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Tea with Rebeka and Arik

“Rebeka.” Lord Arik called for his wife as he took the steps two at a time as he hurried into the tower room at Fayne Manor.

Rebeka, with her staff in hand, looked up from the small desk and papers. “I’m here.”

His sanctuary as a boy, he stared at the walls filled with runes and the cheval glass that stood at one end of a pentagram on the floor. She had placed it across from the hearth with its blazing fire as he had instructed.

“I’m looking forward to meeting Her Grace. Are you ready?” Rebeka asked.

Arik nodded his agreement and brought her to the center of the pentagram. The flames from the hearth danced and caressed their reflection in the mirror. He gave her a tender kiss, and then they turned toward the Eastern wall and began the ritual.

“Hail, Guardians of the East. I summon the power of air.” Arik’s voice echoed through the room.

“By the air in her breath, be with us now,” Rebeka replied and tapped her staff.

They turned to the South. “Hail, Guardians of the South. I summon the power of fire.”

“By the fire in her spirit, be with us now,” came Rebeka’s reply, along with a tap of her staff.

They faced the West. “Hail, Guardians of the West. I summon the power of water.”

“By the waters of her womb, be with us now.” Another tap from Rebeka’s staff.

They turned North toward the hearth. “Hail, Guardians of the North. I summon the power of the earth.”

“By the earth that is her body, be with us now,” Rebeka said with a strong final tap.

“As above, so below. As within, so without. Prepare Haverford’s door of time and present us to the duchess sublime. So mote it be.”

The air stirred, at first rustling Rebeka’s long hair then catching Arik’s loose-fitting shirt. Yet everything else in the room was still. They repeated the chant. Even though they were deep into the ritual, they sensed that the room changed.

The flames leaped high in the hearth when the last word was spoken. Soft sounds gathered into whispered words that grew more insistent until a voice called to them, “Lord Arik. Lady Rebeka.”

The smooth surface shifted and swirled. The image of a man materialized. They stepped to the mirror. “Berkeley Court?” Arik asked.

“Her Grace the Duchess of Haverford is expecting you, my lord.”

Arik took Rebeka’s hand, and together, they stepped into the mirror. Rebeka glanced behind her to see a partially draped cheval glass. The rest of the small tower room was empty. The hearth was cold.

“Good afternoon, my lord, my lady.” A footman stood before them, unshaken at watching two people walk through the mirror. “Welcome to Berkeley Court. If you will come this way I will show you to Her Crace.”

The footman took them down the tower stairs to the second floor. From there, he took them to the garden room where a mature lady, eleganty dressed, waited for them, a full service of tea at her side.

“Please do come and sit with me. Lady Rebeka would you like to pour tea?” asked Eleanor, the Duchess of Haverford.

“Your Grace, I am honored at the request, but I’m afraid my skills at pouring tea would appall you. In the United—. In America, we put the tea leaves in small bags and then dunk them in boiling water. Lord Arik can pour tea better than I can.”

Arik placed his hand over his wife’s. “Rebeka underestimates her abilities. It’s her way of easing into the differences in time.” Before Arik could act, the duchess took command of the pot.

“I am certain there are many things you both had to reconcile, pouring tea only a minor one.” The duchess glanced at Rebeka. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Black, please.”

“Same for me, if you please,” Arik said.

The duchess handed the tea to her visitors. “A biscuit?” She motioned toward the plate. “Cook makes delicious treats.”

Arik dutifully put a biscuit on his plate. Rebeka declined.

“Traveling through time. I dare say I never gave it a thought. After all, time is what time is. Or so I thought.”

Rebeka noted the excitement in the duchess’ eyes. “I agree, Your Grace.” Rebeka put down her teacup.

“Please, call me Eleanor. No need to be so formal.” Eleanor sat back in her chair with her teacup in her hand and a large smile on her lips.

“By all means. We were surprised when we received your invitation. I will say we questioned it. Of course, the Haverford name is well known even in our time. And with your Somerset estate a day’s ride from ours, Arik sent his brother, Logan, for a visit. Your ancestors were quite cordial. Logan returned telling us what a lovely time he had. He also confirmed the tower room.” Rebeka looked at the biscuits on the plate.

Eleanor turned to Arik. “I found a notation in the estate journal about Fayne Manor and decided to meet you. Once I learned about Rebeka’s traveling through time, I had many questions. What was your first impression of Rebeka?”

“He thought I was a pain in the…” Rebeka glanced at Arik.

“Arse.” Arik smiled at her and then turned to Eleanor. “My wife is quite correct. She had this compulsion to interject herself and her opinions everywhere. She didn’t know her place.” He turned to his wife. “And you, madam? What did you think of me? An actor?”

Arik’s exasperated expression said it all. He returned his attention to Eleanor. “Can you believe it? The Druid Grand Master and Lord of Fayne Manor, and she thinks I’m some carnival performer.”

