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Fortune hunters and other reasons for marriage on WIP Wednesday

In the following excerpt, the hero of my secret project is meeting with his solicitor, who is proposing a marriage of convenience with a wealthy woman. It’s a common trope in romance, and of course, they will fall in love. Do you have an excerpt where the couple marry for reasons other than that they are in love? Please share it in the comments.

His solicitor leaned forward a little, his eyes intent on Peter. “Another of my clients has commissioned me to find her a husband, Lord Ransome. Her need is urgent and imperative.”

An obvious reason for haste occurred. “Pregnant, is she? I’ve no wish to make someone else’s son my heir, Richards.”

“No, my lord. My client is a lady and a maiden. I am authorised to explain her reasons, but only if you agree to consider the marriage. The lady does not wish her identity to be known or her circumstances to be discussed except with the candidates for her hand.”

Peter’s brows twitched upwards. “Candidates? I am not the only person to whom you are putting this proposition?”

“The lady commissioned me to select candidates and send them to her for interview, my lord. She will make the final decision.” He nodded, firmly. “After all, she will live with the results.”

“She, and her chosen groom,” Peter pointed out. “I wish the lady well, Richards, but I am not minded to sell myself in such a way.”

Richards set his jaw, examining the blotter on his desk as if it contained some secret he could interpret if he stared for long enough. “You will forgive me, my lord, if I point out that your other choices are untenable. You have cut your outgoings to the bone, and yet you will still not have sufficient money to pay the mortgages when they fall due, let alone the other more pressing debts.”

Peter protested, “You advised me not to let staff go nor to begin selling off everything that is not entailed!”

Richards nodded. “I advised you not to frighten your creditors by behaving as if you were insolvent. You and I needed time to come to terms with what might be done. But, my lord, you are insolvent. I must change my advice. If you will not consider an advantageous marriage, then you must make haste to sell whatever you can.”

“It won’t be enough!”

“No, my lord.” Richards sat back in his seat, his hands in front of him on the desk, keeping his gaze steady.

“I daresay I could find an heiress on my own.” He had a little time, surely? The mortgages were not due until next quarter day, and Richards could continue to put his creditors off a little longer.

The solicitor tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Yes, my lord. A wealthy merchant’s daughter, perhaps.”

Peter sighed. “You think I am cutting off my nose to spite my face. Very well, Richards. I will consider your lady. Tell me why I should agree to be one of the supplicants for her favour.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought of being interviewed by the would-be bride, like a footman or a groom anxious to win a position.

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Tea with Ruth, Countess of Ashbury

The new Countess of Ashbury was the Duchess of Haverford’s only guest today. She was shown out to the terrace where her grace sat taking the sunshine while looking over the gardens that sloped to the river. Her curtsey was gracefulness incarnate, and her looks not at all in the common way, but stunning.

“Your Grace, thank you for your invitation,” she said.

Eleanor waved to the chair that had been placed next to her own, and at an angle to it so that she could keep her eyes on her visitor’s face. “My goddaughter Sophia encouraged me to do so, Lady Ashbury. She tells me you have a charitable project that I might be interested in supporting. But first, let us have tea and talk about our families and the weather.”

Lady Ashbury’s amused smile flashed. “I shall feel very English,” she said.

She stated her preferences—black, with a slice of lemon and one lump of sugar–and accepted the cup Eleanor poured. “I have not thanked you in person for your influence in the matter of my sister-in-law, and the scandal she tried to raise,” she said.

Eleanor never did anything so crass as shrugging her shoulders, but she allowed her eyebrows to do so. “You blunted the worst of the rumours when you married Lord Ashbury,” she pointed out. “You are happy, I hope? Sophia tells me it is a love match.”

The glow in Lady Ashbury’s eyes, the softening of her voice, all confirmed the diagnosis. “Yes, Your Grace. I love Val, and I love his–our daughters. We would have come to it in the end, I believe. Elspeth Ashbury did us a favour by forcing us to decide sooner, rather than later.”

“Tell me about your daughters,” Eleanor encouraged. “Lady Mirabelle and Lady Genevieve, are they not?”

