by

Backlist spotlight To Wed a Proper Lady

To Wed a Proper Lady

Everyone knows James needs a bride with impeccable blood lines. He needs Sophia’s love more.

James must marry to please his grandfather, the duke, and to win social acceptance for himself and his father’s other foreign-born children. But only Lady Sophia Belvoir makes his heart sing, and to win her, he must invite himself to spend Christmas at the home of his father’s greatest enemy.

Sophia keeps secret her tendre for James, Lord Elfingham. After all, the whole of Society knows he is pursuing the younger Belvoir sister, not the older one left on the shelf after two failed betrothals.

To Wed a Proper Lady is the first book in The Return of the Mountain King, and is currently reduced to 99c, and free if you buy from my bookstore.

Books2Read *  Jude Knight’s book shop

Excerpt

A country road in Buckinghamshire

They heard the two curricles before they saw them, the galloping hooves, the cacophony of harness and bounding wheels, the drivers shouting encouragement to their teams and insults to one another.

Sutton turned his own horse to the shoulder of the road and the rest of the party followed his lead. As first one racing carriage and then the other careened by, James murmured soothingly to his horse. “Stand, Seistan. Stand still, my prince.”

Seistan obeyed. Only a stamp of the hind foot and muscles so tense he quivered displayed his eagerness to pursue the presumptuous British steeds and feed them his dust.

From their position at the top of what these English laughably called a hill, James could see the long curve of the road switching back at the junction with the road north and descending further until it passed through the village directly below them.

One of the fool drivers was trying to pass, standing at the reins, legs broadly astride. James hoped no hapless farmer tried to exit a gate in their path!

Seistan clearly decided that the idiots were beneath his contempt, for he relaxed as James continued to murmur to him. “You magnificent fellow. You have left us some foals, have you not, my beauty? You and Xander, there?”

The earl heard his horse’s name and flashed his son a grin. “A good crop of foals, if their handlers are right, and honours evenly divided between Seistan and Xander. Except for the stolen mares.” He laughed, then, and James laughed with him.

Once the herd recovered from the long sea voyage, many of the mares had come into season. Not satisfied with his allotment, Seistan had leapt several of the fences on the land they had rented near Southampton, and covered two mares belonging to other gentlemen. Most indignant their owners had been.

“They did not fully understand the honour Seistan had done them, sir,” James said. Which was putting it mildly. When James arrived, they had been demanding that the owner of the boarding stable shoot the stallion for his trespass, and probably the owner for good measure.

The earl laughed again. “I wish I had been there to hear you explain it, my son.”

A thirty-minute demonstration of Seistan’s skills as a hunter, racer, and war horse had been more convincing than any words of James’s, and a reminder of the famous oriental stallions who founded the lines of English thoroughbreds did the rest. In the end, he almost thought they would pay him the stud fee he had offered to magnanimously cut by half.

But he waived any fee at all, and they parted friends. Now two noblemen looked forward to the birth of their half-breed foals, while James had delivered the herd to his father’s property in Oxfordshire and was riding back to London to be put to stud himself.

“Nothing can be done about his mother, Sutton,” the Duke of Winshire, had grumbled, “but marry him to a girl from a good English family, and people will forget he is part cloth-head.”

The dust had settled. The earl gave the signal to move on, and his mount Xander took the lead back onto the road. James lingered a moment more, brooding on London’s Season, where he would be put through his paces before the maidens of the ton and their guardians. One viscount. Young, healthy, and well-travelled. Rich and titled. Available to any bride prepared to overlook foreign blood for the chance of one day being Duchess of Winshire.

Where was the love of which the traveling musicians spoke? The soul-deep love for which his own parents had defied their families? James couldn’t do that. Too many people depended on him—his father, his brothers and sisters, even the wider family and the servants and tenants who needed certainty about the future of the duchy. At least his cousins had adamantly turned him down. Not that he had anything against Sadie and Lola, but they did not make his heart sing.

The racing curricles had negotiated the bend without disaster and were now hurtling towards the village. Long habit had James studying the path, looking to make sure the villagers were safely out of the way, and an instant later, he put Seistan at the slope.

It was steep, but nothing to the mountains they had lived in all their lives, he and his horse, and Seistan was as sure-footed as any goat. Straight down by the shortest route they hurtled, for in the path of the thoughtless lackwits and their carriages was a child—a boy, by the trousers—who had just escaped through a gate from the village’s one large house, tripped as he crossed the road, and now lay still.

It would be close. As he cleared one stone fence and then another, he could see the child beginning to sit up, shaking his head. Just winded then, and easier to reach than lying flat, thank all the angels and saints.

Out of sight for a moment as he rounded a cottage, he could hear the carriages drawing closer. Had the child recovered enough to run? No. He was still sitting in the road, mouth open, white-faced, looking as his doom approached. What kind of selfish madmen raced breast to breast, wheel to wheel, into a village?

With hand, body and voice, James set Seistan at the child, and dropped off the saddle, trusting to the horse to sweep past in the right place for James to hoist the child out of harm’s way.

One mighty heave, and they were back in the saddle. James’s shoulders would feel the weight of the boy for days, but Seistan had continued across the road, and just in time. The racers hurtled by so close James could feel the wind of their passing.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. In moments, they were gone.