“What did you expect? I had no idea I had traveled four hundred years into the past.” Rebeka put down her teacup, her eyes on the biscuit. “When I arrived, I encountered Doward, the old tinker.”

“Tinker?” Her Grace asked.

“It was Beltane, and with the way Doward was dressed and riding on a horse-drawn wagon, I naturally assumed he was an actor going to some enactment. They are popular in the twenty-first century. Then we came upon Arik and his men, all on horseback and dressed like Doward; well, what should I have thought? Arik was marching through the woods all proud and self-important, playacting.” Rebeka took a biscuit from the plate.

Arik raised his eyebrow and controlled his temper. “I was patrolling my domain. We were under attack, as you soon found out.”

Rebeka nibbled on the biscuit.

The duchess put down her teacup. “Oh, no.” She leaned toward Rebeka. “And you thought it was all a charade. What happened?”

“We were traveling and came to the river at the crossing. The bridge was damaged, and Arik and his men had to repair it so we could get the Doward’s wagon across. There was no room for the wagon at the shore, so Doward, me, and Logan, Arik’s brother, made camp up the road. The thieves attacked the wagon. They must’ve thought with only one soldier, a woman, and an old man, we would be easy to subdue. This biscuit is delicious.”

Her Grace smiled and offered her the plate. “Please, have another.”

“Subdue?” Arik didn’t try to hide his anger. “They meant to kill you. All three of you.”

“What happened?” Eleanor was not fooled. This was a man who cared dearly about his people and more so about his wife. She had read it in the diary he left in his library.

“The attackers were as shocked as I was. You see, both camps were attacked at the same time. We quickly took care of the marauders who attacked us by the river and went to help the others upriver. I didn’t know what to expect.” Arik shook his head and chuckled. “Rebeka dispatched three attackers before I got there.” He faced the duchess. “She did well. No, she was excellent. She used her walking staff as a weapon in a way I’d never seen. I would have her at my side in any battle.”

“I have read about the ancient Amazonian women and thought that all a fantasy,” Eleanor said.

“I am not a warrior. In college, I studied the Japanese physical movements that help build your physical, mental, and spiritual development. I enjoyed the mind-body connection. I had no cause to use them in combat until I was back in time. At the river, I fought for my life.”

Arik took her hand. “And you did well. That was when I knew there was more to you than I thought. Doward led me to believe the King had sent Rebeka to do research in my library.”

“That’s not exactly what Doward told you.” She took another biscuit from the plate. “You see, Eleanor, by the time we reached Fayne Manor, Doward and I discovered that I was in the wrong time. We also thought that the information I needed to go back would most likely be in Arik’s vast library.”

“I see.” Eleanor nodded her agreement as she refreshed everyone’s tea.

“I’m not certain you do. It was a dangerous game we both played. Arik was certain I was sent by his enemy, Bran. I was certain Arik would think I was a witch and that he would kill me if he knew I traveled through time.

“I began to research his family journals and diaries. I had no idea where to look or what to look for.” How clearly she remembered going through the vast library. She learned so much about his family, about him.

“And everything she did made me suspicious. I was certain the King or the King’s men had sent her. I will say she did excellent work with her research. I read it several times without letting her know.”

“Be that as it may,” Rebeka interjected. “I came from a time when women spoke their minds. On that count alone, I didn’t endear myself to him. No, not at all. But emotions stewed underneath it all. We wanted each other. We just didn’t trust each other.”

“Rebeka, why didn’t you tell Arik your mission? Surely, he would have helped you.” Eleanor smiled.

“I am a proud woman. In my time, I am a renowned history professor. I thought I’d made quick work of it. Besides, it was 1605. No one, not even Lord Arik, would believe that I had traveled through time. And with King James I sharpening the English Witchcraft Act I dared not say anything. I feared for what they might do to me.”

“But, Rebeka—.”

Rebeka put up her hand. “Before you say anything, yes, Arik is the Druid Grand Master, but I didn’t know it then, and I didn’t believe in magic. At least not at that time.”

“Not believe in magic? Then how do you explain your time travel? Surely that was magic,” the duchess said.

“You’re correct, of course. It’s amazing how we hold on to our prejudices. But Arik taught me about magic—on many levels.”

“And I understand from Arik’s journal that together, you saved Fayne Manor. I can see it in your eyes. You are a strong and vibrant pair. I wish you both well.”

Arik put down his serviette. “Thank you for your invitation and tea. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Eleanor stood and walked her guests to the door. “The lesson I learned from your story is a very profound one. Love can transcend time, even four hundred years. Please, do visit again.”

How It All Began

In ancient times, druids and magic reigned supreme. Valor, courage, honesty, honor, and heart were their ingrained values. Destined for greatness, over the centuries this family rose above the others, but not without its own struggles.

