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Broken families on WIP Wednesday

I’m beginning to get my first comments back on the beta draft of To Mend the Broken Hearted, so I thought I’d give you a piece. Val’s sister-in-law and Ruth’s cousin have stolen his little girl as revenge, and Ruth was captured when she went after them. Ruth’s family and Val’s comrades from the army have banded together to get Ruth and Genny back.

This story is about family. Val’s family is broken, but with Ruth’s help, he’ll rebuild what he can. Her family is split in two, with half left behind in the East. Another kind of break. Still, love binds them together.

Do you write about families? Born, made, or cobbled together? Share an excerpt in the comments.

Every strategy had risks, as the duke said when he summed up the discussion that followed. “We don’t have any idea where in the house our ladies are being kept. If we break in, they may be hurt before we can get to them. If we wait until morning, or whenever Wharton chooses to emerge, our ladies may be suffering right now, and we’ll be standing by while it happens.”

Val had been examining the house from where they stood in the cover of the stables. “What if we could get in from the top? Find an empty room in the attics and enter that way? If we could get even a couple of people inside, and they could find our ladies…?”

“It would be a tough climb,” Rutledge mused, his eyes narrowing as he considered the idea.

“I could do it,” Drew offered. “It’s our best chance, Kaka. If we can find our ladies and take out their guard, we can defend them while the rest of you make a full on assault.”

The duke gave a sharp nod, and Drew fell into a quiet conversation with one of his warriors, while the pair of them removed their gloves, their jackets, their boots and their stockings. “Kaka, we’ll ascend between the porch pillars and the side of the house, then walk that bit of pediment, climb up where that wing meets the main house, and make our way to the roof. We should be able to drop down to that bit of roof by the gable there,” he pointed to each feature as he named it. “The window is slightly open, so there may be someone inside. We’ll make a decision on whether to enter or keep looking once we’ve got up there. Once we’re inside, watch for us to signal that we’ve found the ladies.”

The duke nodded again. “And then we’ll attack. We will be ready, my son.”

Val watched in agonised envy as Drew and his companion ascended the house face, taking it in turns to lead, the lower one often offering a foothold for the other, who then would pause to reach back for his partner. I should be doing that. But even when he had both hands, he couldn’t climb the way those two did.

“They are quite mad,” Jamie murmured in his ear. “Back at home, they used to climb rockfaces for fun. Still do. The pair of them are making a list of all the mountains in Wales and Scotland with climbs they consider worth doing.”

Around them, the men dispersed, one group to each face of the house, to choose windows to break through when the signal came. Val stayed, watching the climbers approach the attic window.

They were almost there when the window opened wide, and someone leaned out of it. Val stepped out of the shadow, staring. “Ruth!” It was. She and Drew were embracing through the open window, and then she stepped back out of sight and returned to help Genny climb out of the window into Drew’s waiting arms.

He settled the child on his back, clinging like a monkey, and Ruth followed her out the window. “What is she doing?” Jamie asked. “Ah! I see.” Ruth had taken off her pelisse and her shoes and stockings. She looped her skirt up between her legs and bound it in place by tying her pelisse around her waist by the sleeves. She used her sash to tie Genny to Drew’s back.

Val waited, his heart in his mouth, and Drew led the way down, Ruth following, and his friend bringing up the rear, helping Ruth whenever she had trouble making progress. Never had five minutes moved so slowly, but at last Drew set one foot and then another onto the ground, and Val was there to untie his little girl and take her in his arms.

 

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Spotlight on Short Stories

I occasionally hear people say that they don’t like short stories. I love them. I acknowledge that they’re a different art form to a novel, or even a novella. But when life is rushed and there’s little time for reading, there’s nothing like the mini-escape — the micro-holiday — of a shorter form of fiction.

Even novels are only part of a story–they have a beginning and an ending, which real life lacks (even conception and death being but punctuation points in the larger story of a community or a family). In a novel, though, the author has time to draw out the motivations and history of the main participants, maybe to follow several plot lines, to allow characters to develop and change, and to solve complex problems and untwist complicated knots. This gives novels their fascination, and the larger and more complicated the novel, the more some people seem to like it. A series with an overarching plot is a wonderful thing, allowing three, six, ten–even fifteen (in some cases) individual full stops within a larger story that spans the entire series.

