by

Tea with a prospective mistress

In this excerpt post from A Baron for Becky, Her Grace is looking out for her son. Poor Becky.

The Duchess of Haverford had been visiting friends in Cirencester and was on her way to call on a goddaughter in Bath. “You will remember Polly, Anne, dear. She married the Viscount Sudding. And she has been delivered of a son, which is such a relief for the family. Three daughters, you know, and the cousin a very odd man. One would not want him to inherit. And she is still young, so there may be more.”

The thought clearly reminded her of her own offspring. “Rede, I had such a comfortable coze with Aldridge today.” Aldridge was seated on the floor at her feet, and she patted his cheek lovingly. “I had no idea you were here, darling. So pleased. I thought you and your friend, Lord Overton, had gone off to a party somewhere.”

“Overton returned home, Mama,” Aldridge told her. They had separated in London two months ago, after Overton read Aldridge a lecture on his drinking, refusing to ‘follow him to perdition.’  Overton headed back north to his estate, his wife, and his stepdaughters, and Aldridge rambled from house party to house party. “His wife is in expectation of a happy event.”

“How lovely! Lord Overton was at school with Aldridge, my dears. You remember, Rede. Such a nice boy. Injured in the war, you know, then came home to inherit the barony.”

She patted her son’s cheek again. “He has settled down nicely since he wed. Aldridge quite misses him, do you not, my love?”

“He is staid and boring.”

“And a new baby,” the Duchess continued, taking no notice. “How lovely.”

Aldridge shifted from under his mother’s hand, and got to his feet. “Perhaps Mrs Darling would play for us. Would you be so kind?”

Rose nodded, taking the message from the abrupt change of subject. His Lordship’s friend was not a topic to be discussed in front of a mistress, however expensive.

Her Grace watched her son thoughtfully as he arranged music for Rose, then turned pages for her. “You play beautifully, my dear,” she said, when Rose returned to her seat.

“Simple things, Your Grace,” Rose said. “I fear anything difficult is beyond me.”

“You do well, my dear, to know your limits and stay within them,” the duchess replied, her grave look giving the words another layer of meaning.

By the time dinner was called, Rose knew where Aldridge came by his conversational dexterity. The duchess swooped, with butterfly ease, from family to family, throughout the ton, and up and down society. Her Grace, it seemed, knew everybody in England, was related to half of them, and was godmother to the other half.

The addition of a duchess to the table did not change the informality with which they dined, and the conversation ranged freely around the table. Her Grace had news of Lady Chirbury’s sister, Kitty, who had been staying with her in London. “Dear Kitty; she is meant to be refreshing her winter wardrobe, but she and Mia will be spending their pin money on music and books, I dare say.” And she had spent half an hour with the nursery party. “Your Sarah is such a pretty child, Mrs Darling. And lovely manners.”

After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the great parlour, leaving the two men to the port.

“I am travelling in the morning, so will go up to bed,” the duchess announced. “Mrs Darling, perhaps you would give me a few moments of your time?”

“Be nice, aunt,” warned Lady Chirbury, making Rose even more nervous. The duchess gave an enigmatic smile and led the way upstairs.

“Leave us, dear,” she said to the maid who was standing ready by the bed. “I shall ring when I want you.” She took a chair by the fire and waved Rose to the other.

“Do not look so nervous, Mrs Darling. I do not intend to bite you.”

Rose blushed scarlet. Aldridge had promised to bite her, and had explained exactly where. No. She must not think of that. She sat, as commanded.

“Mrs Darling, you were raised gentry, were you not?”

Rose nodded, cautiously. Where was the duchess going with this?

“The manners, the speech, the accomplishments—they can all be taught, of course. But one who has learned them from the cradle…” Her Grace waved a hand as if to flick away counterfeits.

“The usual story, I imagine? Seduction or rape? And no father to defend your honour?”

“My father…” Rose swallowed hard to remove the lump that closed her throat at the memories. “My father was a librarian. He took the part of his employer.”

“Ah.” Her Grace nodded. “And the employer was the cause of your downfall. Or his son, perhaps?”

“His son,” Rose confirmed. His sons, in fact, but she would not say that.

“And Sarah was the…?”

“No, Your Grace. Sarah… came later.”

“Mr. Darling?”

“There was no Mr. Darling,” Rose admitted.

The maid must have added a fresh log to the fire just before they arrived. The top was still uncharred, but flames licked up from the bed of hot embers. A twig that jutted from one side suddenly flared, turned black, and shrivelled. The bottom of the log began to glow red.

The duchess spoke again, startling Rose out of her flame-induced trance.

“What do you want for your daughter, Mrs Darling?”

“A better life,” Rose said immediately, suddenly fierce. “A chance to be respectable. A life that does not depend on the whims of a man.”