This is the story of the druid Grand Master Lord Arik of Fayne Manor and his effort to protect all he holds dear from the Dark Magic that wants to destroy it all. Amid the spells and incantations, will he discover that the magic of the heart is the most potent force of all?

Knight of Runes

Rebeka Tyler, a distinguished expert in medieval and Renaissance studies and a casual martial arts enthusiast, never envisioned herself as a warrior. However, thrust into the 17th century, she finds herself caught in the conflict between two powerful druid masters. While deciphering ancient runes and unraveling a family secret to secure her return, Rebeka engages in battles for survival against in a society she knows well from her studies, as well as against the malevolent druid, Bran.

Amidst the struggle, emotional complexities arise with Lord Arik, the druid knight, as long-buried truths about their shared past come to light. The key to triumph lies not in individual efforts but in a partnership between Rebeka and Arik. Yet, this alliance comes at a steep price – her heart and, if fate favors her, her rightful future. For Rebeka, this journey isn’t a mere journey into the past but a return to where she truly belongs. In this riveting tale, the boundaries between love, destiny, and sacrifice blur as Rebeka navigates a world of ancient mysteries and profound connections.

Review: “Friends. FRIENDS. Oh my gosh, listen to me. If you only pick up one book this upcoming summer, it needs to be Knight of Runes. Imagine Game of Thrones and Outlander having a lovechild whose nanny was Jane Austen. Yes, I am serious. No, I am not kidding. It’s that good.” – Stacie T. 5 Star Review

Buy Link: https://amzn.to/2C73zRV
Ruth’s Website: https://ruthacasie.com/books.html

Excerpt:

Prologue

England – May 1605

I should not have stayed away so long.

Unable to shake the ominous feeling of being watched, Lord Arik kept the small group moving quickly. On high alert, his eyes continually swept the underbrush bordering the rain-slicked forest trail. He and his three riders escorted the wagon with the old tinker and the woman quickly through the forest. At length, he slowed the pace. The horses winded as they neared the Stone River.

“The forest is flooded,” he said. “I suspect the Stone will be as well. Willem, ride ahead and let me know what we face at the crossing.”

Willem did his lord’s bidding and quickly returned with his report. “The river ahead runs fast, m’lord. The bridge is in ruins and cannot be crossed.”

Arik raised his hand and brought the group to a halt. “We must make repairs, Doward,” he said to the old tinker, “there’s no room for the wagon at the river’s edge. You and the woman stay here and set up camp. Be ready to join us at the bridge when I send word.”

Logan, Arik’s brother, spoke up. “I’ll keep watch here and help Doward and Rebeka.”

Arik nodded and, with the others, continued the half mile to the bridge. “I am not pleased with this new delay.”

“It can’t be helped, m’lord,” Simon said. “We would make better time without the wagon.”

“We cannot leave Doward and the woman in the forest on their own, not with what we’ve heard lately. We’ll have to drive hard to make up the lost time,” Arik said as they came to the crossing.

The frame of the bridge stood solid, but the planks were scattered everywhere, clogging the banks and shallows. Arik leapt from his horse onto the frame to begin the repairs. “Hand me that planking.” Arik pointed to the nearest board.

Simon grabbed the nearest plank and examined it. “Sir, these boards have been deliberately removed.”

Arik reached for the board just as an arrow whooshed out of the trees and slammed into the plank’s edge. Willem pulled his ax from his belt. In a fluid, practiced movement, he spun and sent his ax flying. The archer fell into the river and was swept downstream, Willem’s ax lodged in his forehead.

A dozen or more attackers broke through the stand of trees. Poorly dressed fighters carrying clubs and knives moved toward them. There was only one sword among them, held by the leader—Arik’s target.

Arik tossed the board into the river and readied his sword. “They plan to pin us here at the river’s edge. Come, we’ll attack before they form up.”

Arik and his men surged forward, driving a wedge through the enemy’s ragged line, forcing what little formation they had to scatter and fight, each man for himself.

A man, club in hand, rushed at Arik. Before the attacker could bring his weapon into play, Arik pivoted around him. He raised his sword high and slammed the hilt’s steel pommel squarely on the man’s head and moved on before the man’s lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

Willem and Simon, on either side of Arik, advanced through the melee. Their swift swordplay moved smoothly from one stroke to the next, whipping through the air. They slashed on the down stroke and again on the backswing, sweeping their weapons into position to repeat the killing sequence as Arik and his soldiers steadily advanced, punishing any man who dared to come near them.

“For honor!” Logan’s war cry carried from the small camp to Arik’s ears.

Arik stiffened. Both camps were now under siege. He pulled his blade from an enemy’s chest. The body crumpled to the blood-soaked ground. Arik breathed deeply, the coppery taste of blood in the air.

“For honor!” he bellowed in answer. His men echoed his call, arms thrown wide, muscles quivering, the berserker’s rage overtaking them.

The remaining assailants fled headlong back into the forest.

