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Journeys on WIP Wednesday

tea in gardenJourneys are a feature of my Gingerbread Bride novella in the Bluestocking Belles Christmas box set (Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem). But—as you’d expect when our theme is runaway brides—journeys appear in the other novellas, too. Launch is this weekend, so this is my last chance to call it a work in progress!

Before now, I’ve posted excerpts where Rick first sees Mary walking through a field after her coach breaks a wheel, and where Mary and her maid are trapped in a runaway chaise, so here is a bit from a somewhat tamer part of Mary’s travels. Please feel free to post ten lines or so (I went for ‘or so’!) from your own work in progress, and don’t forget to share!

By the time they stopped for a bite to eat in the early afternoon, Rick’s pallor had increased alarmingly, and he’d been clenching the front of the bench for more than an hour, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

He managed a slow, awkward descent from the carriage and twisted his mouth into a shadow of his usual jaunty grin when he caught Mary’s concerned frown.

“I’m feeling a bit battered, Mary, but no harm done.”

Mary felt a bit battered herself. The carriage was not called a bounder for nothing.

“Let us take our meal in the garden, so we can stroll a little,” she suggested, “unless… should you be sitting down, Rick? Or lying even? We could enquire  about a room.”

“A walk would be just the thing,” Rick assured her.

Mary sent Polly off to order sustenance. “We will eat in the garden, Polly. I can see tables under the trees. Order for three. You’ll eat with us.”

Rick opened the gate from the inn-yard to the garden, and Mary went through it on his arm, trying to support him as much as she could without being obvious.

Another guest was before them, sitting at one of the tables and staring disconsolately at the small, dirty pond that adorned one corner.

“What is the matter?” Rick asked. Mary realized she had halted and was clutching his arm in a death grip. She willed herself to relax.

 

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Rejected lovers gossip: Part two

Lady Bosville has been rescued from boredom. The Stanton musicale is a dismal affair, but when she slips out to sample some more of the rather lovely afternoon tea, she encounters her dear friend Lady Montagu. And Cordelia has been able to relate the inside story on the gossip of the moment; the scandalously sudden betrothal of one of society’s most notable rakes.

To read that gossip, see the first half of this post on Amy Rose Bennett’s blog.

Or read on for some more Regency gossip.

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frederic-soulacroix-french-b-1825_tete-tete_698x1024Enid was following her own thoughts, and was decidedly disgruntled. “It is a nuisance having to treat them as family. Mary is so common. (Her father, you know. Not at all the thing. Her mother married down.) And now Rick’s decidedly gorgeous brothers are all married too. So unfair. And last time I hinted, just hinted, Cordelia, I swear, that I could provide some comfort to poor Rick when Mary was off on something to do with one of her ridiculous charities—why, he was quite rude!”

“The devil!” exclaims Cordelia. “How anyone could remain contented with the same partner year in, year out, I will never fathom.”

“Indeed! So boring. The years before George and Frederick were born were the longest of my life. One has to do one’s duty, of course,” Enid added. Her friend was as aware as the rest of the ton that George, Enid’s older son, not only bore no resemblance to Bosville, but had the signature blue eyes so common in the Redepenning family. And even Enid was not certain which younger son of a duke was her daughter Charlotte’s progenitor.

“Of course,” Cordelia agrees. Cordelia is blessedly unencumbered by offspring, having married an elderly Baron, and having been careful in her later amours. “Enid,” she says in a quiet voice, “It suddenly occurs to me that perhaps it wasn’t only Rick Redepenning that you formed a tendre for. Did you and George…”

Enid can feel her face grow red. Had Cordelia just realised? The late Lord Chirbury had been charming and insistent. And an earl! Given Bosville’s neglect of his new bride, she was totally justified, but she would certainly not make that argument, even to Cordelia.

“Why Cordelia, as if I would, when I had not even given Bosville a son!” She studies her fingernails with rapt attention. “Not that it would matter if I had. Bosville has never even noticed George’s eyes. I named Bosville’s eldest son and heir for the King, of course.” She peeps up through her lashes at her friend to see whether Cordelia will accept this lie.