The boy shaking in his arms, James turned Seistan with his knees, and walked the horse back to the gates of the big house. A crowd of women waited for them, but only one came forward as he dismounted— a gentlewoman, if her aristocratic bearing and the quality of her fashionable gown were any indication.

“Forgive my temerity in speaking without an introduction, my lady,” he said, “but have you perchance mislaid this child?”

by

Mirror, mirror on WIP Wednesday

Here’s my first Mirror Mirror scene in my Snow White reinterpretation.

A candle either side of the mirror lit Richard’s face and upper body without relieving the gloom behind him. The black of his evening wear merged with the darkness, leaving the planes of his face and the folds of his white cravat to swim against the shadows.

“It cannot be him,” he told his reflection. “He’s dead. He died nearly two decades ago. A boy of that age? A soft spoiled brat like that? And a pretty one? He could never have survived.”

The dark eyes of the reflection stared back. He thought he saw an ironic twitch of the eyebrow.

“Curse Matt. He was meant to kill the little horror and throw the body somewhere it would be found.”

Richard scowled and the reflection scowled back. The plan should have succeeded. With a body to grieve over, Madeline would have recovered. Richard could have charmed her into believing in him again. Instead, she insisted that the boy was still alive.

“She was meant to be mine.” He nodded his head once, decisively, and his reflection nodded back, agreeing with him. He had seen the pretty girl first, begun to court her. Then she met cursed Edward. The man with everything. His grandfather’s favourite. The heir. The golden boy.

Tonight’s imposter looked just like him. “It cannot be the boy. He’s a by-blow; that must be it. Perfect Edward’s base born brat.”

How he would like to tell Madeline that Edward had been diddling someone else. His teeth flashed white in the candle light at the thought of her likely reaction. His own pain, though, was greater. He had won her for such a short time, and then lost her. She blamed him for the boy’s disappearance, and in the end, he had to put her away where she could do no harm.

It wasn’t fair. Matt had ruined everything. The boy had ruined everything by biting his abductor’s hand, wriggling from his grasp, and running away to die anonymously in the mean streets.

Matt was dead and could not pay for his mistake. The boy, too, was dead. He must be.

The reflection raised an eyebrow. Of course. It was right. He must take his revenge on the imposter.

by

Tea with the daughters

While Parliament was sitting, Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire brought all her female brood together for tea once a week, or at least those who were in London. Her daughters of the heart, though she’d birthed none of them.

She looked around the room at them all chattering, sharing family news and discussing the issues facing their world and the charities to which each devoted time and attention.

Cherry, Duchess of Haverford, had her head close together with Matilda, Sophia, and Prue. Cherry was the beloved wife of Eleanor’s eldest son, and the lady responsible for the happiness that lit Haverford’s eyes and curved his lips into a smile whenever she was near, or even when they were briefly parted and he thought of her. She was also Eleanor’s niece by marriage, being the daughter of Eleanor’s husband’s deceased brother.

Matilda, Countess of Hamner, her eldest foster daughter, was once known to all the ton as the Ice Maiden, though no one would think it to see her now. Matilda had entered Eleanor’s nursery as a baby, and captivated the Duchess of Haverford, as she was then, with one fathomless gaze from those blue eyes.

Sophia, Countess of Sutton, wife to her husband’s eldest son, was a lady who coupled great dignity with enormous warmth. Sophia was another Eleanor had loved all her life, since her friend the Countess of Hythe had asked Eleanor to be godmother to the newborn babe. After Sophia’s marriage to Jamie and Eleanor’s marriage to his father Winshire, Sophia was now her daughter in law, as well as religion and affection.

Prudence Wakefield was the mother of a number of Eleanor’s grandchildren. It was true that the younger ones who were acknowledged as grandchildren were so only by courtesy, since Prue’s husband David was a by-blow of Eleanor’s first husband and no blood relation. The eldest could not be acknowledged as a blood relation, for she was the daughter of Prue and Eleanor’s eldest son, conceived in a long ago youthful folly that the family had no intention of sharing with the world. Those who noticed her resemblance to the Haverfords assumed David was her father, as he was in every way except biological. To make the relationship even more complicated, she and David had taken Tony into their family. He was a slum brat, rescued by Cherry, and discovered to be the offspring of Eleanor’s younger son, Jonathan.

Ruth, Sarah and Becky were also deep in conversation. Ruth was the Countess of Ashbury and the Duke of Winshire’s daughter, and Sarah was Countess of Lechton and twin sister to Cherry. From the serious looks on the two faces, Eleanor would guess that they were talking about the medical clinic that Ruth had founded and where Sarah’s husband Nate worked.

Like Prue’s, Becky’s relationship with the Haverfords had elements that most of the world did not know. She was Baroness Overton, wife to the current Duke of Haverford’s closest friend. But under another name, she had once been Haverford’s mistress. Bella, the youngest Overton daughter, was another unacknowledged grandchild.

Rosemary was laughing with Jessica and Frances. They were probably talking about Frances’s debut ball, which had been a grand success.  Lady Rosemary Winderfield was Winshire’s youngest daughter, and the only one yet unmarried. Perhaps she would choose a husband this year. Certainly, she would need one to chase away the wistful look Eleanor had caught from time to time when Ruth watched the other ladies with their children.

Jessica’s laugh was good to hear. Eleanor’s middle foster daughter, the Countess of Colyford, still wore black for her husband, though Eleanor wondered how she could mourn him after what he’d done to her, and tried to do. She was laughing again, though, and would perhaps put off her blacks soon.