Ruth needed no further encouragement, extolling the talents and characters of her girls while they drank their tea. However, when Eleanor put her cup aside, she brought her current anecdote to a close, and commented, “But I have been rattling on about my family, which is hardly good manners, Your Grace. Will you further extend your kindness to me by allowing me to rattle on about my cottage hospital instead?”

“A cottage hospital! How interesting. Please tell me more.”

***

Ruth is the heroine of To Mend the Broken Hearted. She meets the Earl of Ashbury when she delivers his two daughters to him after they are sent home from school during a smallpox epidemic. By To Claim the Long-Lost Lover, she is running the cottage hospital mentioned above.

 

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Spotlight on The Journey of Love

Sometimes it takes getting lost to truly find one’s way home.

What happens when a blazing hot Brayden hero matches wits with a strong-willed Farthingale heroine and the mysterious Book of Love?

Camellia Farthingale, the youngest of the Devonshire Farthingale sisters, wants nothing to do with London and the Marriage Mart. However, she has agreed to go along with her sisters, Juniper and Willow, preferring to face the ordeal of a society debut with them rather than alone. But now her sisters have found love, and Cammy is on her own after all. She cannot go to London and runs away, for she harbors a secret she dares not tell anyone, not even Lorcan Brayden, the man charged with bringing her home. She has taken the Book of Love with her as she fled, but while reading it in quiet moments, she realizes that sometimes it takes running away to find the courage to face one’s fears. And that in pledging her heart to Lorcan she has found the strength to stand on her own.

Lorcan Brayden has been charged with finding Cammy and delivering her safely to London. He is determined to fulfill his mission since he is one of the Crown’s best agents and this is what he is trained to do. But he soon realizes there is more to Cammy’s fears than making her society debut. There is a killer waiting for her in London and she is the only one who can identify him. Lorcan has fallen in love with Cammy and will never let anyone hurt her. But even with all his training and prowess, can he protect the woman he loves? Especially as Cammy gains the courage to stand on her own?

Not every journey is measured in miles. Join Lorcan and Cammy as they take their Journey of Love.

Buy link: https://bit.ly/TheJourneyOfLove

 

 

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Announcing the Grand Prize winner

 

Congratulation to Zara

Zara’s name was drawn from nearly six hundred entries in the draw. She has won a print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady, a US$50 Amazon gift card, a personal card from me posted from New Zealand, and a made-to-order story.  Zara got to decide on one character, one object, and a story trope. She has asked for a spirited heroine that is loyal to those she loves, adores animals and books. Her object is a locket, and the story trope is friends to lovers.  I’m looking forward to coming up with something that uses those ingredients.

Thank you to all the people who entered. I hope you’ve had fun. I certainly have. And I think we can agree that Aldridge’s happy-ever-after has been well and truly celebrated.

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Where does the story start–WIP Wednesday

Sometimes, the start comes first. Sometimes, I write my way towards it. Sometimes, I have to go back and tack one on when the book is nearly done. How about you? Do you have a work-in-progress beginning to share? My excerpt is from the story I’m putting in next week’s newsletter. It’s called The Abduction of Lydia Fernhill, and is not exactly a romance.  (If you don’t get my newsletter, subscribe now for this and other exclusive stories.

In the village of Pluffington-on-Memmerbeck, the old folks still remember Lydia Fernhill’s wedding. How could they forget when the little ones still beg for the story? There they are, all wide eyed, when night draws in and the fire sinks low, and bedtime beckons. “Please, Granny (or Gaffer, as the case may be), tell us the story of the stolen bride?”

And Granny (or, as it might be, Gaffer) will tell what they witnessed with their own eyes, though how much the story was shaped by each onlooker, and how much it has grown with time, who can tell?

Certainly, it differs from house to house. So much so that Peggy Whitlow has not spoken to Maggie Cutler in ten years since they came to hair-pulling and scratching when they were only nine over whether the white rider was an angel or the elf king. And many a promising pugilist has got his start in a dusty lane defending the honour of Miss Lydia from the accusation that she planned the whole thing.

