Lion’s Zoo

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Sowing Chaos on WIP Wednesday

Here’s an excerpt from Chaos Come Again, my retelling of Othello, now on preorder.

Lion walked out of his bedchamber at peace with the world. Dorothea was still asleep—the sleep of the well-pleasured, Lion thought as he closed the bedchamber door as quietly as he could. Amelia was already up, and was frying bacon and eggs on a skillet over embers in the hearth. Blythe must have given her the provinder he had brought from headquarters.

“Coffee, Colonel?” she asked. “I am making breakfast for Major Foxton. Can I fetch you a plate?”

Lion was suddenly remarkably hungry, which was unsurprising given how physically active he had been in the night. “Yes, thank you. Breakfast would be very welcome. I can pour my own coffee, Mrs Foxton.”

He carried his mug out into the morning sun, where Fox was already sitting on the bench under the front window.

“I didn’t expect to see you up so early,” Fox commented. “Busy night, wasn’t it?”

Lion bristled. Admittedly, he and Dorothea had not been quiet, but the comment was in poor taste.

Fox didn’t seem to notice. “I am glad you have some compensations for your hasty marriage,” he commented.

That was an odd thing to say. “I have Dorothea,” Lion pointed out.

Fox chuckled. “Yes, I heard.”

Lion glared at him. “Enough of that, Fox. Show my wife some respect.”

“Sorry, Lion. It’s just, it seems so unfair that you didn’t know you were earl-in-waiting until after you’d taken a merchant’s daughter to wife. There are better-born women—ladies—with dowries her equal or better, and you could have had your pick. I blame our grandfather.”

“Don’t say that Fox. Don’t even think it. I count myself the luckiest man alive that I was there to rescue her from Westinghouse. I love her, Fox, and she loves me.” He smiled out over the camp, recovering some of the peace with which he’d started the day.

He wanted his cousin to understand. “You can’t know what it is like. My life has been turmoil and chaos since my mother died, but she makes sense of everything. She is my order and my peace. Be glad for me, cousin.”

Fox looked blank for a moment, as if he could not understand Lion’s words. Then he lifted his cup to sip his coffee and looked away, across the sea of tents where earlier risers than they were already busy. “That’s good then,” he said.

She loves me, Lion reminded himself again. And then, unbidden, And I do love her. If ever I do not, chaos is come again.

“What was that, Lion?” Fox asked.

Did I say that out loud? He must have. “Nothing,” he told his cousin. “Look, here is Amelia with our breakfast.”

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Plot twist in WIP Wednesday

The excerpt is from Chaos Come Again, which I intend for release in June.

The shock came after dinner was over. The earl shook his head at his daughter, who had stood as a signal to the ladies that it was time to leave the room. When she resumed her seat, he tapped a spoon on his glass to demand silence. He let his gaze travel around the table, finishing with Lionel and Dorothea. “I have given much thought to what I wanted to say, and how to say it,” he began.

“I have chosen this occasion because my grandson deserves that the news I am about to share is spread as far as possible, and I shall count on those here at my table to pass on the story I am about to relate.”

The corner of his mouth quirked in a fraction of a smile. “Lion, here, is going to ask why I did not warn him. Well, all I can say in my defence is that when I planned this dinner party, I expected him to have been here well before it. Lion, I accept that your news took priority over mine.”

Lionel inclined his head.

“Nineteen years ago, my grandson arrived from India, with documents that proved he was the son of my deceased eldest son, Anthony Lord Harcourt. One of the documents claimed to prove that my son had married his mother, the daughter of an Indian woman and an Irish sergeant. I did not believe it. Nonetheless, I sent agents to discover the facts.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the table.

“All the adults in the story were dead. My son. Sergeant O’Toole. His daughter and her mother. It took time for my agents to uncover witnesses who could speak to the truth of the documents Lionel had brought with him. By the time they returned, two years had passed. My second son was known everywhere as Lord Harcourt, and Lion had been accepted as my illegitimate but recognised grandson.”

With a sigh, his hands shaking, he faced Lion. His eyes were anguished as he said. “Lionel, I will not ask for your forgiveness, for I do not deserve it. My agents found witnesses to your parents marriage, including the wife of the parson who performed the service. He had also died, but his wife was at the wedding and swore that it was a true and legal union.”

Beside Dorothea, Lionel had frozen in place, and when Dorothea put her hand on his to assure him of her support, the skin beneath her fingers felt cold to the touch.