“The first two may be achievable,” the duchess said, dryly. “The third is highly unlikely for any woman of any station. You expect my son to help you to these goals, I take it.”

Rose was suddenly tired of polite circling. “I was saving so that I could leave this life, start again in another place under another name. But my last protector cheated me and stole from me.

“I do what I must, Your Grace. Should I have killed myself when I was disgraced? I had no skills anyone wanted to buy. I could play the piano, a little; sew, but others were faster and better; paint, but indifferently; parse a Latin sentence, but of what use was that in my circumstances? Should I have starved in the gutter where they threw me?

“Well, I was not given that choice. Those who took me from the gutter knew precisely what I had that others would pay for. As soon as I could, I began selling it for myself, and I. Will. Not. Be. Ashamed.”

Her vehemence did not ruffle the duchess’s calm. “We all do what we must, my dear. I am not judging you. Men have the power in this world, and women of the gentry are raised to depend on them for our survival. But you must know that Aldridge cannot offer marriage to a woman with your history.”

The mere thought startled a laugh out of Rose. Marriage had never crossed Aldridge’s mind. Of that she was certain. “His Lordship has offered me a two-year contract as his mistress,” she said, “with very favourable terms. If I accept, and if I save carefully, I will never need to take a protector again.”

“Two years!” The duchess arched a delicate eyebrow. “Aldridge seldom keeps a mistress beyond six months. He must be utterly besotted.”

“He has no thought of marriage,” Rose found herself reassuring the duchess. “And neither do I. I like him, but do not love him, and I think only love could make marriage tolerable.”

It was only partly true. She could easily fall in love with Aldridge… was, perhaps, beginning to do so already. That way, she knew, led to heartache, for the duchess was right. Aldridge would never offer her marriage, or even permanence.

The duchess nodded, decisively. “You are wise. I think you will be good for him, Mrs Darling—which is a ridiculous name. May I call you ‘Rose’?” Her Grace’s smile was a wonderful thing, another feature her son had inherited.

“Would you…” Rose had never imagined having such a conversation, but there was something about this woman. Nothing shocked her, and she listened. “Would you call me Becky? It is my real name.”

“Becky, then. Becky, as long as you remember that you will never be accepted as a fit mate for the future Duke of Haverford—which is a great shame, for you seem to be a fine young woman, but we must live in the world as it is—you and I shall be friends, and I shall support you and little Sarah to find the new life you seek when Aldridge is finished with you. He needs someone like you. He is not happy, poor boy.”

That squashed the nascent hope that the duchess’s sponsorship might mean she could avoid accepting Aldridge’s protection. Still, it was a good offer. Becky accepted the duchess’s outstretched hands. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will do my best to make him happy.”

by

Spotlight on The Upright Son

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

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

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

She has nothing he needs in a countess. Is she exactly what he needs as a man?

Preorder now for release on June 28: https://www.amazon.com/Upright-Son-Caroline-Warfield-ebook/dp/B0B4FCXDX2/

Read Free in Kindle Unlimited!

The Ashmead Heirs
The Wayward Son
The Defiant Daughter
The Forgotten Daughter
The Upright Son

My review: Another five star novel from Caroline Warfield

The Ashmead Heirs series comes to a close with The Upright Son. We met David in The Wayward Son, and I’ve been waiting for the poor dear man to find happiness ever since. A widower with two children, he has devoted his life to doing the right thing in all circumstances, protecting those he loves, repairing the damage his father and mother did, and standing up for those without a voice.  In Delia, Warfield gives him a heroine worthy of him, a woman with great courage and loyalty, and a heart full of love. Like all of Warfield’s novels, our hero and heroine have serious challenges to overcome on their way to their happy ending, not least their belief that they are completely wrong for one another.  Beautifully written and fully realised characters, including a bevy of delightful children, whose escapades keep David and Delia on their toes.

Finish it with that satisfied sigh that only comes from a well deserved happy ending. Warfield has a new series in the Ashmead world up her sleeve, which will mute the inevitable sadness of finishing such a wonderful series.

Excerpt

David has forbidden his children to go anywhere near Delia Fitzwallace and her children after an accident. Then his daughter disappears and he found her being led home by Delia.

***

Temptation to lash out warred with a suspicion he owed the lady an apology. Desire to chastise his daughter for running off warred with the impulse to hug her. Confusion drove his good sense to the winds.

“What the devil is this about?” he snapped, immediately embarrassed by his rudeness yet determined not to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing it.

“This young lady arrived on my doorstep and threw herself on my mercy.” Lady Fitzwallace, chin high and jaw tight, spoke as if every word was forced out.

“She made me come back,” Marjory muttered, staring at her feet. Her head bobbed up. “But I needed to talk to her. I did.” She cast a sour glance at the woman.