Frances’s laugher was unforced. The sweetest of Eleanor’s three foster daughters was also the smartest. She had quickly summed up the majority of her suitors as fribbles without serious intention and had picked out the fortune-tellers with unerring accuracy. Eleanor, Winshire, and even her brother Haverford told her to marry for love, and Eleanor hoped that she would.

by

A little medieval history to go with Promises Made at Midnight

Step back in time with Sherry Ewing

Thank you to Jude for featuring a little bit of research that occurred for my latest release, Promises Made at Midnight. This medieval/time travel romance is in my Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time series although it can easily be read as a standalone novel.

How about a little history for the times?

Eleanor of Aquitaine and her younger sons

Early on in this book, we catch a glimpse of Ulrick’s confusion when Bridgette mentioned she was one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting. While she was thinking of the fair she had been attending and the Tudor Queen, Ulrick’s natural assumption was that of Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. To get the full picture we need to go back a few years to the spring of 1173 when Henry II’s son by the same name was upset with his lack of power and encouraged to do something about it by his father’s enemies. The younger Henry then launched the Revolt of 1173-1174. He fled to Paris, devising evil against his father from every angle at the advice of the French King. He then secretly went into Aquitaine where his two brothers, Richard and Geoffrey, were currently living with their mother. He incited them to join him in his quest for power. Some say the queen may have sent her younger sons to France “to join with him against their father the king.”

Between the end of March and the beginning of May, Eleanor left Poitiers, but was arrested and sent to the king at Rouen. Her arrest wasn’t announced publicly. On July 8, 1174, Henry and Eleanor took a ship for England from Barfleur and as soon as they disembarked at Southampton, Eleanor was taken either to Winchester Castle or Sarum Castle and held there. For the next sixteen years she was imprisoned at various locations in England.

Jumping ahead to the year 1183 and we find young King Henry tried again to force his father to hand over some of his patrimony. In debt and refused control of Normandy, he tried to ambush his father at Limoges. He was joined by troops sent by his brother Geoffrey and Philip II of France. But Henry II’s troops besieged the town, forcing his son to flee. After wandering aimlessly through Aquitaine, Henry the Younger caught dysentery. On Saturday, June 11, 1183, the young king realized he was dying and was overcome with remorse for his sins. When his father’s ring was sent to him, he begged his father to show mercy to his mother, and all his companions would plead with Henry to set her free.

I thought it would be interesting to add this little bit of history into the story and having Dristan and his men being sent to France. Of course, I must admit, any time I can bring my characters back to Bamburgh Castle is always a joy to my heart. I do have a fondness for the place and can only hope that one day I may actually be able to stand in its shadows or walk its grounds!

The legend of King Arthur

And thinking of my modern heroine and what story she might tell a child from twelfth century England had me researching the legendary King Arthur. I had to ensure this would have been something a child from this time period would have heard about. The historical basis for this king has been debated but I learned that an actual person had been talked about since the late 5th and 6th centuries. Legend or a real person… I always found this story fascinating and hope you enjoyed this tiny glimpse of it.

My castles are real places

The original medieval keep as it is today

As for Dunster Castle that became Ulrick’s home, I can’t begin to tell you why I chose this location. Let’s just say that Google Earth is this author’s best friend! The castle was a former motte and bailey castle, now a country house, located in the village of Dunster, Somerset, England. The castle lies on the top of a steep hill called the Tor, and has been fortified since the late Anglo-Saxon period. After the Norman conquest of England in the 11th century, William de Mohun constructed a timber castle on the site as part of the pacification of Somerset. A stone shell keep was built on the motte by the start of the 12th century, and the castle survived a siege during the early years of the Anarchy. At the end of the 14th century the de Mohuns sold the castle to the Luttrell family, who continued to occupy the property until the late 20th century. During the early medieval period the sea reached the base of the hill, close to the mouth of the River Avill, offering a natural defense and making the village an inland port.

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

by

First Kiss on WIP Wednesday

Just over half way through Snowy and the Seven Blossoms, and my hero and heroine have had their first kiss.

Mr Snowden, exhausted, had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and hardly stirred when a messenger arrived back from the House of Blossoms with clean linen and blankets to make the bed. A bag of clothing for Snowy, too, from which he produced a nightshirt for Mr Snowden.

Ash and Peter helped to move the patient from one side of the bed to the other so that Snowy and Margaret could make it, and then said their farewells.

“I’ll have my cook’s assistant sent over with breakfast makings tomorrow morning,” Peter said. “She’s competent to take over your kitchen until you can hire servants. I’ll send some maids, too, Snowy.”

“And I shall send a couple of maids, too, Snowy, and some footmen,” Ash added. “Are you ready to leave, Margaret?”

“Not yet, Ash. Have my carriage take you home and come back for me.”

Peter protested. “We cannot leave you alone with to two unmarried men, Margaret.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you will not,” Margaret retorted.

The two men exchanged glances and then inclined their heads in acceptance. When Snowy returned from seeing them out, he protested, too. “You cannot stay alone with me during the night, my lady. Tell me what I must watch for.”

“I am staying with my patient, Snowy. It is likely that it will take both of us to care for him tonight. If you have paper and ink, I shall write a note for my household and send it with the carriage when it returns.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but must have seen the determination in her eyes, for what he said was, “Whatever fate did I offend that independent-minded women beleaguer me at every turn?” But his eyes were warm when he said it.

