Bear Gavenor

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Tea with Rosa Gavenor

Rosa Gavenor waited for the butler to return and conduct her upstairs to the duchess who had commanded her presence. The double duchess, they called her in the ton, for she had been the wife of the Duke of Haverford for long enough that her son was a man entering his middle years when he inherited the title.

The duchess married again shortly after the end of her period of morning, becoming the Duchess of Winshire.

Rosa had been raised in isolation as the daughter of a gentleman who was librarian to a baron. She had never met even a single duchess, let alone a lady august enough to be chosen as wife by two dukes, one after the other.

This was without a doubt the most scary thing she had done during her visit to London.

She had been nervous about the visit, but determined to be a credit to her beloved husband. She had the wardrobe to look like a prosperous gentleman’s wife. She had purchased several afternoon gowns, two carriage ensembles, and a ball gown in Liverpool, at the same modiste who made her wedding gown and the other clothes that Hugh had ordered for her before they were married.

Hugh said what she had would be inadequate for a month in London, and appealed to the Countess of Ruthford, wife of Hugh’s beloved colonel, whom everyone except his wife called Lion.

Lady Ruthford agreed, and offered to take Rosa to her own modiste. Before the shopping trip was over, Rosa and Dorothea, the countess, were firm friends.

Then came the invitations. Hugh was far more popular, and have deeper connections into the upper reaches of the ton, than Rosa had realised. She had her own connection, of a sort, too. The Marquess of Raithby recognised her as a sort of a sister, since her aunt had been his father’s long-term mistress, much loved by both the marquess and his children.

Rosa very quickly found other married women she liked, and soon had invitations that did not depend on Hugh’s connections or those of the marquess. While much of the ton was as standoffish and smug as Hugh always said, he was correct, too, that people were people, no matter their status in life. She could ignore the self-centred and cruel, and enjoy those who were prepared to be friends.

What sort of a contact would the duchess prove to be? It didn’t matter. Hugh was doing business with the Duke of Haverford and with the Earl of Sutton, Winshire’s son and heir. As his wife, Rosa must make a good impression, or at the very least, not make a bad one.

Knowing how important this meeting was did not make the waiting any easier. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an age before the butler returned, and invited Rosa to follow him.

The elegant and expensive decor was unusual for an English house, reminding Rosa that the duke had spent many years in the east. She did not have time to examine it, though, for the butler hurried up the staircase and along a wide hallway to an elegant parlour.

As soon as she saw the duchess’s smile, Rosa knew her worries were for nothing.

“My dear Rosa… may I call you Rosa? I feel that I know you, with what my god son, dear Raithby, has said. Come and sit down, my dear. Tell me all about yourself, and how I can help you and your dear husband.”

Rosa’s love story with Hugh (aka Bear) Gavenor is in Grasp the Thorn, free this month.

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Background characters on WIP Wednesday

You’re absolutely right. All of you who think I fall in love with my background characters are correct. But they are such fun! For example, how about Mrs Able and her kids in Grasp the Thorn?

Once out of the gate, Miss Pelman turned uphill, towards the village centre, and then almost immediately down a little narrow side street with four terraced houses on either side. They looked to be of the same vintage and type as the hovels at the bottom of the hill, but in much better condition, and lights flickered behind the downstairs window of each.

Miss Pelman stopped at the second house on the right and mounted the three steps that took the doorway higher than the muddy road. How many people lived here? The cacophony behind the door suggested at least a score: a baby crying, children shouting, and a couple of adult voices pitched to be heard above all the rest.

A knock brought an immediate response: a child’s voice retreating as it shouted, “Mam, Mam, someone’s to door.”

The door opened, just enough for a half-grown girl to insert her wiry body in the gap and examine first Miss Pelman and then Bear with eyes that were twenty years older than the rest of her.

“We’re here to see your mother,” Miss Pelman did not waste courtesy on the children of the poor. “Take us to her.”

The girl let the door swing open and led the way a few paces down the narrow, cluttered hall to a parlour door. Five children of various ages and sizes tumbled up and down the stairs leading to the upper floor, playing some complicated game that required frequent pauses for negotiation of the next move. In the parlour, more children draped themselves across the furniture, sat against the walls, or lay on their stomachs on the knotted rag rugs.

