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Villains on WIP Wednesday

I’ve been having fun with the last surviving villain from the group of them that have hounded my Haverfords, Redepennings, and Winshires through a dozen books. My WIP excerpt today is from Paradise at Last, the last novella in Paradise Triptych, which I plan to publish in March. My Duchess of Haverford puts her trust in the wrong employee. Please share an excerpt that includes your villain. Just pop it in the comments.

“How could you, Marigold?” Eleanor asked her former secretary. Not that she had fired the treacherous female, but conspiring with a criminal to disable her servants and abduct Eleanor herself was surely tantamount to a resignation.

“I am merely seeking a better position, Your Grace,” Marigold sneered. “One your money will buy me.”

“Us,” said her collaborator. “You will buy us a future, Ellie. Do your friends call you Ellie? Your son took everything I have and you owe me. My first idea was to kill you, Haverford’s wife, and all three of his sisters. Let him feel what I felt when he took everything away from me.”

He slipped his arms around Marigold from behind and fondled both her breasts. She tipped her head back, and he bent to kiss and then lick her neck, which made the girl groan.

Marigold surrendered utterly to the sensual spell the boy wove, but he was watching Eleanor the whole time, his eyes cold and alert.

She gave no reaction—to his words, or to his behaviour.

One of his hands crept down Marigold’s body to the cleft between her legs. Eleanor steeled herself to show nothing.

Marigold’s words stopped his hand. “But you have me, now, Kit. And when we get our money, we will be able to run far away. We will have everything, you and I.”

Kit nuzzled her neck again, before letting her go. “Everything,” he said. Including my revenge. You should be grateful, Your Grace. Marigold’s idea was much better than mine. Have you written the letter, darling?”

Marigold nodded. “Ten thousand pounds, in gold. It will take them a while to get that much, Kit. Could we not settle for less?”

He rounded on his accomplice, snarling. “I am already settling! They owe me their lives!” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly then visibly forced a conciliatory smile. “We will give them time, darling. I have it all planned. You have done a wonderful job, and no one will know where we have gone.”

He turned his attention back to Eleanor, his smile gone. “Now. I can untie you, and you can walk out of here yourself, keeping your mouth shut, and climbing into the carriage like a good little dowager duchess. I will have a gun and a knife on you at all times. I warn you not to make any fuss! I really did like my first plan.”

He sighed. “But I have promised Marigold not to hurt you as long as you behave, so if you cannot give me your solemn promise that you will not attempt to escape or to attract attention, I will just have to knock you out, gag you, and take you out the back door rolled up in a sheet.” His smile was stretching of the teeth without an iota of humour.

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Tea with the Earl of Clarion

[Editor’s note: By 1818, when this scene takes place, Eleanor–last seen in my books as the widowed Duchess of Haverford–has married James and become the Duchess of Winshire]

The Earl of Clarion didn’t have to wait long. The Duchess of Winshire’s current assistant went to notify Her Grace that he had arrived. He had been greeted by a butler dressed as fine as a royal duke, and just as pompous as one, at the entrance to the cavernous Winshire House and handed to a footman who conducted him to the duchess’s apartments. The assistant, one of the succession of Grenford relatives to serve in the role, greeted him cheerfully. She followed other young women related to the duchess’s first husband, most of whom found themselves advantageous marriages while in Her Grace’s service. Care for family was one of the things David admired about the woman—one of the things they had in common.

He bowed to his hostess, formally, only mildly curious as to why he had been summoned. He’d known her since he was a boy, though she had been the Duchess of Haverford, then. His father had a sycophantic friend of Haverford, one of many hangers on in the man’s orbit, puffed up with his own consequence and eager to feed off the duke’s. David had always admired the duchess, however.

They chatted about family, a daughter at last for her second son, Jonathan, whose wife had presented a trio of sons, his sister Madelyn’s recent marriage and the successes of his half-brother Sir Robert Benson. She surprised him then. “I understand another heir has turned up on your doorstep,” she said.

The woman’s intelligence network far surpassed Wellington’s. “You are correct that another young woman has come to my attention. Fanny Hancock is not an heir, alas, but we are trying to do our best for her.”

Ducal eyebrows rose. “Not an heir? I understand she came with, to put this delicately, the family butter stamp.”

David’s father left a scandalous will. He left bequests to a long list of bastards and little to his two legitimate children. All of London knew it. Worse, most of them shared striking red hair, green eyes, and good looks. Fanny was no exception. He had no doubt she was his previously unknown half-sister.

