Regency Romance

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Spotlight on The Forgotten Daughter

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead and beyond. One of them was left out. She is the third of The Ashmead Heirs.

Eli may not be her idea of a hero, but he’ll solve her problems or die trying

Frances Hancock always knew she was a bastard. She didn’t know her father was an earl until her mother died. The information came just in time. She and her mother’s younger children were about to be homeless. She needs help. Fast. What she wants is a hero.

Eli Benson, the Earl of Clarion’s steward, took great pride in cleaning up the mess left behind by the old earl’s will. When a dainty but ferocious young woman with the earl’s hair and eyes comes demanding help, his heart sinks. She isn’t in the will. She was forgotten entirely. And the estate is just getting its finances back in order. But he knows a moral obligation when he sees one. He may not be her idea of a hero, but people count on him to fix things. He’s good at it. Falling in love with her will only complicate things.

Eli will solve her problems or die trying. It may come to that.

PREORDER LINK: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09PGSYJ3Q/

Excerpt

Eli dismounted instead of riding around to the stables and climbed up to investigate. The girl, a bit of a thing, didn’t come up to the footman’s shoulder, but she confronted him with a straight back and commanding voice. Though slender, she had the look of someone used to hard work. She wore a plain, rather rumpled gown. He suspected she had been traveling for some time. An unadorned straw bonnet covered her head.

“Is there a problem here John?”

“Aye Mr. Benson. I was explaining to this person—”

“I demand to see the earl,” the chit said at the same time. She had cheek for one so young.

“May I ask your business with the earl?” Eli studied her closely. Her face had character. He’d give her that. Perhaps she was older than she first appeared.

“Who are you?” she asked, fire flashing from her eyes. Her very attractive green eyes… Oh no.

“Show some respect, girl,” John said. “This is Mr. Benson, the steward. I’ve been telling you—Mr. Benson will see to whatever it is. The earl isn’t here.”

“Steward, is it? Then you’ll have to help me.” Disappointment inched across her face driving the determination to the side, but not away. She glared up at the footman.

“I’ll deal with this, John. Please care for my horse,” Eli said.

She bounded past John into the foyer where she came to an abrupt halt, wide eyes taking in the magnificence that was Clarion Hall’s entrance: the parquet floors, the marble mantle, the gleaming banister curving upward beside carpeted stairs…

She spun toward Eli, that fire raging in her eyes. “The earl will help me. He has to.”

She pulled the ribbon on her bonnet and took it off, shaking her head and loosening a fall of hair. Glorious auburn hair… Oh no.

Eli’s peace had just been upended by a problem—one cursed with Caulfield hair and Caulfield eyes. One encased in the dainty body of a beautiful young woman with the heart of a warrior.

Damn.

Meet Caroline Warfield

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Website:   http://www.carolinewarfield.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/caroline.warfield.1422/

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Good Reads:  http://bit.ly/1C5blTm

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/caroline-warfield

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Book Page: https://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/the-forgotten-daughter/

Caroline’s Other Books

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Caroline-Warfield/e/B00N9PZZZS/

Bookshelf               http://www.carolinewarfield.com/bookshelf/

A Dangerous Nativity, a novella prequel to both her Children of Empire and Dangerous Series is available for free at:

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Spotlight on Defiant Daughter

The Ashmead Heirs

When the old Earl of Clarion leaves a will with bequests for all his children, legitimate and not, listing each and their mothers by name, he complicated the lives of many in the village of Ashmead.

One sleepy village

One scandalous will

Four tormented heirs

The Defiant Daughter — Buy now! Only 99c until release on 21st October

Madelyn assumed marriage as an old man’s ornament would be better than life with her abusive parents. She was wrong.

Now the widowed Duchess of Glenmoor, she wrestles with ugly memories and cultivates a simple life. She is content. At least, she was until her half-brother returned to Ashmead bringing a friend with knowing eyes and coal black hair to capture her thoughts.

Colonel Brynn Morgan’s days as an engineer in his father’s coal mines in Wales are long behind him. With peace come at last and Napoleon gone, he makes a life for himself analyzing the reports about military and naval facilities worldwide for a shadowy government department. What income he has is committed elsewhere. He has nothing to offer a wife, much less a dowager duchess.