A lushly built woman, not old enough to be mother of all these children, let the suckling infant she held detach itself from her nipple, and reached for the wailing baby that one of the older girls held. Another girl scooped up the little sprite who had finished his or her meal, and skirted Bear to whisk it out of the room.

The nursing woman watched Bear with a sardonic eye, as if daring him to comment on her exposed, full breasts. He kept his face impassive as the baby in her arms bumped blindly against her bare skin. She thrust her nipple into its wailing mouth, silencing, at least, that source of noise.

“Mam Able, it’s Miss Pelman and a gentleman,” the door opener announced. She wasn’t looking at the nursing woman and Bear turned to see who was being addressed.

Half screened by children, another woman watched them from one of the couches. She was much older. The first woman’s mother, perhaps? They shared the same eyes, though this second woman had run to fat, with several chins, a bosom like the prow of a ship and arms like young oaks. Above her broad face, hair an unlikely shade of orange stuck out in a parody of a fashionable coiffure.

“Wha’ might Miz Pelman ’n a gen’leman want of Mrs Able?” she asked, tipping her head to one side in question.

Miss Pelman drew herself up to announce, “Mrs Able, Mr Gavenor is a great friend of my brother’s, and he has need of your services.” She ignored the nursing mother as if she were not in the room.

Bear regretted his keen sense of smell, which detected urine-wet child, heavy sweat, and an overlay of juniper. Gin, probably.

“Lying in, laying out, wet nurse, or sick-bed nurse? Only, if you need a wet nurse, You’ll ’ave to ’ave Penny.” She gestured to the woman feeding the baby, explaining, “Me dugs ’ave dried.” Miss Pelman glanced in the direction of the gesture and as quickly looked away.

“Sick-bed nurse,” Bear told her. “Just for the night, until the daughter can make other arrangements.”

“It is Neatham,” Miss Pelman explained. “But Mr Gavenor is paying.”

Mrs Able pursed her lips. “Just tonight?”

Bear nodded.

“Two shillings by the night. Extra if he soils himself.”

Highway robbery, but undoubtedly anyone with this many mouths to feed needed the money. “Half now, half in the morning.”

“And dinner from the inn and a pint of porter.”

He would pass the inn on his way back to Rose Cottage. “I will pay to have it sent. Enough for Mr Neatham, too.”

The sick-bed nurse hoisted herself from her seat. “Penny, they’re all yours,” she announced.

Penny cast her eyes upwards, though whether in prayer or protest, Bear couldn’t say. “I’ve someone I promised to meet tomorrow, noonish,” she warned.

“I’ll be back by then, or Sal can watch them.”

Mrs Able left the room to a chorus of “Night, Mam,” and pulled on some men’s boots in the hall while the children on the stairs stopped long enough to add their good nights.

Then she covered her head and shoulders with a blanket before leading the way back across to the Pelman’s street and to the entrance of a steep flight of steps that led down to the hollow where the Neathams’ new abode wallowed in its pond.

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Tea with Bear and Lion

 

Lord Ruthford’s friend had little to say for himself, letting Ruthford carry the conversation with Eleanor while he listened with every evidence of interest. Ruthford was answering Eleanor’s questions about the health of Lady Ruthford, who was soon to deliver her second child. “We must be boring Mr Gavenor,” Eleanor said, when she was satisfied with Ruthford’s responses. “What brings you to London, Mr Gavenor?”

Gavenor examined her face while he considered his answer. Eleanor could see how he got his nickname ‘Bear’. He was unquestionably a large man, both broad and tall, but he handled her delicate little china cups with elegant ease, his speech was that of an educated gentleman, and his clothing — though tailored for ease of movement — was of the highest quality.

“I have a matter of business, Your Grace,” he said at last.

“And then he must be home to his wife.” Ruthford grinned as he spoke. “Bear has recently married, duchess, and should really be back in Cheshire with his Rosa, not here in London traipsing around dusty old houses with me.”