It was a long night. Several times, Margaret and Snowy sponged Mr Snowden—Ned, as Snowy called him—to bring down his temperature. Snowy sang to him when he was restless, and Margaret soon learned the words and took her turn with the lullaby.

Every few minutes she dribbled water into his throat, and from time to time fed him willow-bark tea from a spoon.

Towards morning, the fever broke and he woke with sense in his eyes for the first time. “Hal! You came!” He looked around. “Lady Charmain! You are here, too? Where are we?”

“In a house of my own, Ned,” Snowy replied. “One I have only just purchased, so it is bit bare at the moment. But it has the advantage that no one will know where we are.”

“Ah.” It was a sigh of satisfaction as Ned’s eyes closed again. This time, his sleep was more settled.

“A natural sleep,” Margaret said, pleased.

Snowy took her hand. “You’ve done it, Lady Charmain. I am forever in your debt.”

As he bent forward, she turned her head and the kiss he perhaps intended for her cheek landed on her mouth, tentative and gentle. Margaret closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss. It had been a long time, and never like this—a leisurely exploration that beckoned and enticed.

It went on forever, and was over too soon.

A knock on the front door downstairs broke through the pleasant haze that absorbed Margaret, and Snowy, too, drew back. Margaret was pleased to see he looked as dazed as she felt, and, as he shuddered as he took a deep breath. “I’ll see to that,” he said.

by

Spotlight on Promises Made At Midnight

Promises Made At Midnight:

The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Six)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Buy Links:

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/36NpNrv

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3C1muIK

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3voNJvw

Nook: https://bit.ly/3M34Hpb

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

My review: Another of Sherry Ewing’s delectable knights

Follow Bridgette through time to meet Ulrick. She falls for his looks when she sees him carved in stone. How much more when she lands in his arms? He is everything she had never been able to find in real life. Honourable, kind, protective. Ewing’s knights are amazing, and Ulrick is one of the best.

Of course, the course of true love cannot run smooth, and time travel in Ewing’s books can be two way when the couple are not truly in love. Even when Bridgette and Ulrick make up their minds they’re meant to be together and overcome that obstacle, there’s a murderer out there who has it in for them.  A wonderful adventure. I enjoyed every exciting twist and turn.

First Kiss Excerpt

“You came,” she whispered in a breathy tone and she at once realized how fast her heart was hammering away inside her chest. She was excited and scared all at the same time while she tilted her head back to see his face. She felt so tiny next to this giant of a man, who must be well over six feet tall.

“Aye.”

Bridgette searched his face, waiting for more of a reply but he appeared unsure of himself and that was entirely out of character of the man she had come to know.

“You didn’t want to?” she couldn’t help herself from asking.

“I am uncertain if this is wise, Lady Bridgette. Lord Dristan…”

She placed her fingertips on his mouth. “Let me worry about Lord Dristan,” she replied, stepping closer.

His brow rose at her statement. “You have no idea what you are asking of me when I defy my liege lord by being alone here with you.”

“I just wanted some time with just the two of us, Ulrick. Is that too much to ask?” She took hold of his arms, and he placed his hands gently on her waist. “I promise I won’t bite… much.”

She gave him what she hoped was a wicked wink. A deep chuckle erupted from him, and his smile brightened her whole mood.

“I hardly know what to reply after such a comment. You are a feisty one, to be sure, Lady Bridgette.”

“I just know what I want,” she replied with a sincere heart.

“And what is that exactly?” he asked pulling her fully into his body.

“You have to ask?” She moved her palms to rest on his chest. One hand continued upward until she fingers brushed over the back of his head feeling the softness of his hair before settling on his neck. She began a gentle message with small circular motions and heard a soft moan escape him.

“Aye,” came a strained reply.

“You are a man of little words sometimes. Do you know that?”

“If I am going to be damned for my actions, then I must needs know your mind. What do you want, Bridgette?” He asked, again ignoring her comment, but she could tell that whatever control he was briefly holding onto where she was concerned, it was about to break.

“What do I want? You… I want you, Ulrick” She let her answer linger in the space between them, but she didn’t have to wait long for his nonverbal reply.

His arms tighten around her waist, lifting her up and bringing them chest to chest. And in that one brief moment, their heartbeats fused as one. As she stared up into those mesmerizing blue-grey eyes, the reflection from the stars above were twinkling in their depths. Her gaze was drawn to the sensual chiseled lines of his mouth. His lips turned up with a slow roguish grin before swooping down to take full possession of her. A gasp of surprise gave him what he wanted when his tongue dipped inside her mouth to dance with her own while their bodies all but melted together as one. She lost all thought of anything else but this man who claimed her. Bridgette had released Ulrick from whatever restraints he had been holding onto and she was delighted he was equally moved to finally share their first kiss.

A hushed moan escaped her when his lips moved from her mouth to place a trail of soft kisses as he went from her cheek to her neck. His teeth nibbled at the lobe of her ear and the warmth of his breath was almost her undoing.

Taking hold of his cheeks, she all but demanded another kiss in her attempts to take back control of their moment together. But who was she kidding? She lost any attempt of self-control the moment Ulrick stepped through the turret portal.

Their kiss continued for several more minutes—an exploration of two missing souls who had finally found one another. It was as binding as if they had already promised themselves an eternity together… at least in Bridgette’s mind.