More lies between the duchess and the man she wants than money and class. They have personal demons to slay.

PREORDER LINK: https://bit.ly/TheDefiantDaughter

Giveaway

To celebrate the launch, Caroline will give a copy of any of her books to one randomly selected person who comments. They can choose from the books found here:

Bookshelf

Meet Caroline Warfield

Award winning author Caroline Warfield has been many things: traveler, librarian, poet, raiser of children, bird watcher, Internet and Web services manager, conference speaker, indexer, tech writer, genealogist—even a nun. She reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.

Visit Caroline’s Website and Blog               Meet Caroline on Facebook                          Follow Caroline on Twitter                            Email Caroline directly                                  Subscribe to Caroline’s newsletter            Amazon Author

Good Reads                                                       Bluestocking Belles                                         BookBub

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Tea on the Ice

UPDATE: The prizes for the blog hop have been awarded, but please read on for flash fiction and historical tidbits. Prizewinners names at the bottom of the post. Comments always welcome.

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It was going to work!

Maddie Forrest had called in so many favours and promised more, that if she’d been wrong, she’d be ruined in all the ways a disgraced former lady’s maid could be.

“The ladies will want somewhere they can sit down and warm their hands around a proper cup of tea,” she’d told her brother Will.  It was the first Frost Fair in a generation, and Maddie was sure they’d all come.

Will had scoffed. “Them proper ladies won’t even come down ’ere. Think they want to rub shoulders with the likes of us? Leave it to me, Maddie. This is our chance to make some real money.”

Maddie refused to listen. Will’s ideas about getting his hands on some cash were shady at best and mostly downright criminal. If she’s was going to get herself and little Nan out of London before Will found himself imprisoned or worse, she needed money, and the Frost Fair was her chance. Maddie knew what ladies liked. She’d been a favourite until she fell for the false promises of a black-hearted gentleman.

That, she thought, as she smiled a welcome at yet another group of fashionably dressed ladies as they entered her booth, was her biggest remaining risk, now that the Duchess of Haverford had made all her dreams come true by bringing some huge ton event onto the ice. She was counting on no one knowing her from her former life and spreading around the gossip that the hostess of this discreet and convenient booth was a fallen woman, dismissed without reference when found to be with child.

The chance was low. No one looked at servants. As she served tea and plates of tiny tarts and cakes, the ladies in their fine gowns and warm coats huddled around the braziers that she had begged from a friend in the Night Watch and ignored her, except to speak orders to the air with every confidence that their desires would be met.

A gentleman entered, escorting two ladies. Maddie took their cloaks and showed them to a table. The tent had come from the pawn shop, and she shuddered to think of the payment the pawnbroker would have demanded had she not made its hire fee in the first day on the ice. Yes, and enough to pay for the tables and chairs, too.

“I’ll think of something a fine woman like you can do for me,” he’d told her, his leer leaving no doubt about his meaning.

She didn’t need to worry about the pawnbroker now. She already had his fee wrapped in a package and hidden under her bed. And she’d arranged for her landlady to give it to the man the day after Maddie and Nan got on the stage and left town.

“What is your pleasure?” she asked the ladies who had just taken their seats. She rattled of the types of tea she had available; the foods that local bakers were supplying for her to sell on their behalf, with a small commission sticking to her pocket with every sale.

She was also being paid for supplying the booth two doors up, where the Ladies Society was giving pamphlets about the plight of those returned, and the families of the dead and injured. Yes, and the fortune teller’s booth, and the book tent. She was even making a few extra coins selling tea out the back of the tent made from the great folks’ leavings, with each steep fetching a progressively lower price. Even the chestnut seller could afford to bring her own mug to Maddie’s friend who was serving out the back, for a weak brew that cost her a farthing.

Maddie’s grin at her own success won an answering smile from the gent. He was a handsome fellow for an old man. “Can you also take tea – strong, black and sweet – to my two men outside the tent? They’re the ones in the red coats and large hats.” He handed over a half crown, and for that she would have served half a regiment. Maddie offered him change and her heart sang when he refused.

She poured the ordered tea into mugs for the lesser folk, and carried them outside. Her eyes widened. The men were barbarians of some kind, in red coats like banyans, almost knee length and richly embroidered, and bushy hats made out of sheep’s wool.