Motioning to his men to follow, Arik raced toward Logan and the camp. He could hear shouts and cursed himself for not seeing the danger earlier. He crested the hill and came to an abrupt halt.

Logan’s sword ripped through the air as he protected Doward. The tinker drew his short blade and did as much damage as he could. But it was the woman Arik noticed. Her skirt hiked up, she twirled her walking stick like a weapon, with an expertise that left him slack-jawed. She dispatched the enemy, one by one, in a deadly well-practiced dance.

A man rushed toward her, knife in hand. The sneer on his face didn’t match the fear in his eyes.

She stepped out of his line of attack, extended her stick to her side and, holding it with both hands, swept the weapon forward, striking the intruder across the bridge of his nose. Blood exploded from his face in an arc of fine spray as his head snapped back. Droplets dusted her face, creating an illusion of bright red freckles. As he fell, she reversed her swing and caught him hard behind his knees. He went down on his back, spread-eagled. The woman swung her stick over her head and landed a precise blow to his forehead that knocked him unconscious.

As the woman spun to face the next threat, her glance captured Arik’s and held. In the space of an instant, time slowed to a crawl. Her hair slowly loosened from its pins and swirled out around her. His breath caught, and his heart quickened as a rapturous surge raced through his body. Something eternal and familiar, with a sense of longing, unsettled him.

In the next heartbeat, she tore her eyes away, leaving him empty. Time resumed its normal pace. Another fighter lay at her feet.

Arik joined the fight.

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Spotlight on Weave Me a Rope

He is imprisoned. She is cast out. But neither will give up on their love.

When the Earl of Spenhurst declares his love for a merchant’s niece, he is locked away in a tower. Spen won’t get out, the marquess his father says, until he agrees to an arranged marriage.

After the marquess unceremoniously ejects Cordelia Milton from his country mansion, she is determined to rescue her beloved, but it all goes horribly wrong.

She needs time to recover from her injuries, and Spen has been moved across the country under heavy guard. It seems impossible for two young lovers to overcome the selfish plans of two powerful peers, but they won’t give up.

Published 26 January 2023

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CP72WDH8

Book 5 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale

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Drugs, Sex, and Music

Once again, this time in Hold Me Fast, I’m writing about the use of drugs in the early 19th century. In this case, my heroine has fallen into the hands of a fast set who combine their love of music, poetry and painting with drug abuse and sex.

My heroine is a musician—she sings and she plays the harp. She is also, by the time my hero comes to find his childhood love, solidly addicted.

So what drugs?

Laudanum was legal and easily available. It was sold as the answer to all sorts of things, from sleeplessness and sorrow to toothache in babies. Laudanum is a mix of opium and alcohol. It mightn’t fix what ails you, but you won’t care any more. It is brutally addictive, as many users found to their cost.

The market also contained other “medicines” that contained opium. Dover powder was a mix of opium and ipecacuanha, to be taken in a sweet drink such as a white wine posset. Godfrey’s cordial combined opium with treacle and spices in water.

Opium itself was also readily available, to smoke, chew, or otherwise consume.

In all those forms, the benefit was a euphoric “rush” followed by relaxation. And in all these forms, people became addicted with regular use.

Ether was a new toy for the idle in search of a thrill, too. Sold as a medicine called Anodyne, liquid diethyl ether gave users dissociative effects and a sensation of happiness. Warming it and smelling the vapours worked faster, but ether is highly flammable, which could be problematic in the hands of those high on the effects. Burns were common.

Cannabis and its derivatives weren’t readily available from the neighbourhood apothecary, but its likely that my villain could have found majoun or charas—blocks of cannabis resin—in the docklands, where sailors might well have imported such products for their own use and for sale.

Nitrous oxide parties also fall within my time period, with gatherings to inhale the product held as early as 1799. The idea that laughing gas might have medical applications wasn’t picked up for another forty-give

Spanish fly, a preparation made from blister beetles, was used as an aphrodisiac. It caused a rush of blood to the sexual organs, and was highly toxic. As was Fowler’s preparation, a solution using arsenic for the same purpose.

Were psychotropic mushrooms in use in England at the time? We know that in 1799 a family picked mushrooms in Green Park, cooked them up, and ate them. The father and four sons experienced spontaneous laughter followed by delirium. This was in the news at the time. You can, if you wish, take the view that idle dilettantes like my heroine’s patrons would read about such an event and decide that mushrooms were a step too far. But I’d be willing to bet that some of them had a go. Certainly, my rotten lot did so.

And when all else fails, there’s always alcohol. I’ve written before about the huge quantities consumed as a matter of course at all levels of society. Yes, glasses were much smaller than they are today, and so were bottles. But still, the reported volumes downed in a night are astounding.

The folk tale that inspired Hold Me Fast is Tam Lin, in which a faithful sweetheart is determined to rescue her love from the fairy queen. She is told that she can get him back if she recognises him when the fairy horde parade by, pulls him from his horse, and turns into one horrible and dangerous creature after another.

