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Secrets in WIP Wednesday

Secrets can be a useful device in a plot, adding mystery or providing conflict or both. When I sent To Claim the Long-Lost Lover out to beta reading, one of the readers suggested I’d disclosed the most important secret too soon– in the Preface, in fact. It remained a secret from the hero till half way through the book, and from the ton for longer, but the reader knows it. After some thought, I decided to leave it. The couple have other secrets, from the reader, from each other and from Society. And the focus of the plot is their steadily growing trust in one another. Still, another author would have made a different decision, and it remains to be seen what readers will make of it.

Meanwhile, here’s an excerpt from that Preface.

“I am sorry to take you from your work, Your Grace. Uncle James, I mean.”

The duke shrugged. “The work exists to provide for those who are part of the duchy, Sarah. From you and the rest of my family to the least tenant’s child and the youngest scullery maid. If I cannot make time for the people, and particularly for my own family, there is no point to the work.”

Her grandfather, father, and brother had assumed the duchy and all its dependents existed to provide for them; for their wealth, power and pleasure. Mulling on that, and its costs to her and all she held dear, she barely noticed the aide delivering the tray, and was startled when her uncle handed her a cup of tea he had prepared himself.

The gesture—a man of his stature doing women’s work—reassured her as nothing else had, and she blurted her errand. “Uncle James, I want my dowry. I want to retire to the country so I can raise my son myself.”

The duke’s only reaction was a slight widening of the eyes. He took a sip of his own tea before he responded. “Your son. Are you with child, Sarah? Or has a great nephew been hidden from me these past two years since I arrived in England?”

The phrasing of the last question broke the dam on Sarah’s resentment and it burst out. “He has been hidden from me these past six years, sir. Since the day he was born and taken from me, though I begged to hold him just one time.” She stopped to blink back angry tears.

If one of your characters has a secret you’re willing to share with readers, if not with your other characters, feel free to share an excerpt in the comments.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 9

Tolly blinked. Clearly, that was not what he expected.

“Blackmail?” he stuttered in response. “Is he… Has he…”.

Eleanor pursed her lips, considering how much to tell him, then nodded decisively. “I shall be frank, Tolly. You shall not be shocked, for you know the duke even better than I do, in some ways. Some time ago, when he gave me a loathsome disease he picked up from one of his intimate companions, you helped me broker an agreement with him. He intends to repudiate the agreement. I intend to prevent him from doing so.”

Tolly was reduced to stammering again. “I am sorry, Eleanor.”

Eleanor waved off his commiserations. “I need to a truce with him, Tolly, for he has the power to keep my children from me. I wish to live apart, but in the same house. Will you find me the ammunition to bend him to my will?”

Tolly sat back. She knew he admired her. Would he be willing to fight the duke for her? It would not be easy. The Duke of Haverford was one of the most powerful men in the country. He feared little and was embarrassed by nothing.

She was relieved when he said, “I think I may be able to help, Eleanor. I have a couple of ideas.”

Eleanor’s smile broadened. “I have in mind to be a proper mother to my children; one who spends time with them as real mothers do, and also to do good for others with my position and my wealth. I can build a good life, Tolly, if I can just keep Haverford at arms’ length.”

Tolly narrowed his eyes as he thought. “I shall investigate, Eleanor. He will have secrets that will embarrass even him. I will find them for you.”

“Thank you, Tolly.”

He gave her a distracted smile as he continued to list strategies. “Entertainments,” he said. “Eleanor, build alliances with the other great ladies of the ton and become a formidable hostess. You have it in you. If you have the support of the ladies, Haverford will have to think twice about acting against you.”

Perfect! She knew he would be the right person to talk to. “And if I continue to host his political cronies and support his public life, he will have far less objection to my removing myself from his private one.”

“You will have to fight him for influence over Aldridge,” Tolly warned.

“I know,” Eleanor agreed. “But I have an advantage there, my friend. I have never bullied or beaten my son.” She lifted her cup as if it was filled with port or brandy rather than tea. “To my freedom, Tolly.”

He grinned and returned the salute. “To your freedom.”

Haverford House, London, July 1812

She had been free, too; as much as a woman could be when married to the Duke of Haverford. She had been cautious about using the information that Tolly brought her. Haverford in a rage would ignore his own best interests, and any scandal would hurt her children and her other protegees as well as him. But usually, she had been able to live as she pleased.

She had considerable freedom, the opportunity to help others, and her children—what more could any woman expect?

At the firm rap on her door, she tucked the cloth rabbit away, slid the hidden compartment back into place and moved the panels to return the escritoire to its normal appearance. She knew that knock. “Enter,” she called.

