by

Tea with Rosa Gavenor

Rosa Gavenor waited for the butler to return and conduct her upstairs to the duchess who had commanded her presence. The double duchess, they called her in the ton, for she had been the wife of the Duke of Haverford for long enough that her son was a man entering his middle years when he inherited the title.

The duchess married again shortly after the end of her period of morning, becoming the Duchess of Winshire.

Rosa had been raised in isolation as the daughter of a gentleman who was librarian to a baron. She had never met even a single duchess, let alone a lady august enough to be chosen as wife by two dukes, one after the other.

This was without a doubt the most scary thing she had done during her visit to London.

She had been nervous about the visit, but determined to be a credit to her beloved husband. She had the wardrobe to look like a prosperous gentleman’s wife. She had purchased several afternoon gowns, two carriage ensembles, and a ball gown in Liverpool, at the same modiste who made her wedding gown and the other clothes that Hugh had ordered for her before they were married.

Hugh said what she had would be inadequate for a month in London, and appealed to the Countess of Ruthford, wife of Hugh’s beloved colonel, whom everyone except his wife called Lion.

Lady Ruthford agreed, and offered to take Rosa to her own modiste. Before the shopping trip was over, Rosa and Dorothea, the countess, were firm friends.

Then came the invitations. Hugh was far more popular, and have deeper connections into the upper reaches of the ton, than Rosa had realised. She had her own connection, of a sort, too. The Marquess of Raithby recognised her as a sort of a sister, since her aunt had been his father’s long-term mistress, much loved by both the marquess and his children.

Rosa very quickly found other married women she liked, and soon had invitations that did not depend on Hugh’s connections or those of the marquess. While much of the ton was as standoffish and smug as Hugh always said, he was correct, too, that people were people, no matter their status in life. She could ignore the self-centred and cruel, and enjoy those who were prepared to be friends.

What sort of a contact would the duchess prove to be? It didn’t matter. Hugh was doing business with the Duke of Haverford and with the Earl of Sutton, Winshire’s son and heir. As his wife, Rosa must make a good impression, or at the very least, not make a bad one.

Knowing how important this meeting was did not make the waiting any easier. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an age before the butler returned, and invited Rosa to follow him.

The elegant and expensive decor was unusual for an English house, reminding Rosa that the duke had spent many years in the east. She did not have time to examine it, though, for the butler hurried up the staircase and along a wide hallway to an elegant parlour.

As soon as she saw the duchess’s smile, Rosa knew her worries were for nothing.

“My dear Rosa… may I call you Rosa? I feel that I know you, with what my god son, dear Raithby, has said. Come and sit down, my dear. Tell me all about yourself, and how I can help you and your dear husband.”

Rosa’s love story with Hugh (aka Bear) Gavenor is in Grasp the Thorn, free this month.

by

Spotlight on Sherry Ewing’s sale

Sherry is having a sale right through December. Here’s what she has to say about it.

🎄🎅🏻 $0.99 Sale for the Holidays! 🎅🏻🎄

Santa is coming early with this holiday sale to stuff your Kindle or eReader full of my ebooks. My next release, Knight of Darkness: The Knights of the Anarchy (Book One) is available for preorder and releases February 9th. Plus, I have several more books that are series starters. Everything is on sale through January 2nd.
Grab yours now and feel free to blame me for your next book hangover!
Knight of Darkness ~ Sometimes finding love can become our biggest weakness: https://amzn.to/47Gu0Hp
If My Heart Could See You: The MacLarens, A Medieval Romance (Book One) ~ When you’re enemies, does love have a fighting chance? books2read.com/u/bP5QJ3
Hearts Across Time ~ A special edition box set of my medieval time travels For All of Ever and Only For You, Katherine and Riorden’s complete story in one book! Sometimes all you need is to just believe… books2read.com/u/meqPgm
A Kiss for Charity: The de Courtenay’s (Book One) ~ Love heals all wounds but will their pride keep them apart? books2read.com/u/bzpzg9
Under the Mistletoe ~ A new suitor seeks her hand. An old flame holds her heart. Which one will she meet under the kissing bough? books2read.com/u/4j9vvm
by

Heirs apparent and heirs presumptive

Cousins and nephews of the title holder can’t be heirs apparent

The heir apparent is the person who

  • is first in the order of succession, and
  • cannot be displaced from inheriting when someone else is born.