Novella–that is, 20,000 to 40,000 words of story–are animals of quite a different description. When writing them, I’ve found it best to limit the cast of characters and reduce the plot lines to one major and maybe one minor. Novellas still allow for a problem to be solved, a character to grow, a relationship to be formed.

Short stories, though, are vignettes–paintings of a moment in time. The past is hinted at; character development is minimal; motivations are brushed on in broad strokes; only the main characters stand out and the rest are reduced to background. The shorter the story, the harder the craft of making a satisfying read. And I do love a challenge.

A well crafted short story may leave you wishing it was longer, but is also satisfying. The end is leaves you free to catch that bus, pick those children up, pack up that lunch and return to your desk, turn off the light and go to sleep. Short stories are fun.

So what do you say? Short, novella, short novel or long novel, series or stand-alone? Or (my answer) “Yes, please,” to all.

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This Christmas, I have a novella and a short story in the Belles’ 2020 Christmas collection Holiday Escapes, published in November and comprising four novellas and two short stories. I’ve also just published eleven short stories in Chasing the Tale. I hope you enjoy them.

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Bad family on WIP Wednesday

Someone in a review recently wrote that my characters have terrible families. I’d protest that some of them have lovely families. My James and his children — not his father and brother, though. The Redepennings, except for Rede’s sister. Candle Avery and his mother (but not his father). Okay, so the cap does fit, somewhat.

Of all toxic relationships, a toxic family relationship is one of the worst, and therefore gives huge scope for an author.

Does your work in progress have a jealous, selfish, mean, or plain nasty relative? Please share in the comments.

Here’s my hero from To Reclaim the Long-Lost Lover, with his father and stepmother.

“Go on, Libby,” he encouraged her. “What terrible flaw have you noticed that I must needs amend to be acceptable to a suitable lady?”

“Well…” she chewed on her lower lip, examining him with anxious eyes. “You have not been much in Society, Nate,” she offered, eventually.

Nate was trying to work out what she was driving at when his father spoke from the door to what he misleadingly called his study—a room in which he drank brandy and slept in front of the fire. “She’s right, for once. You are too free and easy, Bencham. You’ve no idea how to go on in the Beau Monde. And you don’t have the right connections. No friends from school or that sort of thing.”

No, because his father had tutored him at home, reneged on the promise to send him to Oxford in order to keep him as an unpaid secretary, and then connived with the Duke of Winshire to have him abducted and impressed onto a naval ship.

“I was at school with some of Society’s important hostesses, Westford,” Libby said, her soft voice meek and apologetic. “If we were to go to London with Lord Bencham…”

Lord Westford interrupted her with a rude snort. “I see your game,” he told his wife, scowling. “You think to jaunt up to Town, do you? And spend my money on fripperies, I suppose.” He began to shake his head, and Nate spoke quickly, before the old tyrant denied Libby what she clearly saw as a treat. Once he’d spoken, he’d not renege. Nate had hoped to escape his father’s presence, but he could hardly deny that Libby’s case was worse than his. She was stuck with the man until death did them part.

Nate smiled broadly. “What an excellent idea, Libby. Using your connections, I should soon have invitations to places I can meet my future bride, and I’m sure you can counsel me on my manners and dress, too.” Westford was purpling. Time to apply a little flattery. No, a lot of flattery—applying it with a shovel rather than a trowel would be no more that the earl considered his due. Nor would he note the barb Nate buried in the compliment.

“My lord, I know you will agree, for you have mentioned her ladyship’s useful connections to me before. What great foresight you showed in choosing a bride who could be of such assistance to your heir, especially since I was unable to complete my own education as a gentleman.”

The earl’s scowl deepened. For a moment, Nate thought he had misjudged Westford’s acuity, so he was relieved rather than annoyed when the earl grumbled, “You’d be married already, and likely have given me a grandson by now, if you’d paid more attention to your duties and less to making up to that girl. Instead, here you are, barely more than a savage, and now I have to go to the expense of a London Season for a woman who can’t even give me sons. You are a great disappointment to me, Bencham. Beyond a doubt I need to go to London to make sure you don’t marry to disoblige me.”

He turned his glower on Libby. “Lady Westford, you shall need to dress to reflect credit on me. You shall have a strict budget, and I shall expect an accounting.”