Still, every child in the village knows the essence of the tale. The bride, plain, pale-faced and drooping. The groom with his face set like stone. The bride’s uncle chivvying them up the aisle. Then the north transept doors crashing open (some say exploding, but if so, someone did a good job of repair, for there they are today for any child to see, ancient oak, worn by time).

The storytellers agree on the troop of riders. Did they trot or gallop or merely walk in through the great doors?

They were beautiful, all make that clear, and the man (or angel or devil or elf-king) at their head was the loveliest of all. Dressed in white, crowned in gold, with long flowing locks. Jewels glittering from rings and brooches and even the cuffs of his boots. A long cloak (or perhaps wings) streaming behind him.

The old folks are in unison again on the bride’s reaction. “She came alive,” says Granny Smithers. “Straightened. Smiled with such joy that she looked beautiful for the first time in her life, poor lady.”

The rider, without stopping, stretched out his hand and Miss Lydia reached up and took it, put her foot on his in the stirrup, and was riding into the south transept before the groom had picked up his dropped jaw.

Some say he stood there, frozen. Some that he tried to drag her down and was shouldered aside by the following riders. However it might have been, the southern doors opened as mysteriously as those to the north, and closed behind the riders. “With a loud bang, and open they would not, not for all the trying in the world.”

Somehow, all the doors of the church had been closed and jammed. By the time someone had thought to put Gaffer Parslow, who at the time had been a skinny lad of ten, out the vestry window, so he could run around and remove the branch that had been shoved through the handles of the nearest doors, the riders were long gone.

Which proves, say some, that the invaders were human. Surely supernatural beings would have used magic, not branches. Others scoff, and point to the fact that Miss Lydia Fernhill had disappeared without a trace, never to be seen again. But whether to heaven or hell or to the land of Fairie, none of them can tell.

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Spotlight on To Follow My Heart

To Follow My Heart: Book 3 of The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time

by Sherry Ewing

FREE FOR A LIMITED TIME

Jenna Sinclair is dealing with a horrendous break up with her fiancé when she finds herself pulled through time to twelfth century England. Fletcher Monroe has spent too much time pining away for a woman who will never be his until a strangely clad woman magically appears. Torn between the past and the present, will their growing love survive a journey through Time?

“A treat for time-travel buffs, “To Follow My Heart” is a well-written tale that will engage readers with its originality.”
And
“The turning-of-the-tables in this tale provide the endearing qualities authors strive for. ” 4 ½ Stars and a crowned heart! Read the full review in the June 2017 issue of InD’Tale Magazine.

Learn more on Sherry’s website at https://sherryewing.com/books/to-follow-my-heart/

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/u/mdj0Xb

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Courtship on WIP Wednesday

This week, I’m thinking about courtship. The project I’m working on at the moment (I’m not quite ready to talk about it, but watch this space) doesn’t have the common sort of courtship, but for this week’s post, I’m happy to see anything you want to share in the comments. Courtship before marriage. Courtship after marriage. Charming, funny, serious, inept–whatever you like.

Here’s a bit from my secret project.

The first candidate disqualified himself within ten minutes of being shown into the little parlour off the entrance hall that Arial was using for these interviews.

The hint of condescension in his manner grated from the first. He won no points with his answer to her question about what he wanted from this marriage—her money to put into the businesses his father had mismanaged, so that he could sell them as going concerns and live a life of leisure like a gentleman should.

He topped his dismal performance by announcing that he would need to renegotiate some terms of her proposed marriage settlement, because woman were not clever enough to keep control over their own money, and was astounded and not a little annoyed when Arial thanked him for his time and told him she did not think they would suit.

The second was courteous and charming. His father, an earl, had shot himself after losing everything in a speculation, and he sought marriage to an heiress as a way of relieving his older brother of responsibility of providing for him and his three younger sisters. “Buck can bring the estates back to solvency if he has only himself to worry about,” he explained.