“Your master asked me to bring you this,” she told them. They thanked her like civilised beings, but her heart still thumped in her chest as she retreated inside, stopping in the entrance to allow a veiled lady to go first.

Before she could show the lady to a table, the gentleman with the barbarian servants stood and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the lady said. His Grace? The gentleman was a duke? He must be the Duke of Winshire, then. Maddie should have realised. The papers had been full of him for nearly a year, ever since he arrived back in England with an army of barbarians, including his own foreign born children. And there were some of the barbarians right outside her tent!

She crossed to the table to ask for the lady’s order, hoping she would lift the veil. Surely she knew that voice? She was to be disappointed. But as she turned away to make the ordered Oolong, the Duke of Winshire leaned forward and used a finger to lift the veil aside. “How is it?” he asked.

Maddie had a bare moment to catch sight of the lady’s face. The Duchess of Haverford herself sat in Maddie’s tent with the Duke of Winshire, one side her face a massive bruise discernible even through powder intended to conceal.

There must be a story there. Perhaps Maddie could tell the Teatime Tattler, which had a booth several Frost Fair streets over? But no. She’d done all sorts of things to win the funds she needed to give her and Nan a fresh start, but she’d never hurt another person. Whatever the duchess was up to meeting her husband’s greatest enemy, it was nothing to do with Maddie or the Teatime Tattler.

Besides, she owed the Duchess of Haverford for the success of her booth, and for the idea that had just entered her head. She’d taken home one of the pamphlets from the Ladies Society last night, and read it, too. All about the plight of those hurt by the wars over in France, where that fiend Napoleon was trying to scoop up all the countries over there before coming for England. Injured soldiers had a hard time, and so did their families. But widows and orphans were even worse off.

Maddie could be a widow. Why not? Start again where nobody knew her. Perhaps get work in a shop, or even – if the Frost Fair lasted long enough and the crowds remained as large – rent a shop: one that dressed ladies. Who better? Maddie almost sang as she tidied up tables and served more customers.

The Duke of Winshire came to talk to her after the veiled lady left. “I think you recognised the lady who joined me at my table,” he said.

“Discreet and comfortable, it says on the sign, Your Grace,” she told him. “I saw nothing and I know nothing. You can count on me, Sir.”

He examined her face, and must have been satisfied, for he smiled again. “Be sure that you speak of this to no one,” he advised, and she nodded.

He pressed something into her hand then turned away and unhurriedly joined his companions, who were waiting by the door.

Maddie watched him go before looking down. She knew it was a coin by the shape and size of it, but a spade guinea! She could get 27 shilling for that, easy. Why, even as a maid, she’d not made that much in a month! She hadn’t had any idea that keeping secrets could be so lucrative!

For the rest of the day, Maddie hummed as she worked. If just a few more people came to the tea booth seeking a place to hide their secrets, she and Nan would be in clover.

Comment to win

Tea was not the only beverage on sale. No doubt coffee and hot chocolate had their place, too, and all kinds of hot and cold alcoholic beverages. What would you want to drink and eat if you were attending a frost fair. Comment on this post, each of the other four, and the page on the Belles’ website to go into the draw for the main prize in the blog hop, a $50 US Amazon card.

All comments on this post will go in a draw for an e-copy of one the four earlier Bluestocking Belles’ collections, plus a copy of my Paradise Regained, the prequel to The Children of the Mountain King.

Next up: Anna’s Hot Roast Chestnuts!

Could ladies get a discreet cup of tea on the ice?

I don’t have any evidence that the 1814 Frost Fair included a tent where ladies of refinement could escape from the crush of the common people to purchase a good cup of tea, but why not? The ice offered entertainment for all classes and of all kinds, and not everyone enjoys mulled wine and copious quantities of ale.

My tea lady’s experience with the ton was not uncommon. A maid seduced or raped by a so-called gentleman was assumed to be of loose morals and carried all the consequences, while the gentleman was forgiven, because everyone knew that the lower classes were asking for it, and men couldn’t be blamed for taking what was offered.

The secret meeting touches on the matters in my series, Children of the Mountain King, but the main action here and in the rest of the blog hop is Fire & Frost. Don’t miss our five tales of love in a time of ice.