“I’m grateful to you for returning her,” he said. It was true enough.

“I hope I don’t regret it.” The woman eyed him as if he were some species of monster who might eat his young.

His head jerked up. “I beg your pardon, madam?” Her outspoken disrespect gave his words a sharp edge.

The Fitzwallace woman shuddered and sighed, as if struggling for self-control. As well she might.

“You forbade her my house,” she said. “I certainly didn’t plan to shelter her like some sort of criminal. I brought her to face you. I merely hope you’ll hear her out. She has some important things to say.”

He studied his daughter, eight years old, and worldly beyond her years. She met his gaze steadily, her expression comically similar to that of the woman who held her hand. More forceful than her mother ever was.

She has backbone, my daughter. A niggle of pride overtook him. “Come inside then, Marjory, and I will hear you out.”

The girl clung to Delia Fitzwallace’s hand and glanced up at the woman with pleading eyes. “Only if Lady Fitz comes too.”

‘Lady Fitz’ is it?

The lady knelt right there in his lane like the farm wife he first thought her, ignoring her gown, grasped both of Marj’s hands, and spoke softly. That he found it endearing was a complication for another day. “What did we talk about, Marj?” she said. “Remember the words.”

“I’m to apologize and, and make my case,” the girl replied. “But about Alf—”

Lady Fitzwallace tugged on the tiny hands. Marjory sighed, her gaze on the woman, and went on. “Defend but don’t defy—and warn.”

“I have confidence in you, Marj,” the woman said.

David reached out to help the lady rise as a gentleman ought. She blinked, as if stunned by the gesture. He soaked in the troubled whirlpool of emotion in her expressive eyes, but his hand never wavered. She wore no gloves; David resisted the urge to tear his off, to feel the texture of her skin. When she placed her hand in his, their eyes holding, warmth flowed through him, setting off a flurry of improper thoughts followed by immediate irritation at his weakness.

The lady broke eye contact whispering to his daughter. “Confidence.”

Confidence. It must have been the magic word. Marjory walked directly to him and said, “I apologize for disobeying you by going to see Lady Fitzwallace, sir, but I would like to have a word, if you please.”

Spoken like a diplomat. How could he resist. “Then we shall have a word.” He glanced behind her. “Perhaps, Lady Fitzwallace might be so kind as to join us.” The words were out before he thought. He hoped he wouldn’t be sorry. He didn’t wait for an answer

by

Different worlds meet in WIP Wednesday

My latest hero resides in a slum. Here’s the first part of the first scene of his book.

Seven Dials, London, April, 1819

“That there countess is back again,” Tommy reported. Pestiferous woman. Snowy had told her repeatedly that she risked her reputation as well as her life by venturing into the slums to visit the residents of a brothel.

Stubborn female. Had she not already found out that her high birth and fancy title would not protect her if some of the slime who polluted the streets she traversed decided to kill her fancy footmen and help themselves to a taste of noble flesh?

Snowy’s anger rose again at the thought of how they had met. He would never forget his first sight of the lovely young woman standing over her footman’s body and swinging a weighted reticule to keep six armed men at bay.

Snowy sent the boy back to his post in the entrance hall. He left his account books and locked the door of the office. He would escort her home again, once she had finished whatever errand of mercy brought her back to the House of Blossoms.

He sighed. If he had not brought her here for refuge after he rescued her, she would never have met his friends, never have begun bringing them herbal remedies from her still room. How did a countess become a gifted herbalist? No. He did not want to know. His only interest was in seeing the woman returned to her own world.

Blue, whose nickname was an ironic comment on his flaming-red hair, guarded the top of the stairs on the floor with the private apartments. He stood as Snowy approached. “Where is she?” Snowy asked.

Blue pointed along the passage to Lily’s suite, which took some of the wind out of his sails. If Lily herself had invited the aristocrat to visit, then Snowy’s objections were on shaky ground. The owner and mistress of the House of Blossoms had her reasons for everything she did, and would not have brought the countess here on a whim.

At his knock, Lily called for him to enter. “Snowy,” she said. “I am pleased you are here. You know Lady Charmain, of course.”

Snowy gave the lady his best court bow. “My lady.” Not only did Lily expect him to display the impeccable manners she had paid his tutors to beat into him, but it discomposed the Countess Charmaine, which was turnabout and fair play, for she had been discomposing him since the day he looked into her vivid blue eyes.

by

Tea with Sophia and Felicity

“I worry about him,” said Felicity Wentworth. “He has a list, Aunt Eleanor.”

“Is that a bad thing?” the Duchess of Winshire asked. “Your brother is, after all, choosing a suitable countess as well as a wife. A list of appropriate qualities seems like a good idea.”