“She was not mentioned in the will. Her claim on the Clarion estate is moral not legal.”

“Well done of you!” The duchess’s warm approval meant the world to Clarion. He’d had little enough of it from his parents. “Bring her to visit sometime.”

“If we can get her to London, I will try. She’s a determined young woman with a mind of her own.” He smiled ruefully. “She wishes to be an author of romance. My steward is attempting to locate suitable lodging for her—a cottage with an office of her own, she has declared, is all she needs.”

“Ah, the very effective Eli Benson. I have no doubt he will succeed.”

David sipped his tea and waited. The duchess appeared to be gathering words. He didn’t have to wait long.

“What do you make of the situation up north? What we hear makes us uneasy,” she said. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well it should, Your Grace. The industrial cities seethe with unrest. The talk is of suffrage—which should be addressed, but carefully in due time—but the underlying issues are economic. Wages have been cut. Again. When a man can’t feed his family, he’s easy prey for the radicals. Liverpool and the cabinet alternately ignore the problem and threaten heavy handed oppression. They—” David looked up and saw her nodding. She knew it all. Of course, she did.

“And you, David? You are an influential member of the ruling party. I’ve read the speeches you give. Have you any interest in the cabinet? Danbury would have you for Home Secretary. He’s an important ally.”

Now she had startled him. “We’ve spoken…” he said tentatively.

“I presume he’s urged you to become more socially active. The way into office has as much to do with the ballroom as the halls of parliament, as you well know. You have to swallow the nonsense if you want the power.”

His heart sank. He heard it before, and he loathed it. “I’ll give it some thought, Your Grace.”

He took his leave moments later. She caught him off guard just as he reached the door. “One more thing, David. A political hostess is what you need most. You must think about remarrying.”

He suppressed his groan until the door closed behind him.

About the Series The Ashmead Heirs

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead.

One sleepy village

One scandalous will

Four tormented heirs

One grew up believing he was the innkeeper’s son. He’s The Wayward Son.

One was left nothing even though she was a legitimate one. She’s The Defiant Daughter

One was left out entirely. She’s the Forgotten Daughter.

One should have inherited it all. Instead he got a bankrupted estate and an empty title. He’s The Upright Son.

 David is The Upright Son. His story comes out in May. Fanny Hancock’s story is The Forgotten Daughter, out just now.

About the Book, The Forgotten Daughter

Frances Hancock always knew she was a bastard. She didn’t know her father was an earl until her mother died. The information came just in time. She and her mother’s younger children were about to be homeless. She needs help. Fast. What she wants is a hero.

Eli Benson, the Earl of Clarion’s steward, took great pride in cleaning up the mess left behind by the old earl’s will. When a dainty but ferocious young woman with the earl’s hair and eyes comes demanding help, his heart sinks. She isn’t in the will. She was forgotten entirely. And the estate is just getting its finances back in order. But he knows a moral obligation when he sees one. He may not be her idea of a hero, but people count on him to fix things. He’s good at it. Falling in love with her will only complicate things.

Eli will solve her problems or die trying. You should never underestimate a quiet hero.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09PGSYJ3Q/

Help Caroline promote this book and be entered to win a prize package.

About the Author

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Website:   http://www.carolinewarfield.com/

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Sunday Spotlight on Before I Found You

A quest for a title. An encounter with a stranger. Will she choose love?

 

Miss Miranda de Courtenay has only one goal in life: to find a rich husband who can change her status from Miss to My Lady. But when a handsome stranger crosses her path at a Valentine’s Day ball, her obsession with titles dims. Might love be enough?

Captain Jasper Rousseau has no plans to become infatuated during a chance encounter at a ball. He has a new ship to run, passengers to book, and cargo to deliver. But one look into a young lady’s beautiful hazel eyes, and he becomes lost. Does love at first sight really exist?

Their paths continue to cross until they are both stranded in Fenwick on Sea. Their growing connection is hard to dismiss, despite Miranda’s childish quest for a title at all cost. But what if the cost includes love?

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

Excerpt

She was not sure what to expect. Being outside alone with a man she did not know was a bold move. If she needed reinforcements, she could easily call out for help, but that would hardly do her reputation any good. It had barely recovered from her last scheme. Society’s memory was short, remembering scandals only until something new came along for them to gossip about—or until something happened to remind them. She couldn’t afford to give them new fodder to chew on.