That wasn’t quite what Arial was hoping for when she asked what he wanted from marrying her, but at least his answer was not entirely self-serving. She continued the interview. He would do, she thought. He had no complaint about the financial arrangements she was insisting upon. His comment on her continuing to manage her business and investment interests was that he couldn’t understand why she wanted to, but he had no intention of interfering with her life.

That was slightly disconcerting—surely a husband and wife should interfere at least a little with one another’s life? She had hoped for someone who would be in some sense, at least, a partner; perhaps a friend.

Which brought her to the vexed question of children. Or, to be more precise (though only in her own mind) to the consummation of the marriage.

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FINAL WEEK: Celebrating To Tame the Wild Rake week 6

Sixth and final contest over. Congratulations to Mary, our winner for week six. Grand prize announced tomorrow.

Week six contest

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sixth week prize is:

  • an ecopy of a title from my backlist of books (winner’s choice)
  • a face mask in history themed fabric from RegencyStylebySusana
  • an ecopy of the Bluestocking Belles collection Fire & Frost

Grand prize for the full six weeks

Each entry also gets you a place in the draw for the Grand Prize, to be drawn in six weeks.

  • A $50 gift voucher, provided I can organise for it to be purchased in your country of origin
  • A print copy of To Wed a Proper Lady
  • A personal card signed by me and sent from New Zealand
  • A made to order story — the winner gives me a recipe (one character, a plot trope, and an object). I write the story and the winner gets an ecopy three months before I do anything else with it, and their name in the dedication once I publish.

This week’s discount is 99c for A Raging Madness

Runs from 28th September to 7 October

Available at this price from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07111TCLR/

or from my SELZ bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/a-raging-madness-book-2-of-the-golden-redepennings

This week’s giveaway at my SELZ bookshop is Lost in the Tale.

Runs from 21st September to 7 October. Pick up from my bookshop: https://judeknight.selz.com/item/lost-in-the-tale

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 21

Epilogue

Winshire House, London, January 1813

Eleanor had not visited her friends in Winshire House in nearly a year; had not seen them since they quit London in July, after the series of attacks on the family.

Today, she was going to ignore the prohibitions of the despot who ruled her family. He was convalescing in Kent, and would be away for at least another month. By the time he found out that she had made a condolence call on Grace and Georgie, it would be far too late for him to stop her. She hoped to see her goddaughter, too, who had married James’s eldest son just before the turn of the year, a day before the Duke of Winshire died.

At first, she had thought to go on her own, but Matilda and Jessica wanted to express their sympathies to Georgie’s daughters, who had been their friends since the cradle. Rather, they seized on the excuse to visit with the girls, whom they had sorely missed during the feud between Haverford and Winshire. No one could possibly imagine that anyone in the Winshire family actually mourned the sour old man who had just died.

Since she was going for precisely the same reason, she agreed, and then Aldridge announced that he planned to escort them. “When I am duke, Mama, I hope that the new Winshire and I will be able to work together, and I like what I’ve seen of his sons.”

In the end, they all went, late in the afternoon. Only Jon was missing. A month ago, he had sailed from Margate in Aldridge’s private yacht, and just this morning, a package had been delivered by a weary sailor, with a report from Aldridge’s captain for the marquis, and a brief note from Jon for his mother. “Married. Safe. More news later.” Aldridge grinned at the scrawled words. “Jon has landed on his feet again, Mama,” he told her. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know how he always manages to do that!”

The Winshire drawing room was crowded, of course, but the Haverfords were invited to remove themselves to a private parlour, where their hostesses joined them after the other visitors had completed the polite fifteen minutes and been shown out.

“Do stay for refreshments,” Grace begged, and before long Lord Andrew Winderfield had carried Aldridge off for a game of billiards, the girls from both families had gone up to the twins’ little sitting room, and the older ladies settled in to catch up on all that had happened in their lives while they had been separated.

James joined them part way through the conversation, staying when his sister assured him he was not intruding. I did not come to see him. Of course, she had not. And yet, here he was and she felt herself turn towards him, a sunflower to his sun. She hoped her reaction was hidden from her friends. Thank goodness, my all-too-perceptive son is out of the room.