Gavenor took the teasing in good part, his smile genuine. “And Lion should be home making sure Lady Ruthford takes a sleep in the afternoon and a gentle walk after supper,” he responded, proving that he had been listening when Eleanor instructed his friend. Lion was the name by which most of his friends knew Ruthford — most of England, now, since the team of daring soldiers Ruthford had led behind enemy lines during the war was now known far and wide as Lion’s Zoo. Lion, Bear, Centaur, Fox. They all had fanciful animal names, and Eleanor was pleased to see that at least some of them remained friends even two years after they were disbanded.

“Tell me more about your wife, Mr Gavenor,” she said. “What is her name?”

Bear and Rosa are the hero and heroine of House of Thorns, currently on pre-release and to be published this Friday.

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Bear explains his marriage to Lion in the following excerpt.

“Rosa. Rosabel Neatham. I found her on a ladder picking my roses.” Once he started, the story came easily. “Then a few days after the wedding, I got your message and came to London. So I hope you’re in a hurry to get back to Lady Ruthford, for I do not mean to linger here one day more than I need to.”

“I beg your pardon? A few days after the wedding? You married this paragon then abandoned her a few days after the wedding? Why on earth didn’t you write back and tell me to go soak my head?”

Bear’s guilty wince didn’t go unnoticed.

“You and the lady have had a falling out.”

“Not precisely. Rosa doesn’t… That is to say, I thought some distance might help, but Rosa is not one to nurse a grudge. She writes charming letters, and I write back. When I get home, we will put it behind us.”

“If you will take advice from a man married four years longer than you, when you get back to Mrs. Gavenor, discuss whatever it was and clear up any misunderstandings. She is very likely blaming herself for whatever came between you. Women do.”

“Surely not! It was my fault entirely. At least… Lion, I thought virgins bled.” Lord. I did not say that out loud, did I?

Lion took a sip of coffee. “Not that my experience is vast, but I don’t believe it to be an inevitable rule. It depends on the age of the woman, on what kinds of physical activities she has done—my own wife rode astride as a girl and… Well. Let’s leave it at that. And the man’s patience is important.”

Bear groaned. “I should probably be hanged.”

“I see.”

He probably did, too. The ability to pick up small clues and draw correct conclusions was one of his great assets as a commander, and he knew Bear better than anyone else in the world.

“You believed the rumors about her and you still married her?”

“No! At least, I thought they were mostly malicious lies. They started only after her father was no longer able to protect her, and the people most assiduous in pushing them all had an axe to grind.”

“This Pelman wanted to coerce her into bed and used the family feud with her respectable cousins.”

“In a nutshell. Dammit, Lion, it’s obvious to me now. She kissed like an innocent. I thought she was just shy, or nervous about being interrupted by the servants.”

“Ah well. Women are told their first time will be painful, though it is not necessarily so.” He smiled as if at a fond memory, then recalled himself and continued. “You made sure she enjoyed her second time, I assume.” He raised his brows again. “No. You rushed off to London, instead. Bear, tell me you didn’t let the poor lady know you thought she had had previous lovers.” Bear grimaced.

“You did.” Lion wagged his head from side to side. “Bear, Bear, what are we going to do with you? So, there she is miserable in Cheshire because her husband insulted then abandoned her. Here you are miserable in London because you have made a mess of things and don’t know how to put it right. Go home, Bear. Talk to your wife.”

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Tea with Lion

The Earl of Ruthford waited while his godmother exchanged a hug and a kiss with his lovely countess, and then saluted Her Grace with his own kiss.

“It is always lovely to see you, Godmama,” he said, his blue eyes alight with humour.

Dorothy, who had not yet regained her full strength since the birth of Lion’s heir, sank into the chair the duchess indicated and immediately betrayed her hovering spouse. “Lion has been speculating about your intentions ever since your invitation arrived, Your Grace.”

The duchess laughed. “Dorothy, my dear, please call me Aunt Eleanor, as your husband does when he is not determined to be provocative. And Lion, must I have an ulterior motive for inviting you?”