The earl, his voice anguished, continued, “But to tell Harry that he was not the heir; to tell his wife! You were already speaking of a military career. I decided to say nothing; to leave matters as they were. It was a dreadful thing to do. I knew it at the time. I knew it every time I looked at you from the day I realised I had wronged you.”

Lion’s face had turned as hard as granite and his voice was strained, as he said. “My parent were truly married?”

The earl nodded. “You are the legitimate son of my eldest son, Lord Harcourt by right of birth, and soon to be Earl of Ruthford after me. I have notified the Committee for Privileges.”

Lionel said nothing, but his muscles under Dorothea’s hand tensed still further, which should not have been possible.

Mr Foxton leapt to his feet and hurried around the table, sporting a broad smile. “Lion, that is wonderful. Grandfather, you must be delighted. Lion will be a superlative earl. As one of those under his command, I can assure you of that.” He reached Lionel and gave his shoulder a robust punch. “We must have champagne! I cannot think of anyone who deserves a peerage more! Just think how thrilled the tenants and servants will be not to be subjected to our second cousin and his wife!”

With Mr Foxton, the others at the table stood to offer their own congratulations. Lionel stood to receive them, baring his teeth in a parody of a smile, clinging to Dorothea’s hand as if he feared being swept under by the surge of goodwill.

“I don’t want it,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. But Foxton and the earl both pretended they had not heard, and nobody else was listening.

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Tea with an assassin (retired)

Mrs Moriarty, Prue Wakefield’s guest, was not Irish, as her name suggested. Mediterranean, if Eleanor, Duchess of Winshire,  had to make a guess. Perhaps Greek, with that classical nose and heavy eyebrows.

They had enjoyed a cup of tea each and some of Fournier’s lovely little cakes, but Eleanor still did not know why Prudence had asked for the meeting, though the conversation had been pleasant. Mrs Moriarty was not only a beautiful woman, but a very intelligent one, able to hold her own in a wide-ranging conversation.

She also had the same alert way of moving through her surroundings that Eleanor had seen before, in those who worked in the shadows. It came as no surprise when Prue said, “Mrs Moriarty’s husband was one of Lord Ruthford’s exploratory officers, and Mrs Moriarty also worked with him from time to time.”

“I was an assassin,” Mrs Moriarty said, the words all the more startling in her soft voice. Perfect English diction. She had learned the language well, and probably as a child. “Was. I do not like taking life, your grace,” she added.

Eleanor was seldom lost for words, but what did one say to such a statement? I am so glad? That is nice, dear?

“Lord Ruthford and the Moriartys have set up a new agency. Mrs Moriarty will head it, as the gentlemen are both occupied, Ruthford as an earl and Moriarty as a Senior Supervisor with the Thames River Police.”

This, Eleanor assumed, was the business end of the meeting. “Does the agency need something from me?” she asked. “I will need to know its purpose.”

Mrs Moriarty gave a pleased nod. “Prue told me that your grace is an unusual woman. You are correct. Moriarty Protection would like your endorsement. We seek to offer, as the name implies, discreet guard services for those in need of protection. Our guards will be experts in all kinds of weapons and in unarmed combat, and will have the highest level of screening to ensure they cannot be bought. Our women guards, as well as the men. They will be well enough spoken and educated to join a household in any guise, as servants, guests, friends, even family members.”

“Women guards?” Eleanor asked, intrigued by that one fact. She could see the benefit! “Unexpected, and able to follow a woman they are protecting into places a man cannot go,” she said.

That fetched another approving nod from Mrs Moriarty. “Precisely,” she said.

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Second chances on WIP Wednesday

Second-chance love is a great trope, whether with the original lover or with someone new. One of my current works-in-progress has my protagonists coming back together after an explosive parting years earlier. These two fell in love when they were adolescents running wild in the streets of London. They fell into bed when they met again in Spain during the war, and parted when each believes the other a traitor. Five more years on, he is a Surveyor for the Thames River Police, and she is an assassin sent to kill him.

If you have a second chance love on the go, please share an excerpt in the comments.

Rather than stay awake until the early hours of the morning, Matt had feinted going out to dinner, and his pursuer turned quarry had taken the bait. He’d subdue the man, find out what he wanted and who sent him, hand him over to the local constables, and still have an early night.

The light glinted on a pair of weapons in the intruder’s belt and suddenly Matt knew why he had been dogged all evening by the sense he was missing something obvious. He knew who was breaking into his room, even in dim light when all he could see was her back. Who else carried short daggers with three blades in a trident? His subconscious had seen past her male disguise. Probably even the disguise as the veiled widow.

