I’m working on three different books at the moment, and all of my protagonists are travelling. As always, this means some work calculating differences and the speed of different types of conveyance. I thought I’d look for a video on that for you, but selected this one instead. It’s a bit of fun, and full of information. The visuals are gorgeous, too.
Another reunion in An Unpitied Sacrifice, this time for one of Valeria’s abandoned war brides. A letter arrives from the army, giving the addresses for the missing husbands next-of-kin, and one of them is in London.
***
“It is a twenty-minute drive,” Harry told them. “If the Atkinsons are still butchers in Cheapside, Señora Hernandez, you shall soon have your answers.”
“It was a family business, Colonel. I think the family will still be there. I hope so. We were separated when the army invaded France. Jorge and I were with the regiment’s baggage train, crossing a river on a bridge made of boats. The bridge broke apart, and the boat we were in was swept downriver.”
She shrugged and grimaced, a silent and somehow comprehensive commentary on the vicissitudes of war. “We survived, but we did not come ashore for many miles, and in the end, we were still on the Spanish side of the river, and far from anyone who knew us. And I was ill, and winter was coming. There was a convent offering beds to those who were displaced by the war. Jorge and I owe our lives to them.”
Valeria had heard the story before. Maria-Lucia had been pregnant when the pontoon bridge collapsed under the pressure of a storm-surging river. She and Jorge had parted company with their boat at some point in the wild ride. Somehow, the mother had kept the child above water, at least enough that when the pair of them finally made it to shore, Jorge was still with her and alive.
Maria-Lucia, though, had borne the brunt of blows from storm-rack travelling downriver with her, and had gone into labour, losing a tiny daughter who had been too little to survive. She did not remember much after that. Nuns from the convent must have found her and her son, and given them refuge.
By the time Maria-Lucia had been well enough to write to George Atkinson, and had been able to scrounge paper and enough money to send a letter, the war had been over. Whether her letter ever reached the army was questionable. It was even more unlikely that George had received it, especially given today’s revelation, that he had left the army.
Valeria had personal experience of the disinterest of British army clerks in the foreign wives of British soldiers, particularly those whose relationships had not been through the formality of a Church of England wedding.
The carriage was drawing to a halt outside of a butcher’s shop, the entire face of which, except for the opening into the interior, was covered with animal carcasses hanging on hooks. Above the display of meat, the name Atkinson Bros., in bright red against a light green background, spread the full width of the shop.
“Atkinson Brothers,” Harry commented. “Perhaps George has gone into the trade with his brother.”
Now that the time was upon her, Maria-Lucia descended reluctantly from the carriage, and immediately reached for Valeria’s hand. “What if they do not want me?” she asked.
“Then we shall find a place for you and Jorge on our estate,” Harry said firmly. “If that is what you wish. Or we shall send you back to Spain with money to set up somewhere as a widow.”
“Let us find out,” Valeria said, and she led the way under the animal carcasses and into the shop.
As her eyes adjusted to the change in light, Maria-Lucia gasped and gripped her hand more tightly, peering at the man behind the counter. “You are not George,” she declared after a moment.
The man stared back, his eyes widening, and then he stepped back from the counter and lifted a curtain behind it to disclose a doorway. “George!” he shouted into the space beyond.
Turning back toward them, his gaze fixed again on Maria-Lucia, he said, “He’s upstairs.”
Upstairs, but coming down, for Valeria could hear the thud of boots on wood, descending from the floor above and approaching.
The curtain was pulled back from the other side and another man stepped into the shop. He was very similar in appearance to the first man, and Valeria could see why Maria-Lucia had gasped. But it was obvious neither the second man nor her friend had any doubt about the identification of the other.
George—for it had to be he—vaulted over the counter even as Maria-Lucia dropped Valeria’s hand and threw herself forward, saying, “George!” Then they were in one another’s arms, Maria-Lucia repeating her man’s name, and he saying, over and over, “I thought you were dead. They told me you had drowned.”
The first man, presumably the brother William, watched the embrace with a fond smile, and Valeria’s worry for her friend eased. Maria-Lucia had found the welcome she had hoped for.
By the time the pair had calmed enough to share their stories, William had introduced himself to Harry and Valeria, put a “Back in ten minutes” sign up on the door, and called back up the stairs for his wife. Soon, Maria-Lucia was being introduced to a plump cheerful woman called Molly, and then the whole story of being saved from the river and what happened after had to be told again.