Sophia, Countess of Sutton and sister to both Felicity and Hythe, snorted. “It is a bad thing when the women Hythe thinks he wants would bore him witless in a week and make him miserable in a month,” she said.

“Oh dear.” Eleanor could see how that might be a problem.

“Hythe needs someone lively who will tempt him to see the fun in life,” Felicity declared.

“Hythe needs someone who will be his friend as well as loving him with all her heart,” Sophia corrected.

Eleanor sighed. “He is a grown man, and I have learned that it is a bad idea to try to interfere when our loved ones are determined on their course.”

Sophia’s eyes twinkled. “Unless they ask for our advice.”

“Sophia,” Felicity demanded. “What have you done?”

“Only suggested to Hythe that he should attend one of Lady Osbourne’s party and look over the wallflowers,” Sophia said, airily. She spoiled her air of innocence with a giggle. “I may also have suggested to Lady Osbourne that she might invite him to the same party as Amaryllis Fernhill, and make sure they can spend time together.”

Felicity’s mouth dropped open.

The duchess asked, “Amaryllis Fernhill, my dear Sophia? The one who…?”

Sophia nodded. “Yes, that Amaryllis Fernhill. The one who was supposedly stolen by the Faerie.”

Felicity was grinning. “The one Hythe was not able to take his eyes off all Season.”

“She is a perfectly nice young woman, Aunt Eleanor,” Sophia insisted. “Whatever happened, I am sure she is not actually ruined whatever the ton might think.”

The duchess had recovered her equanimity. “Well then, my dear girls. If Hythe chooses Miss Fernhill for his bride, it will be our job to make her acceptable to the ton. We cannot have any silly scandal marring the career of a diplomat of his skill.”

His sisters nodded. “Quite right, Aunt Eleanor,” Sophia said. “I knew we could count on you.”

The Husband Gamble is my contribution to The Wedding Wager, which you can find more about on my book page. Its out in September, so I’ll share more about Amaryllis and the Earl of Hythe in the coming couple of months.

 

by

Backlist spotlight: Farewell to Kindness

He thought he had buried his heart with his children. He was wrong.

Helped by the earl who hurt them, hidden from the earl who hunts them, Anne and her sisters have been accepted into the heart of a tiny rural village. Until another earl comes visiting.

Rede lives to avenge the deaths of his wife and children. After three long years of searching, he is closing in on the ruthless villains who gave the orders, and he does not hope to survive the final encounter. Until he meets Anne.

As their inconvenient attraction grows, a series of near fatal attacks draws them together and drives them apart. When their desperate enemies combine forces, Anne and Rede must trust one another to survive.

Farewell to Kindness is Book 1 in the series The Golden Redepennings.

Excerpt

That night, Anne dreamt of dancing with Lord Chirbury. In her dream, they didn’t walk decorously away after the wild excitement of the dance, to find her sisters and go tamely home. In her dream, the first vigorous dance led to another, even wilder, and part way through the second he swung her out into the shadows as she’d seen some of the village men do with their wives and sweethearts. In her dream, he’d caught her up into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

“Call me Rede,” he insisted, his voice husky as she’d heard it once or twice, his vivid eyes burning into hers.

In her dream, she confessed that she’d been thinking of him as ‘Rede’ ever since they met in his woods and picked berries together.

“Anne,” he murmured, holding her closer.

There was something not right about the embrace, about the kisses he showered on her face. Drifting awake, she acknowledged she expected more: not a hug such as Ruth or Kitty might give; not a flurry of pecks like those she received from Daisy and Meg.

She had never been kissed by a man, but something told her that, if Rede ever did kiss her, it would be a different kind of kiss to the ones her sisters gave. It would be a kiss that spoke to the strange, unsettling physical responses that troubled her body when he was near; when his gloved hand touched her hand or the small of her back; when his hard body tensed under hers as she leaned across to untangle the brambles; when he moved smoothly through the dance, displaying his strength and fitness, the lines and angles of the muscles in his thighs and shoulders. Or now, when she thought of all those things.

She felt herself blush in the dark. Such foolish thoughts. Rede—Lord Chirbury—wasn’t for her. With her past and her need to keep Kitty hidden, she could not be wife to a peer, and she would not be anything less than a wife. Quite apart from the morals of such a choice, she wouldn’t take any risks with Kitty’s chances of being reestablished in the life to which they’d been born.

The heat in her face increased, as she acknowledged to herself that she was rushing her fences. Apart from those few heated glances, which she—in her inexperience—might have misunderstood, Rede had shown no signs of wishing to bed her, let alone wed her.

The thought should have made her feel better. Odd, then, that she felt slightly disgruntled. Did she want him to proposition her? Like his impertinent cousin? Surely not.