As expected, the visitor was Aldridge. Also as expected. He had been coming to her to be calmed after he’d worked himself into a fury since he was a little boy.

“Brandy, rather than tea, I think, my dear,” she said to him. She was so proud of her son. In the silent battle for Aldridge’s spirit, Haverford had done some damage, but the young marquis still retained his kindness and his innate decency. Eleanor was grateful for that.

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Spotlight on Ravishing Camille

Pierce Hanniford returns to England after tripling his fortune in China. He’s come for business. Not pleasure. And definitely not for love.

Camille Bereston decided years ago that Pierce was not for her. He’s her step-brother, famous, restless, a savvy Shanghai taipan and a menace…to her heart.

She has ambitions to marry. Funny that none of her candidates seems good enough.

Yet Camille excites him as no woman ever has and he must have her, no matter the cost.

But should she take an older, experienced rogue as her lover…and should she claim him forever as her only love?

If you love swoon-worthy historical romance, starring endearing heroes, sassy heroines and a family of irresistible charmers, this book is for you!  Buy RAVISHING CAMILLE to begin your journey!

Amazon  – Amazon Affiliate  – KOBO – B&N  – iTunes: 

 

RAVISHING CAMILLE is the fifth book in THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS series but can also be read as a standalone novel.

Book 1: Wild Lily (Lily and Julian)

Book 2: Daring Widow (Marianne and Remy)

Book 3: Sweet Siren (Liv and Killian)

Book 4: Scandalous Heiress (Ada and Victor)

Book 5: Ravishing Camille (Camille and Pierce)

Book 6: If You Were the Only Girl in the World (Katrina and Nate)

Book 7: Let Me Call You Sweetheart (Giselle and Dylan)

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The life of a servant

This BBC series is great. Episode 1 looks at servants in England from the mid 18th century to the end of the 19th. Well worth watching. Here’s an excerpt, about the requirements of a doctor’s wife (lower middle class) in Victorian London.

This is what she wants the housemaid to do,

“Seven o’clock, bring in my hot drinking water.

“Sweep down, thoroughly clean the stairs, “get the bathroom ready and lavatory.”

And then, the servant has her breakfast.

“Eight o’clock, bring my hot water. “Draw up blinds, empty and take away bath. “Always use basin cloth and wipe tumblers.

“8:30, clean grate in drawing room, thoroughly sweep and dust room. “Wipe round parquet, clean all brass.” “Open windows front and back. “Water and wipe with a wet cloth all plants.”

“How to clean a looking glass. “Blow the dust off the gilt frame, “as the least grit would scratch the surface of the glass. “First, sponge it with a little spirit of wine or gin and water, “so as to remove all spots.

“Then, dust the glass over with a powder blue tied in muslin “rubbing it lightly and quickly off “and polishing with a silk handkerchief.”

And then, what you’ll see here is that every minute is accounted for,

taking us through to the evening.

Seven o’clock, we find her tidying the drawing room.

“Put the cushions tidy and tidy the papers. Dust tables and the piano. See to the lights and sweep the fires.

“Eight o’clock, assist and wait at table and after see to bedrooms. Turn down beds, washstands wiped, hot water, chambers and so on.”

Nine o’clock, she has her own supper in the kitchen.

Ten o’clock, she can fall into bed, and that’s the end of her day, until, of course, she gets up and does it all again the next day.

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Conflict on WIP Wednesday

Writing about twins in a double time line, with a book for each, is having its moments. But at least both heroines have someone to talk to. In the following excerpt, my sisters mention key conflicts they need to resolve to find happiness. I’d love to see an excerpt from you where your hero or heroine discusses their principal conflicts.

“You are up early,” Sarah said, appearing in the doorway. “Shall I send for your hot chocolate?”

“A coffee this morning, I think,” Charlotte told her.

Sarah retreated to speak to one of the footmen who waited in the hall to run messages. Charlotte followed her into their shared sitting room. “Could you not sleep, dearest?” she asked.

“No more than you, I think, and for similar reasons.” Sarah sighed. “Are you sure that you cannot marry Aldridge, Charlotte? One has only to see him watching you to know he cares, and he has been remarkably faithful.”

No point in arguing. Sarah knew her too well. “I have given him no encouragement,” Charlotte pointed out.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Which makes it all the more remarkable.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Have you forgotten how I found him when I went for his help?” She had told Sarah the whole story the last night. Charlotte blushed at the memory of Aldridge’s naked body with the two women hovering over it. How was she ever going to look Lady Thirby and her friend in the eyes again? Mind you, at least she had been clothed.