Cordelia quirks an eyebrow in skepticism but refrains from further comment. Enid changes the subject, hastily. “I saw you dance with Captain Morledge, Cordelia. How you dared!”

Cordelia shrugs. “The rumours about him taking his wife’s life are just that, rumours. Besides, it ’twas only a dance, Enid. I’m certainly not in the market for a husband.” She smiles. “I just can’t resist the invitation of a military man.”

Enid sighs. “He does look very fine in his uniform. Tell me, Cordelia, does he look fine out of it?”

Cordelia smirks. “Not as fine as Lord Arlington. Now there’s a rare specimen of a man who would be worth pursuing, wife or no.” She sighs. “I would perhaps consider marriage again if there were attractive enough options available. But it seems even dukes make poor husbands these days.” When Enid gives her a quizzical look, she adds in a low voice, “You must have heard about the late Duke of Murnane’s exploits, surely. What his poor wife has had to endure.” She shudders for effect.

Enid nods, her eyes avid. “Why, I heard that he…” she lowers her voice, though they were the only people in the room, “failed to pay his gambling vowels! Can you imagine! I heard it from Jeremy Smithson himself. The poor, dear man is owed hundreds of pounds.”

“I did my best to comfort him, of course.” Without leaving the slimy toad alone with her jewel box. He was an inventive and interesting lover, but a card sharp, a thief and—or so she understood, not that she would try such a thing—an opium pusher, like all the Smithson men.

“I’m sure you did,” replied Cordelia. “You know, Enid, I sometimes I wonder if men like Sir Jeremy and the duke aren’t at least a trifle responsible for the plight of some of our own. Take the Duchess of Murnane for example. One would think she’d be happier now that her brute of a husband has left this world, but no. It’s terribly sad to see her brought so low.” When Enid’s eyes light up, she whispers, “She’s much too fond of laudanum…”

It has never occurred to Enid to worry about the plight of other women, and she does not see any point in doing so now. “I do not see the appeal of laudanum,” she muses. “One feels so out of control, and remembers little of what has happened. Of course, while Murnane was alive, his wife had a reason to absent herself. But now! She is a widow, Cordelia, and doesn’t have to answer to any man. And she is wasting her time stuck out there in the countryside where Murnane put her. I do not understand it.”

“Neither do I,” says Cordelia with a grimace. “Perhaps we should try to take her under our wing so to speak when next she ventures into Town. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of a dalliance to dispel one’s ennui.”

“Indeed,” Enid agrees. “And thank goodness there is little chance of these ridiculous ‘love matches’ ever becoming fashionable!”

afternoonteaCordelia smiles widely. “Yes, bored husbands and rakes will always be my cup of tea.” She casts a glance at her own discarded cup, now cold and pulls a face before turning her attention back to Enid. “I have an invitation to Lord and Lady Beacham’s soiree tomorrow evening. I think I might go in search of more appealing fare there. Something a bit stronger and more full-bodied.” Her smile turns sly. “I’m sure you know what I mean. Perhaps I shall see you there…”

Enid smiles into her own empty cup. “I have an engagement at Lady Uriana’s. I am fairly certain that Wyndale will be there. He and Lady Uriana…” she flaps one hand, knowing that Cordelia will know have heard the same gossip. “The Duke is said to be very… athletic in certain ways.”

Cordelia sighs. “Yes, I believe that to be true. But furthering an acquaintance with His Grace this Yultide season is not to be I am afraid. Rumour has it that he has decamped to the country and has married also. In haste and to one of the Berekely chits. I almost fell off my chair when I heard the news.”

“No, it is not true,” Enid said with authority. “I have it from Lady Uriana herself that the Berkeley girl was marrying an imposter. Uriana says that Stephen will have caught the criminal by now, and will be returning to town immediately. She expects him back in her bed by tomorrow night, though we shall see about that.”