A cousin or a nephew would normally be an heir presumptive, which is a person who is currently first in the order of succession, but who can be displaced if the current titleholder has a son (or, rarely, depending on the inheritance conditions of the title, a daughter). It doesn’t matter if the title holder is old, celibate, unmarried, or even medically impotent. As long as he lives, the rules presume he can father a child of his own.

Only heirs apparent get to use one of the title-holder’s lesser titles. The title holder doesn’t get to decide who gets the title. The order of succession is set up in the papers that established the title. Usually, heirs male of the body, which means the first-born son in a direct line.

The title-holder can’t give away lands that are entailed to the title, either. An entail leaves the lands to a future title holder, with the current title holder having right of possession. You cannot give away or sell what you don’t own.

 

by

First kiss (or at least the preamble) on WIP Wednesday

The Darkness Within will be ready for beta readers tomorrow or the next day. Meanwhile, here is a excerpt.

His hands were stroking her, but instead of being soothed she found herself crying, great noisy gusts of tears. He lifted her in his arms and she found herself sitting on his lap, weeping into his shoulder. He murmured to her, over and over, variations of, “I will keep you safe, Serenity. I will never let him touch you.”

Slowly, the comfort of being held, and by this man, seeped into her and her tears dried. Perhaps he had given her some of his strength and courage. It came to her that she desired him, and that they were alone together. Her wedding would not happen. She was old and scarred. Perhaps no man would ever want her as wife.

Indeed, who knew what the future would hold? If they succeeded in bringing down Famberwold, would the village continue? Famberworld had always told them that his brother protected them from an outside world that hated virtue. Surely, he was wrong, for he was not a man of virtue. And, certainly, Max did not hate virtue. Far from it.

Whatever happened, Max would be gone. He had come to find Reuben, he had told them. Now he was staying to see them safe, and when Famberwold and his brother could no longer harm them, no doubt he would go, too.

She shifted on his shoulder so that she could see his face. I wonder if you would kiss me, Max? If I asked?

The soft expression he was wearing changed. Astonishment. Alarm. Desire? Oh dear. Did I say that out loud?

“Kiss you?” Max asked

I did say it aloud! She could feel her cheeks heat, and she hid her face in his shoulder, taking comfort from the fact he did not push her away. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I know I am too old, and ugly too, with my smallpox scars. Please forget I said anything. Besides, I am sure that a man such as you is popular with the wives of your village. I expect they are far lovelier than I, and they know how to kiss besides, so are able to please you.”

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face so that she was looking at him. “You are not ugly to me, Serenity. Those minor blemishes cannot disguise the beauty of your eyes and your figure, the loveliness of your hair. Though it is your character that draws me to you most of all. Your kindness to a stranger. Your patience with the children. The intelligence that had you seeing through the lies Famberwold told, and the loyalty that had you wanting to believe him. The courage that has you helping me, even though coming here was the last thing you wanted to do.”

His mention of courage had her stiffening her spine. “Then, if your wives would not object, would you kiss me, please? I want to know what it is like with a man I desire. Famberwold has given me several kisses since I became Chosen, and they were horrid, but I have seen kisses that…” She could not think of how to explain what she had seen—two people absorbed in one another, taking and giving in equal measure, separating only to kiss again, their smiles speaking of secrets and delights.

“I have no wives,” Max admitted, “and I am certain your kiss would please me, but Serenity, I am not worthy. I have a dark past. I have done terrible things. I will be leaving here as soon as I know you and the children are safe.”