Sarah laughed. “You know as well as I do that the Thirby woman has been chasing him this past two seasons. He is not made of granite, Charlotte. He has been a rake, after all, and you have, as you just said, given him no encouragement.”

“Nor will I,” Charlotte insisted, reining in her errant imagination. “You know I can’t, Sarah.”

“You could tell him why not,” Sarah suggested. “You want him; I know you do. Shouldn’t you let him decide whether what he would lose is more important that what he would gain?”

A knock on the door heralded the maid with their morning beverages. Charlotte contented herself with a glare at her sister. When the door closed behind the maid, Sarah showed she’d understood the message. “I am sorry, Charlotte. It is just that I wish you happy.”

“And am I to wish you happy?” Charlotte asked.

Sarah blushed. “I do not know, sister. Uncle James says that I must listen to what Nate has to say, and I know he is right. I do not dare hope, but I find myself doing so, anyway.”

Whereas Charlotte had no hope at all. Only a yearning that could never be fulfilled, and a grief for the life that should have been hers.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 8

Chapter Four

Haverford House, London, June 1812

Eleanor had withdrawn to her private sitting room, driven there by His Grace’s shouting. Her son, the Marquis of Aldridge, was as angry as she had ever seen him, his face white and rigid and his eyes blazing, but he kept his voice low; had even warned the duke about shouting.

“Let us not entertain the servants, Your Grace, with evidence of your villainy.”

Unsurprisingly, the duke had taken exception to the cutting words and had shouted even louder.

Could it be true? Had Haverford paid an assassin to kill the sons of the man he insisted as seeing as his rival? An assassin with a pistol in the woods who had been caught before he could carry out his wicked commission.

His Grace’s jealousy made no sense. Yes, James was back in England, but what did that matter to Haverford?

He had been furious when James and his family attended their first ball, and beside himself with rage when Society refused to accept that the prodigal returned was an imposter. She expected him to continue to attack the new Earl of Sutton with words. Even his petition to the House of Lords to have James’s marriage declared invalid and his children base-born was typical of Haverford. But to pay for an assassin?

He had failed. She would hold onto that. And Aldridge was more than capable of holding his own.

As she sat there with her tea tray, sheltering from the anger of her menfolk, she gave thanks that her son had not been ruined by his father’s dictates over how he should be raised. She had been able to mitigate some of the damage, but more than that, his younger brother Jonathan and his older half-brother David had been his salvation, giving him the confidence that he was loved and the awareness that he was not the centre of the entire world.

Aldridge’s fundamentally loving nature helped, too. He was a rake, but not in his father’s mould. Rather, he loved and respected women, even if he did treat them according to the stupid conventions applied to aristocratic males. And he was a good son.

Putting down her tea, she fetched a little box of keepsakes from her hidden cupboard. The fan her long dead brother had given her before her first ball. A small bundle of musical scores, that recalled pleasant evenings in her all too brief Season. Aldridge’s cloth rabbit. She had retrieved it when Haverford had ordered it destroyed, saying his son was a future duke and should not be coddled. Aldridge had been eight months’ old. Anthony George Bartholomew Philip Grenford, his full name was, but he had been born heir to his father, and therefore Marquis of Aldridge, and by Haverford’s decree no one, not even Eleanor, called him by anything but his title.

Even so, the cloth rabbit had not been the first time she secretly defied her husband. She had been sneaking up to the nursery since Aldridge was born, despite the duke’s proclamation that ladies of her rank had their babies presented to them once a day, washed, sweetly smelling and well behaved, and handing the infants back to their attendants if any of those conditions failed or after thirty minutes, whichever came first.

It was not enough for Eleanor, if she had grown bolder and bolder and slowly taken control of her life, it was for their sweet sake.

Hollystone Hall, December 1791

Eleanor poured tea for Tolly Fitz-Grenford, wondering if he would agree to her plan. After Haverford had exiled David and sent Aldridge off to school, she had pleaded with him to bring them both home, but he had laughed at her; pointed out that she had no power over him. In fact, he declared, her open defiance was enough to cancel the agreement they had made before Jonathan’s birth.

So, she had then packed her bags and retreated to this lesser estate, the one place in the vast Haverford holdings that belonged to Her Grace and not His Grace.

“There, Tolly. Milk and no sugar. Is that not correct?”

Tolly took the cup. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”

She smiled. “We are brother and sister, Tolly. Will you call me ‘Eleanor’?”