She could not resist. Miranda took the remaining few steps until she stood next to him, and he rose to his full height, his hair tousled by the evening breeze. She suppressed the urge to push back the lock of hair across his brow that refused to stay in place. Oh my, but the man was tall!

Miranda did not even realize she offered him her hand until he leaned down and kissed the air between her knuckles. His fingers were warm even through the silk of her gloves. How would they feel if her hand was bare? Good heavens! What was coming over her?

“Mademoiselle,” he whispered in a husky French accent, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. His voice was utterly divine!

“Miranda,” she said offering only her first name. It was hardly appropriate, but she did not wish to see his disinterest when he learned she was a “Miss” and not a “Lady”.

Although it might not matter. Many gentlemen present this evening were on the lookout for a well-dowered heiress to enrich their estate. The man before her could be one of them. Even though she could not attach “lady” to her name, she was still wealthy in her own right… or would be when she finally wed.

Love had nothing to do with what really mattered in life—marriage to a husband within the nobility, one with enough wealth to keep her and her children in luxury. Not for her a boring life as a country matron, with nothing to do or to talk about beyond counting sheets and breeding children. She wanted a glittering life as a Society hostess! It would be an adventure. Or so she had always thought, and she would not allow her heart to rule her head.

She bit her bottom lip before she realized she had done so. The man before her could not know it was an automatic reaction when she was worried. She watched his brow arch in surprise before a grin turned up at the corner of his lips.

“Jasper,” he finally replied in return, examining her reaction to his touch. “The evening has become brighter now that you have joined me for a breath of fresh air. Look how the stars above beam in approval that they may gaze down upon you.”

Miranda’s lips twitched at the compliment. Very nice, though she sensed that he used this phrase often. She realized he still held her fingertips and she reluctantly pulled them away before waving her hand towards the crowd inside.

Meet Sherry Ewing:

 

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!

Website & Books: www.SherryEwing.com

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An unexpected hero – My review of The Forgotten Daughter

Seven years ago, I was lucky enough to read across Dangerous Works. I was gripped by Caroline Warfield’s writing style, her characterisation, her plotting, her gentle sense of humour, and the sense that she understood human nature. So when the rest of the Dangerous books arrived, I devoured them all, and discovered something else that made Warfield a one-click automatic preorder author for me.

That discovery has been confirmed in each of the novels, novellas, and short stories to follow. Each of Warfield’s characters, and especially her heroes, is a unique individual. There’s comfort in authors who always write heroes of a particular type. The warrior, protective of his own feelings and of the heroine when he finally falls for her. The rake, drowning his sorrows in wine, women and song until love makes him strong enough to face his fears. The reader knows what to expect, and the best authors make us love him and look forward to his next incarnation in the next book.

Reading Warfield is an adventure. The scholar. The broken warrior intent on suicide by alcohol. The arrogant duke who manipulates people—for their own good. The kind family man. And that’s just the first four books.

The Forgotten Daughter, book 3 in The Ashmead Heirs has, perhaps, the best hero yet.

Eli Benson, steward to the Earl of Clarion, has spent the last few years cleaning up the mess left by his employer’s horrible father and also putting the earl’s estate—neglected by the old man and ravaged by his widow—to rights. He is known as the man who fixes things, but is nobody’s idea of a hero, especially his own.

Frances Hancock is the illegitimate daughter left out of the will in which the old earl sought to punish his legitimate family by leaving everything not entailed to his bastards.

Can Eli fix it? He can, or will die trying.

I fell in love with this unexpected hero. So did Fanny. I’m willing to bet that you will, too. Read The Forgotten Daughter. Read The Ashmead Heirs. Read everything Warfield writes. You’ll be glad you did.

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First kiss on Work-in-progress Wednesday

I’m working on three works in progress at the moment. I thought I’d finish the short (now long short) story today, but not quite. I still need to finish with a kiss. I’ve written their first kiss, though, and here it is. Share yours in the excerpt? (Fictional if you’re an author, or feel free to share a real life one, if you like.

They finished their evening quietly, listening as Mr Barker read from the first chapters of the Gospel according to Luke. After that, it was time for bed. Zahrah and Simon said goodnight to Mr and Mrs Barker at the foot of the stairs, as the older couple’s bedchamber was on the main floor.

Upstairs was under the eaves, with the box room and two little bed chambers. Zahrah paused with her hand on her door handle, reluctant to see the evening end.

Simon was looking up. She followed his gaze with her eyes. A bunch of mistletoe hung from the ceiling. That wasn’t there earlier today. Was it?