Serenity stamped her foot, but took courage, because his words pushed her away, but his arms still held her. This fact kept her voice calm as she continued to plead. “I am not asking you to stay. I am asking for a kiss. Just one, Max. Please?”

by

Blurbs and trigger warnings on WIP Wednesday

Folks, for this WIP Wednesday, I want to trial a blurb.  I’ve tried to embed a trigger warning (not the note at the end–that’s just a courtesy to people who like ballgowns). Let me know if you think it works. The thing is, I deal with some pretty nasty stuff, but off stage and mostly by implication. Have I gone too far?

The Darkness Within

To save her, he must lose her

Ever since he escaped his childhood abuser, Max has killed for a living — first as a sniper and assassin in the war against Napoleon, and later ridding the world of those whose power on those around them allowed them to commit evil without fear of punishment.

The dead burden what is left of his soul, and he wants to retire, and kill no more. When a search for a missing comrade takes him into a religious community, he feels he has found a home for the first time in his life.

But there are cracks in the innocent surface the village shows its visitors. Max discovers hints at what lies beneath even as he falls for Serenity, who has recently been appointed Goddess-Elect, the designated virgin to take her place as three-month wife of the community’s leader, the Incarnate One.

The secrets of the community put Serenity and others in dreadful danger. To save her, he must lose her, for if he draws on his hard-won skills to stop the abuse he discovers, she will recoil from the darkness of his soul.

Note: This book is largely set within a cult, so is not a typical Regency.

by

Spotlight on You Made Me Love You

You Made Me Love You

Matrimony! Book 3

By Cerise DeLand

Love does not advertise.
Love extracts no price.

When a young widow wishes to marry again, will the man she grows to love ask more than she can give?

Mrs. Tynley Wallingford yearns for a quiet, comforting marriage to a man whom she can respect. She’ll go to any lengths to find the best candidate who can respect her, in turn. Even correspond with one fellow at length before she agrees that Kendryck Hollens is the man whose words awaken her desire for a husband she might grow to love.

Tynley takes a risk and sails to Wales with the best intentions. She finds in Kendryck a man with a noble ambition—and a family filled with age-old conflict and despair.

Kendryck Hollens returns home to Wales after fifteen years abroad, a stranger to his cantankerous family. He assumes his rightful title as baron of the legendary house of Strade and attempts to change the dastardly reputation of his ancestors, and put his siblings on the right path to a purposeful life.

Thrilled that Tynley has come to his home, he notices that her presence creates challenges among those in his family. But he feels assured she can help him obtain what he wants most in this world.

When a tragedy threatens to ruin his ambition and his family, he fears the price of endurance will ruin Tynley’s personal objective too—and drive her from him.

How much can one ask of one whom they love? Are any prices too high?

Buy now, or read free in Kindle Unlimited! https://www.amazon.com/You-Made-Love-Matrimony-Book-ebook/dp/B0CKY5R3HF/

Matrimony!
If I Love You
Because of You
You Do Something to Me

by

He Who Dares, Wins on WIP Wednesday

In honour of sending Hook, Lyon, and Sinker out for beta reading, here’s another snippet. My hero and Mrs. Dove Lyons chief guard are in Hyde Park, watching Lady Laureline from afar.

Your birth is the equal of hers,” Titan argued. “You have money enough for a wife, too—you only work because you want to. As to your legs, they won’t matter to someone who cares about you.”

Angel shook his head. Titan was wrong on all counts. Except, perhaps, the money. He had won some exceptional prizes while at war, though they were all invested and he wouldn’t see any return from them until the first one paid out—though the date for that was fast approaching. And he’d inherited his mother’s share of the Sicilian vineyards, which thrived under the stewardship of his cousins, but he’d written to ask them to keep the money in Sicily while he decided what to do with the rest of his life.

At the moment, the job stood between him and destitution, which would be uncomfortable, even if short lived.

