mistaken identity

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Spotlight on A Gift to the Heart

When the Queen of Misrule takes over the town, sins are laid bare, and brothers lose their hearts.

When Cilla Wintergreen supports her sister’s plans to punish the man who ruined their friend, she helps in a miscarriage of justice, for they catch the wrong man. But no harm is done, except to her imagination. She cannot forget the sight of their victim, half naked, his torso shining in the candlelight. Just as well she is unlikely to meet him again. Until she does.

When Drake Sanderson is mistaken for his licentious older brother Colin, he readily forgives the women who captured him. After all, they release him when they realize he isn’t Colin. But the event changes his life, for one of those women captures his heart, and he won’t give up until she agrees to be his wife or marries another.

When Livy Wintergreen tries to take revenge on a cruel seducer, and catches the wrong man, she puts in train a series of events she could not have imagined. For she had long thought she was too old, too contentious, and too independent to find a man to love her.

When Bane Sanderson rescues his brother from female revelers out for retribution, he did not expect their queen to consume his heart and mind, until courting her seems the only sensible course of action. If she is not put off by his scars, his irregular birth will disgust her. But he must try.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FTFYXNXB

Two brothers, two sisters, two love stories.

An Excerpt from A Gift to the Heart

Livy had come down to earth with a crash. Everything had been going so well. Sanderson had come in response to the letter. He had drunk the wine she had given him and passed out. Her collaborators had helped to strip him and put on the goat’s head. Exactly as they had planned.

And, oh, the uplifting sensation of striking back at all the men who thought they could have whatever they pleased while denying the same freedom to women!

Pacing beside the ass, surrounded by her temporary subjects, she had felt powerful, free, and above all, accepted. And then he had arrived. The man in the hood. Riding through the gathered women to haul their prisoner up onto his horse, and then delivering the devastating words that laid bare her mistake.

It didn’t help that something about his voice, his posture, his sheer presence made her tingle, and not in an unpleasant way. A ridiculous and shaming reaction to a complete stranger she had just offended.

Why had she insisted on having none of the locals in the room before Sanderson had been blinded by the goat head? She had meant to protect them from retaliation, and instead, she had led them into a debacle.

Though they didn’t seem downhearted. They were carrying on with the plans they’d had for the evening before the Maplehurst Hall party had joined them. Blankets had been spread out on the ground. Some of the matrons were carrying around baskets of food.

Several of the villagers were passing out jugs of wine. A group was singing. Livy had heard the tune before, but the scandalous lyrics were new to her.

“Come along, Miss Wintergreen,” said a girl from the village that Livy had met earlier in the evening. “Come and have fun.”

Livy allowed herself to be led to where her sister and other people from the house party were sitting, all mixed in with the villagers and other neighbors. “I am so sorry,” she said to them. “My mistake has ruined the evening.”

“Not your mistake,” someone protested. “You had no way of knowing that the silly boy would take the letter to the wrong brother.”

The whole neighborhood—but not the house party—had known that Colin Sanderson was holding a scandalous gathering at his house for Livy’s cousin Jasper Marple and his friends, all of whom were apparently cut from the same cloth. Mrs. Sanderson had gone to spend Christmas with her mother and had given every maid under forty leave to do likewise. Mr. Sanderson had responded by bringing in a carriage load of scandalous women from the nearest town.

“It sounds as if Colin Sanderson well and truly deserved a shaming,” Cilla observed. “What a pity we got the wrong brother. We didn’t even know there was more than one brother.”

“If I had asked someone who knows him to look…” Livy said.

“They are kind of alike,” another of the villagers offered. “Mr. Drake and Mr. Colin. Though I doubt Mr. Colin Sanderson looks so good with his shirt off! Mr. Drake works on the farms and such.”

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Spotlight on My Christmas Knight

For fans of Elizabeth Hoyt and Sherry Thomas comes a Christmas novella about how a mistaken identity forces two strangers to realize that love can bloom` from a marriage of inconvenience and social ruin.

Sir Dennis Fairplace, knighted war hero of Crimea, has had enough of England and family. Overwhelmed by Christmas Day celebrations, he flees his family’s home to board a train northward, but a run-in with brawlers interrupts his plans.

Blanche Badnarrow, cloistered ward of her uncle, the cruel Bishop Badnarrow, secretly plans to elope with her lover to Scotland. But at the last minute, he abandons her at the station. That leaves the bishop determined to make someone—anyone—wed his “ruined” niece.

Enter Dennis, who stumbles into the bishop’s private rail car while trying to avoid a brawl, and finds himself a captive bridegroom.

Blanche and Dennis must escape their prison before her uncle grows tired of their reluctance to wed and throws Dennis from the moving train. As they plot their getaway, the couple begin to wonder—would marriage to one another be so bad after all?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DGFGQTSZ

Anne Knight has been writing stories since she was three years old. Before she could read or write, she followed her parents and babysitter around, begging them to dictate her words. Eventually she learned the alphabet and began writing herself. She sneaked her first romance novel when she was thirteen, but did not become an avid reader or writer of the genre until after college.