As soon as I began to think about the mechanics of a fairy tale world with the underlying viciousness and cold-hearted hedonism of the fairies in the oldest tales, I knew I had a group of selfish entitled aristocratic men with too much money and too little conscience. And what is more likely than that a person recovering from drug addiction is going to be changeable, near mindless, and dangerous?

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Introducing a villain (or two) on WIP Wednesday

“Good day, Lord Hardwicke,” called Rose across the garden wall. The elderly neighbour had been rolled out in his bath chair and parked on the terrace, just across the wall from the herb pots she had on the terrace of her brother’s townhouse.

The gardens near the house were narrow, and shaded by neighbouring trees. Pauline’s roses were further down the garden and got the sun most of the days, and Rose had a patch for her herbs down there, too. The terrace was out of the shade of the trees and caught the full afternoon sun. The plants that needed most of her care flourished here within a few steps of the house.

Lord Hardwicke, not so much. He looked more and more frail each time she saw him. “Miss Ransome,” he called. “A pleasant day for a spot of gardening.”

At least, that was what she understood him to say. His speech had recovered a lot—it had been almost gone altogether after the apoplexy he had suffered a couple of months ago. It was still garbled and hard to understand.

“I am cutting back the peppermint before it runs to flower, Lord Hardwicke,” she explained.

In answer to a garbled question, she agreed, “Yes, I will use it in tinctures at the hospital, to bring down fevers.”

In their conversations before his apoplexy, she had learned he had a personal interest in military hospitals. His grandson was a soldier, currently stationed in Ireland with one of the Highland regiments, and Lord Hardwicke worried about him.

Poor Lord Hardwicke. He had been lonely before his apoplexy and things were worse now. Before, he had few visitors and went out seldom. Now, he went nowhere, and the trickle of visitors had dried up to nothing, perhaps because they were turned away at the door, as Rose had been in the early days after the apoplexy, when she had become worried at his continued absence from his garden.

However, since his body failed, his wife had begun to entertain frequently. She had guests now. Rose could hear the tinkle of tea cups and the buzz of conversation, drifting through the windows that were open in the heat of the day.

That was probably why the poor old man was out on the Terrace. Lady Hardwicke would not want her guests to see him. That was another thing that had changed since Lord Hardwicke was struck down. Lord and Lady Hardwicke used to stay home together, she busying herself with redecorating the house, he with his books and his garden.

Before, Lady Hardwicke was all sweet words and flattery. “Yes, my lord. You are so clever, my lord. It must be as you say, my lord.” Not after. Rose had heard her talking to her poor husband. She obviously had not seen Rose, who was kneeling down to weed the pots, for Lady Hardwicke did not measure her words.

“You useless lump of meat. Why could you not have died in your fit? I’d be a rich widow. Well. The doctor says the next one could kill you, so we live in hope, Phillip and I. I can’t wait for the day I can dance on your grave. Perhaps I won’t wait. Phillip says it would be a kindness to hold a pillow over your face.”

“Na i’ ma will.” Lord Hardwicke forced out the words, and Lady Hardwicke slapped the poor old man’s face.

Phillip, Rose had discovered through the medium of the network of servants in the surrounding houses, was Phillip Wolfendale, Lord Hardwicke’s valet. Rose had seen him. His hair was white, though he was at least ten younger than Lady Hardwicke, in years at least. Rose put his age in the mid-twenties.

His skin was pale, too, and his eyes were a startling pale blue. He had seen her peering over the wall, though Lady Hardwicke never noticed. Seen her and challenged her, for he had come close to the wall and stared into her eyes.

“The Ransome bastard, isn’t it? Mind your own business, Lady Rosalind Ransome. There is nothing to interest you on this side of the wall, and people who interfere are liable to come to bad ends.”

Rose still felt a shiver of fear when she remembered the look he gave her.

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Tea with Cordelia

The Duchess of Haverford had formed the habit of holding an afternoon tea early in the Season for the current year’s debutantes. It gave the girls an opportunity to meet one another away from the endless manoeuvring of the marriage mart and out from under the thumbs of their mothers and chaperones, who were having tea in another room down the hall.

It also allowed Eleanor, the duchess, to discover likely protégés and possible problems. Every year-group of debutantes had them. The girls who had the potential to join the ranks of the ladies whose work for diverse charities contributed so much to the wellbeing of the country their husbands governed. The girls whose sole focus was themselves, and who would tear others down in order to promote their own interests.

Eleanor circled the room, attempted to speak to each girl in turn. “Let me see,” she said to the latest, a very pretty young little lady with light brown curls. “You are Miss Cordelia Milton, are you not.”

The lady lifted her chin proudly and somewhat defensively. “I am, Your Grace. I am the daughter of Josiah Milton.”

