Sutton and his family even further.

“Hythe says that the Duke is incensed at the dilution of another duke’s blue blood.” Felicity gave a little skip at the horror of it all. Hythe did say that, but Sophia was sure Haverford’s virulent enmity was more personal than a distaste for miscegenation.

“Apparently, Haverford believes that English dukes should marry only English ladies of an appropriate rank,” Sophia replied. “Foreign princesses need not apply.”

“If, in fact, Sutton did marry the foreign princess.” The scandalous nature of the conversation was delighting Felicity.

Sophia looked back over her shoulder. The horsemen were visible in the distance, just cresting the hill beyond the village. One of them had stopped — his horse gleaming golden in the sun. It was foolish to think she could feel his intense gaze from this distance. She couldn’t even see his features. But she did see one hand raised in salute before he wheeled the horse to follow his companions.

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Blurbs on WIP Wednesday

Who loves writing blurbs? Not me. Encapsulate the essence of an 80,000 word story in ten lines? It’s hard, isn’t it.

Today, I’m asking you share a blurb for a work-in-progress or one that you’re rewriting. Let’s help one another to refine our pieces.

Mine is from Unkept Promises, which is nearly on its way to beta readers.

When Mia Redepenning sails to Cape Town to nurse her husband’s dying mistress and adopt his children, she hopes to negotiate a comfortable marriage at the same time. Falling in love with the man is not on her to-do list.

Jules Redepenning has been a naval officer at war for twenty years, and away from England for most of that. He rarely thinks of the child bride he left after their wedding seven long years ago—after all, he married her merely to protect her. He certainly doesn’t expect to find his wife in his Cape Town home, a woman grown and a lovely one, too.

They must part ways, each with their own duties, before they can do more than glimpse a possible future together. At home in England, Mia must fight an enemy for the safety of Jules’s children. Imprisoned in France, Jules must battle for his self-respect and his life.

Will they win their way back to one another and their dreams?

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First seven sentences in WIP Wednesday

The journey begins with the first step.

I’ve typed THE END in Unkept Promises. I’ve also written the first paragaphs in To Mend the Broken Recluse, so I’m thinking about ends and beginnings. This week, how about putting seven sentences in the comments. You choose what they begin: the book, a chapter, a new scene.

Here’s mine.

The crows rose in a flock over the tower on the borders of Ashbury land, a cacophany on wings. Val straightened and peered in that direction, shading his eyes to see if he could tell what had spooked them. It was unlikely to be a traveller on the lane that branched towards the manor from  the road that passed the tower. After three years of repulsing visitors, the only people he ever saw were his tenant farmers and the few servants he had retained to keep the crumbling monstrosity he lived in marginally fit for human habitation.

He bent back to the plough, but called the team to a halt again when a bird shot up from almost under their hooves. Sure enough, a lapwing nest lay right in the path of the plough. Val carefully steered around it. He knew his concern for the pretty things set his tenants laughing behind his back, but they didn’t take up much room, and they’d soon hatch their chicks and be off to better cover

Okay. That’s eight sentences, but I won’t count if you don’t.

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Introspection on WIP Wednesday

 

I try to write characters with side-kicks so they have someone to talk to. My hero of Unkept Promises has no-one for most of the novel, so readers need to see inside his head. ‘Show, don’t tell,’ they say, but don’t you sometimes find that your hero, heroine, or even villain is all alone and you need the reader to know what they’re thinking? Share me an excerpt with some introspection. Here’s a bit of mine, from Unkept Promises.

The house had been sold, the remaining servants had all taken positions elsewhere, so Jules was bunking down in the spare room at a friend’s place. He was sailing soon, and perhaps would never return. The navy wanted him in the Bay of Biscay: him and his ship. When the war was over, he’d retire. He had been at sea, man and boy, for nearly twenty years, and what he’d said to Mia had been echoing ever since. Once the war was over, the Navy would offer little chance for advancement. They’d have more captains than ships, and he had never been willing to use his family connections to edge out men as well qualified as him and perhaps in greater need.

Besides, he had a family. He wanted to build a home with them, see his children grow, wake up to his wife’s welcoming smile.