But a small voice deep in the back of her mind said that she would like to know he desired her as she did him, even if they never acted on that desire. Which, of course, she assured herself hastily, they never would.

by

The Development of Democracy: government by the people

The Greek and Roman versions of democracy were not the only models of participatory government from which our own Western tradition draws. In Italy, after the fall of Rome, city states practiced a limited form of participatory democracy that included the election of temporary leaders. For the most part, only the nobility and large landowners could vote, though later wealthier merchants and skilled craftsmen demanded–and in some places received–voting rights. Later still, economic decline and other factors led to the rise of authoritarian monarchs and princes.

Meanwhile, in the far North, the Scandinavians practiced direct democracy at village and town level, with every free adult Norseman able to speak at the Ting, the assembly. Unusually, certain females could participate as well. If an issue could not be settled at the local level, it might be passed up to a higher level Ting, where representatives of a number of communities would rule on matters that affected an entire region or tribe. In 930 in Iceland, the first national assembly, the Althing, was established. It still continues today, one of the world’s longest serving Parliaments. Later, other Scandinavian countries, Switzerland and the Netherlands also established national representative assemblies.

In Ireland, the leaders of communities all had a voice in the Feis, the council of the King, until around 530.

Before the Magna Carta

Those of us raised in the English tradition of democracy are often told that it started with the Magna Carta. But before that came the Witan and the Moot. These were the government, legislative, and judicial assemblies of Anglo-Saxon Britain, and they were adopted, with changes, by the Normans. The Witan was called by the King and comprised the individuals he wanted to include. Their job was to advise the king. In theory, the king did not have to listen to their advice, but these were powerful men with troops behind them. The balancing act between king and council was underway, and would continue for centuries.

After the Conquest, the king appointed a permanent council, but would add to it from time to time on particular issues.

The Moot was the assembly at county or shire level.

The ‘shire moot’ was attended by the local lords and bishops, the sheriff, and most importantly, four representatives of each village. After the Conquest, this meeting became known as the County Court and it introduced the idea of representative government at the local level. (parliament.uk ~ Origins of Parliament)

In time, these two types of council would become the two Houses of Parliament: the House of Lords, the Council of the monarch, and the House of Commons, representatives of the shires and counties.

So what did the Magna Carta have to do with democracy?

The issue was taxes. The King wanted to pay for his war in France. His barons were not happy. They rebelled, and the Magna Carta was the charter in which the King agreed he was not above the law. The Magna Carta established the law as something separate to the will of the monarch. This is the fundamental principle on which Western democracy is based–that the leader of a country is bound by its laws, though that principle was not the issue for most of the barons. They just wanted to make certain that the king could not impose ruinous taxes without the consent of his council.

John signed the charter, and then repudiated it. Many of the barons went over to Louis of France. Then John died, and the advisers to the nine-year-old King Henry III coaxed the barons back to fealty to Henry by reinstating the Magna Carta. But the time Henry was an adult, had been confirmed many times, and was will known throughout England.

Four clauses of the 63 in the Magna Carta remain law today, and clauses 39 and 40 are particularly relevant to democracy.

“No free man shall be seized, imprisoned, dispossessed, outlawed, exiled or ruined in any way, nor in any way proceeded against, except by the lawful judgement of his peers and the law of the land.

“To no one will we sell, to no one will we deny or delay right or justice.” (parliament.uk ~ Origins of Parliament)

Representative government. Sort of.

Since the agreement was that the king needed his council to raise taxes, Henry began to call the council together more and more often. Parliament was the name given to the meeting of this council. In return to agreeing with the taxes, the barons asked for reforms, including the right to choose the king’s ministers, and have the king follow their advice.

When Edward, Henry’s son, became king, he began calling the representatives from around the country together more often. And he didn’t just summon the barons. Several times, he also summoned two representatives from each county, and two from each city or town. His successors went on waging war and raising taxes, and the assemblies kept on bargaining for something in return. From 1327, every English Parliament has included Lords, Commons, and the Monarch.

The seventeenth century in England

The English Civil War in the seventeenth century was also a fight between the unelected King and the Parliament. Again, it was mostly about taxes. Parliament won and executed the king, having convicted him of treason. Twelve years later, Parliament welcomed back his son to take the throne. Before the end of the century, in 1788, came the so-called Glorious Revolution. Parliament was dissolved by the king, who decided to rule on his own. So they decided to pass the crown to one of his daughters and her husband.  William of Orange entered the country and won the throne without a shot being fired, but first he and his wife Mary agreed to a bill of rights that would mean Parliament and those who held power in the land could not again be removed by the king. Those rights?