The new Duke of Winshire. Had my father accepted his offer for my hand, I would still have become a duchess, in the end. And there would be no Aldridge. No Jonathan. Perhaps none of the charities she had brought into existence out of her own urge to make the world an easier place for women.

David would still exist, if his grandfather had not beaten him to death in childhood. He’d been conceived before the Duke of Haverford even set eyes on Eleanor.

None of James’s wonderful children, though.

Perhaps Matilda, Jessica, and Frances might have been born, too, though who knew whether they would have survived and what they might have become without her intervention.

As if her thought had conjured them up, the girls came back into the room, and immediately, the Winderfield girls began telling their elders about “Aunt Eleanor’s house party to support women’s education.”

“Matilda and Jessica have been telling us all about it, Papa,” the elder of James’s daughters told him, perching on the arm of his chair and leaning trustingly against his shoulder. “I want to help girls who want to acquire medical knowledge. What do you think, Papa?”

James looked past his daughter to smile warmly at Eleanor. “Your wards are powerful advocates of your cause, Your Grace.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Ruth, it is your money to invest. Perhaps you could fund a scholarship?”

The others broke in with objections about finding teachers, and strategies for overcoming that obstacle. Eleanor sat quietly in the warmth of James’s smile. Yes, they could be friends. It would be enough. And the charities she had sponsored as Duchess of Haverford would be in safe hands for the next generation. What wonderful daughters her three were.

THE END

(But, as you all know, heroines deserve a happy ending, as since Eleanor is not yet happy, it is not the end. Watch out for Paradise at Last, the final novella in the three that tell the story of the mountain king and the duchess who loved him.

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Spotlight on Highland Hope

Highland Hope

Of Mist and Mountains, Book 1

By Julie Johnstone

Release date 9/28/21

Sometimes the one you love is the very one you cannot have.

Lady Eve Sotherby dreams of escaping her horrid life in England, yet she has nowhere to run. So when she spies a posting for a companion in the Highlands, she seizes the chance to disappear. She’s heard tales about the barbaric Highlanders, of course, but no one can be worse than the beast she once foolishly agreed to wed. And never mind that she doesn’t meet any of the requirements for the position: must have no family, must love the cold, and must know the healing arts. Her depraved relations hardly qualify as family, she’ll wear a shawl, and how hard can it be to learn medicinal ways?

Laird Royce MacLeod rules the fiercest clan in the Highlands with an iron fist, but his two children are another matter. Since the death of his wife, they’ve grown quite unruly. Too busy with his clan duties to tend to them himself, he needs someone with both a spine of steel and a kind heart to subdue them. What he does not need—or want—is to get entangled with a woman who desires anything related to soft emotions from him. So when a mysterious woman appears at his holding showing the sort of mettle he requires, he takes her on, despite her two major flaws: she’s English and she’s beautiful.

Soon, Eve finds herself yearning for the one thing her past prevents her from ever having—the honorable but brooding Highlander. And the Scot who was certain he desired only order and obedience cannot explain the undeniable pull to the chaos and warmth Eve brings to his home. But the more they deny their feelings, the more impossible they become to resist, and when enemies and secrets threaten, Eve and Royce may only survive by surrendering to true love. If only it’s not too late…

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09FP5D7VP

B&N – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/highland-hope-julie-johnstone/1140141838?ean=2940162263289

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/highland-hope/id1584913617

Google Play – https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=I3k_EAAAQBAJ

Excerpt

Eve had never been down to the waterfront village at night. It was quite different from the bustle of the daytime when the village was crowded with vendors hocking their wares. No shouts filled the air trying to get her to purchase something, and she wasn’t being constantly bumped into in the thick of the crowd.

The salt blew on the cool breeze from the water. She could taste it on her tongue, and a dampness still permeated the air, making her skin slick and her hair wave around her shoulders. She followed Alban down the cobbled street that danced with shadows cast from the moon and the candlelight that flooded out of the taverns as they passed. Bursts of noise—merry laughter, raucous singing, and the buzzing of voices raised in conversation—came from the multiple taverns, but Alban’s clipped pace did not allow her to catch a glimpse of the people inside.