“Heavens. How scandalous,” exclaims Cordelia. “And how impressive is Stephen? If he is at Lord and Lady Beacham’s soiree tomorrow, Lady Uriana might not be the only lady seeking him out.”

Enid’s smile stretches. “Let me just say that Arlington is not the only available rare specimen. What need we care for the Rick Redepennings of the world and their ugly wives when the ton has such banquets of delight as Stephen Huntingdon, Duke of Wyndale, and Jasper Hargreaves, Earl of Arlington? Let us arrange to meet at the soiree and see who can persuade one of them to, er, ‘examine the paintings’, so to speak.”

Cordelia’s amusement seems out of proportion to the joke. There is a story there, Enid is sure. “An excellent plan, my dear friend,” Cordelia says. “It might be the season for marriages, but where there is mistletoe, there is also going to be all sorts of mischief. I’m sure you and I will be able to make plenty.”

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Box setBuy your copy of Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem to find out:

  • the full story of what really happened at the Penrose Ball—and how Tessa Penrose and Lord Arlington fared afterwards in All She Wants for Christmas
  • the real story of the courtship of Rick Redepenning and Mary Pritchard, and how Bosville and Enid attempted to derail it, in Gingerbread Bride.

Most of the other characters Enid and Cordelia gossip about in this piece are also in the box set. Read about:

  • the Stantons in The Ultimate Escape
  • Captain Morledge and the Beachams in Under the Mistletoe
  • Jeremy Smithson in ‘Tis Her Season
  • the Duchess of Murnane in A Dangerous Nativity
  • the Duke of Wyndale (with mention of Lady Uriana) in Joy to the World.

And don’t miss our Facebook launch party on 1 November!

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The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree

Congratulations to Julie Johnstone on her new release, The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree.

The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree CoverJustin Holleman, the Duke of Dinnisfree, is used to being wanted—in bed, for missions, and even dead. He’s protected his country more times than he can remember, gaining enemies along the way, but he failed to defend himself from the past that hardened his heart. Instead, he became an expert at shutting people out. Yet now, in order to save the king, Justin needs to let go of his old ways and let someone closer to him than ever before. He approaches the mission with his classic cold calculation, but his fiery new ally upends his ordered world and entices him at every turn. Suddenly he’s in danger of compromising his assignment and losing his heart, two things he swore never to do.

Desperate to protect her parents from poverty, among other things, Miss Arabella Carthright unwittingly becomes a pawn in a dangerous political battle when she agrees to aid an enigmatic stranger. Having learned long ago to count only on herself, she’s surprised when time and again the duke actually aids her. But when his true assignment becomes clear, Arabella realizes the man she’s come to care for poses the greatest threat to those she loves.

As Justin and Arabella face their feelings and their web of deception falls away, they must decide how high a price they are willing to pay for love and loyalty.

Excerpt:

Arabella looked Justin straight in the eyes. “I’m supposed to seduce you. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, by all means, then,” he teased, even as desire gripped him in its iron hold.

Her mouth parted, and she stared at him for a long moment. She inhaled slowly, her chest rising tantalizingly. “I’m also supposed to search your home for the letters.”

He cocked an eyebrow. Anger pumped through his veins that she, an innocent, had been drawn into such corruption.

“Justin, I don’t intend to seduce you.”

“How utterly disappointing,” he murmured. He had to take a deep inhalation to try to return his heartbeat to a normal rhythm. If she’d attempted to seduce him at this moment, he would have let her with no hesitation at all. He would have compromised his mission to touch her, kiss her, and hold her in his arms.

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The quadroon concubines of New Orleans on Wanton Weekends

quadroon-ball

In New Orleans at the end of the 18th Century, a wealthy white man would generally live on his plantation with his wife and children, but he would also have a townhouse in New Orleans where his other family lived: his quadroon mistress and the children he had made with her.

To the men and women involved, these marriages de la main gauche (left-handed marriages) were honourable arrangements. The women were faithful to their protectors, and the men were expected to provide for their children. It was what a gentleman did.