The main purpose of the act was unequivocally to declare illegal various practices of James II. Among such practices proscribed were the royal prerogative of dispensing with the law in certain cases, the complete suspension of laws without the consent of Parliament, and the levying of taxes and the maintenance of a standing army in peacetime without specific parliamentary authorization. A number of clauses sought to eliminate royal interference in parliamentary matters, stressing that elections must be free and that members must have complete freedom of speech. Certain forms of interference in the course of justice were also proscribed. The act also dealt with the proximate succession to the throne, settling it on Mary’s heirs, then on those of her sister, afterward Queen Anne, and then on those of William, provided they were Protestants. [https://www.britannica.com/topic/Bill-of-Rights-British-history]

The theory of democracy

In the seventeenth century, John Locke built on the ideas of Aristotle and others to come up with a theory of the legitimacy of government. He held that government represents a social contract between the ruler and those ruled. He did not state a preference for democracy, oligarchy, or autocracy, but he did state that, if the ruler failed to meet his side of the social contract, the people had a right to rebel.

For all Power given with trust for the attaining an end, being limited by that end, whenever that end is manifestly neglected, or opposed, the trust must necessarily be forfeited, and the Power devolve into the hands of those that gave it, who may place it anew where they shall think best for their safety and security.

Next, we’ll see how Locke’s ideas and those of other philosophers of the seventeenth and eighteenth century played out in the eighteenth century, in the American and then the French revolution.

Sources

https://www.britannica.com/topic/democracy

https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2019/08/countries-are-the-worlds-oldest-democracies/

Roots of Western Democracy

Click to access bbm%3A978-3-642-20904-8%2F1.pdf

https://www.parliament.uk/about/living-heritage/evolutionofparliament/originsofparliament/birthofparliament/overview/origins/

by

Sunflower Season is live

Hurrah! Sunflower Season, the Charity Anthology for the benefit of Ukraine, is trending across all retailers!
 
You may have heard about our problems with Amazon. One day before release, and the book was deleted. We had to put it up again, but lost all the pre-orders.
 
If you’ve brought from another retailer, you should have it by now. If you pre-ordered and haven’t got it, please make sure your preorder is cancelled and buy again.
 
And if you don’t have it, get it now! At 78 stories and over 6000 pages, it is great value.
 
Universal link: https://books2read.com/Sunflower-Season-For-Ukraine
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3OhUyoX
by

The marriage mart on WIP Wednesday

This week’s excerpt is from The Husband Gamble, a short novella I am writing for The Wedding Wager.

The Earl of Hythe was already regretting his agreement to attend the party. The room he had been given was perfectly adequate. His valet Pritchard, who had been with him for years, had been busy while Hythe was in his bath. Pritchard knew exactly how Hythe likes things. He had organised the dressing room and the bedside table, and had moved the chairs in the seating area so that they were precisely aligned with the edge of the hearth, with the little table equidistant between the two and on the same ruler-straight line.

After he was dressed again, Hythe set his travelling desk on the desk provided, and checked the desk drawers. Lady Osbourne had provided quality paper and ink. The stack of paper needed to be tidied, as did the rest of the drawer contents. That task finished, Hythe had no further excuse for lingering in his room, getting in Pritchard’s way. Like it or not, he needed to go below and meet the other guests.

He blamed his sister Sophia, entirely. On second thoughts, he had opened himself to the attack. If he had never grumbled to her about the difficulty of finding a wife one could respect and even, perhaps, befriend, she would never have suggested that he put himself in the hands of the acclaimed matchmaker. One who had found matches, furthermore, for people whom Society had judged unmarriageable.

Even so, Hythe would never have agreed if the marriage of his sister Felicity had not left his townhouse appallingly empty. Felicity had followed him from one diplomatic post into another, keeping house for him. His servants were perfectly competent, but they would be horrified to be asked to sit down for a chat over breakfast or of an evening.

And, of course, no servant could be his hostess or be at his side during the social occasions that were so much part of his work.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Pritchard said.

Hythe stepped out of his way, and Pritchard, carrying Hythe’s dinner jacket as if it was the crown jewels, proceeded to lay the garment on the bed and return to the dressing room for the next item. “Dinner is at seven, my lord, with gathering in the drawing room from six thirty.”

It was Pritchard’s way of saying “You have at least two hours before dressing for dinner, so please go away so I can ensure that anything you might choose to wear has been inspected and, if necessary, restored to a standard suitable for the Earl of Hythe.”

Hythe repressed a sigh and bowed to the inevitable, though he only went as far as the passage, where he stood for a moment, his eyes shut, bracing himself to meet all those people.

It was only for a week. He could resist any plots by Lady Osbourne or her protégés for one week. One of them might be the one for you. He rejected the errant thought. Everyone knew that Lady Osbourne had wagered with her cousin that she could find matches for the most awkward, difficult and challenging of wallflowers and hoydens and the most unprepossessing of grooms.

Hythe knew that he had little to recommend him beyond his title and his wealth. Ladies seem to prefer a man of address, who could flatter them with elegant compliments and talk for hours about frivolous matters that bored Hythe witless. Someone at ease meeting strangers and comfortable in crowds of people.