The upshot was that George came back to Harry and Valeria’s house in the Redepenning carriage, with his brother’s blessing to retrieve his family and bring them to the residence above the butcher’s shop.
“Bring back our nephew, brother,” William instructed, “and all of our sister’s things. What a happy day this is!”
In this excerpt post, Valeria goes to Haverford House for a ball, and meets the Dowager Duchess of Haverford.
Haverford House was on the riverfront out beyond Chelsea. Susan and her husband Gil called by in their carriage to pick them up, and the long drive gave Susan plenty of time to describe people who would definitely be at the ball, and others who might be there.
“Will there be a test?” Harry asked his sister.
Susan grinned. “The ball is the test, you sceptic. And Valeria will pass it with flying colours. Look, Valeria, we are turning in at the gate. Isn’t the house a magnificent sight?”
It was. They had driven into a courtyard lined on three sides by a veritable palace—four stories high, with a mansard roof above. Since the courtyard was about one hundred and fifty feet across and at least one hundred feet deep, the house was enormous.
They were in a queue of carriages, and it took quite some time before it was their driver’s turn to pull up at the foot of the steps to deliver his passengers. Soon, though, they were being conducted through a marble entrance chamber the height of the house, up a splendid staircase, and to the left down an elegant corridor, between half-panelled walls with silk wallpaper above.
All four of them could have walked arm in arm along the exquisite carpet without touching the furniture and art that lined both sides between a succession of highly polished doors.
The corridor turned to the right, and continued, so the house had at least one more wing, this one leading away from the road. Another ten paces brought them to the reception line.
“Susan, my dear.” The mature lady at the head of the line held out both hands to greet Susan. She wore a glittering gown and a parure of tiara, earrings and necklace that sparkled even more brightly than the garment.
“Aunt Eleanor, you look amazing tonight. Does she not, Charlotte, darling? Ladies, may I make known to you my sister-in-law, Mrs Harry Redepenning? Valeria, Her Grace the dowager duchess was a dear friend of my mother, and is my godmother and Harry’s, and these are the Duchess and Duke of Haverford. Haverford, my sister-in-law.”
The younger duchess was as finely dressed as her mother-in-law, but her smile was warm and open. “Mrs Redepenning, my husband is Lord Chirbury’s cousin, and his wife and I are friends. I have heard a little about your story. Your reunion—so romantic. I promise you my support as you find your feet in our Society.”
“To that end, Señora,” drawled the duke, “may I beg the pleasure of the second dance of the evening?” His half-bow to Harry had a mocking flourish. “I defer to you for the first, Harry.”
Harry managed an even more sardonic bow. “Very good of you, Haverford. Given you are renowned for always dancing the first and last of the evening with your lovely duchess. Mind you, Valeria, they’ve been married for less than a year.”
The duke lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “I trust we shall still maintain the practice when we have been wed forty years,” he declared. “Longer, if we are spared, and I can still totter around a ballroom.”
“I shall push you in your bath chair, Anthony,” declared the duchess. “Jessica, allow me introduce Mrs Redepenning, Colonel Redepenning’s wife. Mrs Redepenning, my sister, Lady Colyton, and her husband Lord Colyton. This ball is in honour of their wedding. Lord Colyton, Mrs Redepenning has recently been reunited with her husband, Colonel Redepenning. And you already know Lord and Lady Rutledge, of course.”
Valeria expressed her best wishes to the bride and her congratulations to the groom, following the English custom that Susan had explained to her in the carriage. Lady Colyton thanked her prettily and wished her and Harry every blessing now that they were back together. She was a pretty woman, much younger than her brother, the Duke of Haverford. Her husband was perhaps a decade older than his bride, and was polite, but not warm.
“We shall move on and let you greet your other guests,” Susan decreed.
When worlds collide, can love survive?
Lewis Bradford is the spare to the heir. Every aspect of his life has been a reminder that he is second best. Fortunately, being largely ignored by his baron father has given him a measure of freedom in choosing his wife. And who better to lift him from his bitter sense of neglect than a wild, golden-haired nymph who adores him?