The cemetery was his last stop before he sailed. He stood before Kirana’s grave, the flowers someone had left long wilted on the mound of still raw earth. The tombstone he and Mia had planned was not yet in place, but he could see it in his mind’s eye. “Here lies Kirana Redepenning, devoted mother and friend. Taken from us far too soon, she will always be in the hearts of Julius, Euronyme, Perdana, Marshanda and Adiratna.”

“I will look after them, Kirana,” he promised. “They will want for nothing.”

 

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Character sketches on WIP Wednesday

Young Dreamer Imagining a Fantasy World with Imaginary Characters

Different people work different ways. I often start with a plot idea; maybe work it up a little into a story idea. But at some point, usually very early on in the process, I get down to imagine character, because my characters always drive my plot. Their decisions make all the difference in what happens, so I need to know them before I start writing.

I’m at that stage with two books now that I’m in second draft mode on Unkept Promises and To Win a Lady. I’ve started with character sketches, which I’ll then — for the main protagonists — work  up into a proper hero’s journey. I’ll also begin a character questionnaire, and I’ll continue to add to that as I write the story, referring back during editing to make sure eyes don’t change colour and people don’t age ten years overnight.

Whatever your process, can you share some of it with us — something about one of the characters currently occupying your author brain?

Today, I’m giving you part of a character sketch for a character in the Belle’s next project, tentatively titled ‘Come What Will’. All the authors in the box set will set their stories on the same island, so we had some shared characters to invent. Mine is a shady fellow.

Cuthbert Howarth was the sole servant that Jacob Brokenshire kept from his illegal enterprises, and that out of guilt more than affection.

The Howarths had been involved in the Brokenshire smuggling enterprise from the first. Josiah had supplied the money that came to him on his marriage, but Mordecai Howarth had supplied the know-how. They were never equal partners; Josiah was always the owner and in charge. But the Howarths regarded themselves as partners, and always assumed they would one day inherit the business, since Josiah and Jacob showed no signs of producing heirs of their own.

Smuggling is not a safe enterprise. Over the years, the Howarth ranks were thinned almost as much as the Brokenshire’s, as those taking the front-line risks fell prey to storms, excise men, and other dangers of the sea.

Cuthbert was left orphaned at age 13, in 1788, when his father was hanged and his mother died, purportedly of a broken heart. A club foot meant he never went to sea like the other men of his family. Instead, he worked on the administration side of the business.

When Jacob shut down the illegal enterprises and sold the legal ones, Cuthbert begged to stay with him, and became his butler, manservant, and general factotum.

In his spare time, he has searched every corner of the island. The fortune that Jacob has amassed, and that Cuthbert believes should be his, is either hidden so well that he could not find it, or it is elsewhere.

He has also, in a small way, kept up the smuggling, unbeknownst to Jacob, focussing on high-value items such as information.

Cuthbert is a skinny man of 42, very tall and prematurely bent, with rusty brown hair thinning on the back of the head. His eyes are green. His nose is large and shows signs of having once been broken. He walks with a limp, particularly when he hurries, but otherwise does not suffer from his infirmity.

He regards everyone on the island as interlopers and potential thieves, but hides this behind a supercilious air.

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What could possibly go wrong? on WIP Wednesday

This, my friends, is a jack knife — a useful sailor’s tool.

 

My favourite question when writing is ‘what could possibly go wrong’? And then I make it happen. This week, I’m talking about those defining points where the story takes a twist to make things worse. Share me yours in the comments. Mine comes from a scene I wrote this morning in Unkept Promises. Lady Carrington, who you may remember as the villainess if you’ve read Farewell to Kindness, has a position with the French spy agencies. She has persuaded Murat, her spymaster, to let her return to England to fetch the fortune she was forced to abandon when her husband decided to get rid of her at the end of Farewell to Kindness. To help her get to her hiding place safely, she takes Jules Redepenning, my hero, who is a prisoner of war after being pushed off his ship by someone in the pay of the man who wants to abduct his son. (It makes sense in the book, I promise. And, after all, what could possibly go wrong? Right?

Though the sky was clear and the moon full, still, everything was grey on grey, and in the shadows, it was black as Lady Carrington’s heart.

“We will need transport,” Jules pointed out.

Lydia smirked. A moment later, a man leading a horse turned a corner further along the lane and began walking towards them. Four more horses followed behind, all strung together.

