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Spotlight on “Charred Hope” in Love’s Perilous Road

 

Charred Hope, by Caroline Warfield

Major Titus Brannock believes the charred painting that he had tossed into his trunk might be valuable to its owner. With the wars over, he lives with his brother, the earl, and has little direction in his life. He decides to track the woman down and return her miniature.

Tessa Fleming’s late husband lost interest in her soon after the first fires of marriage faded. She followed the army across Spain anyway. Now she lives in a small cottage and supports her son with a widow’s pension. She is determined not to trust another man, certainly not a stranger that knocks on her door.

Will a stranger’s kindness rekindle hope? Perhaps Titus has found his lost purpose in the bargain.

The Hero

Titus Flavius Brannock is the younger son an earl. Like many younger sons, he took a military career, and much prefers Major Brannock as a form of address over “The Honorable Titus Brannock,” the former being rightly earned. With the wars over, he haunts the family home at loose ends and without purpose. He decides impulsively to seek out a war widow he barely remembers and return a damaged miniature that came into his possession during the war.

The Heroine

Tessa Reynolds Fleming grew up in a cold manor in Lincolnshire with stern parents and little joy. Her father, Baron Wolfecliff, disowned her when she ran off to marry a junior officer with nothing to his name. When her husband died, the old man informed her she wasn’t welcome home and could expect nothing. Left with only her widow’s pension, she manages somehow for herself and her son in a small cottage in the South Downs.

An Excerpt from Charred Hope

He knocked again. She ignored him again. The third knock was louder.

When she didn’t respond, a deep voice rumbled through the door, “Mrs. Fleming, I don’t know if you are in there or not, but I mean you no harm.”

So you say… “What do you want?” she demanded through the door.

“I— That is, I knew Lieutenant Fleming in Spain. I brought you something.”

After a moment she lifted the bar, unable to imagine who it could be. She’d heard from none of Rob’s colleagues in the years since she came here.

“Who are you?” she asked through a narrow crack.

“Titus Brannock,” he replied.

The name meant nothing to her, but something in the gentle voice that vibrated through her reassured her. She opened the door a bit wider. “I don’t know you. Again, what do you want?”

The tall stranger, hat in hand, gazed down at her with eyes the rusty brown color of oak leaves in winter. A shaft of sunlight splashed his brown hair with chestnut highlights. She held her breath.

“It is something of yours that came into my possession when you shipped home. It may be a trifle, but I think you might want it.” His voice wrapped around her like a warm quilt, a treasure she hadn’t had since her grandmother’s passing.

Don’t be a ninny Tessa, you know better than to go soft over a man. She held her ground.

“I’ve come a long way to bring it, and I have a long way home,” he went on. She thought he sounded hopeful.

She opened the door to face him, but if he thought she would invite him in, he was mistaken. She stepped out and pulled the door behind her. “I’m not in the habit of entertaining strangers, but you may leave this ‘trifle’ with me and be on your way,” she said.

He studied her long and hard as if she were a mystery to solve. It took strength but she met that piercing gaze. She peered back up at him experiencing a flicker of recognition, one that wouldn’t come into focus.

This one is a soldier for certain. It is in his bearing. In his confident determination. He wasn’t dressed like one; he wasn’t dressed like a poor man either.

At last, he nodded and tapped his hat back on his head. He reached into his fashionably tailored coat and pulled out an object wrapped in dark cloth and held it out to her.

When she took it, their hands touched briefly, and a jolt of feeling went up her arm to lodge somewhere in her center. She yanked her hand away.

At her gesture his lips quirked and he touched his hat. “I’ll leave you in peace. If you have questions for me, I’ll be at the inn in Normanton the rest of today. I’m leaving tomorrow.” He turned and left her murmuring belated thanks.

Tessa took the object to her kitchen table and unwrapped it. What she saw made her throat thicken. Tears, unanticipated and unwelcome, overtook her.

The miniature. The one I had made for Rob. The one he tossed aside so carelessly. As he did me.

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A Bow Street Runner in WIP Wednesday

Some of the Bluestocking Belles’ more complicated box sets have had not just a common setting or event, but a bit of a puzzle – Who is sending gossip to the Teatime Tattler? (Storm and Shelter) Whose baby is the orphan with the amulet belonging in the village, delivered by a travelling couple who found him in France. (Under the Harvest Moon) And the one coming up, Love’s Perilous Road, in which the overarching question is, who is the highwayman?

Of course, that sets up a question about how to order the stories so we don’t let the cat out of the bag too soon! I hope, when you read our ten stories, that you’ll agree with the order we have chosen.

Of course, people in our stories were also asking that question, and one of them was Principal Officer Robert Pierce, sent by the Office of the Magistrate’s Court, Bow Street, London. My Bow Street runner’s case book forms a little vignette between each story, as he writes his thoughts about the events of the day, consigning his frustrations and sometimes his successes to paper, for his own eyes only. And yours, dear reader. Here is Casebook entry number 4.