About the Author:

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

You can learn more about Sherry and her published work at these social media outlets:

Website & Books: www.SherryEwing.com

Bluestocking Belles: http://bluestockingbelles.net/

Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/33xwYhE

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/sherry-ewing

Facebook: https://www.Facebook.com/SherryEwingAuthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomsherry_ewing

Instagram: https://instagram.com/sherry.ewing

Pinterest: http://www.Pinterest.com/SherryLEwing

Tumblr: https://sherryewing.tumblr.com/

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@sherryewingauthor

Twitter: https://www.Twitter.com/Sherry_Ewing

YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/SherryEwingauthor

 

Sign Me Up!

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2vGrqQM

Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/799623313455472/

Facebook Official Fan page: https://www.facebook.com/groups/356905935241836/

by

The plot thickens on WIP Wednesday

In this week’s WIP  extract, I tangle several different plot threads just a little more.

Margaret sat with her friends in the shade, sipping fruit juice and watching Peter, Ash, Deerhaven and Snowy on the lake with half a dozen other men, rowing two to a boat in heat after heat. The ladies had been out on the water, but when the men challenged one another to a race, they had asked to be set ashore on the island, where refreshments were set out in the temple-like folly.

“You like him, don’t you?” Regina asked Margaret.

“Which him?” Margaret asked, though she knew perfectly well that Regina was referring to Snowy.

“I do,” Arial said. “Peter does, too. He is not what we expected when you told us about allowing him to escort you, Margaret.”

Margaret dropped the pretence to pursue this more interesting topic.

“What did you think he would be like?”

Arial thought about it. “A lot rougher. Less concerned about your safety and your reputation.”

“After all,” Cordelia pointed out, “you did meet him in a slum alley just behind the brothel where he works. It was not a recommendation.”

Regina agreed. “We were concerned, but not now that we have met him.”

“He has been raised as a gentleman,” Margaret said. “In my experience, he is more of a gentleman than many you meet in Society.”

The other ladies nodded. “Lord Snowden for one,” Regina agreed. Snowden was watching them from the far shore. His son and young Deffew, his ward, were out on the lake, racing, but Snowden did not turn his stare away from the four ladies.

“The rumours say Snowden is not the viscount, that there is a lost heir. Is it Snowy, do you think? Is that what this display of Snowy’s is about?” Ariel asked.

“He hasn’t said,” Margaret told them. “But the way these rumours have appeared just when he chooses to go into Society—it is too unlikely a coincidence. I think he must be behind them. Lord Snowden must be rattled. He sent his son to tell me that Snowy was a charlatan, a fraud, and that I must cease seeing him immediately.”

Regina’s reaction was the same as Margaret’s. “The cheek!”

“Interesting, though,” Cordelia mused. “Have you told Snowy?”

A face on the other shore caught Margaret’s eye. It could not be… At this distance, it was impossible to be sure, but somehow, she was.

“Margaret?” Arial asked.

“Hmmm?” What had they been talking about? “No, I haven’t had the opportunity, yet.”

Her friends were looking at her with concern. “You have gone pale, darling.” Arial said. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing,” she assured them. “I thought I saw someone I knew long ago. But I am sure I was wrong. He was some distance away, and I could not see the face clearly. Just the hair colour and the uniform.”

“Not the odious officer!” Arial exclaimed.

“The odious officer?” asked Cordelia.

Arial was the only one who knew quite how odious Martin had been, but the rest was not a secret. “A man who trifled with my heart during my first Season. I was too young to realise that his compliments were lies and his promises so much empty air. I am sure it cannot be him. As far as I know, his regiment is still posted overseas.” For years she had been checking the listings in the newspapers, hoping that he never sold out.

by

Tea with Ulrick

Sir Ulrick de Mohan made his way from the training field and took the steps two at a time to reach the door leading into the keep of Berwyck Castle. The day had been fulfilling and he was eager to change out of his chainmail and enjoy a good cup of ale after a hard day’s work. The door opened before him and as he went through the portal, he skidded to a halt. He pulled his sword from his scabbard and held it before him. This was not Berwyck!

A man in uniform held out his arm as if Ulrick had been expected. “This way, sir.”

Ulrick took in his surroundings from the costly items in the foyer to the images of paintings hanging on walls that were surely not of his time. God’s Blood! Had he somehow found himself in the future where some of the women who came to Berwyck were from?

He had no answers other than his confusion when he was taken down the corridor into the interior of the castle. Mayhap the woman to whom he was taken would know. She sat in a room of such magnificence he pondered if mayhap he was sitting before a future Queen of England.

“Oh dear,” the woman murmured, once she saw him standing in her doorway. “I haven’t had one of your kind in quite a while. Come in, dear boy, and stop your gawking.”

He scoffed at the dear boy remark, came to stand before her, and bowed. “My lady.”

Her brow rose as she looked him over. “And you are?” she asked lifting a dainty cup to her lips.

He straightened. “Sir Ulrick de Mohan.”

“Welcome to my home, Sir Ulrick. I am the Duchess of Haverford,” she replied. “Tea?”

A sound escaped him. What was this tea? “Where am I?’ he asked instead, whilst his gaze continued to look around the room in disbelief.

“Maybe something stronger would be fitting to calm your nerves,” she replied, waving to what he assumed was another servant standing near the door. A clear glass with an amber liquid was pressed into his hands and he sniffed the contents.