 

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Spotlight on Chasing the Tale

My Christmas release this year is another in my lunch-time reads series. This time, I’ve packaged eleven never-before-published short stories into a 230 page book, for your reading pleasure. Stories of various lengths–nine regency, one Victorian New Zealand and one medieval Scotland. All with a happy ever after.

So in the busy rush of Christmas, when you feel like a respite but don’t have time for a novel, step into my story world for the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee. Only 99c in US dollars on release day (the price will go up to $2.99 soon–but I’m busy, so not sure when, exactly).

This is just a delightful little collection of eleven short stories. When you don’t have a lot of time, you can pick out one of these and easily read it in an hour or two. Wonderful stories that will bring a smile to your face. So grab the hot chocolate and your favorite chair and you’re all set! [early reviewer]

Read here for more about Chasing the Tale, and for buy links. Release day is tomorrow, but it’s already available for download from my ‘Buy from Jude Knight’ link and from Smashwords.

 

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A Tale of Two Princes

The handsome young pair above are Prince George, the Prince of Wales, and his next youngest brother, Frederick, Duke of York and Albany. They were fifteen and fourteen respectively when this was painted. Prince George was two years off his much-publicised affair with the actress Mary Robinson that marked the transition of his strained relationship with his father from sullen obedience to open rebellion, and that gave him the moniker ‘Florizel’.

Poor George was stuck with the role of Prince of Wales–fundamentally king in waiting and by all that’s holy boy, you’d better wait patiently. Frederick, on the other hand, was gazetted as an officer in the army the following year. So the age of seventeen was momentous for both of them: one set out publicly on a life of hedonism, display, emotional excesses and rebellion, and the other began a career in the army, and is credited with accomplishments that include carrying out the major reforms that fitted the army for the Peninsular campaign of the Napoleonic wars, founding Sandhurst, a military school which promoted merit-based training for future officers.

Yes, he had an expensive gambling habit, but he was also a hardworking military officer and later served in the House of Lords.

The Prince of Wales, on the other hand, had to invent his own role. Patron of the arts, pain in his father’s rear end, lover, entertainer, home renovator extraordinaire… poor George.

 

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Beleagured heroines on WIP Wednesday

Some heroines face huge challenges, and those are my favourite sort. Do you have a WIP excerpt to share? Mine is from the beginning of my newsletter subscriber story for next week’s newsletter.  (If you’d like to read the rest and don’t get my newsletter, click on the subscribe tab, above/)

The oiled cloth over the cart had thinned in places, and the persistent rain had found every crack and hole. The water insinuated itself in drips and trickles and rivers, pooling in the base of the cart until Lily was sitting in an inches-deep lake that continued to grow.

The baby was dry, at least. She’d managed to find a relatively undamaged part of the covering to sit under, wriggling until the damaged places leaked onto her back and not her chest where Petey slept, bound inside her shawl.

Lily tried to sleep, too, but between the wet and the worry, she was as wide awake as she had been when the carter picked her and Petey up hours ago. She was grateful, of course, for the ride, but each turn of the wheels took her closer to her destination and having to give Petey up.

That is, if they would take him. They wouldn’t turn away their own kin? Not at Christmas?

“They will love you, Petey,” she assured the baby. He was the dearest of infants, sweet natured and cheerful. Surely Daisy’s family would be thrilled to have him? “I will pay them for your board, or at least for a few months. Once I have a new job, I will be able to send more.”

Her one-sided conversation was interrupted when the cart stopped. Mired again? But no. The voices of the carter and another man filtered through the drumming of the rain, and then the cover was twitched back.

“We won’t reach Little Crawston tonight, Missus. We have to stop. Better get yourself and the wee ’un out of the rain.”

He helped her over the side of the cart, and set her on the ground, then gave her a push in the direction of a lighted door. “Go on inside. No going any further tonight.”

Lily hurried out of the rain. What choice did she have? But if she spent the few coins she had left on a night’s accommodation, would she have enough left to leave money with Daisy’s family? She had already paid the carter for the ride. And she needed a few coins, too, to get her to a big enough town for her to find work as a maid. No point in trying to get another governess job, not with the most recent reference she could show being three years old.