Fire & Frost

In a winter so cold the Thames freezes over, five couples venture onto the ice in pursuit of love to warm their hearts.

Love unexpected, rekindled, or brand new—even one that’s a whack on the side of the head—heats up the frigid winter. After weeks of fog and cold, all five stories converge on the ice at the 1814 Frost Fair when the ladies’ campaign to help the wounded and unemployed veterans of the Napoleonic wars culminates in a charity auction that shocks the high sticklers of the ton.

In their 2020 collection, join the Bluestocking Belles and their heroes and heroines as The Ladies’ Society For The Care of the Widows and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans pursues justice, charity, and soul-searing romance.

Celebrate Valentine’s Day 2020 with five interconnected Regency romances.

Melting Matilda by Jude Knight – Fire smolders under the frost between them.

My One True Love by Rue Allyn – She vanished into the fog. Will he find his one true love or remain lost, cold and alone forever?

Lord Ethan’s Courage by Caroline Warfield – War may freeze a man’s heart; it takes a woman to melt it.

A Second Chance at Love by Sherry Ewing – Can the bittersweet frost of lost love be rekindled into a burning flame?

The Umbrella Chronicles: Chester and Artemis’s Story by Amy Quinton – Beastly duke seeks confident woman who doesn’t faint at the sight of his scars. Prefers not to leave the house to find her.

Congratulations to Cheri, winner of the overall prize for the blog hop, and to Kimberly, who has won two ebooks: her choice of one of the Bluestocking Belles’ earlier collections (Holly and Hopeful Hearts, Never Too Late, Follow Your Star Home, or Valentines From Bath), plus a copy of my Paradise Regained.

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Spotlight on Fire & Frost: Visit the Frost Faire

Starting tomorrow, the Bluestocking Belles are taking you on a tour of the 1814 Frost Faire. Start on this blog for a piece of short fiction, prizes, and more. Then follow the links to each of the booths in turn.

Or go to the Bluestocking Belles’ website for blog hop central, or to the blog Facebook page for more about the fair and links.

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Fire & Frost: it’s almost here

Hot mulled wine and a book on the wooden table. Fireplace with warm fire on the background.

In a winter so cold the Thames freezes over, five couples find a love to warm their hearts. Love unexpected, rekindled, or brand new—even one that’s a whack on the side of the head—heats up the frigid winter. After weeks of fog and cold, all five stories converge on the ice at the 1814 Frost Fair when the ladies’ campaign to help the wounded and unemployed veterans of the Napoleonic wars culminates in a charity auction that shocks the high sticklers of the ton.

Preorder now. Released next Tuesday.

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Charity events in Georgian England or the poor shall be with us always

Our view of Georgian life is often coloured by fictional accounts of high society, where ladies spent vast amounts on bonnets and gentlemen gambled away entire estates on an evening’s card game. Which is a fair reflection of a small part of society, come to that. But one in ten families lived below the ‘breadline’, and at times as many as two in five. Many people were precariously balanced on a knife edge where illness, accidents or old age could tumble them into starvation.

The Poor Law and parish-based support

The Poor Law was meant to make sure such unfortunates had the help they needed. Wealthy households paid a levy to the parish, and local overseers apportioned financial hand-outs, clothing and fuel, and bread to those who could prove they belonged to the parish and therefore had a right to its support.

Where the parish authorities were genuinely charitable, poor relief might tide a family through a bad patch so they could get back on their feet. But the idea that poverty was a character fault is not a 21st Century invention. Strident voices wanted the poor to suffer for their charity handout.

Workhouse to discourage the poor from seeking help

IN 1722, the first legislation passed allowing parishes to provide poor relief in specially built workhouses. By the end of the century, more than 100,000 people lived under their stringent and often dire regime.

The sexes were segregated, and the able-bodied set to work, with strict rules and routines. Some workhouses were pleasant enough. Others were no better than prisons, and many of the poor preferred to starve rather than be put in the workhouse.

They were overcrowded, and the people in them often overworked and underfed. Epidemics tore through them, and the deathrate for people of every age, and particularly for newborns, was brutal. Nearly 2,400 children were received into London workhouses in 1750. Fewer than 170 of those children were still alive in 1755.