Anne lives in Arkansas with her real-life swoony hero, four children, and two cats. The cats are named Cyrano and Ivanhoe.

 

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Money problems on WIP Wednesday

Here’s a scene from my next story in Jackie’s Climb, the next novel in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale. Guess the folk tale that inspired this one!

Bessie did not attract much interest at the market. She was nearly ten years old and would not be in milk again until she had been successfully bred and had given birth to the resulting calf, which meant no milk for at least nine months.

The first person to make an offer said he would pay two pounds, for he could get that much value out of her hide and her bones. “Not much value in the meat,” he opined. “It might be fit for the dogs.”

Jackie was horrified. “She has many useful years yet,” she insisted. She could not sell her old friend to be made into handbags, dog food and glue.

She received three more offers in the next two hours, and all of them were insultingly low. “A good cow might fetch as much as twenty pounds,” she told one man, indignantly, after he’d suggested that he could take Bessie away if she’d accept ten shillings.

“Aye, lad,” the man agreed. “A good cow. But that’s not what you have to sell now, is it?”

By the middle of the afternoon, she was tired, hungry, thirsty, and discouraged. She hated the thought that she might have to take Bessie home and admit that she had failed. Finally, a fifth buyer approached. Humbly, and without much hope. Poorly dressed and bent with age, she did not look like a buyer, but as she examined Bessie with gentle touches and soft murmurings, Jackie found herself warming to the woman.

“You’ve allowed her to dry off,” the woman commented.

“She calved two years ago, and gave good quantities of milk for twenty months,” Jackie explained. “We thought we would breed her again after we sold the calf, a lovely little heifer.” She shrugged. “It was not possible.” Though Civerton was not on Hunnard land, many people from the estate and the village came here for market. It would not be wise to explain that she and her mother were being victimised.

The woman asked how long Bessie had given milk, and in what quantities. “She seems sweet natured,” she commented.

“She is,” Jackie assured her. “She has a very sweet nature. Do you want her for yourself, Mistress?”

“I do. To join my little herd. I cannot pay much, mind. I’ll have to feed her for nearly a year before I get anything back. Ten shillings, lad. What do you say?”

“I’ve been offered two pounds,” Jackie said, honestly.

The old woman examined Bessie with narrowed eyes. “I could not go to two pounds,” she said. “You should take it, lad.”

“It was a knacker,” Jackie explained. “I couldn’t sell dear Bessie to a knacker.”

“No,” the old woman agreed. “It would be a great shame. I will tell you what, young man. I will give you one pound and a packet of my never-fail heavy crop beans. Come up like magic, they do, and taste delicious. I don’t give them to just anyone, mind. But I do like a boy who wants a good home for his cow.”

A pound. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a better offer than any but the one from the knacker. “I’ll take it,” Jackie said.

It was on the walk home that Jackie had her idea. A pound wasn’t enough to pay the rent, but it was the entrance fee to the Crown and Pumpkin’s gambling night, which was on tonight. Yes, and Jack Le Gume had two pounds of stake money hidden in a hollow oak just outside the village. Jackie had planned to give it to Maman with the price paid for Bessie, but even three pounds, with the money they had already saved, would fall short of what was needed.

But what if she could double her stake? Or better? Hunnard was one of the habituees at the Crown and Pumpkin. How fitting it would be if his losses paid the extortionate rent that he was demanding. Yes. Jack Le Gume would certainly be visiting the Crown and Pumpkin tonight.

First, she needed to face her mother and admit that all she’d received for the cow was a package of bean seeds. Maman was as upset as Jackie expected.

“Bean seeds? Jacqueline, how could you! You foolish, foolish girl. Even a few shillings would have been better than that!”

Almost, Jackie confessed to having the pound, but she clung to the picture she’d imagined—Maman’s face tomorrow morning, when Jackie showered her with money and admitted that she had withheld the pound the woman had paid in the interests of multiplying it.

It would all be worth it.

Maman snatched the little pot of bean seeds from Jackie’s hand, strode across the room, slammed the window open, and threw the seeds—pot and all—out the window. “That for you bean seeds. Do you think we will be here to see them grow? Or will have any ground to grow them in after that scoundrel Hunnard throws us out? Do you not understand what he has planned for you, you foolish child? Out. Get out now, and find some work to do. Clean a few more horse stalls. Wash dishes at the inn. We need money, Jacqueline.”

Poor Maman. She always got angry when she was upset. Perhaps Jackie should tell her about the pound, and how she planned to make more money. “It is not quite as bad as it seems, Maman.”

But Maman interrupted her. “You are just like your father. It was the same with him. Always, something would come along to save us. He was certain of it. Always. And always the same. He would gamble away our last coins and things would be worse. Get out of my sight, Jacqueline. I do not wish to see you.”

Jackie left.