“Tha be the ’uns for these ’ere ’orses?” he asked, his eyes a suspicious squint as he looked from one man to another, ignoring Lydia, until she stepped towards him and held out a pouch.

“Your next payment,” she told him. “As promised, the third will be ready for you tomorrow night, when we return the horses. We will leave on the high tide, whether you are here or not.”

The man touched his cap; a response to her cultured tones. “I be here,” he said, his sourness not abated by the purse he weighed thoughtfully in one hand. “See that tha be.”

He disappeared back into the gloom, and Lydia ordered the disposition of the horses. Jules was ordered to take position between the two French officers, his horse on leading reins. Lydia led the fifth horse, which had been supplied with a pack saddle and paniers.

“If you lead us into a trap, Julius,” the Baroness said, “Pierre will shoot you without blinking.”

“You have my word,” Jules told her indignantly. After all, she was not privy to his inner justifications for abandoning her. “However, I cannot lead you tell you tell me where we are going.”

“Iron Acton will do for a start,” Lydia said. Iron Acton was five miles from Chipping Niddwick. Further confirmation that Lydia’s stash was hidden at the Carrington Castle, or nearby.

“I take it you want to avoid villages and farm dwellings. Very well. If we head south on this lane,” he pointed the direction he meant, “we will come to a turn inland in about seventy-five yards.”

Lydia nodded at his two escorts, and they wheeled their horses to follow his directions. There had never been any doubt about who was in charge.

He kept them to lanes that avoided the villages and towns. Little used except for stock movements and farm carts, they were mostly in poor repair, and recent rain had frozen in every rut and hollow, so that their way was marked by the crackle of breaking ice. Going was slow. From Iron Acton, the Baroness directed them toward Highwayman’s Hollow, a place just off the Yate to Chipping Niddwick road where, or so local legend had it, highwaymen used to lurk, waiting for a rich prize.

“We shall take a rest,” the Baroness announced, dismounting. Jules and the two silent Frenchmen followed her example. She beckoned the three of them. “Come closer so we can talk without me shouting.”

Sound did carry in the night air. Still, Jules thought she was being too cautious. Unless things had changed since he was last here, there wasn’t a dwelling anywhere within ten minutes’ walk.

Nevertheless, he joined the group, ready to hear their next destination. He wasn’t ready to be seized by Pierre and Victor, one on each side. He struggled, but he was soon bound to a tree and gagged for good measure.

“I know the way from here,” the Baroness told him. She caressed his cheek, a parody of affection. “I cannot trust you near people who might help you. We will be back, Julius, and you shall see us to the coast as you promised, and then I shall release you as I promised.”

Unable to comment, Jules merely glared. The Baroness laughed, and leaned towards him her lips puckered. He twisted his face, so that the kiss fell on his ear rather than his lips. She laughed again, and groped at his fall. “He is hardly a man at all,” she told her French lovers. “Such a disappointment. One expected better of a Redepenning.”

Jules raised a sardonic eyebrow. Lydia tipped her nose in the air and walked away to remount her horse. Pierre followed, and then Victor but only after a vicious punch to Jules’s stomach. “That is for disrespecting madame,” he hissed.

Jules had no choice but to keep his response to himself. He gave the Baroness precisely the respect she deserved. Probably as well he couldn’t speak. Another couple of blows like that, and he’d be in real trouble.

He watched them ride away before testing his bonds. Good. They’d left enough play for him to work with, and the jack knife he’d stolen on the ship was still concealed in his sleeve. He sneered after them. No sailor would have made such a mistake.

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Haunted by the past on WIP Wednesday

Our heroes and heroines need a past, and in my kind of book, something about that past needs to still bother them.

I love stories where we get an early glimpse of this vulnerability, without lengthy backstory, then more and more comes out as the story unwinds. I was at a crime and thriller conference last weekend, and on a panel with Kirsten McKenzie, whose horror/crime story Painted does this to beautiful effect for both the horror and the crime plot threads. I didn’t finish the book until the trip home, and the others on the panel were all trying to discuss the history that motivated the key characters without giving away the key points. (Sorry, folks.)