Private charities

The parish levy wasn’t the only funding for the poor, though. Many landowners (and particularly their wives) kept to the age-old tradition of providing food and other items to those who lived on or near their estates, and some continued this one-on-one help in town. They also joined groups to provide help for those who needed it.

Private charities collected money for initiatives such as the Foundling Hospital in London, which cared for children whose mothers could not support them, the Marine Society, which trained poor boys for a life at sea, the Magdalen Hospital for Penitent Prostitues, various hospitals to provide free medical care, and educational initiatives. I particularly like the name of the Female Friendly Society for the Relief of Poor, Infirm, Aged Widows and Single Women of Good Character Who Have Seen Better Days. The days of 140 character tweets were well in the future.

Benefits with friends

To raise money, these charitable groups used the time-honoured idea of offering tickets to an entertainment: balls, musical concerts, art exhibitions. Some charged a weekly subscription to support their work. Some solicited donations through pamphlets and direct approaches to possible donors. (Some people have suggested balls were a Victorian contrivance, but British newspapers contain advertisements for charity balls and assemblies, or reports on them, going back to the middle of the previous century.)

Groups would also get together to raise money for a friend in need; perhaps someone who had been injured or widowed. In the British Newspapers Online archive, I found a number of advertisements for events ‘for the benefit of Mr. Xxx’, which is, of course, where we get our term Benefit, to mean a charity event.

Women and charity

While men ran many of the great philanthropic institutions, charity was “the proper public expression of a gentlewoman’s religious energy”. [Vickery, 254] Many women joined benevolent societies (where members agreed to provide support for any of their number who fell on hard times) and a huge number of women founded or joined charitable groups that supported what they themselves would have called ‘good works’.

References

Porter, Roy: English Society in the 18th Century. Penguin, 1982

Uglow, Jenny: In These Times, Faber & Faber 2014

Vickers, Amanda: The Gentleman’s Daughter, Yale, 1998

White, Matthew: Poverty in Britain. https://www.bl.uk/georgian-britain/articles/poverty-in-georgian-britain

Fire & Frost

Fire & Frost is coming out Tuesday of next week, and since the five tales of find love in the depths of winter revolve around a charity event, I thought it was a good time to look at Georgian charities.

In a winter so cold the Thames freezes over, five couples venture onto the ice in pursuit of love to warm their hearts.

Love unexpected, rekindled, or brand new—even one that’s a whack on the side of the head—heats up the frigid winter. After weeks of fog and cold, all five stories converge on the ice at the 1814 Frost Fair when the ladies’ campaign to help the wounded and unemployed veterans of the Napoleonic wars culminates in a charity auction that shocks the high sticklers of the ton.

In their 2020 collection, join the Bluestocking Belles and their heroes and heroines as The Ladies’ Society For The Care of the Widows and Orphans of Fallen Heroes and the Children of Wounded Veterans pursues justice, charity, and soul-searing romance.

Celebrate Valentine’s Day 2020 with five interconnected Regency romances.

Melting Matilda by Jude Knight – Fire smolders under the frost between them.My One True Love by Rue Allyn – She vanished into the fog. Will he find his one true love or remain lost, cold and alone forever?

Lord Ethan’s Courage by Caroline Warfield – War may freeze a man’s heart; it takes a woman to melt it.

A Second Chance at Love by Sherry Ewing – Can the bittersweet frost of lost love be rekindled into a burning flame?

The Umbrella Chronicles: Chester and Artemis’s Story by Amy Quinton – Beastly duke seeks confident woman who doesn’t faint at the sight of his scars. Prefers not to leave the house to find her.

(This post was originally written when we were promoting Holly and Hopeful Hearts, a collection about an earlier Charity event organised by the Duchess of Haverford and the ladies of London Society. It was published by the wonderful Madame Gilflurt on her Madame Gilflurt’s Guide to Life.)

 

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Spotlight on Fire & Frost: A Second Chance at Love

Next up, the lovely tale of Constance and her Digby. You might remember Constance. She was a secondary character in one of Sherry’s earlier stories. Lovely to see her get her happy ending at last.

Viscount Digby Osgood returns to London after a two-year absence, planning to avoid the woman he courted and then left. Surely she has moved on with her life; even married by now. A bit of encouragement from a friend, however, pushes him to seek the lady out. Can she ever forgiven him and give them a second chance at love?