Simon looked a question at her. With the sense that she was about to take a leap into the dark, Zahrah stepped up to him and looped her arms around his neck. Now what? She had experience of men attempting to steal a kiss, but none of freely giving and receiving one.

Simon bent his head, going slowly, and softly laid his lips upon hers. She felt the tingle run through her body. She pressed closer, and he deepened the kiss, covering her lips with his own, one hand firmly on her back.

Zahrah’s thoughts scattered. She lost track of her surroundings and everything else except the sensation of Simon’s lips, his tongue sliding across hers, his firm hand anchoring her to his body, his other hand gently caressing one breast.

When he broke the kiss, she stared at him, dazed. He looked no less befuddled.

She leaned towards him again and he pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I hope this means you are open to my courtship,” he murmured. “Or do I need to apologise?”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she scolded. She was recovering a few of her wits. “Courtship, Simon?”

Anxiety flickered in his eyes. “If I do not presume. If you could imagine marrying a tradesman of little fortune and murky birth.”

“Very easily.” If the tradesman in question was Simon. “Yes.”

His anxiety melted into the beginnings of a smile. “You can imagine?”

“Yes, you may court me. But first, kiss me again.”

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Tea with various philanthropic ladies

(This post is an excerpt from Paradise At Last, which I am currently frantically trying to get finished. I hope to publish in March.)

“I did not realise that the Duke of Winshire was a close acquaintance of Mrs Kellwood,” Eleanor commented. An intimate acquaintance? Perhaps. He had certainly emerged from her house well before the usual visiting hours. She wrestled with the hot jealousy that attempted to escape her iron control. It is none of my business. James and I have—had—no understanding. Especially not after…

Henry, Baron Redepenning, leaned closer to the carriage window to watch the couple strolling down the street together, Mrs Kellwood clinging to James’s arm. “They are much in one another’s company at balls and concerts and the like, but I have not heard of an affair,” he said.

Not consoling. If James had taken the woman as a lover, he would be discrete, though leaving by her front door in full daylight was hardly inconspicuous. Did that mean they were not lovers? It is none of your business, Eleanor, she scolded herself.

She had encountered Henry at Chirbury House when she called to collect Frances. Frances had greeted her with enthusiasm, but was less delighted at the idea of returning to Haverford House.

She, Daisy, Antonia, and a couple of other acquaintances had a full timetable of activities planned, “And very little time to complete them all, Aunt Eleanor,” Frances had explained, “since Daisy is leaving London at the end of the week to go back to Gloucestershire. Coming home would mean extra time travelling every day, and I would miss out on all the fun in the evenings. I may stay, may I not?”

And so Eleanor had left without Frances, but with Henry, whom she had offered to drop at the headquarters of the Horse Guard where he had his office, on her way back to Haverford House.

On second thoughts, she might call on a couple of other acquaintances while she was out. Her niece-in-law, Anne Chirbury, had mentioned a few people who were in town, and had talked about the difficulties facing the country-folk with the summer’s poor harvest. And, too, Henry was concerned for the injured and sick soldiers and sailors who were still trickling home from foreign ports after the tragedy that was Waterloo ended the long war with France.

Surely Cedrica Fournier would be home, and she would have a different perspective on the problems facing Londoners, since she lived here year round, and she and her husband owned a successful restaurant.

None of the Winderfield women were in town, though Eleanor would, in any case, be reluctant to call on James’s family without a direct invitation. But Henry had mentioned that the Earl of Hythe had arrived back from Vienna, and his sister, Lady Felicity Belvoir, had co-operated with Eleanor on several philanthropic causes. She could think of one or two others, too.

By the end of the afternoon, she had met with five of the woman she had worked with before, three in high society and two with a firmer finger on the pulse of the merchant ranks of Society. All of them had causes to espouse, and all of them were doing something about it.

“I learned from the best, Aunt Eleanor,” said Cedrica, who was a distant cousin and had once been Eleanor’s secretary. “I see a need and figure out how to bring it to the attention of others, as you taught me.”

The other women repeated variations on the same theme. They credited Eleanor with the inspiration, which was kind of them, but the fact was they were doing very well without her. When they realised she was looking for work, they all suggested roles for her. And all of the roles were minor, and could have been done by anyone.

In penance for her pique at that thought, she accepted them all. At least she would be busy for the few weeks until Haverford and Charlotte returned from Paris, and they all retired to the country.

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Spotlight on The Forgotten Daughter

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead and beyond. One of them was left out. She is the third of The Ashmead Heirs.