Jillian Kinsey may be only a groundskeeper’s daughter, but she also happens to be best friends since childhood with Munro’s new viscountess. Protected by powerful friends, Jillian is able to always be her vivacious, rule-breaking self without fear of rejection. When Mr. Bradford begins to show an interest in her, she does not question whether or not such a match is realistic. She only knows he wants the same thing she does: a life of self-determination.
Ready to disregard all the pretentions of the ton and throw off the shackles of societal expectations, Lewis and Jillian seem destined to be the heroes of their own fairy tale. Until family tragedy strikes, and everything they have taken for granted is turned on its head.
Will they abandon the dreams they shared or can they weather the storm? Only time will tell.
Tropes you’ll love:
Purchase link for book 4, Jillian’s Wild Heart: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FNBVJ31Z
The Amazon link above includes three free chapters to sample Jillian’s Wild Heart
Read in Kindle Unlimited!
Note: This series is part of Dragonblade’s Sweet Dreams line, so this is a sweet, wholesome Historical Romance where passion beyond the bedroom door is left to the reader’s imagination.
Ladies of Munro
Sophia’s Letter
Ellena’s Secret
Verity’s Choice
Jillian’s Wild Heart
Irene’s Fall (due for release in December)
Elizabeth Donne writes award-winning sweet Regency romance, a natural outpouring of a lifelong love affair with English literature.
She has spent most of her life in Cape Town, South Africa. In 2015, Elizabeth moved to Iowa with her husband, their two children, two cats, and their African bush dog.
When she’s not writing, or discovering the secret wonders of the Midwest, she is enthusiastically introducing her visitors to the joys of drinking rooibos tea. With a biscuit, of course.
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The next Bluestocking Belles’ collection, Love’s Perilous Road, serves up a heaping helping of romance, with a side order of highwaymen, garnished with a few smugglers, a ghost, a gang of Fennians and more than one spy.
Were there highwaymen in Sussex in this period? Sure were, and smugglers, too, though the popularity of Brighton meant that they’d moved along the coast. Don’t miss it!
And meanwhile, here’s a video on the ins and out of being a highwayman.
Or one of each, at least, from the story I’ve just started for a Dragonblade Publishing anthology that will be published next year. The theme is Romeo and Juliet! Of course, everyone will have their own take on it.
***
The people in the neighbourhood of Keldwood Cross hated the bride. Not that they had met her, of course, but village, manor, farm and hamlet were agreed. No female from Marshhold-Over-Water could possibly be anything but a villain, and it was a terrible thing that the Young Master was going to have to marry the daughter of Marshhold’s earl.
Or so they were saying in the tavern. Pelham Townwell sat so quietly in the corner that they must have forgotten he was there. On the other hand, perhaps they remembered, for they did not blame his father, their own earl.
Neither did Pel. Lord Harwood was in a difficult spot, and clearly his people realised that. The Prince Regent himself had taken an interest in the Marshhold-Keldwood feud, and the two earls had been commanded to make peace and to seal it with a marriage!
Since Lord Harwood had an unmarried heir, and Lord Ilton’s eldest daughter was also unwed, they were the obvious choices for the arrangement. Pel’s older brother was furious about it. Clay—Viscount Clayton was the Harwood courtesy title—Clay had been drinking for two solid weeks, and his prognostications for the marriage got gloomier by the day.
Pel wondered what the bride thought. Were the people of Marshhold as upset about the marriage as the people of Keldwood? Did Lady Margherita Ruthermond dread the marriage as much as Clay? Probably more. After all, Clay would have to live with Lady Margherita, but the lady would have to live with Clay, his family, the household, and an entire countryside who had already decided to hate her.
At least Ilton had shown some consciousness of the size of the problem. He had asked to have it written into the marriage agreement that his daughter must be treated well, and that—if she could show grounds for complaint—she could return to her family and the Earl of Harwood and his family would need to pay massive damages.
Father’s reaction to that clause had been to send his secretary with a letter to the Prince Regent, complaining that the clause was an insult, and showed Ilton’s ill intentions.
The Prince Regent had decreed that the clause was to stand, and Father had spent fifteen minutes breaking every vase, dish, cup and china statue in the library, where he had been when his secretary reported.
Clay and Pel had taken the secretary out for a drink, and then another, until they heard exactly what the Prince Regent had said. “Wise man, Ilton. Young Clayton had better behave himself and treat the Ruthermond girl well, or she will beggar the Townwells.”