Lady Constance Whittles has only cared for one man in her life. Even after he broke her heart, it remains fixed on him. Another man tries to replace him, but she soon learns she can never feel for him a shadow of what she still feels for Digby. One brief encounter with Digby confirms it; she is more than willing to forgive him. Can they truly take up where they left off?

Charity projects and a Frost Fair on the Thames bring them together, but another stands in their way. Will he tear them apart?

And an excerpt:

Digby opened his eyes. He felt as if he had been run over by a carriage. His vision was blurred. Where had his spectacles been placed? He fumbled around for them on the bedside table and slowly put them on. Once he could see clearly again, he took in his surroundings. He was in an unfamiliar room, but one thing was very familiar to him. Constance slept on the loveseat, a surprise to him. He watched as her shoulders rose and fell with every breath. She was stunning, even in sleep, and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms.
“Constance,” he whispered softly. His throat was raw, his voice raspy at best.
His lady’s eyes fluttered open, and her gaze fell on him. A smile turned up her mouth softening her features, and she threw the blanket off to rush to his side.
“At long last,” she cooed. “Your fever has broken.”
“Fever? What fever?” Digby looked down at his naked chest. In his gentlemanly modesty, he pulled the covers up to his chin, so as not to frighten the woman before him. “Uh… forgive my indecency.”
“You have been ill, my darling. I insisted you be brought to my aunt’s since it was closer than your own townhouse. Your parents have been sick with worry and have been here to check on you several times.” Constance motioned to a maid sitting near the door and began giving her instructions. “Janet, please see that a message is relayed to Lord Osgood’s parents informing them he is now on the mend.”
Digby ran his hand through his hair and winced, noticing the knot on his head. “And why is my head so sore?”
“You had an altercation with Lieutenant Abernathy after my fall through the ice. He is responsible for you hitting your head when you, too, fell. The doctor believed you would not have a concussion as your head injury was not that severe. We have been assured the sleeping you have done was due to a nasty bout of the flu. We took every precaution, however, in the event your illness was more severe.”
“You did?”
“But of course,” she said busying herself by fixing him a cup of tea. “Here, drink this. It will make you feel better.”
He took the cup and sipped, peering at her over the rim. Looking about the room, he was again surprised to notice they were alone. “You… took care of me yourself?” he asked, afraid of what the young woman may have gone through while tending him.
She blushed, most becomingly he thought. “I did what I could, when my aunt allowed it, Digby, although my aunt protested that others could see to tending you and my reputation was at stake. I told her I did not care a fig for my reputation. My main concern was you were properly nursed by someone who loved you.”

The lovely Constance:

Her breathing elevated just seeing Digby again, and she moved behind the desk to try to calm her thoughts. Still… she could not prevent herself from taking in the sight of him. His black hair curling at the edges was slightly damp where his hat had not covered his head from the falling snow. A slight cleft in his chin had always fascinated her whenever they had been together in the past. His face reminded her of the sculptures she had seen in her aunt’s garden; classical and timeless. But it was his vivid blue eyes that were her undoing. He gazed upon her as though asking if he was assuming too much by being here. The silly man.
“Too long indeed. There are not many who would brave such inclement weather to venture outside,” she finally answered hoping her assessment of him did not appear rude. “What brings you into the bookshop today? We have a new mystery if that is what you are looking for.”
“Not today,” he said while continuing to stare at her.
“Then if you have not come for a book, you must wish for some tea after being out in the cold,” she declared as she raised her arm toward the tearoom. “Feel free to pick any table.”
“I am not here for tea, either, my lady.”
Her breath leapt into her throat. Could he possibly mean…? “Then whatever brings you here today, my lord.”
“You.”

And Digby, home again.