Sometimes, readers of a series know at least some of what tears at the hero’s heart or the heroine’s, but we don’t know about the wounds of the other protagonist. Charles, in Caroline Warfield’s Children of Empire has kept his dignity despite his estranged wife’s lies and betrayals. We know this because those lies also hurt Charles’s cousins, each of whom stars in one of the previous two books. We learn more, and from Charles’s POV, but we also need to find out what drives Zambak to the other side of the world, where she and Charles will have to deal with their separate pasts as well as the budding Opium Wars, Zambak’s brother, a callous villain, and small-minded local society.

I could go on — in my favourite books, people all have pasts, and an important part of the story is them coming to terms with who they are because of that past.

This week, I’m asking you to share a passage where your characters share part of their past. It could be highly significant, like the books I’ve mentioned above, or it could be something quite minor. Mine is from To Win a Proper Lady: The Bluestocking and the Barbarian, which I’m rewriting as a novellisation of the novella I wrote for Holly and Hopeful Hearts. In this passage, I hint at a backstory that won’t become clear until book three of the series. Hint. The heroine of To Tame the Wicked Rake: The Saint and the Sinner, is Charlotte Winderfield. The hero is Aldridge.

Charlotte indicated the closed bedchamber door with an inclination of her head. “I take it Grandfather has heard that the Duke of Haverford has run mad,” she said.

“Mad like a fox,” James answered. “He has given up on the claim that my father is not the son His Grace of Winshire lost so many years ago. With our esteemed progenitor and Aunt Georgie both recognising him, that was a lost cause. He thinks to convince his peers that they don’t want half breeds living among them, dancing and worse with their daughters. It will be a simple thing, he thinks, to prove my parent’s marriage a fiction, and all of their children barred from my grandfather’s title.”

“Take a seat, James, and don’t loom over me. You don’t think it will be a simple thing?”

James obeyed, lowering himself into the chair opposite hers. “I think the man a fool for underestimating the King of the Mountains. You have heard our grandsire’s solution for swaying opinion our way?”

She had, of course. That was clear from the way she examined his face before she spoke; a considering look, as if wondering how much to trust him. “It is a good idea for you to marry an English girl with impeccable bloodlines.” With a snap, she closed the open book that was sitting on her knee. “That girl will not be me, James. I mean no offence, but I will not marry you, whatever Grandfather might say. I do not intend to wed, ever.”

“Thank you for telling me. Perhaps, you would be kind enough to help me find a bride that will fit the duke’s requirements and my own?”

“And what might your requirements be?” Charlotte asked.

“Someone I could grow to love. Someone who could be my friend and partner, as well as my wife.”

“You are a romantic, cousin. I warn you, Haverford is powerful. He will make it hard to find a girl from the right family who will accept you, despite our family’s name and your father’s wealth. Finding one who is your match may be impossible.”

James looked down at his hands. If she thought him romantic, she would be certain of it in the next moment. “Perhaps I have found her already. What can you tell me of Lady Sophia Belvoir?”

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Parenting on WIP Wednesday

This is my idea of how Marshanda Redepenning might look.

I like to have children in my stories, which means one or more of my characters are parents — and all of my characters have had parents (many still do). In today’s post, I’m asking for comments with excerpts that are somehow to do with parenting. It might be a secondary character or a main protagonist; parenting in action or thinking about the actions of a parent; the character as parent or the character as child.

In the excerpt I have today, from Unkept Promises, Mia sees her husband with his children by his mistress. Backstory: they married many years ago, when she was still a school child, for the sake of her reputation, and he sailed straight away for the Far East to return to his mistress, Kirana, and their children. Kirana and Mia became friends by correspondence, and Jules has just arrived home from a sea voyage to find that Mia has been in his house for a week and has taken over running it.

Adarinta suddenly remembered that Jules had not yet disgorged his gifts. “Where are my…” she broke off, sneaking a glance at Hannah, who had been impressing the little girls with the unexpected information that they were ladies. Marshanda stuck her nose in the air. “Ladies,” she informed her sister, “do not ask. Ladies wait to be offered.”

Jules frown over her head at Mia. “Who has been telling you that?” he asked.

Adarinta, however, was not to be deflected. “I like presents,” she announced. “It makes me very happy when people give me a present. Ibu Mia brought presents for me and Marsha. I expect she brought presents for you, too, Dan. I do like presents.”

Faced with this flagrant attempt to get around the ‘ladies do not ask’ rule, the adults were struggling to maintain their gravity. Even Jules, who was holding onto whatever grudge had blown in with him, couldn’t resist a twinkle. “I happen to have some presents,” he commented.