Eli may not be her idea of a hero, but he’ll solve her problems or die trying

Frances Hancock always knew she was a bastard. She didn’t know her father was an earl until her mother died. The information came just in time. She and her mother’s younger children were about to be homeless. She needs help. Fast. What she wants is a hero.

Eli Benson, the Earl of Clarion’s steward, took great pride in cleaning up the mess left behind by the old earl’s will. When a dainty but ferocious young woman with the earl’s hair and eyes comes demanding help, his heart sinks. She isn’t in the will. She was forgotten entirely. And the estate is just getting its finances back in order. But he knows a moral obligation when he sees one. He may not be her idea of a hero, but people count on him to fix things. He’s good at it. Falling in love with her will only complicate things.

Eli will solve her problems or die trying. It may come to that.

PREORDER LINK: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09PGSYJ3Q/

Excerpt

Eli dismounted instead of riding around to the stables and climbed up to investigate. The girl, a bit of a thing, didn’t come up to the footman’s shoulder, but she confronted him with a straight back and commanding voice. Though slender, she had the look of someone used to hard work. She wore a plain, rather rumpled gown. He suspected she had been traveling for some time. An unadorned straw bonnet covered her head.

“Is there a problem here John?”

“Aye Mr. Benson. I was explaining to this person—”

“I demand to see the earl,” the chit said at the same time. She had cheek for one so young.

“May I ask your business with the earl?” Eli studied her closely. Her face had character. He’d give her that. Perhaps she was older than she first appeared.

“Who are you?” she asked, fire flashing from her eyes. Her very attractive green eyes… Oh no.

“Show some respect, girl,” John said. “This is Mr. Benson, the steward. I’ve been telling you—Mr. Benson will see to whatever it is. The earl isn’t here.”

“Steward, is it? Then you’ll have to help me.” Disappointment inched across her face driving the determination to the side, but not away. She glared up at the footman.

“I’ll deal with this, John. Please care for my horse,” Eli said.

She bounded past John into the foyer where she came to an abrupt halt, wide eyes taking in the magnificence that was Clarion Hall’s entrance: the parquet floors, the marble mantle, the gleaming banister curving upward beside carpeted stairs…

She spun toward Eli, that fire raging in her eyes. “The earl will help me. He has to.”

She pulled the ribbon on her bonnet and took it off, shaking her head and loosening a fall of hair. Glorious auburn hair… Oh no.

Eli’s peace had just been upended by a problem—one cursed with Caulfield hair and Caulfield eyes. One encased in the dainty body of a beautiful young woman with the heart of a warrior.

Damn.

Meet Caroline Warfield

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Website:   http://www.carolinewarfield.com/

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Caroline’s Other Books

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Caroline-Warfield/e/B00N9PZZZS/

Bookshelf               http://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

A Dangerous Nativity, a novella prequel to both her Children of Empire and Dangerous Series is available for free at:

Barnes&Noble   Kobo   Amazon  Smashwords

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Bridal encouragement in a bouquet

Who knew? I am writing a wedding at the moment, and I wondered whether brides carried a bridal bouquet in the Regency. They did, but not as we know it. The fashion for carrying only flowers began after the Regency. The original bridal bouquet comprised herbs – especially smelly herbs, or herbs that were considered to have a beneficial impact on the married couple. Garlic, dill, thistles, and ivy, anyone?

Dill was particularly important at a wedding. It was considered to – let us say – heat the humours. Particularly useful on the wedding night; both bride and groom ate the dill from the bouquet at the wedding breakfast.

By the Regency, garden flowers were being poked into the bouquet among the herbs, and in Victorian times, they (mostly) dropped the herbs.

***

Here’s my wedding, or, rather, Arial’s and Peter’s.

This was an evening of firsts for Arial. Dressing with the help of her new sisters. Examining her own reflection in the mirror and being pleased with what she saw. Making her appearance at the top of the stairs and seeing awe and admiration in the eyes of Peter and his friend, Captain Forsythe. And a darker emotion on the faces of the Weatherall ladies, but one she’d never expected to attract.

Perhaps it was bad of her, but their jealousy pleased rather than bothered her. If anyone had told her a week ago that she would look good enough to cause a petty-minded Society beauty to regard her with envy, she would not have believed them.

She smiled at them as she walked slowly past them on her way to where Peter stood before the vicar. They had come prepared to bestow pity, of course. How disappointed they must be.

With them behind her, she put them out of her mind. This was her evening, and she would not allow the Weatheralls to spoil it for her.