Richard motioned for a passing servant to refill their glasses. “What are you doing here, Digby?” he asked, before taking another sip of his brandy.
“I offered my services to the duchess in whatever capacity she may need. This event will benefit so many, and the monies raised are for a worthy cause,” he answered.”
“And…” Richard drawled. He hid a smirk, leaving Digby in no doubt his friend knew exactly why he was here.
“And I also accompanied Lady Constance Whittles and her aunt to attend the committee meeting.”
Richard laughed. “About time you made up with the lady. Saw her a couple times after you left town. She looked completely crestfallen.”
“It certainly was not my intention to hurt her feelings,” he said. He took another sip of the drink and felt the liquor burn down his throat. The distant murmur of feminine laughter echoed through the hallway and Digby attempted to hide a smile, knowing Constance was most likely enjoying herself. “Perhaps one of the woman here might be of interest to you?” Digby hinted, taking another sip of his drink. “The de Courtenay sisters arrived. Lady Constance was having a pleasant conversation with Miss Miranda before their meeting started. From what I overheard, she is still available.”

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You can’t please all of the people all of the time

 

Following on from last week’s discussion about the different ways of writing a historical romance, and particularly a Regency, the other morning I got two emails, one after the other, both about Unkept Promises. Unkept Promises is a different take on a historical romance – set mostly in Cape Town with a couple seven years married who haven’t seen one another since the wedding day. Set in Regency times against the background of the long war with Napoleon, it’s not so much a Regency as a storyabout two people drawn to one another despite their reservations, and about the importance of family.

The first said:

I am honored that you would consider me for an ARC of your upcoming release.  But unfortunately, I won’t be reading this book – I do not read books with unfaithful heroes/heroines  – I was completely hooked until I read the “dying mistress and children” – I am not naïve, I know men had mistresses and it seems like their marriage was never consummated and some might absolve him from breaking his vows based on that – but I am not in that number – that behavior is not something I want to read in my fictional romances.

The second was a review of the same book.

I admire Jude Knight’s rebellious author streak, for her novels are never run–of-the-mill plots. Unkept Promises is no exception, in which Mia and Jules’ encounter one another in the strangest of circumstances.

Whilst events unfold that lead to marriage, Mia is far from ignorant to Jules’ former life and the subsequent responsibilities he has elsewhere. Although their marriage is not unusual for the period, the circumstances of it require gentlemanly retreat in honour of her young years. In some respects Jules is a reluctant hero, though is most definitely a man of his period in history and has borne no guilt in acquisition of a mistress. After all, he is a bachelor when he meets Mia, and as a British naval officer in the years of the Napoleonic Wars he is well travelled. Nonetheless Jules unfailingly bears responsibility for all that his cohabiting with a mistress has entailed. Thus a long gap ensues from Jules sailing out of British waters 1805 to 1812, when Mia now all grown up takes ship to Cape Town (South Africa).

Initially her discovery is disheartening, and sadness prevails within his home, and most of all anger boils over and she takes command of the household. Upon on his return from sea hidden truths gradually emerge and soften her heart toward him. Strong minded she is and ultimately determined to make of the marriage she entered into with sense of due purpose. Even when things go awry back in England Mia’s stoicism and love wins through despite frightening and deadly experiences that threaten both her and Jules very existence, neither knowing if the other is safe and alive. As always a thoroughly enthralling read from Jude.

I write historical fiction with a large helping of romance, a dash of Regency, and a twist of suspense. Read me if you enjoy determined heroines and decent heroes, a story with a braid of plots that take unexpected twists and turns, and loads of characters. I don’t deliberately defy ‘The Rules’, but I don’t follow them, either. All I promise is that eventually we’ll get to the happy ending.

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Historical Modern, Historical Traditional, and Historical that happens to be Regency

Zombie hunters

A category all its own

 

As you know, I’ve thinking about how to categorise what I write. I’ve also been talking with a friend about the apparent great divide in what historical fiction readers, particularly Regency era readers, like to read.

We’ve noticed that some readers are passionate about stories where the heroes and heroines behave in ways they understand — like modern men and women — and even totally reject stories where heroes and heroines follow the dictates of the time. Other readers are the opposite. They will be very hard on an author whose heroes and heroines don’t behave as they think a Regency-era person would have.

I read and enjoy both kinds. All I ask is a good writer and a convincing story, and I know I’m not the only one. But in the interests of those who are disappointed by the wrong book, perhaps we need some new genre segments so that readers can find what they want.

Here’s my attempt at some definitions.