Tolly’s face heated. As Eleanor knew, his relationship to the duke was not precisely a secret, but he had never been acknowledged. The father they shared had brought the son of a favourite mistress to be raised on the estate, and had even kept on his half-brother’s tutor to train Tolly in the skills he would need to serve the duchy. Still, he had not been encouraged to show any familiarity, and the duke liked Tolly no more than Tolly liked the duke. “His Grace…”

Eleanor scowled. “I do not mean to concern myself ever again with the opinions of His Grace, except as I must for my safety and that of my children and the servants. Will you not call me by my name, Tolly, when we are not in company? Will you be my friend? For I stand in great need of one.”

Tolly leaned forward to pat her hand. “I will always stand your friend, Eleanor,” he told her.

“Good, for I need your help. Can you find me information with which to blackmail Haverford?”

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Spotlight on No Lady for the Lord

She was only supposed to care for his wards…not fall in love with him.

 He was a carefree rogue…

Lord Ronan Brockman had a perfect life. Handsome, wealthy, and beholden to no one, he was charmed. But that was before he was unexpectedly named guardian to two young girls—and before he met their fascinating governess. Acting on his attraction to the witty beauty would be utter madness. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be enough to dissuade him from pursuing her…

She can never let her guard down…

Mercy Feathers knows more about responsibility than a rogue like Ronan could ever fathom. But to her great consternation, despite his many flaws, she wants him with an all-consuming passion that’s as shocking as it is forbidden. It’s just her misfortune that there’s only one way a relationship with him could end—and it isn’t with happily ever after…

Is their love enough?

Can Ronan and Mercy overcome all that stands between them—including the ghosts of her past—and take a shot at true love? Only if they’re willing to open their hearts and break a few rules…

Secrets, scandals, and sigh-worthy romance.

This sweet, wholesome historical romance by a USA Today bestselling author will have you cheering Ronan and Mercy on as you escape into the past to cheer them on to their much-deserved happily-ever-after.

If you enjoy reading lovable rogues, class difference, and opposites attract clean historical romances with a pinch of mystery and inspiration, a dash of humor, and soul-searing emotion, then you’ll adore Collette Cameron’s captivating DAUGHTERS OF DESIRE (SCANDALOUS LADIES) SERIES. Settle into your favorite reading nook with your favorite beverage for a page-turning, entertaining Regency world adventure you can’t put down.

Amazon – BN – Apple Books – Kobo – Google Play – Goodreads – BookBub

Though this book can easily be read as a stand-alone, most readers prefer to read the series in order.

DAUGHTERS OF DESIRE:

  1. A Lady, A Kiss, A Christmas Wish
  2. No Lady for the Lord
  3. Love Lessons for a Lady-Coming Soon!
  4. His One and Only Lady- Coming Soon!

 

CHECK OUT COLLETTE’S OTHER SERIES:

  • Castle Brides Series
  • Heart of a Scot Series
  • Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series
  • Seductive Scoundrels Series
  • The Blue Rose Regency Romances: The Culpepper Misses
  • The Honorable Rogues®
  • Wicked Earls’ Club

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B092KJW3B1

BN – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/no-lady-for-the-lord-collette-cameron/1139200201?ean=2940162366768

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/no-lady-for-the-lord/id1562251100?ls=1

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/no-lady-for-the-lord

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

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57510907-no-lady-for-the-lord-daughters-of-desire-scandalous-ladies-series

BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/no-lady-for-the-lord-by-collette-cameron

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A 15 foot wave of beer

The Horseshoe Brewery, St Giles

St Giles was one of the roughest parts of London in 1814. Its residents were poor–labourers, piece workers, criminals, prostitutes, and others down on their luck. That luck was about to get a lot worse near the Horseshoe Brewery on 17th October 1814.  The brewery stood on the corner of Great Russell Street and Tottenham Court Road, and produced more than 100,000 barrels a year of dark porter.

When a storehouse clerk, George Crick, inspected the 22 foot high fermentation vat in the afternoon of that day in October, he noticed that one of the 700-pound iron hoops that held the vat together had slipped off. His supervisors said it was nothing to worry about, and told him to write a note asking for it to be fixed. At 5.30, George heard an explosion. The hot fermenting ale had burst free with such force that it tore the vat to splinters, knocked down the brewery’s back wall, and set off a chain reaction among the other fermentation vats and barrels in the building. Workers climbed on tables, and scrambled up walls. But several needed to be pulled free from rubble or rescued from the surging liquid.

An engraving of the event made at the time.