“Must is a strong word, Aunt Eleanor,” Lion agreed. “Let us just say that I have reason to believe you may be taking an interest in a friend of mine. Bear, is it not?”

The duchess showed her surprise by the merest twitch of her eyebrows, then smiled. “Well done, Lion. Let me pour your wife a cup of tea, and you shall tell me all about Bear Gavenor, his spontaneous marriage, and his unlikely bride.”

Lion is a secondary character in House of Thorns, currently with the editors at Scarsdale Press and with a tentative publication month of September.

Here’s a short excerpt, in which my hero, Bear, tries to explain his marriage to Lion, his former colonel.

He turned from the tray to find his former officer sitting straight behind his desk, his hands folded together on his blotter, his eyes steady on Bear’s face, a small smile playing around his mouth. “Confession time, my son. Tell Father Lion everything. Whom have you married, when, and why?”

Bear said nothing while he brought his coffee over to the desk and seated himself on one of the robust pieces of furniture that Lion’s wife had bought for her husband’s sanctuary. “For you are mostly giants,” she had informed his friends, “and I want you all to be comfortable.”

Lion raised an eyebrow at Bear’s continued silence. “That bad?”

“Not bad. Just… complicated.” Where to begin?

“Not one of the London debutantes you were so scathing about this past Season, poor little girls.”

“Poor little feather-wits and rapacious harpies.”

“So you said in April, to my wife’s despair, for she had introduced you to the nicest girls she knew.”

“Not her fault. I was too old for them, Lion, as you said at the time.”

“And too nice for a widow. Have you married a widow?”

“I wasn’t against marrying a widow. Just not one who was having such a good time kicking up her heels in London that I feared spending my remaining days waiting for her to bump me off so she could do it again, with my money.”

“Avoiding the question, Bear? How bad is it? Sorry. How complicated.”

“She’s not too young. Not too old, either. Thirty-six.”

Lion said nothing, but his eyebrows lifted in the questions he was not speaking.

How to explain Rosa. Bear was barely conscious of the helpless wave of his hand as he considered and rejected several sentences. “She suits me, Lion.”

“A pertinent fact, but not a history. I can see an interrogation is required. What is the name of this not-old lady, and where did you meet?”

“Rosa. Rosabel Neatham. I found her on a ladder picking my roses.” Once he started, the story was easy to tell, and Lion had always been an excellent listener.

“Then a few days after the wedding I got your message and came to London. So I hope you’re in a hurry to get back to Lady Ruthford, for I do not mean to linger here one day more than I need to.”

“I beg your pardon? A few days after the wedding? You married this paragon then abandoned her a few days after the wedding? Why on earth didn’t you write back and tell me to go soak my head?”

Bear’s guilty wince didn’t go unnoticed, because Lion’s eyes sharpened.

“You and the lady have had a falling out.”

“Not precisely. Rosa doesn’t… That is to say, I thought some distance might help, but Rosa is not one to nurse a grudge. She writes charming letters, and I write back. When I get home, we will put it behind us.”

“If you will take advice from a man who has been married four years longer than you, Bear, when you get back to Mrs. Gavenor, discuss whatever it was and clear up any misunderstandings. She is very likely blaming herself for whatever came between you. Women do.”

“Surely not! It was my fault entirely. At least… Lion, I thought virgins bled.” Lord. I did not say that out loud, did I?

Lion didn’t turn a hair, but just took a sip of his coffee. “Not that my experience is vast, but I don’t believe it to be an inevitable rule, no. It depends on the age of the woman, on what kinds of physical activities she has done — my own wife rode astride as a girl and… Well. Let’s leave it at that. And the man’s patience is important.”

Bear groaned. “I should probably be hanged.”

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Reflection characters on WIP Wednesday

Every hero and heroine needs someone to talk to, even if it is only their pet. How else is an author to let the reader know what’s going on in the character’s head? A reflection character is a bit more than a sounding board. A reflection character gives our protagonist a timely push to be the person they can be.

This week, I’m looking for excerpts where your hero or heroine is talking to their friend. Mine is from House of Thorns. My hero Bear is about to be confronted by his manservant.