When Father was over his tantrum, he had decreed that the new bride was to be given every courtesy, and pampered like princess, and Clay had begun drinking and had, so far, not stopped.
Pel was glad to be only an observer in the coming carriage wreck of the Harwood-Ilton marriage. Right up until the moment that Father realised that his eldest son was too drunk to send to the wedding, so he decided to send Pel, instead.
Sir Westcott Twisden didn’t know he wanted to marry until the tallest lady he’d ever met crossed his path. Curious when a local smuggler shows up to visit her, Wes follows her into trouble.
Sybil Dunsford lives to protect her brothers and their home. And so, one night she disguises herself as a boy to help shift contraband. But when the night goes array, Sir Westcott appears, and they’re locked in together. Will romance follow?
Love’s Perilous Road(in Love’s Perilous Road)
Coming Autumn 2025
Travellers, a house party, smugglers, spies—and a mysterious highwayman. Who is the infamous Captain Moonlight? And how many lives will he change–for good or for ill?
Preorder now: https://books2read.com/u/mqx0W6
She murmured an unladylike curse and continued to work.
It was shocking for a lady to curse, wasn’t it? He chuckled, thinking of his stepmother and grandmother. Once or twice when they thought he wasn’t around, he’d heard them swear.
Sybil must have removed the gloves she’d been wearing. The cold fingers touching his wrists unaccountably sent warmth up his arms and to other parts of his body.
She slid a finger under his cuff and his heart jolted. If she kept that up, he might find himself leg-shackled, and not unwillingly.
Perhaps before the night was over, he’d have a chance to warm her hands. And more. This godforsaken place was dark enough to have his thoughts embracing the notion of a tryst and a special license.
“Stop moving,” she said. “These knots are the devil.”
The scold shook him out of his lustful thoughts and brought to mind his stepmother’s treatment by a neighbor and friend of his father who’d followed her to York in the spring and tried to importune her one afternoon while Wes was out.
Stepmama had absolutely forbade him from challenging the fellow because he was, she said, no worse than other friends of Wes’s late father.
His father. The late Sir Twisden’s passions had all been for his hounds and his hunting, not his duties as the local squire, not his wife, nor even his son. It had been Wes’s stepmother raising Wes to be a gentleman.
The marriage had been a mismatch for her, an impoverished young lady who hadn’t known his father at all before marrying him.
What did Wes know about Sybil Dunsford? He’d do well to slow down and not rush his fences with her.
But… what did Crofton say… You won’t be so stiff-rumped about marrying me then.
Crofton wanted to marry her?
A stubborn determination rose in him. Crofton wouldn’t have Sybil.
Don’t count on this for the pronunciation of some words, but the text and images are rather fun.
A longish excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice, the next Golden Redepenning novel. Harry arrives back in London after a visit to make up his mind about a prospective bride. But his family has unexpected news for him.
***
Harry was riding through Mayfair now. Home soon. He hoped Father was home, for Harry was keen to talk to him about Miss Bretherton. Once he had told Father, and once he proposed to that lady, the die was cast, and perhaps then, when marrying the lady became a matter of honour, he would be at peace with the decision.
Here was the mews—the lane that ran behind his father’s townhouse. Perhaps the horse sensed the end of the journey, or perhaps his own eagerness to step into the comforting embrace of the place that had always been his London home communicated itself to the beast, for it quickened its pace, and they completed the last fifty yards in a brisk trot.
“Halloo, the stable,” he shouted, as they drew to a stop.
A stable boy came to the open door. “Major Redepenning, sir,” he greeted Harry, and ran the few steps to the horse’s head. Harry left instructions to take it to the White Swan, the London end of the circuit that had provided the mount for the last leg of his ride.
He hurried up through the garden, his saddle bags over his shoulder. It was late in the afternoon, but this side of the house faced west, and the garden doors were open from the family parlour, letting light and warmth stream into the room. Harry went up the steps to the terrace, took a moment for a deep breath, then stepped over the threshold.
Father looked up with a smile of greeting, as did Alex and Ellie.
“Welcome, Harry. Have you eaten? I shall send for something to sustain you until dinner. Alex, you are nearest, pull the bell rope, will you?”