For Hythe, social occasions were an ordeal. He could manage. He had memorised a hundred different meaningless but polite responses, and practiced them in front of a mirror. He had learned which ones to trot out on which occasion.

It was not so bad if he could find a meaningful conversation in which to immerse himself, but the ladies of Society and many of the men had no interest in topics that mattered. Hythe had discovered the trick of finding a quiet corner where he could take a few deep breathes before pasting on a smile and getting back to work.

The right wife would have the skills he lacked, as his sisters did. They were both brilliant political and diplomatic hostesses, and had been happy to give their brother the benefit of their skills. Until they married. Without them, life in Society was even more exhausting than before.

He had not been able to find what he needed as a man. What his title required made it even more difficult.  The Earl of Hythe needed a countess who could burnish the reputation of the earldom and the family. Money was irrelevant. Looks were secondary. Behaviour…

Even in his thoughts, he could not agree that behaviour was everything. Important, yes. Hythe was the head of the Belvoir family, and no stain had ever attached to their family name. His parents had been renowned for their good ton as well as their wealth, their generosity, and their wide circle of friends. His sisters were models of propriety. Felicity, his younger sister, might at times allow her vivacity to bring her to the edge of proper behaviour, but never over.

However, Hythe wanted more from marriage than a countess who could be a good hostess and who knew how to behave. Perhaps, if he had contemplated marriage a few years ago, he might have chosen one of the insipid bird brains that seem to be the primary offering on the marriage mart. And perhaps, if he had been lucky, she might have learned to be an adequate countess.

Hythe also wanted a wife. He had watched his sisters find love matches. So had several of his friends. He was not convinced that a love match was a desirable thing — such an untidy excess of emotions did not appeal to him. In any case, he had never imagined himself in love, even when his friends were falling like flies for opera dances and Society beauties. He was probably not capable of the emotion.

The other kind of love he could manage very well. He held a deep and abiding affection for both of his sisters. He was sure he could be a fond and caring husband and father. All he had to do was find a wife he could talk to. It may be setting the bar too low to say a wife who did not irritate him, but that was precisely what he told Lady Osbourne when she buttonholed him in Town after Sophia had asked her for her help.

Someone who did not irritate him. Someone who was old enough and interesting enough to know her own mind and be prepared to have opinions and defend them. Someone who liked children and would be a good mother, for Hythe would need an heir, and hoped that his son might grow up with brothers and sisters.

Someone who knew how to behave as the wife of a diplomat and a peer — that went without saying, although he said it anyway. Someone who was at ease in social situations and prepared to exercise that mastery on his behalf, though he did not put that into words, unwilling to expose his deficiencies to that extent.

He waved away Lady Osbourne’s questions about appearance. Short or tall. Fair or dark. Plump or slender. What did those matter over a lifetime? “I want someone to grow old with,” he told Lady Osbourne, “should we be so blessed.”

He couldn’t spend the rest of the day leaning against the wall outside his room. He opened his eyes even as he took a stride down the passage, only to find his arms full of a warm fragrant female. Who gasped, and pulled backwards.

 

by

Tea with a nephew

This week’s excerpt is Eleanor’s first appearance in print, in the novel Farewell to Kindness.

The sun was setting on Saturday evening, and Rede was beside himself with frustration, before the Duchess of Haverford’s coach was finally seen tooling up the road to the castle.

He was waiting when she entered the front door, and she greeted him with pleasure. “Rede, darling. What a lovely surprise. Have you been waiting for me long?

“Such a circus in Deal. The electors were inclined to listen to the merchants, and the merchants did not favour Haverford’s man. Not at all.

“So I had to visit every shop in the town and buy something. The carriage, I can assure you, is laden. But Haverford believes that it may have done the trick.

“Just as well, dear, for I have enough Christmas presents for every one of my godchildren for the next three years. And some of them are not of the best quality, I can assure you.”

She was talking as she ascended the stairs, giving her cloak to a maid as she passed, her bonnet to a footman, and her reticule to another maid.

“You want something, I expect. Well, you shall tell me all about it at dinner. I left most of the food I purchased at the orphanage in Margate, but I kept a pineapple for dessert. Such fun, my dear, have you tried one?”

“No, dear aunt,” he managed to say, sliding his comment in as she paused to give her gloves to yet another maid. Or it may have been the first maid again.

“Well, today you shall. Join me in the dining room in—shall we say one hour?” And she sailed away towards her apartments, leaving him, as always, feeling as if he had been assaulted by a friendly and affectionate hurricane.

Over dinner, he laid all honestly before her. Well, perhaps not all. The lovely widow, betrayed by George, the three sisters, the little daughter. No need to mention that he’d played fast and loose himself with the lady’s virtue. Just that he needed to rehabilitate her. Just that he wanted to marry her and she had refused.