The Casebook of Principal Officer Robert Pierce

The Office of the Magistrates’ Court, Bow Street, London

The clue of the trousers on the church steeple led nowhere. No one knows who put the trousers up there, and the curate swears he was the only man with a key. The locals are protective of “their” Captain Moonlight, but there will be a break soon. I am certain of it. Everyone makes a mistake sometime.

The second highwayman robbed another coach. Had ladies not been present, I am certain the man would have been shot, for the ladies were accompanied by some very competent gentlemen. It is a risky business, being a highwayman without a gang.

I am getting closer to Larcenous Lucy! Word has it she has been active in Brighton itself, so I am heading there in the morning.

If you’d like to know more about Robert, the trousers on the steeple, the two highwaymen (and possibly a third), Larcenous Lucy, smugglers, a ghost, a blackmailer, Fennians, and more – not to mention ten delightful romances, read Love’s Perilous Road, now on preorder, and published October 31st.

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Spotlight on ‘Falling Into You’ in Love’s Perilous Road

Lord Milton Sutton, Earl of Langley has one regret in life… that he left behind a lady that owned his heart in order to take over his father’s businesses to prevent bankruptcy. One year later, he has a second chance to win her back but is he too late?

Lady Josephine Cranfield is determined to move on with her life after her heart was broken by the love of her life. But her feelings for Milton awaken upon his return and his eagerness to pick up where they left off only makes her resolved to forget him.

Can Milton and Josephine find a way back to one another or will someone else find his way into Josephine’s heart?

Buy Love’s Perilous Road. Preorder price 99c. Published October 31st

Meet Josephine

Lady Josephine Cranfield is determined to move on with her life after her heart was broken by the love of her life. But her feelings for Milton awaken upon his return and his eagerness to pick up where they left off only makes her resolved to forget him.

Meet Milton

Lord Milton Sutton, Earl of Langley has one regret in life… that he left behind a lady that owned his heart in order to take over his father’s businesses to prevent bankruptcy. One year later, he has a second chance to win her back but is he too late?

Excerpt from Falling Into You

“You’re very early, Philip. Is something wrong?” she declared before she came to a sudden halt. She took hold of the doorframe to steady herself, afraid that her knees might buckle when she witnessed the gentleman standing near the window.

He turned to face her with the sun streaming through the glass to make him appear almost angelic. She drank in the sight of him as though she was dying of thirst. The cut of his suit and waistcoat was immaculate. His dark brown hair streaked with lighter shades was neatly combed into place and touched the edges of his coat. His skin appeared tanned from time spent in the sun and he appeared far more muscular than she remembered. His linen shirt seemed to stretch across his muscled chest while his blue eyes seemingly danced in delight to see her. She just might swoon.

“Hello, Josephine” he said giving her a bow. The old memory of his husky baritone branded her heart with sorrow as all the old hurt came rushing back to the surface.

“Milton…” she began, attempting to find her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know this is highly irregular but I had to see you,” he said stepping forward.

“Why?” she gasped out as her knees began to shake and she had the overwhelming need to sit down.

The sound of the tea trolley being rolled through the hallway gave her the moment she needed to clear her head and compose herself. She went into the room and sat in a chair near the hearth knowing to sit on the couch would allow him to be far too close. Once the servant put the trolley near at hand, she poured tea into two cups and offered him one as he took the opposite chair. He reached for the one she held out for him, and when their fingers touched, a zing of emotion overcame her. It wasn’t fair that he could still have such an effect on her after all this time. It wasn’t fair at all!

He continued to stare at her, searching her face for some sign of… what? That she was still in love with him? She couldn’t be certain but what did it matter if she still cared for this man? He was her past, and Philip was her future.

“You were one of the first people I wanted to see upon my return,” he confessed, setting down his tea without taking a sip.

“Oh? And who was the first?” she said in a snippy tone.

A slight chuckle left those lips she remembered all too well, having kissed them a dozen times or more. “Your brother,” he finally answered.

“I see. Considering your friendship all your lives, I can see how you might have missed him.”

“And you.”

She raised a brow at his admission. “I don’t see why you’d have missed me, Milton. After all, it was you who ended our association.”

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Tourism, Georgian style

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.

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Happy reunion in WIP Wednesday

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!”

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Tea with Valeria

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.

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Spotlight on Jillian’s Wild Heart

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:

  • Different Worlds
  • Fish Out of Water
  • You’ve Changed
  • Emotional Scars
  • Opposites Attract
  • Unexpected Heir
  • Lively Heroine
  • Sensible Hero

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)

 

Meet Elizabeth Donne

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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Highwaymen, smugglers and other dangers

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.

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Family feuds and arranged marriages on WIP Wednesday

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.