As to family, his Sicilian family wasn’t good enough for the Warringtons, so why would it be good enough for Somerville? Angel certainly didn’t regard his father’s family as his own. They had cut their son off without regret when he married Angel’s mother.

Which left his feet. He could not be as sanguine as Titan about Laurel’s opinion of the poor mangled messes he carried around beneath his ankles. Or that of any other woman, for that matter.

“Perhaps,” was all he said.

“She’s out to purchase a husband,” Titan commented. “You are a fool if you don’t try to win her.”

Angel had been trying to ignore his friend, but that remark about a husband riveted his attention. Yes, she had been visiting Mrs. Dove Lyons, but Angel had convinced himself that she must have been on some errand other than the obvious. “Purchase a husband? Why?” He waved his hand towards the path along which Laurel and her escort were currently approaching. “I mean, look at her. She is beautiful, charming, clever…”

His eyes fixed on her, he ran out of words.

“Mrs. Dove Lyons does not share her clients’ secrets,” Titan told him. “But I have been told to meet Lady Laureline at the ladies’ door the evening after next and take her to a room from which she can view three possible husbands. After that, I have a contest to arrange, with the prize for wager on the outcome being the hand of the lady in marriage.”

Angel had trouble getting out the words through the anguish that filled his chest. “What sort of a contest?”

Laurel and her brother were nearly level with them. Laurel caught his eye, smiled at him, and lifted a hand in greeting. He bowed and Lord Somerton touched his hat, as did Titus. Then they were past, out onto the London streets on their way home. She glanced back over her shoulder, and Angel waved again. He watched her ride away down the street, his heart warmed by her smile.

“She recognized you,” Titus observed.

“From yesterday,” Angel insisted. “She knows me only as Nereus, the lame musician.”

“Let me ask Mrs. Dove Lyons to include you in the possibles,” Titus said. “If she says no, you will be no worse off.”

Angel couldn’t answer. He had too many thoughts clamoring for room on his tongue. He fixed his crutches under his armpits, and began propelling himself toward Whitehall and the Lyon’s Den. Titan kept pace, but didn’t speak, for which Angel was grateful.

After several minutes, he had his ideas in a row, but still he didn’t speak them out loud. Instead, he found himself arguing with himself.

Mrs. Dove Lyons has no reason to agree. Her reputation won’t be enhanced by such a match. I can’t pay her—not at the moment, anyway. Her guests will object if I am included among them. But, as Titus said, if she refused him, he would no worse off.

Laurel will demand I am removed from the running. Again, if that happened, he would have lost nothing.

I cannot compete against able-bodied men in a game of strength or speed. Probably not skill either. I’ll just make a laughing stock of myself. But even in the last month, Angel had seen that most of the wagers at the Lyon’s Den involved foolish things. Insect races. Contests to eat or drink some disgusting substance or far too much. Card tricks. And if he did look a fool, what of it? Was Laurel not worth the risk?

Better not to try than to try and fail. That was a gloomy thought too far, even in his current mood. His father’s motto had been nothing venture, nothing win, and Angelo had tried to live up to it all his life.

Before he could think again, he found himself saying, “Yes, Titan. Please ask Mrs. Dove Lyons if I might be a contender. If you think it would help, tell her how I know—how I knew, Lady Laureline.”

The gambling den’s chief wolf grinned and clapped Angel on the shoulder, hard enough that he had to brace himself against a fall.

“There speaks The Mer-king,” he said.

by

Tea with Laurel

Or not tea, to be honest. This is another excerpt post. This one is from Hook, Lyon, and Sinker, my next Lyons’ Den book. My heroine and  her family attend a charity ball at the house of the Duchess of Winshire.

For the second evening in a row, Benjamin had offered himself as escort to Laurel and his stepmother. Tonight, Laurel had only the one event—a ball at the home of the Duke and Duchess of Winshire. The host and hostess were the Earl and Countess of Sutton, the duke’s heir and his wife, and it was a fundraising event for one of the countess’s charity schools for young women.