“She has refused you, Rede?” Her Grace was surprised. “But you are handsome, wealthy and charming. And rich. What does she object to?”

Rede hadn’t been able to work it out, either. “I know she cares for me, Aunt Eleanor. But she keeps saying no. The first time—to be honest, the first time I made a disaster of it. I told her… I gave her the impression that I only wanted her for a wife because she was too virtuous to be my mistress.”

Her Grace gave a peal of laughter. “Oh Rede, you didn’t.”

“I’m afraid I did. But the second time I assured her that I wanted her for my Countess.”

“And you told her that you loved her,” the Duchess stated.

“No. Not exactly. I told her I wanted to keep her safe. I told her I wanted to protect her.”

“I see. And I suppose you think if you bring her into society, she will consent to marry you?”

“I don’t know, aunt. I only know that she deserves a better life than stuck in a worker’s cottage in the back of nowhere working as a teacher so she can one day give her sister a decent life. If she won’t have me… Well, she has been to see a lawyer about a small inheritance she has coming. I thought perhaps I could make it a bit bigger. Without her knowing.”

“You do love her,” said the Duchess, with great satisfaction.

“Yes, but… Yes.” There were no buts. He loved her. At least he hadn’t told her so. He had no taste for laying his heart on the floor for her to walk on.

“You need to tell her so.” The Duchess echoed and denied his thinking, all in one short sentence. “She is probably afraid that you are marrying her out of a misplaced sense of duty. You are far too responsible, Rede.”

“No, she couldn’t think that. Could she?”

“Who knows? Well, I will do it. I cannot have my niece-in-law having her babies in scandal. I take it there is the possibility of a baby? You would not be feeling so guilty otherwise.”

Rede was without a response for a long moment, finally huffing a laugh. “Aunt Eleanor, a hundred years ago you would have burnt as a witch,” he told her.

by

Spotlight on “The Truant Lord Clairmont” in Sunflower Season

The Truant Lord Clairmont by Jude Knight

Lady Clairmont goes to a scandalous house party to retrieve her truant husband after his return to England from a nine-year absence. What she discovers is unexpected.

A short story in Sunflower Season a fundraiser collection for Ukraine

SUNFLOWER SEASON is a charity collection featuring stories (some never-been-published and some old favorites) by over 70 — that’s right — SEVENTY of your favorite Historical Romance authors. ALL royalties will be donated to humanitarian relief in Ukraine. This set will be released on June 7, 2022 and will only be available for a limited time. Preorder now and enjoy a summer of historical romance!

Featuring novellas, stories and novels by Sabrina Jeffries, Christi Caldwell, Amalie Howard, Virginia Heath, Caroline Lee, Golden Angel, Bree Wolf, Lori Ann Bailey, Nicole Locke, Natasha Blackthorne, Royaline Sing, Lenora Bell, Sabrina Jeffries, Amy Quinton, Janna MacGregor, Annabelle Anders, Rachel Ann Smith, Eva Devon, Sandra Sookoo, Tabetha Waite, Diana Bold, Sadie Bosque, Cheryl Bolen, Erica Monroe, Kate Bateman, Cara Maxwell, Tracy Sumner, Jenna Jaxon, Jane Charles, Eliza Knight, Mariah Stone, Robyn DeHart, Wendy LaCapra, Hildie McQueen, Madeline Martin, Amy Rose Bennett, Ava Bond, Kristin Vayden, Piper Huguley, Fenna Edgewood, Kathryn Le Veque, Caroline Linden, Nancy Yeager, Dawn Brower, Celeste Barclay, Lauren Royal, Michele Pollock Dalton, Glynnis Campbell, Rose Pearson, Erica Ridley, Sydney Jane Baily, Deb Marlowe, Rebecca Paula, Amanda Mariel, Christine Sterling, Ava Stone, Lauren Smith, Sawyer Quinn, Caroline Warfield, Jessica A Clements, Jude Knight, Anna St. Claire, Tamara Gill, Gina Conkle, Charlie Lane, Terri Brisbin, Bronwen Evans, Emmanuelle de Maupassant, Merry Farmer, Tammy Andresen, Cecelia Mecca, Meredith Bond, Christine Donovan, Lana Williams, Carrie Lomax, Eve Pendle, Bethany Bennett, Bianca Blythe, Maggie Dallen, Samara Parish, Anna Campbell and more????

Again, ALL proceeds will be donated to Ukrainian relief efforts. We are not affiliated with any charities but are only doing what we can to provide help for the innocent people who’ve lost so much as a result of this senseless tragedy.

Preorder at your favourite retailer. https://books2read.com/Sunflower-Season-For-Ukraine