Eleanor nodded. No shrinking violet this one. “I am acquainted with Mr Milton. We serve on some of the same committees.” Mr Milton was a self-made man, rising from humble beginning to become one of the richest men in the United Kingdom. Miss Milton was his only child.

Miss Milton’s face lit up with a lovely smile. “My father has mentioned you, Your Grace. He has nothing but praise for your influence as a trustee of the orphanages he also supports. Also the asylum for women.”

A safe haven for wayward women, facing the consequences of the lifestyle many had not adopted out of choice. The world they lived in was not kind to women who had children out of wedlock, no matter how they arrived at that unhappy state.

“Do you also have an interest in such causes, Miss Milton?” Eleanor asked.

The girl nodded with another of her delightful smiles. “My father says that we have been blessed with more than our share of riches, and that we ought to share what we can in a way that will do the most good.”

An excellent attitude, and one that was rare among the aristocracy. Mr Milton clearly intended his daughter educated to marry into the upper sort. She certainly had had the education, and was ladylike in appearance and manners. No one would sniff, either, at her dowry or her beauty.

But whether the young men currently on the market could get over the young lady’s working class connections was another matter. Perhaps someone from the gentry would be less likely to look down on Miss Miller for her antecedents.

Eleanor resolved to do what she could to smooth the girl’s path.

***

Cordelia is falls in love with the son and heir of a marquess, and their road to happiness is marred by the snobbishness that Eleanor derides.

 

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Two preorders for your reading pleasure

Have you heard about these two preorders? Both are part of multi-author series, and both are coming out later this year.

The Blossoming of the Wallflower

Book 21 in The Revenge of the Wallflowers

As a gardener, Merrilyn Parkham-Smythe, was happy to be called a wallflower. Wallflowers were tenacious, long blooming, colourful and reliable plants, easy to care for as long as they had a fair share of sun. Like them, Merrilyn had no objection to providing providing background to the showier and more troublesome ladies of Society. She did object to being slighted and bullied by those highly praised blooms and their male counterparts.

The gentleman next door, for example. He had killed an entire herbacious border, pruned all the flowers off her magnolia tree, refused to see her when she called, and failed to reply to her letters of complaint. He richly deserved what he had coming. Didn’t he?

Justin Falconbridge hadn’t meant to offend the lady next door. He supposed he should have known that treating his carriageway with lime and sulfur to kill the weeds might affect the plants next door, but they would grow again, wouldn’t they? And wasn’t he entitled to cut off the flowers that dropped onto said carriage way and made it slipperly underfoot?

It was a pity she only spoke to him to abuse him, because he could think of a better use for those perfectly shaped lips than to hurl abuse at him. Since he couldn’t be in her presence without thoughts that were inappropriate in the presence of an innocent lady, he had to ignore her. Sooner or later, she would give up and leave him alone. Which is what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

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This one is out in July. You can preorder it from most major retailers: Books2read https://books2read.com/TBotW

If you’d like to see the other books in the series, check here. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CKHNCQ6T

The Widow’s Christmas Rogue

Book 30 in The Wicked Widow’s League

Jessica Lady Colyton has no intention of being a wicked widow and has no time for rogues.  No time for men, in fact. Her father and her brothers were rogues enough for a lifetime, and her deceased husband was a scoundrel of quite a different type. However, she has joined the Wicked Widow’s League, and is grateful for their help to get her back on her feet after her husband’s will proves to be just one more blow from a controlling and manipulative man.

They have even organised for her to have a week’s holiday in the country. She blesses them right up until she finds a naked rogue in her bed.

Benjamin Lord Somerford is no rogue, unlike the father and brother whose deaths brought him a title and a barrow load of responsibilities that give him little time to play. He refuses an invitation to his sister’s Christmas house party because he has no time for the beauties she has undoubtedly invited to tempt him into matrimony.

When he wakes up in a strange bed, naked and tied down, he has no idea how he came to be there and wants no part whatever plot is underway. Thankfully, the lady who finds him is of the same mind. When a snowstorm prevents them from leaving, they must work together not just to survive but to avoid scandal.

***

This one will be a treat for next Christmas. Again, you can preorder from most major retailers: Books2read https://books2read.com/u/m26zvd

If you’d like to see the other books in the series, check here. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BFJ29XQ2

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Inauspicious first meeting on WIP Wednesday

They came from the shadows, half a dozen men in layers of dirty rags, with knives or broken planks in their hands and hunger in their eyes.

Reuben, their footman, moved in front of Rose, who was a step ahead of Pauline. Harris, the groom, passed the sisters to join Reuben. He muttered, for their ears only, “Get back, my ladies, and if you see an opportunity, run.”

Rose would have stepped up beside him, ready to fight, but Pauline grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “We have to help them,” she objected.

Pauline did not agree. “The biggest help we can be is to stay out of their way, and escape when we have the chance. They can make his own escape if they do not have to worry about us.”