His boots clopped on the cobblestones as they walked, and Eve found herself wishing she’d worn sturdier shoes than her thin slippers. The bottoms of her feet stung, but she did not fall behind. This could be her only chance to escape. Alban came to a sudden stop in front of a tavern on the corner across from the water. Music floated out of the establishment, as well as the smell of freshly baked bread. Eve’s stomach growled in response.

Alban pointed to the row of tents in the distance. “That’s the Summer Walkers’ camp.” People scurried in front of the six tents, and at the end of the row, it appeared that two shelters had already been dismantled to leave the area as Frederick had ordered. “The one on the end is the seer. That’s who you want.”

Eve glanced at the tent that sat slightly apart from the others. The flogging pole in front of it—where people were punished when they annoyed Frederick—obscured the view of the opening flap, but candlelight spilled from the shelter onto the cobbled path. Eve counted two people standing in line to undoubtedly have their fortunes read. “You’re not coming with me?” she asked, trying not to sound hopeful that he wouldn’t. If she was alone and they agreed to take the egg as payment to help her escape, then perhaps she could flee now if Alban was preoccupied.

When he shook his head, Eve pressed her lips together on the relieved breath she wanted to exhale and counted her blessings. “I don’t like seers,” he said. “So I’ll be right inside the Black Mule attending to my needs.”

She knew from his earlier comment about a wench what he meant, and she hoped he found one, so he’d forget Eve altogether. “Very well,” she said. She started to turn away, but his hand clasped around her wrist. When she faced him once more, he narrowed his eyes upon her.

“Return straight here after your reading, my lady. I don’t need to remind you of the one time you tried to escape, do I?”

She shook her head as a strong wind suddenly blew, as if to remind her of when she nearly froze to death. “No. I’m well aware I would freeze in this weather.”

“You would,” he confirmed, still clasping her wrist. “And in case you were inclined to chance your life, I feel snow coming.”

She frowned. “How can you feel snow coming?”

“The air is heavier tonight, the wind sharper. Snow will be upon us by morning. Get your reading and return. I’m granting you this favor, but don’t mistake it for friendship. I’m your guard, and if you disappeared, mine would be the head my lord would be inclined to remove. So be certain, I’d pursue you to keep my life, and you’d need to run so far and disappear so completely that you’d never be found. Because if you were found, I’d bring you back.”

She got the strangest feeling he almost wanted her to try to escape and was warning her what she would need to do to prevent him or one of Frederick’s other men from finding her, but that was ridiculous. Why would he want to aid her now? She licked her lips. “I’ll return straight after my reading.”

Alban nodded. “I had a sister,” he said suddenly. “She died not two days ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eve said.

“You reminded me of her when I came upon you in my lord’s room. She had hair the same moonbeam color as yours, and Malbec beat her, as well.”

“Was your sister wed to Malbec?”

“She was. And she wasn’t blessed with a child, either.” Alban eyed her knowingly and released her wrist. He reached up to his neck, unclasped his heavy cloak, and settled it on her shoulders. “So you don’t catch a chill while we’re out here.”

Her jaw slackened at the undeniable truth then. He was trying to aid her in escaping, and tears pricked her eyes. She’d been alone in a land of cruel strangers for so long, and here, on the very night she was hoping to flee, she’d found kindness. “Alban, I—”

“Make haste, my lady. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

 

Meet Julie Johnstone

Julie Johnstone is a USA Today and #1 Amazon bestselling author. Scottish historical romance, Regency historical romance, and historical time travel romance featuring highlanders, aristocrats, and modern-day bad billionaire bad boys are her love, and she enjoys creating both with a hefty dose of twists, plenty of heartstring tugs, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Her books have been dubbed “fabulously entertaining and engaging,” making readers cry, laugh, and swoon. Johnstone lives in Alabama with her two children – the heir and the spare, her snobby cat, and her perpetually happy dog.

In her spare time she enjoys way too much coffee balanced by hot yoga, reading, and traveling.

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