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Spotlight on Dangerous Nativity

A Dangerous Nativity is high up the list of my all time favourite novellas. Meet the wonderful Will Chadbourn, Catherine Wheatley–the intriguing neighbour with the same surname as his ducal nephew, who lives on a small holding next door to his nephew’s estate, and three of Caroline Warfield’s signature children. You’ll chuckle at the nativity that Catherine’s brothers, aided by Will’s nephew, plan to stage with their farm animals. You’ll be as keen as Will to discover what lies behind the animosity between the two Wheatley families. You’ll love Will’s patience and his kindness. A Dangerous Nativity is a Do Not Miss This book. If you read no other Christmas stories this year, read this one.

It’s the fourth novella in Holiday Escapes, a collection of stories republished from the Bluestocking Belles 2015 box set, which has long been out of publication, and is now available again.

Read more about the box set and get it from one of the buy links here.

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Conflict in WIP Wednesday

They met, fell in love, married, and never had a cross word or an angry thought from the first introduction until their death 80 years later. It would be a lovely life to live, but it isn’t my life nor that of anyone I’ve ever heard of. Conflict is part of life, and it certainly makes for more exciting stories. Conflict external to the main relationship, yes. But also conflict within the relationship. So that’s this week’s theme. I’m posting a bit from To Reclaim the Long-Lost Lover that gives the reader some strong clues about the conflict to come. Please add your own excerpt into the comments.

Sarah is choosing a husband. That thought dominated all others, and he had been escorted to the door by a footman and was out on the footpath again before he fully aware of being dismissed.

His childhood sweetheart, his first love, was still unwed but planning to choose a husband. His reaction—the sheer revulsion at the thought—had been unexpected. Yes, he had wanted to meet her again, let her know what had happened to him, make peace between them. He had even hoped to find out whether the grown Sarah and the grown Nate might be able to find some sparks of the fire that once burned when they touched.

A third of a lifetime had passed, and he had changed. He must assume she had, too. Perhaps they would meet and dislike one another, or meet and agree to part as friends. But his immediate reaction when Lady Charlotte mentioned that damnable list was to claim his long-lost love as his own.

Nate had walked seven blocks and had passed the street he was meant to turn down. He backtracked to the missed corner. Nothing had changed and everything had changed. He still could not move on with his own life until he knew whether the unbroken connection between him and Sarah Winderfield was all on his side, or whether she felt it too. But now he knew that the clock was ticking.

He needed to meet Sarah, clear up her misconceptions about his disappearance, find out if he still wanted the role that had once been his greatest ambition, and convince her to love him again. And all before she chose another husband.

A thought occurred and stopped him short. She had a short-list. He wasn’t, then, competing against a love match. He stepped out towards his father’s townhouse, a smile spreading as he considered that fact. He’d put the next two weeks to good use, using Libby and her contacts to find out who was courting Lady Sarah, who she favoured, and what they were like. The clubs, too. He’d buy horses and play cards—whatever it took to be accepted into the conversation men had when women were not around. By the time he saw her again, he’d be armed for the battle ahead. He’d know what she looked for in a husband, and also what was wrong with the suitors she was considering.

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Tea with Henry

Eleanor poured Lord Henry another cup of tea. With the continuing war, he seldom had time away from the Horse Guard to spare an hour for an old friend of his dear deceased wife, and she was enjoying catching up on news of Susana’s children. Eleanor often saw her goddaughter, Susan, now married to a naval officer, and with small children. But the boys had all followed their father’s footsteps and were overseas with the army, or their maternal grandfathers, into the navy. Harry and Alex, the soldiers, were on foreign soil fighting for King and country, and Jules, the youngest, was doing the same far away on the other side of the world with the navy.

Rick was Henry’s main concern today. Invalided home, he had undergone painful medical treatment to be able to walk again, and had recently left town, much to his father’s and sister’s dismay. “He is going to Portsmouth, where he thinks the naval doctors may be able to get him back to full health more quickly,” Lord Henry said. “I wish he hadn’t chosen to ride, Eleanor. He says he will stop early and often, but I worry. We thought we would lose him, you know.”

“Yes, Susan told me. She has been very anxious about him.”

Lord Henry sighed. “That is part of the problem. My dear daughter has been hovering over him constantly, and I believe he has run away from her care as much as to his naval doctors.”

“It is hard not to fuss when those you love are in pain,” Eleanor commented.

“I can only hope he finds what he needs, and not trouble,” the concerned father said.

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Rick Redepenning finds trouble and what he needs in the form of his former admiral’s daughter, in Gingerbread Bride, now available as part of the anthology Holiday Escapes.