The Duchess said, “I understand time traveling can take a bit out of you.”

He was about to take a sip, when her words penetrated his head. “Is that what I have done? Traveled through time like one of those future women who find themselves at Berwyck’s gates?”

“Well, you’re obviously still not in… the twelfth century was it?  Are you?”

He pondered her words, took a sip of the contents of his cup, and then unstuck the words from his throat in order to answer her. “Aye. I suppose I am not. Whatever am I doing here with you then?”

The duchess sat back in her chair. “What is it you need in your life, good sir, to make you content?”

“Need? I have everything I want in life. There is nothing I need,” he said, setting the cup down after downing its contents.

“It has been my experience that, when a knight happens to cross time and come before me, it is generally because he is missing something in his life. Usually that something is a woman… or a wife. In either case, a lady may just fall into your life whether you are ready for her or not,” she answered, and Ulrick could swear he saw her eyes twinkling mischievously. “The question remains… what will you do with her once she is in your arms?”

“Not one of those future women!” he fumed picking up his glass and then remembering he had already drunk the contents. The duchess saw his dilemma and nodded to the servant, who refilled the glass.

“Who is to say? You are the master of your own happily-ever-after. I am but a slight diversion in your life to give you something to think about when you return to your own time.”

“And will I return? To my own time, that is?” She nodded instead of answering him. Ulrick once more downed his drink and began to feel the pull of the twelfth century calling to him to return.

“Remember my words, Sir Ulrick. What is it you really need in your life to make you happy and complete? You may not be looking for a wife, but do not easily dismiss the gift you will be given.”

One moment he was sitting with the duchess in a world not his own and the next he was back entering the keep at Berwyck Castle. He could only ponder if what had just happened to him really occurred or if he had imagined the whole damn thing!

 

Promises Made At Midnight:

The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Six)

By Sherry Ewing

Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…

After a series of failed relationships, Bridgette Harris would like a fresh start. If only she could escape her ex-boyfriend since they participate in the same renaissance fairs. While gazing at a granite statue of a handsome knight—her dream man—at one such fair, a mysterious elderly Scottish woman offers her a coin to toss into the fountain and make a wish. Bridgette can’t resist, but nothing prepares her to suddenly slip through time.

Sir Ulrick de Mohan does not have time for love. He is charged with training possible recruits to become worthy guardsmen for the Devil’s Dragon. The woman who magically appears out of thin air and falls into his arms must be one of those future ladies who continue to show up at Berwyck’s gate. But she can’t be for him.

Fate has brought two people together despite the centuries that should be keeping them apart. Will the growing love between them be enough to keep Bridgette in the past or will Time return her to where she should belong?

Buy Links:

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/36NpNrv

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3C1muIK

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3voNJvw

Nook: https://bit.ly/3M34Hpb

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/4Ap6xd

 

 

by

A girl’s first ball on WIP Wednesday

The book I have just finished has two distinct parts and a bridging section. In the first part, my heroine is turning 17, and one of the scenes is set at her birthday ball, which is also her debut to Society.  The section follow her from the planning for the ball to the end of her first Season. The second part picks up the story sixteen years ago, when she is a widow and the boy she wanted to dance with at her ball returns from many years overseas. Today’s piece is set at the ball.

Regina had thought that the dinner party would drag, given how excited she was about the ball, and how eager for the dancing to begin. Mr. Paddimore, however, proved to be an entertaining dinner companion. He told Regina several stories about funny things that happened at balls he attended, and assured her he was happy to fight off any suitors she would prefer not to entertain.

Before she knew it, dinner was over and Mama was saying it was time to form the receiving line. That, too, was exciting. All of these people had come to celebrate Regina!

She received many compliments. Mama and Papa, too, for having such a beautiful and charming daughter. Even so, she was glad when the stream of new arrivals dwindled to a trickle, and Mama announced it was time for the first dance.

Her one disappointment was that Elijah had not arrived. She had gone to such trouble, too. Yesterday afternoon, at the dancing class that one of Mama’s friends had got up for young ladies and young gentlemen who were new to the Season, Regina had managed to speak to several of the young men to whom mother had given one of her dances.

One of them—a youth she had known from the cradle—was more than happy to forego his dance with her in return for an introduction to another of the debutantes who had caught his eye.

If Elijah arrived, she would be able to dance with him. She had always wanted to, since she had seen him dancing with his mother at a village festival more than six years ago.

However, if he could not be bothered to come to her ball, she was certainly not going to spare him another thought. She smiled at Mr. Paddimore and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor. He was a very graceful dancer. She supposed that, at his age, he had had a lot of practice.

She enjoyed every minute of the next two hours. She did not enjoy some of her partners. The clumsy ones who trod on her feet or tried to lead her the wrong way. The ones who talked the entire time, and never had a single interesting thing to say. The ones who served ridiculous and overblown flattery with a helping of questions about how rich her father really was.

But Regina loved to dance, and was happy to imagine the clumsy, boring, or calculating partner of the moment replaced with the perfect gentleman of her imagination. The perfect gentleman who would partner her in one perfect dance.

It was for that imaginary person she danced gracefully to the music, smiling and glowing with pleasure.

At supper, her partner was tongue-tied, so she carried on with her daydream, imagining that her perfect gentleman had selected morsels to tempt her appetite from the best of the dishes set out for the guests.