Her heart warmed and a lump came to her throat as Peter stepped to one side and held his hand out for her. His left hand. Her sighted side. She handed her wedding bouquet—made for her by her new sisters with herbs and flowers from the market—to Angelica, and gave her right hand to Peter.

Another first. Her wedding. She had been damaged too young to have begun to dream of one, and had been too realistic to allow such dreams to take root as she became a woman. And since Mr Richards had proposed his scheme, she had been focused on selecting a candidate and on reaching an agreement that gave her the best chance of a reasonable life. The wedding had not been a consideration.

But here she was. Exchanging smiles with the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and about to join her life to his forever.

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” asked the vicar.

“I give myself,” Arial declared, and Peter’s grip firmed as his smile widened.

Miss Weatherall whispered loudly, “Is that even legal?” and Captain Forsythe shushed her.

The vicar looked a little disconcerted for a moment, and then nodded

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Up and Rolling in Two 22

I’m trying to keep all my balls in the air while maintaining a work-life balance

Happy New Year! It has been a couple of peculiar years in a row. A global pandemic is not necessarily the best time to sell our home of 20 years, move to another town, buy a new house, and do a complete renovation inside and out. By the time I published To Tame the Wild Rake in September, I was weary to the bone. The plot elves hung on for a few weeks to see a novella finished for the next Bluestocking Belles (with Friends) anthology, and then packed up to begin an early holiday.

How did your 2021 end? And how has it started?

For me, the holiday is over. We saw the last tradesman finish his work just before Christmas. Since then, we’ve almost finished all of the tasks we’d set out to do ourselves, but the pressure is off and we can set our own pace. On the story front, the plot elves are back and so am I.

I’m starting back into my regular blogging schedule, so check back here on Monday’s for Tea with Duchess of Haverford, on Wednesdays for an excerpt from one of my works in progress, on Fridays for snippets from my research and on Sundays for my news or book news from other authors. Do check out my I love guest authors page if you’d like to appear on my blog or in my newsletter.

I have three works-in-progress on the go, and I’ve others lined up to pick from when I finish any of those. I’m signed up for several more anthologies, and also for some stories in series with other authors. And I’ve started a new series of my own (more about that later).

Paradise at Last, which suffered when the plot elves decamped, is one of those works. I hope to have it finished and ready for ARC within the next week. Here’s a sneak peek. The scene is between Eleanor and her son, just before Christmas in 1815.

She owed her son an apology. She had already acknowledged her wrong-doing to Cherry, and been forgiven. But how could she tell her son of her remorse when he avoided her, and spoke to her only with distant politeness?

She would have to ask him for a private audience, but before she nerved herself to do so, he made the request himself. She followed him to the library, and allowed him to close the door behind them.

“Haverford, I have apologised for interfering between you and Cherry, but I would like to do so again. I have known all along that I was wrong to go privately to Cherry as I did. You are adults, and I should have said what I thought to both of you and trusted you to make your own decision. I am truly sorry for the distress I caused you.”

Haverford opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Eleanor put up a hand to stop him. “I have a second apology to make, Haverford. Watching you and Cherry together in the past week shows me that I was wrong again—wrong to believe that your love for Cherry was less deep than hers for you. Wrong to think that you would fall out of love once you had achieved your prize. All I ever wanted was for both of you to be happy. You are perfect for one another, and I shudder to think how close I came to preventing that happiness.”

For a moment, Haverford said nothing, his mouth hanging slightly open as if the words he’d planned to say had dissolved on his tongue. Then he gave a slight shake of his head. “Thank you, Mama.”

“I will never interfere again,” Eleanor promised. Perhaps that was a bit rash. “At least, I will try my very best.”

Haverford’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes. “I shall not ask such a sacrifice, Mama. Both Cherry and her mother have pointed out what a marvelous gift you have for interfering, as you call it. All I ask is that you consult us first on any plans you have that involve us and that you promise not to proceed without our agreement.”

Eleanor’s eyes were wet. She blinked to clear them. “I can promise that,” she agreed.

His smile broadened. “Come on, Mama. We have a house to decorate.”

He offered her his hand to help her rise, and his elbow to escort her back to the ballroom, just in time to see a footman moving a ladder away from the arched doorway. A kissing ball hung in the middle of the arch. Cherry stood looking up at it, and she glanced their way and smiled to see them together.

Haverford put his arm around Eleanor, reached up for a mistletoe berry, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I love you, Mama,” he told her. “Merry Christmas.”

And it was.