The first death was a 14 year old servant girl, who was scouring pots at a pump when the wall of the Tavistock Arms fell on her. The 1.3 million pints of beer in the first vat, augmented to 3.23 million pints by the rest of the burst containers, flooded from the building in a wave 15 feet high. The flood swept away everything in its path. It inundated basements causing the tenements above to collapse.  In one of those basements, five women were holding a wake for a two year old boy who had been killed the previous day. All five drowned. In all, eight women and children died.

Hundreds of people gathered the spilled beer in containers, or simply drank what they could on the spot. As the flood subsided, spectators came from all over London to see the sight of the disaster, and the local watchmen made a bit of money charging a penny or two to see the damage the flood had done.

That part of St Giles reportedly stank of beer for months afterwards.

Note to self. To Claim the Long-Lost Lover is set in London in the last months of 1814.  Mention the smell in the scene I set in St Giles towards the end of November.

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Inner dialogue, ghosts, and imaginary mentors in WIP Wednesday.

To Claim the Long-Lost Lover has gone to the editor, and I’m about to work on the second half of To Tame the Wild Rake. But first, I’m looking at what comes next. Either Chaos Come Again or The Darkness Within, and I’ve already started The Darkness Within. In The Darkness Within, my hero has an inner dialogue going on with someone called Sebastian. Sebastian harasses, advises, and goads him. Max thinks he is being haunted. It could be a ghost. Or it could be a memory. Or perhaps my hero is unbalanced. I think I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide.

If your protagonist talks to herself or to a dead aunt or to anyone else invisible to all the other characters in the story, please share an excerpt in the comments. Here is mine.

“Stedham was looking for a home; a purpose,” Max told Sebastian. The lieutenant had tried being a steward on an estate, and moved on. He had worked for a while in a lawyer’s office, and a few months more as secretary to a Member of Parliament. The last address the sister had for him was a vicarage, and the last contact a cryptic note from the vicar. Max was heading there now.

“Paul hasn’t been able to settle since he returned from the wars,” the sister had told Max.

Her husband’s estimation was harsher. “He cannot stick to anything. Some of those ex-military men are like that. They need the adventure, the thrills, and they’re no use in ordinary life. He should join up again.”

Max didn’t agree. “Stedham was a good soldier, but he wasn’t made for that life. Not really,” he told the man, but he might as well have talked to the wall.

“You don’t know him like we do,” the brother-in-law said.

“That man wants his wife to himself,” Sebastian commented. “I know jealousy when I see it.”

Max thought the ghost might be right. Sebastian usually was right about the darker emotions. “Stedham needs a place to belong, but his sister’s home wasn’t it.” Stedham could hardly have missed the lack of welcome. Was that why he stopped writing to his sister? But he’d only stayed with the pair for the first two months after arriving home from France in 1814. He’d continued to write faithfully, week after week, until a few months ago.

“No one belongs,” Sebastian argued. “Belonging is an illusion, and the ones you love most are the ones who most hurt you.”

Max ignored the oblique reference to Sebastian’s death.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 7

A Haverford townhouse in Brighton, May 1812

Eleanor opened the secret compartment of the escritoire that travelled everywhere with her. She didn’t bother with Tolly’s notes, but she did bring out the box of wooden toys that David had carved for his half-brothers. Aldridge’s soldiers were particularly fine, the paint barely flaking. David had made them for Aldridge’s twelfth birthday, and Aldridge never touched them again after Haverford threw David out.

Four-year-old Jonathan had been grief-stricken, though not as broken-hearted as Aldridge. Not that Aldridge spoke of it, then or later, but she’d seen the change in him; seen, too, the devastation he’d suffered when he and David met again, just a few years ago, only to be split even more decisively. That time, he’d admitted to Eleanor that he blamed himself: for Haverford’s actions when he was twelve and David seventeen, and for the mistake that nearly cost David the life of the women he and Aldridge both loved.

Eleanor ran her hands over the scarred and dented head of the push-along toy David had made Jonathan so he wouldn’t feel left out when Aldridge got his present. The stick to push it had long since gone. It had been Jonathan’s favourite toy for years, till the pegs that made the legs move broke so they dangled, and the paint was completely worn away. A few specks of the bright colours it had been painted remained in the cracks. Eleanor kept it as a memento of the happy times with all three boys, when they stayed at Haverford Castle, and the duke did not.

Perhaps it could be repaired? If Jonathan ever married and had a son, she would like him to have it.

She chuckled at her own hopeful dreams. Certainly, nothing in his letter indicated the approach of that day! And, to be fair, he had no need to wed. He was a second son, independently wealthy, and could please himself. She just wished he would do it in England.