Girls were as carefully raised and protected as their white counterparts, and, when they were old enough, introduced to wealthy white men at the weekly quadroon balls – elegant affairs that only white men and quadroon women were permitted to attend. A man attracted to a particular girl would need to negotiate with her mother, and she would probably insist of various protections in writing before the girl was allowed to move into the house her new protectors would purchase for her.

As time passed, institutionalised racism grew, and the system was no longer officially sanctioned. This made it easier for the legal wife and ‘legitimate’ children to cheat the placée and her children out of their inheritance.

By the end of the reconstruction period following the American Civil War, many families of former placées were impoverished, and their daughters had few options. However, their beauty, education, grace, and charm meant success in the city’s sex trade, as courtesans and madams. Their grandmothers and greatgrandmothers would have been horrified.

The image shows women at one of the last of the quadroon balls.

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The plot twist on WIP Wednesday

ginger-root-gingerbreadI’m at the point in my current WIP (The Prisoners of Wyvern Castle) where something needs to happen to stop the story from ending too soon. You know that moment? A complication. A change of plan. A misunderstanding. A new discovery. A missed opportunity or one taken.

So this week, I’m inviting you to share up to nine lines from a spot in your story where things change. Here’s mine, from Gingerbread Bride, my novella in the Bluestocking Belles’ box set Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem. My heroine, Mary, is baking gingerbread for a local wedding, while trying to avoid the attentions of the father of the bride.

She inclined her head, the barest minimum politeness required.

“Have you come to collect your daughter’s baking, sir?”

“No, no. Ruthie will do that herself. She’s just out there in the kitchen with your good aunts. What have you there, eh?” He came around the table to her side. As Mary moved backward to avoid him, her head struck the shelf behind her, upending a canister that struck her a glancing blow as it fell. Mary staggered, and was momentarily grateful for Mr. Owens’ steadying hands.

Until she heard the gasp from behind him.

Until she opened her eyes to see both aunts, her cousin, and Ruth Owens standing in the doorway, their mouths identical O’s of shock.

 

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The floating world on Wanton Weekends

Last week’s post was about a woman of business at the top of her profession. For today, I’m moving to the other side of the Eurasian land-mass, two thousand years forward in time, and to the bottom of the pecking order.

In 17th Century Japan, new laws restricted brothels to specific quarters, where they could be regulated and taxed. Men regarded a visit to ‘the floating world’ as an opportunity to escape their highly regulated lives. Their wives were expected to dress modestly and serve their husbands. For passion and love, the warriors, merchants, and lords of Japan looked to the floating world.

Women were sold into the brothels, often from poor farmer or fisher families, aged 7 or 8, and grew up doing chores and tending the courtesans. Compared to where they came from, the brothels were better – sufficient food, light work, a clean place to sleep.

Those that showed ability began their courtesan training at 11 or 12. A courtesan needed to be well read, talented at music and drawing, able to entertain in and out of bed. Every lesson they learned; every item of clothing they wore, every hairclip and pot of cosmetics was charged to the debt they owed the brothel.

Once they ‘graduated’ (by having their virginity auctioned to the highest bidder), they worked long hours, even when they were sick or menstruating. They had quotas to fill, with most of the purchase fee for their time going to the brothel and little finding its way into their hands.

Their only hope of a different life was to attract the attention of someone willing and able to buy their debt.

Some, of course, reached the top of their profession, becoming high-ranking courtesans with some choice about who they entertained. Most remained low-ranking prostitutes, available to lower-ranked and poorer men. In Yoshigawa in 1642, 102 courtesans were listed, compared to 881 prostitutes.

Many prostitutes died by the time they were 20, of venereal disease or lead poisoning from the cosmetics they wore, or during or after childbirth. In one graveyard, more than 21,000 prostitutes were buried ‘without connection’; that is, without anyone to pay their funeral costs.