Adarinta, climbing off his knee, stood before him, her hands clasped before her, her wide eyes pleading. “Oh Papa,” she pleaded, then looked back at Hannah again and chewed thoughtfully at her upper lip. Her eyes lit, and she said, “I have been very good, Papa, have I not, Hannah?” Then added mournfully, “Not as good as Marsha.”

“Dan, would you fetch my duffel?” Jules asked his son, shifting slightly to allow the boy to pass.

“Perhaps, you might take your father up to the nursery, young ladies?” Mia suggested. “Hannah could bring you up some scones. I am sure your father would like a scone his daughters have made.”

Jules, who had his mouth open — Mia was certain — to repudiate the suggestion, shut it again.

“Oh yes, Papa. Come and see.” Marshanda took one of Jules’s hands, and Adarinta, not to be left behind, took the other. “Hannah made us some curtains, Papa. And Ibu Mia bought us a table and chairs to do our schoolwork. I can read, Papa. Truly.”

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Rough drafts on WIP Wednesday

My writing has speeded up marvellously since I learned a simple trick. If there’s something I don’t know, or a sequence I can’t quite visualise, I make a note and move on.

Below, I’ve included an excerpt from Unkept Promises, the next Redepenning novel, full of notes to myself

How about you? What do you do in your rough drafts, and are you game to post an example in the comments?

Fortune and Hannah met them at the dock gates with the break, a large open carriage capable of taking the entire family along the coast to eat the picnic that was undoubtedly in the covered baskets Jules could see tucked under the seats.

[check where a picnic might take place. During drive, Jules abstracted, thinking about what the girls and Mia have told him. Dan pointing out all the different types of ship in the harbour, where they might have come from and be going, and what they were good for. Girls asking questions until he gets to one he can’t answer and askes Jules who shakes off his mood and attends.]

Hannah and Mia set the picnic up in the shade of a tree [rock?? Pavilion they brought with them???] and soon they were all enjoying [etc. Not sure what I want to do with this part of the scene. Girls need to ask politely to be allowed to leave the …. blanket? ]

[Hannah produces a ball, suggests a game. Girls against boys. Dan scathing about the girls’ likely ability.]

“Could we sit this one out?” Jules asked Mia. “I’d like for us to talk, if you do not mind.”

“Of course,” Mia said. “Hannah, you and the others go ahead.”

In moments, the game was underway, Hannah and the girls against Fortune and Dan. Dan’s confidence took a swift knock when Fortune failed to catch the ball Dan had thrown and Marsha raced in front of him and kicked it to Hannah, who in her turn kicked it between the rocks they had marked as the girl’s goal.

He rallied, though, and the next round of play saw him sneaking the ball from under Marsha’s nose and kicking his own goal.

“This will do the girls a world of good,” Mia decided. “I have not wanted to venture beyond the boundaries of town without an escort, and there is no where there they can run and romp like this without censure from the biddies.”

“You are determined to turn them into English gentlewomen.” Jules tried to keep the censure from his voice. He would allow his unaccountable wife her chance to make her case, but what the hell was she thinking?

“I am determined to make sure they know Society’s expectations,” Mia corrected. “I know how it feels to be at sea, knowing that something you have done has drawn disapprobation, but having no idea what it is or how to correct it. I will not leave them as ill prepared as I was.”

What had happened to Mia to fuel the vehemence of her tone? He supposed he understood. The child he’d met in the smuggler’s cave had been raised by a reclusive scholar — or had raised herself while ignored by her father.

“I thought my father and Susan would look out for you,” he said. They should have. He had trusted them to do so.

“It was not their fault, Captain.” Mia smiled, and reached out as if to pat his hand where it rested be-side hers on the blanket. If that was her intent, she thought better of it and instead folded it in her lap with its counterpart. “They are part of Society. They grew up knowing all the habits of courtesy your kind take for granted, and all your silly little rituals. It never occurred to them that I was as ignorant of what to them seemed natural behaviour. They were always there to tell me what I had done wrong, and they tried to predict my next mistake and prevent it — but I made so many!” The last was said with a laugh, but Jules could sense pain beneath it, and his heart ached for the little girl he had abandoned.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“I will not have that happen to Marshanda and Adarinta.