Her escort managed to break his silence long enough to stammer, “Are you enjoying the evening, Miss Kingsley?”

Regina heard the question in her perfect gentleman’s thrilling tones, and it was to him that she answered, “I am having such a wonderful time. Everything is so exciting, so beautiful, and the people have been so kind.”

The enthusiastic response loosened her escort’s tongue a little. “It is very easy to be kind to one as lovely as you, Miss Kingsley.”

He might not be her perfect gentleman, but he was a very nice person.

by

Tea with Delia

Delia Fitzwallace watched the sumptuous traveling carriage, accompanied by liveried footmen and outriders and festooned with a ducal crest, pull up to Seascape, her brother’s elegant manor. She stood in one of the landward windows. Hurrying to the hall she informed Clifford, Jeffrey’s butler, that she would receive her guest in the Shoreward Room. “And tea outside, please.” The room opened onto a terrace that commanded spectacular views of the Bristol Channel as it opened to the sea.

Delia peered into a massive mirror, one with an ornate bronze frame that her father had brought from India on one of his voyages. Her gown, lavender silk from the Graham warehouses softened by touches of grey lace, didn’t particularly flatter her coloring, but it was attractive enough and perfectly appropriate for the end stages of mourning. Still, her nerves were frayed. The visitor was expected, but Delia had not quite recovered from the surprise that shook her when word came that the duchess would call.

What is the woman doing in Bristol?

Approaching footsteps paused by the door and Delia heard hushed conversation taking place, the duchess no doubt requesting courtesy to her entourage. The door opened on silent hinges and Clifford intoned, “The Duchess of Winshire.”

Delia dropped to a deep curtsey. “Your Grace, how kind of you to call.”

“A condolence call is simple courtesy my dear, and mine, I’m afraid, is tardy. Unless I’m mistaken, your formal mourning is almost over.” Her Grace took Delia’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “How are you bearing up?”

“Well, Your Grace. You are so kind to check in on me,” Delia said.

“Lady Fitzwallace, your Vincent called me ‘Aunt Eleanor.’ Can’t you do the same?”

Delia couldn’t resist the woman’s genuine warmth. “It would be an honor. Could you call me Delia as well? Shall we visit on the terrace?”

“I would be disappointed if we didn’t. Seascape is famous for its panoramic views,” The duchess said linking arms and letting Delia lead her out.

Soon enough tea arrived and they sipped while her visitor exclaimed over the view of shipping in the channel and the hills of Wales across the way. This house is a wonder!”

“It is indeed. My brother likes to use this room to entertain Graham Shipping business partners. It never fails to impress,” Delia said.

“Why, then, do you plan to leave?” Aunt Eleanor raise an enquiring eyebrow.

It was almost an ambush. How on earth did she know? Vincent, Delia’s late husband, always said the Duchess of Haverford—now Winshire—was a witch or at very least that she had the sight.

“As magnificent as this place is, it is a museum and not a home for children,” Delia replied.

“Does it not have a nursery?” The duchess appeared puzzled.

“Of course! But they aren’t able to roam freely. The house is meant to impress, not to entertain busy boys and a curious girl. There is no real garden, and, perched as it is on a cliff, it isn’t safe to let them wander on their own. As beautiful as it is, it just isn’t a comfortable family home.”

“What happened to your townhouse in London?” the duchess asked. Delia paused to formulate a diplomatic reply, and the duchess eyed her shrewdly. “Let me guess. It belongs to Awbury.”

The Duke of Awbury was Delia’s father-in-law. Vincent, Delia’s late husband, and been Awbury’s fourth son. She bit her lip and nodded. “He… That is, he has been quite generous about urging us to stay there but—”

“On his terms and under his watchful eye, am I correct?”

Delia nodded. “The truth is, I long for a place of my own. I have the funds. My personal fortune is substantial, and I plan to get what I want.” She raised a stubborn chin. Let the woman make of that what she wished.

If the duchess wondered how Delia’s fortune had been protected from that scapegrace Lord Vincent Fitzwallace, she was too polite to ask. She could probably guess that a shrewd merchant like Peter Graham would protect his daughter’s funds in the marriage settlements. Her next words surprised Delia. Surprised and pleased.

“Good for you, my dear!” she said. “I applaud your decision. Where do you plan to go?”

“I have an agent looking for a place. Somewhere quiet. In the country, where children are free to ramble. With flowers. I particularly want flowers,” Delia sighed. “A cottage of my own, is it too much to ask?”

“I may know of one. It isn’t a thatched cottage, mind. It is a dower house on a large estate—solid, substantial, and I’ve been given to understand, surrounded by flowers. The last I heard they were looking to rent it not sell it.”

Delia’s heart sped up. It sounded ideal, but rent? “I suppose renting first might be wise. It would give me a chance to find my way.”

“It would indeed.” The duchess pulled a small notebook and pencil from her reticule. “Contact this man,” she said. “Eli Benson. He is the land steward for the Earl of Clarion.”

Delia stared at the name. “I will write to him today. Where is this house located?”

“On the coaching road from Nottingham to Shrewsbury. It is called Ashmead.”

Soon enough the time for a polite condolence call passed the Aunt Eleanor took her leave. Delia glanced at the name and the man’s direction and sat down to write.