For more, see: http://www.collectorsweekly.com/…/the-tragic-life-of-the-c…/

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Strange happenings in Hyde Park

Today on the blog, we have something special: a stand-alone short story with two characters from the Bluestocking Belles’ holiday box set, Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem. My character Mary meets Susana Ellis’s character Lady Pendleton. The post below tells the scene from the point of view of Mary, the heroine of Gingerbread Bride. Go to Susana’s Parlour to read the same story from the point of view of Lady Pendleton, mother of Julia Tate who is the heroine of The Ultimate Escape.

Pissarro_Hyde_Park

Continue reading →

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Villains on WIP Wednesday

Turning awayThis week, I’m focusing on villains. On the Teatime Tattler at the weekend, I’m doing a purpose-written duo of vignettes from the point-of-view of my Gingerbread Bride villain from the Bluestocking Belles’ box set, Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem. I’m also writing a cross-blog post with my Belle colleague Amy Rose Bennett (to be published later in the month) with the Gingerbread Bride villainess.

So I’m inviting you all to post an excerpt of around nine sentences showcasing your villain. Here’s Viscount Bosville, in an extract from Gingerbread Bride.

“Watch where you are going, Ma—Cousin Mary? Good God, it is. What are you doing in this godforsaken place?”

Lord Bosville. Of all the people Mary imagined meeting, he was the last she’d expect to find this far from London. “Cousin,” she replied, giving him a frosty nod. They had parted on unfriendly terms, after he had tried to kiss her and she had, as her father had taught her, punched him in a vulnerable part of his anatomy.

Bosville rearranged his face into a friendly smile that did not reach his eyes. “I do apologize for my language, Cousin Mary. I was startled. How nice to see you. Mother will be delighted to hear you are well. She has been so worried.”

What nonsense. Mary suppressed a snort. Worried to have lost Mary’s money, perhaps.

“If you will excuse me, Cousin, my maid and I are tired.”

But Viscount Bosville turned and accompanied them up the stairs, insisting he would see them safely to their rooms.

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Whore to Empress on Wanton Weekends

Benjamin-Constant-L'Imperatrice_Theodora_au_ColiséeTheodora, daughter of a Constantinople bear trainer, gives us one of the most successful mistress to wife stories from history. She was an actress when, at 16, she came to the attention of a government official, who took her with him when he was posted to Northern Africa.

On her return, aged 20, she drew the attention of another government official, Justinian, the son of the Emperor. Officials were not permitted to marry actresses, but Justinian appealed to his father, who changed the law, and in 525 she and Justinian married. In 527, Justinian became Emperor of Byzantium, and Theodosia was crowned Empress alongside him.

She is credited with expanding the rights of women in divorce and property ownership, giving mothers some guardianship rights over their children, and forbidding the killing of a wife who committed adultery. She also closed brothels and created convents for ex-prostitutes.

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Love hurts on WIP Wednesday

7c8133e975bcIn three more weeks, my novella Gingerbread Bride will be released as part of the Mistletoe, Marriage, & Mayhem box set from the Bluestocking Belles. So that makes it a work in progress still, does it not? Wending its way towards launch?

So for the next four Wednesdays, expect to see excerpts from this novella. And please show me yours! I’d love to read them. (Don’t forget to share the post so other people can find our pieces too.)

So this week, I’m sharing the moment when my heroine accepts that she is still in love with her girlhood hero. (You might wish to share your hero’s moment of revelation, or even admission of attraction if love isn’t on the table.) My heroine is thinking of all the reasons she is not content:

First, she missed the sea. She had lived her entire life within the sight, smell, and sound of it, until she first came to London, and as each day passed, she yearned for it more and more. The sea was home, and this land-locked valley, however pretty, was not.

Second, no matter how sharply she spoke to herself, she could not stop thinking about Rick Redepenning. She couldn’t possibly miss a man she had spent less than a day with in the past five years. She was merely worried about his injury, that was all, that he might not be taking care, might not be healing. No matter what excuses she made, she was well aware she was in danger of once again falling in love with Rick the Rogue—if, in fact, she’d ever fallen out of love.