Bear was examining the tankard from which he had been drinking. He was nearly sober again, since he’d slept properly for the first time since leaving his poor wife crying in the garden. He could finish the tankard and demand another, or he could go home and pay for his sins. Neither option was appealing.

He looked up as a shadow fell across his table. “So, there you are, Mr. Gavenor.”

“Jeffreys?” What was his manservant doing here?

“Two days, I’ve been looking for you.” Jeffreys shook his head slowly. Even watching the motion sent Bear’s head and stomach into rebellion. “Ever since you run off from poor Mrs. Gavenor, leaving her in such trouble.”

“Rosa is in trouble?” That brought him to his feet, though he groaned as the full weight of his headache hit him.

Jeffreys leant a supporting hand to Bear’s elbow. “Need to get you cleaned up so you can go home and help her.”

“Redding can help her,” grumbled Bear.

Jeffreys cast his eyes upward and sighed. “That’s just nonsense, and you know it. He’s telling people he got his black eye when he rescued Mrs. Gavenor from that swine Pelman, but Pelman is saying you gave it to him. And if you did, then you should be ashamed, sir. And Pelman, too, assaulting the poor lady with her father sick and the poor London lady on her deathbed.”

“Mrs. Clifford is dying? Hell and damnation, Jeffreys. I have been an ass.”

Jeffreys kept his face bland. “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t presume to argue with you, sir.”

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Moving the courtship along on WIP Wednesday

I’m writing romance, which means courtship. Even if the relationship gets off to a rocky start or hits a rocky middle, courtship has to come into it, or there’s no romance and no story.

So this week, I’m asking for a scene that shows a crucial step in the courtship. It could be a step forward, or a step back. You decide. But something that changes the relationship. Mine is the proposal scene from House of Thorns. It is still at the all dialogue stage, and will probably change on the redraft, but here it is, raw, awkward, and as is.

“Miss Neatham, the Rector came to tell me that the village has been talking.”

“I expected it. When do you wish us to move out? I can put my weight on my ankle again.”

“I do not wish you to move out, though I will move into the village for a couple of weeks.”

“But your work… A couple of weeks… What can you mean?”

“I am doing this wrong. Look, Miss Neatham. Rosabel. Would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

“Your wife?”

“It will protect you and your father, and it would suit me very well, too. I need a wife, as these past few days have shown me. Someone to look after my house and make it into a home. I have never been more comfortable. I like having you around.

And it isn’t just that. You would be an asset to my dealings. I need to entertain from time to time, and you would show to advantage with the people with whom I do business. You are a lady to the fingertips, Rosa, and the people who buy my houses would like that.

Also, I need a child. A daughter would be best, because my great aunt’s property must be left to a girl, but we could try again if we had a son, and an heir would be rather a nice thing, I think. I had thought of adopting, but a child needs a mother, and that means a wife.”

“But… I am thirty-six.”

“I am forty-three. Which means we are both still capable of having a child.”

“Surely there are younger women with better connections…”

“I don’t want them. Silly ninnies. No conversation. I like you, Rosa. I like spending time with you.”

“Well, thank you.”

“I don’t want… Rosa, you deserve to have choices, and you won’t have them in this village. If you won’t marry me, will you let me find you and your father a house somewhere away from here, where you can live life without your aunt’s history following you?”

“You know about my aunt?”

“The Rector told me.”

“And you still want to marry me?”

“You are not your aunt, and very few families lack a skeleton or two in their closet. Marry me, Rosa. I will try to be a good husband.”

“You could find a better wife.”

“I’ve tried. And one Marriage Mart was enough. I’m never going back. If you won’t have me I’ll dwindle into a lonely old man.”

“I cannot help but feel that I benefit most from this arrangement.”

“The benefits are two way. You get a home and respectability. I get a home and all the things we have listed.”

“We have no guarantee that I am fertile.”

“That would be true no matter who I married.”

[goes away to think]

“Yes, Mr Gavenor.”

“Then you had better call me Bear. Or Hugh, if you prefer. My great aunt used to call me Hugh.”

“Hugh, then. Thank you, Hugh. I shall try to be a good wife.”