Once, he would have said his heart would recognise her anywhere. Apparently, that was still true, which was why he had long since stopped listening to the unreliable organ.

She bent to his door, a lock pick at the ready.

“No need, Elektra,” he told her. “It is unlocked.”

He had to give her credit. She did not start, nor show any other outward sign of alarm. Perhaps she froze for a brief second, but nothing more. “Matthias. It has been a long time.”

“If you have come to finish what you started in Spain, I suggest you turn around and leave. And keep going.” He was annoyed at the bitterness in his voice. His feelings for Ellie—any feelings, including the hatred he had nurtured since her betrayal—were a weakness. She was a vicious she-wolf, and would tear into any weakness without mercy.

“I made a mistake in Spain,” Ellie told him. “I trusted the wrong person. I have regretted it ever since. I am not here to attack you, Matthias.”

An apology? Did she think that would make things right between them? “Whatever your errand, you have wasted your time. We have nothing to say to one another.” No point in letting fly with all the accusations he could mount against her.

After their last confrontation—after she had sworn she was only following orders and then disappeared into the night never to return—he had set out to prove her innocence of the accusations against her, only to find her treachery confirmed at every turn.

If he let go of the volcano of words stored up inside him, he knew he would not stop. It would be no wiser to begin a verbal battle than to let free the physical desire that had sprung to full life as soon as he had seen her. Hatred and lust could apparently coexist, but he would as soon touch a viper. “Leave, Elektra.”

Instead, she opened his bedchamber door and stepped inside.

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Introductions in WIP Wednesday

We want to meet the main characters in the story early on. We want to know a bit about them, and we want to get a sense of whether they’re likeable (the protagonists) or potentially villainous. But we don’t want to be overwhelmed with backstory. Today, I’m asking you to share a few paragraphs from when one of your main characters appears in your story. Mine is my heroine from The Darkness Within, one of my current projects.

Serenity Witness would be Chosen in the next ballot. This was not a matter of faith, it was an inevitable fact, since she was the last of the current crop of brides. Hers would be the only lot in the golden chalice that was used at the ceremony. Even though the girls two years younger had been moved into the bride house after the Winter Solstice, it was only so that the Spring and Summer brides would not be alone, and the Spring bride had been Chosen just over two months ago. Her turn would end four weeks and a day from now.

The younger girls were all tremendously excited about the ballot ceremony tomorrow, but mostly because, in three months, their lots would be added to the chalice, and one of them would be chosen as Autumn bride. They assumed Serenity was even more enthusiastic, and she did nothing to dissuade them.

She should be delighted, of course. She was way past the age when most Witness girls entered adulthood.

The Powers had passed her by the first year she was eligible, when she was just sixteen. Seven females shared her birth year, and three were still unchosen from the year before. In the second year, she was left again. In the third year, the four girls a year younger were added, and that year, Serenity was Chosen, but between the ballot and the wedding, she contracted smallpox and nearly died.

By the time she recovered, another had taken her place, for the vitality of the community depended on the Chosen bride, and the position could not be left vacant.

Her smallpox scars did not matter, the Incarnate One assured her. The Powers saw beyond the surface, to the beautiful soul within. Still, they passed her by in the next ballot, and the next, until here she was, nearly twenty years of age and still a maiden bride.

Sitting in the little chapel of the bride house, she faced the Powers and confessed what they, who knew all, must already see within her. “I am afraid.”

At sixteen, she would have been thrilled. Even at eighteen months ago, had she not contracted the smallpox, she would have been nervous about being the centre of attention, concerned about failing in her duties, but deeply content to step over the threshold that marked the separation between girl and woman.

“I am afraid,” she repeated. “I doubt, even though I know that I should not. Take away my doubt, dear Powers.” Every one said that to be Chosen was the greatest of all privileges, and that the three months the Chosen spent as Goddess Incarnate filled her with a joy that would last the remainder of her life. But ever since her friend Verity was tempted from the path by the acolyte called Paul, Serenity had been unable to keep the questions from her mind.

Paul had moved on a few days before Verity became Goddess Incarnate and Verity had served her appointed term, but Serenity had seen the sadness in her eyes when she stepped down from beside the One after the Goddess moved to the next Chosen. A few weeks after she entered the wives’ house, she had died suddenly—an accident with a knife, the community was told. But Serenity had doubted, and the doubts multiplied as she began to notice other signs of secret distress amongst the wives.

“Take away my doubts,” she prayed, but the calm certainty she sought evaded her.

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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.”