Those present had paid an entry fee for the event, and fully expected to pay more for raffle tickets during the evening. “Lady Sutton will probably be looking for pledges, too, Benjamin,” she said as they waited for their carriage to take its place at the door, “so you should know I have already put my name down for fifty pounds from my pin money.”

Mama clicked her tongue. “Educating people like that. It is disgusting. Somerton, are you aware that your sister holds lessons for your servants? As if a kitchen maid needs to know her alphabet and her numbers!”

“A kitchen maid who can read can aspire to write shopping lists and learn new recipes from books, and therefore to one day be a cook,” Laurel pointed out. It was an old argument, and not one she expected to win with her mother.

Benjamin, though, said, “I think it is admirable. Indeed, I used to teach reading and writing to those of my soldiers who wanted to learn. Even just being able to scribble a few words to their loved ones back in England used to give them great joy.”

Mama snorted. “We are not responsible for their joy,” she insisted.

The carriage pulled up and the door opened, putting an end to the conversation.

Inside, Mama’s tune changed when greeted by the Duchess of Winshire, whose support for the cause was well-known. “So pleased to be here to support this important work,” she simpered. Nor was she backward about bustling straight to the long row of tables containing prizes for the raffles. All donated. Vases, paintings, jewelry, a couple of bolts of fine oriental silk, even the use of one of London’s most celebrated chefs for a dinner party, and access to one of the famed Winshire oriental stallions at the Sutton stud farm.

The last might not interest Mama, but Benjamin was one of a long line of men who wished to buy tickets in the chance at a Winshire foal. “The service fee is out of my reach at this year,” he told Laurel, “but this way, I can’t lose. If my ticket wins, I can breed my mare Lightfoot. And if it doesn’t, my money at least goes to a good cause.”

“Education for females? And servant females at that?” It was Lord Hoskings. “No good ever came of letting a female get above herself.” He swayed a little on his feet, and glared at Laurel as if she was such a female.

He confirmed the impression in his next words. “Your brother should lock you up, missie,” he grumbled. “Going to a gambling den for a husband, then choosing a crippled yokel and a country bumpkin over two respectable gentlemen.” The brandy fumes that cascaded over her as he spoke suggested the reason the man had broken the vow of secrecy that Mrs. Dove Lyons demanded from all who entered into one of her agreements.

“You are drunk, Hoskings, which is the only reason I do not call you out for your offensive remarks,” Benjamin said, his voice low and furious. “Go home and sleep it off.”

Hoskings puffed out his chest. “Invited guest,” he said. “Place to be seen. Got to find another bride.” His scowl at Laurel hinted that he blamed her entirely. “Someone biddable and grateful,” he added.

Laurel thought of suggesting the man sober up first, but he would not appreciate the advice. Instead, she inclined her head in polite farewell. “Mama has moved on, brother,” she said. “Shall we catch up?”

Benjamin offered his elbow and they hurried after Laurel’s mother. “May I leave you two ladies for a moment?” he asked. Laurel saw him stop one of Winshire’s younger sons and speak earnestly for a moment. Shortly after Benjamin returned to her side, Lord Hoskings was escorted out of the ballroom by that son and a couple of the Winshire retainers.

“I told Lord Andrew that Hoskings was drunk and offensive,” Benjamin admitted. He slid a glance at Mama, who had found a friend with whom to talk fashion, and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “We cannot have him talking about your arrangement with you-know-who. I’ll see him in the morning and remind him of his promise to that personage.”

Laurel breathed a sigh of relief. Not that she was doing anything wrong, but she knew that Society would look down their collective noses at her making a Dove Lyons match. Or at least at it being public knowledge. Laurel knew of several successful high-Society matches brokered by Mrs. Dove Lyons, but only because the ladies in questions were well known to her. She was certain there were many more who had kept their affairs out of public view. She counted on being one of them.