About The Upright Son

Book 4 of The Ashmead Heirs

A notorious will left David, the very proper Earl of Clarion, with a crippled estate and dependents. He’s the one left to pick up the pieces while caring for others—his children, his tenants, and the people of Ashmead. He cares for England, too. Now that the estate has been put to right, he is free to pursue his political ambitions. His family even encourages him to host a house party. But loneliness weighs him down. Then he meets his new neighbor.

Her uninhibited behavior shocks him. Why can’t he get her out of his mind?

Happily widowed Lady Delia Fitzwallace revels in her newly rented cottage, surrounded by flowers and the wonder of nature, thrilled to free her three rambunctious children from the city of Bristol and let them enjoy the countryside to the fullest. If only she can avoid offending her very proper neighbor, the earl, when their children keep pulling her into scrapes.

She has none of the qualities he needs in a countess. Is she exactly what he needs as a man?

Released 28 June: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B4FCXDX2/

An excerpt

“Stop it, Percy! You’re roiling up the water and chasing away the frogs,” Alf said.

Delia reached for Percy. She managed to grab one arm when Penny piped up. “There are riders coming, Mama.”

Delia glanced back over her shoulder to see a man and a boy approach. She and the children rented the Clarion dower house. In the four months since they took up residence, she had never seen the earl, having been told he preferred London, particularly when Parliament was in session. The rider’s haughty expression, distinguished bearing, and thick auburn hair left her in little doubt that she saw him now.

Caught at her least dignified, embarrassment distracted her. She wasn’t prepared when Percival yanked on her arm and overturned her balance. Flail her arms though she did, she could do nothing to prevent her tumble into the water.

“Hogswallop!” she grumbled and immediately prayed the earl didn’t hear her. She rose, striving for as much grace as she could muster, with weeds clinging to her sodden gown and a squirming toddler pulling on her arm.

Man and boy pulled to a stop. “Good afternoon,” she chirped before they could speak.

Clarion—for it must be he—blinked. The boy looked up at his father as if to ask how to behave.

“I don’t believe I know you,” the earl said, staring at her muddy hems.

“Do you know everyone?” she asked intrigued. She stepped up onto the bank and pulled Percy with her.

“Everyone who would freely do whatever it is you’re doing on the Clarion estate.” He waved a hand as if to encompass the entire scene. “May I ask your identity and your purpose here?”

“Of course. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Lady Delia Fitzwallace. We have the privilege of renting the Clarion dower house. We have a five-year lease.” She wasn’t sure why she added that last, except perhaps a fear this stern man might turn them out.

He appeared startled by her title, and Delia suspected he may have taken her for a tavern trollop of some sort, though the children might have given him a clue if he cared to consider it. As it was, she had failed to use her proper form of address as Lady Vincent Fitzwallace, stubbornly refusing to go by her late husband’s name.

He didn’t dismount. “I am Clarion,” he pronounced with a slight inclination of his head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He didn’t look pleased. Delia gave a proper curtsy, somewhat hindered by the state of her gown.

Does one introduce children by name to an earl? She couldn’t remember and rather thought not. “Children, make your obeisance to the earl, if you please.” They did. Alf and Penny had fine manners under normal circumstances. They managed. Even Percy produced a damp and rather dramatic bow. He returned to staring gape mouthed at the horses.

Clarion cleared his throat. “This is my son, Viscount Ashmead.”

The unsmiling boy, his expression uncannily like his father’s, inclined his head with all the hauteur of a prince of the realm. He looked to be Alf’s age, and yet he had the mien of an old man.

The silence stretched until Delia broke it. “As to what we are about, we are hunting frogs’ eggs. We thought to observe the transition from egg to tadpole to frog.”

“It is a scientific endeavor,” Alf added.

That broke through the little viscount’s stern expression. He gazed at Alf with interest.

The earl’s silence unleashed an imp in Delia. She made her eyes wide with faux innocence. “Oh dear. I hope the harvesting of frogs’ eggs isn’t some sort of poaching. I would hate to run afoul of the law so soon in our tenancy.”

“Of course, it isn’t!” the earl snapped. “The Clarion estate can spare a few frogs. I— I’ll leave you to it.” He moved his reins as if to turn, but thought better of it and looked back at her. “Do you generally allow your children to run free across the estate?” he asked.

“Do they appear to be unsupervised?” she retorted. Given her appearance she wouldn’t have blamed him if he said yes, but she was prepared to defend her mothering if she needed to.

His bewildered expression rewarded her. “Of course not,” he said.

“They have been instructed to stay clear of the main house. Their greater temptations are your stables and vicinity, but they have accepted the need to respect that area as well. They know not to touch the property of others. They know better than to ramble through plowed fields or growing crops. They—”

“Enough! I take your point. Good day, madam.” With an inclination of his head, he and his son turned, and Delia’s children watched them ride away.

“He’s not a happy man,” Penny said.

Understatement, that. One of her father’s dictates gave Delia a twinge of regret. He always said, “You never have a second chance to make a good first impression.”

You’ll never live this one down, Delia, and more’s the pity. For all his stern reserve the earl was an attractive man, and one who appeared to care for his son. She admired that in a man.

With a sigh she locked this regret away with the others she’d endured. She refused to let life’s disappointments weigh her down.

“Alf, there! I see an egg mass,” Penny crowed behind her. And so she had. Delia turned to share her children’s delight.

She put her stern landlord out of her thoughts.