“Just a cup of tea, Father. I had a superb repast at the Crown and Goat not three hours ago. Ellie, I am sorry to walk in on you in my dirt. I expected Father to be on his own.”
“Do sit down, Alex,” Ellie told him. “It is just family this evening.”
Harry sat in his favourite chair and smiled around at these three beloved family members.
“It is only a flying visit,” Alex said.
“We came to Town for some shopping, Harry,” his sister-in-law explained. Alex’s wife was one of Harry’s favourite people. She had been an army wife, so she understood military men. She had been an apprentice to her father who had been an army doctor, so made certain that Alex looked after his lame leg and ran a clinic for her entire neighbourhood.
Of medium height and build, with brown hair and a pleasant face, one might consider her looks only average, until one noticed her lovely eyes and splendid complexion. But it was in character that she shone. Baroness Renshaw was adored by her husband and children, loved by her husband’s family, and nigh worshipped by her servants and tenants.
“It is too far to bring the children for just a few days,” said Ellie, as a footman entered the room silently, accepted Father’s instructions for a fresh pot of tea, and took Harry’s saddle bags away to be sent to his room.
“Melly and Freddie are safe enough with Jonno and Mattie,” Alex said. The pair had a habit of alternating sentences, as if they were one person with a single message. Harry caught the note of doubt in Alex’s voice, which confirmed that—though he trusted his valet and housekeeper—he did not think anyone else could protect his children as well as he could.
“Of course, they are safe,” Father said, soothingly.
“Of course,” Alex agreed, and turned to his wife, “so we could stay, couldn’t we? Until this business of Harry’s is sorted out?”
Harry, who had been riding all day, on horses of differing quality, was thinking about how his bones were less tolerant than they used to be, and was only half aware of Alex’s words until he heard his name.
“What business of mine?” he asked, wondering if they had somehow heard about his courtship of Miss Bretherton. And, of course, he had not made a secret of it. Not precisely. It was just that he’d not trumpeted it about.
“It is your wife, Harry,” said Father.
Harry chuckled. One should never underestimate the power of gossip. He would lay odds that his sister Susan had heard something and passed it on to the rest of the family. “Wife is a bit beforehand, to be fair. I have not yet proposed to Miss Bretherton. I have made up my mind to do so, however. I look forward to introducing her to you all.”
What was up with his family? They were exchanging looks of alarm.
“Oh, Harry!” Ellie sounded distressed.
Did they know something to Miss Bretherton’s discredit? He could not believe it. If so, she must be the best actress in the world! Yes, and her parents, too. “What is wrong with Miss Bretherton?” he asked.
“I had no idea…” Father trailed off. “That is not to the point. I’ll be blunt, Harry. Your wife Valeria may be alive.”
It was as well Harry was sitting. The room swam before his eyes and for a moment, he struggled to breath. Blunt, indeed. If he had been hit over the head with a blunt object, he could not have been more disoriented.
From a great distance, he heard Father say, “Pour your brother a brandy, Alex,” and a moment later a glass was pressed into his hand.
He took more of a gulp than a sip, but the burn of the alcohol did the trick, drawing him back into himself. “Alive,” he repeated, and his heart, racing in his chest, demanded that he leap to his feet and begin tearing the world apart until he found her.
“A lady claiming to be your wife called this afternoon,” his father told him.
It was a second shock on top of the first. His reeling mind could not produce meaningful words, but could only repeat Father’s words. “This afternoon.” He took another sip of the brandy and managed to add, “Tell me.”
“I did not even know you had a wife,” Alex complained.
Father handed over a piece of white pasteboard of the standard size for visiting cards. “She sent this up with the butler, so we saw her straight away.”
Harry was reading the card. On one side of it was written, in blue ink, Valeria’s names—at the top, Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo, with Mrs. H. Redepenning underneath. He had not seen Valeria’s handwriting for a long time, but it could, indeed, be hers.
“She knew how the two of you met,” Father added, “and she explained why she was not with her band when they were ambushed. Harry, she claims that she had stayed behind in a convent because she was about to give birth.”
“She thought you were dead, Harry,” Alex interjected. “She might be someone who knew Valeria, and hopes to batten on to a rich English family by passing her own child off as yours.”
“She was genuinely happy to know you were alive, Harry,” Ellie said. “She had tears in her eyes, and she spoke in a language I did not know.”
“It was not Spanish,” Alex growled.