She did not say, but Rose knew, that it was Rose’s fault they were on London’s streets in this unsavoury area after dark. But how could she have left the hospital earlier? Private Brown had asked for her. He was not expected to survive the night. Rose could do little but hold his hand, but that helped, or so Mr. Parslow, the superintendent, believed.

So Rose sent home the carriage her brother had sent for her, and her maid. She could not see any reason why they should sit up all night. Which had brought them here, in the early hours of the morning, facing murder or worse for the sake of the clothes they stood up in and whatever price she and Pauline might fetch in the brothels, for neither of them was foolish enough to carry valuables with them on an errand into this part of town.

Harris had a two-barrel pistol, which was making the footpads think twice.

“Is it worth being shot?” Reuben was arguing, persuasively. “Harris is a good shot, so at least two of you will not survive. Just let us go our way and no one needs to be hurt.”

“I am sorry, Pauline. I never meant for this.”

Pauline squeezed Rose’s hand. “You did not ask me to bring the carriage back to get you, and you did not arrange for the carriage axle to collapse.” Which it had done five streets from the hospital and only three from the broader streets patrolled by the watch.

The footpads’ leader had a counter offer. “How ’bout you gie us all the morts’ glimmers and you can go your way?”

Glimmers, Rose guessed, must be jewelry. “I am not wearing any jewelry,” she told Pauline. “Are you?”

“No, and I do not have money with me, either.”

I would rather die rather than be sold into a brothel, Rose decided. She put her hand into the pocket she wore under her gown, a slit in the side seam giving discrete access. At least Private Brown would not be disappointed when she did not return tomorrow. He had breathed his last some fifteen minutes before Pauline arrived with the carriage.

She unfolded the object she retrieved from the pocket, extracting the blade from the bone handle to give her a small but perfectly serviceable dagger. “I have this,” she announced. “If I kill my sister and myself, will the clothing you can retrieve from our bodies be enough to compensate for this area being overrun with Red Breasts for the next few weeks, until they find every last one of you? For we will be missed, and my brother knows where we went.”

The footpads went into a huddle, most of them still keeping an eye on their annoyingly uncooperative prey.

“I’m not sure you should have done that,” said Pauline, and Harris, the groom, groaned. “Not a good idea, Lady Rose.”

In the next moment, Rose found out why, as the footpads’ leader shouted, “Take the skirts alive, especially the mouthy one!” Four of them hurled themselves towards poor Reuben and Harris, and two began skirting around the fight that ensued to grab Rose and Pauline.

Rose had no time to spare a glance for the servants, though she heard a shot. She was determined not to be taken. The man who attacked her jerked back, screaming imprecations, his hand spraying blood. The second man took advantage of Rose’s distraction to seize Pauline, who hit him with her umbrella. He grasped the umbrella and ripped it from her hands, then stumbled backwards.

Rose took a moment to realise that a large someone in dark clothes and a cape had dragged the man away from Pauline and swung him head first into a wall. A meaty hand landing on her shoulder was her only warning that the assailant she had cut had gone back on the attack. Before she even had time to struggle, the caped man had punched him hard enough to hurl him backwards.

One of the other footpads shouted, “It’s the Wolf!” In moments, three of them were running. The two that had attacked Rose and Pauline lay where the caped man had put them. One of the servants’ attackers was also down, presumably shot, but so was Harris. Reuben was picking himself up from the ground. As far as Rose could see in the poor light, he was unharmed.

She hurried to Harris, kneeling to feel for his pulse. As she did, he groaned. Thank goodness! He was alive. “Harris, can you hear me?” she asked.

“Lady Rosalind.” He caught back a yelp as he rolled to get his legs under him. “Reuben, lad, a hand,” he begged.

As she got up from her knees, Rose caught back her objection to him moving. She could not examine him in the dark, and they needed to get off these streets as quickly as possible.

Harris said out loud what she had been thinking. “We need to get the ladies out of here before they come back to get their men.”

The footpads! She had forgotten them. She took two steps towards the one who had been punched, and who was now groaning. The man they called the Wolf stopped her. “Stay back! If he can he will use you as a shield, and your servants suffering will be for nothing.”

Oh dear. “But they have been hurt,” she pointed out. “I do not like to just leave them.”

“We will leave them to their own kind,” Pauline decided. “We cannot risk Harris and Reuben for the sake of men who would have killed us or sold us without a second thought. Come along, Rose.”

“You are right,” Rose agreed, falling obediently into step with her sister. Reuben came behind, one arm around Harris to support him. The Wolf ranged around them, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, and sometimes walking beside them for a few paces.

In the moonlight, filtered as it was through London’s fog, she could not see more of him than she had from the beginning. A large man, broad and tall. Dark clothes covered by a thigh-length cape. Try as she might, she could not see his face, even when he turned his face towards her to deliver a disparaging remark. He had an arsenal of them.

“This is no place for ladies of your kind.”

“What would your family do if you were killed or worse?”

“You put your servants at risk. Did you think of that before you planned your little jaunt?”

All said in the accents of a gentleman and in a pleasant voice that sounded as if he might sing tenor.

Watch out for Inviting the Wolf, due to Dragonblade Publishing at the end of this month. It is inspired by Little Red Riding Hood. (With a Jude Knight twist or two)

by

Tea with a would-be rescuer

November 1793

“Is it dangerous?” Eleanor asked her husband’s unacknowledged brother.

They had been friends for close to a decade, since he first rescued a drunken Haverford from footpads one evening, and dragged him home to Haverford House.

He had said, in exasperation, “I do not know why I bother. He never changes. I should have left him in the gutter to rot.”

She had replied, “I wish…” and then had caught the rest of the words back. They were not true, in any case. She wished her husband at the other end of the country. She wished him on a five year diplomatic mission to Asia. But she did not wish him dead. She had not descended to that level.

Tolliver had somehow understood all of that without her saying it, and after that often kept her informed about her husband’s activities. He had taught her how to use this information to manage the distance that she needed to keep from Haverford in order to stay sane.

She was mother to the duke’s two sons, his official hostess, the chatelaine of his houses, an asset to him in his political campaigning, but other than that, he largely left her alone. She owed much of that to Tolliver.

He was testing her gratitude now. Bad enough that he risked his own life in missions into the horror that France had become now that the Committee for Public Safety was sending dozens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people to the guillotine.

But he wanted to take David. The boy she had taken into her house and into her heart was twenty, barely a man. She would fear for him every day he was over the channel. He was eager to go, and Eleanor had no power to stop him.

“Is it dangerous?” Tolliver asked. “I will not lie to you, Eleanor. It is. We take every precaution, but there is always danger. I can promise you that I will watch over David. He is my nephew, after all.”

That was true. Tolliver, the base-born brother of Haverford, and David, Haverford’s base-born son. “He is very young…” she began, but David answered her from the doorway.

“Not so young. I am a man, Your Grace.” He stepped cautiously into the little parlour, as if he expected Haverford to emerge from a corner to berate him. Haverford had got it into his head that David was a danger to Aldridge, his eldest legitimate son. It was ridiculous, but Haverford had made the claim and would not back down.

Still, he had come to Haverford House at her request, bless the boy.

“The duke is away in Brighton with the Prince of Wales,” Eleanor assured him. “Yes, David, I know you are a man. I hope you will forgive me for worrying about you.”

“I shall be as careful as I can, Your Grace,” David assured her. “But this has to be done, and I am able to help do it. Wish me well, Your Grace, and let me go with your blessing.”

“You have my blessing, David, and I shall pray for you every day until you return to England,” said Eleanor.

by

A retrospective on 2023

I’m taking a look back at 2023. It was my first year of publishing with Dragonblade Publishing, and the year of my first Bookbub Featured Deal. Those two factors and my massive publishing push where the great hurrahs of the year. Lots of small satisfactions, too. Some amazing reviews, some wonderful people met along the way, a few outstanding moments with friends. 2023 had its problems and its worries. I lost six weeks of writing in the last third of the year to a family bereavement followed by an illness, and the sales of certain well-reviewed books were less than inspiring. I do wonder what a writer needs to do today to get noticed. As in any industry, there are many people out there selling the one exclusive sure to work answer. How does one find out who has the snake oil and who the golden ticket?

All in all, a mixed year. Now what will 2024 bring? I’ll have a go at a partial answer to that question next Sunday!

2023 was the year I published at least one book a month. It took a bit of doing, but I made it! Of course, the first six were written before the year started. On the other hand, the first four for this year were written in 2023, plus another for a bit later in the year if I do the box set I have in mind.

24 January 2022 The Golden Redepennings: Books 1 to 4

16 February 2023 Lady Beast’s Bridegroom, book 1 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale

22 March 2023 The Husband Gamble

29 March 2023 The Flavour of Our Deeds, book 5 in The Golden Redepennings

28 April 2023 The Talons of a Lyon, a book in the Lyon’s Den Connected World

11th May 2023 One Perfect Dance, book 2 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale

20th June 2023 Chaos Come Again, book 1 in Lion’s Zoo

11th July 2023 Grasp the Thorn (House of Thorns revised and republished), book 2 in Lion’s Zoo

8th August 2023 Snowy and the Seven Doves, book 3 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale

26th August 2023 Crossing the Lyon, a short story in the multi-author book Night of Lyons

7th September 2023 Perchance to Dream, book 4 in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale 

10th October 2023 Love in its Season a novella in the Bluestocking Belles 2023 box set Under the Harvest Moon

15th November 2023 One Hour of Freedom, book 3 in Lion’s Zoo

26th December 2023 Christmastide Kisses, a Bluestocking Belles with friends collection

29th December 2023 The Darkness Within, book 4 in Lion’s Zoo