Historical modern

This describes a large group of popular Regencies and many Medievals. The focus is on the romantic relationship. Any subplots are completely subsidiary to the romantic plot. The heroine thinks, talks, and often acts like a modern woman. She is sometimes castigated or shunned for this, but she has support from either family or a close knit group of friends. The hero respects and supports the heroine’s right to be an independent thinker and to act according to her principles, even if this brings her straight up against those who hold a more traditional line. The landscape abounds in dukes and other peers, and even seamstresses of dubious origins can expect to marry one.

I love these. At their best, they are perfect escapist reading. Every heroine is beautiful in the eyes of every charming hero, and they are all charming. Cinderella will go to the ball. Marriages of convenience prove to be love matches, and rescued chimney sweeps (every heroine is charity personified and an environmentalist as well) go on to join the household of happy servants whose lives revolve around our lovely couple. The best authors provide reasons why this particular man has missed the misogyny and arrogance of his class, and why this particular woman is better educated and less restricted by her social conditioning than hers.

If you haven’t read Tessa Dare, Eloisa James, Sophie Jordan, Sally MacKenzie, Katherine Ashe, Lisa Kleypas, Courtney Milan or any of their peers, now’s good! Suspend your disbelief and settle in for a gay romp.

Historical traditional

Do you like your story to focus mostly on the romance, but for your characters to be truer to the historical setting? This segment of the historical romance genre gives us heroes and heroines who act within the constraints of their Society, but who nonetheless give us a charming story and a happy ending. Expect a focus on Society and on events such as morning calls, balls, house parties, and other entertainments.

Again, I love them. Expect a lovely light touch, delightful heroines, and a variety of heroes not all of whom carry high titles. In these books, our heroines might defy Society, but they pay the price. Or, they hide their real selves in order to fit in.

Try Candice Hern, Mary Balogh, some of Carla Kelly, Jo Beverley, Edith Layton, Carola Dunn, Anne Gracie. These were where I started. I read every traditional historical I could find, and only later moved outside of that genre..

Historical that happens to be Regency

I think this is what I write. In one of these, the historical events, whether fictional or non-fictional, are true to their times and have a strong presence in the book, often even shaping the plot. In such books, the romance plot line is still important, but might not be the only important plot line. The characters act according to their times, though of course some people in every time have been forward (or backward) thinking, and personal circumstances can shape a person to stand against social expectations.

They tend to be grittier and more confronting than the other two types, and you come out of them thinking again about attitudes and events you thought you understood. If you haven’t read Caroline Warfield, you’re missing a treat, though her Victorian series is stronger in this than her Regency series. That said, most of the other authors I can think of are writing Victorian, too. Meredith Duran, anyone? We could apply the same segmentation to other eras, I guess.

Historical modern can overlap into Historical that happens to be Regency. One of my all-time favourites is Grace Burrows’ Captive Hearts series. Out of era, but Elizabeth Hoyt’s Maiden Lane series and Jessica Cale’s Southwark series are both in this part of the spectrum. I’d put much of Mary Jo Putney in here, too.

Historical traditional can also overlap. Carla Kelly does this wonderfully well.

Which one has the steam?

The simple answer is: all of them. I’ve read authors in each of my segments who write at the ‘sweet’ end of the scale, and authors whose characters set flame to the pages. The same applies to cursing, expletives, and rude words for anything to do with copulation. Violence? You’ll find that across all segments, too.

I’d love to do a diagram, but I’ve run out of time.

Your turn to comment

What do you think of these categories? Do you agree with where I’ve put certain writers? Can you think of others? Do you read them all? Which do you prefer?

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Spotlight on Lord Calne’s Christmas Ruby

EXCERPT AND BOOK RELEASE

My new Christmas novella, Lord Calne’s Christmas Ruby, is here, and already has reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.

But you wanted an excerpt, didn’t you?

Here you go, then. This is from their ‘meet cute’.

She met his smile with a quizzical tip of the head, and he ignored the five ladies standing over her. “Our dance is in a few minutes, Miss Finchurch, so I came to find you. Would you care to take a short stroll while we wait?”

Would she take the rescue, he wondered, glancing from her to the others? Three were strangers. One, he vaguely recognised. But the remaining woman… He nodded a polite but cold acknowledgement to Lady Markhurst, who had pretended to accept his courtship when he was last in Society four years ago, after recovering from the injuries that ended his army career and brought him home to England.

Lady Markhurst had soon made it clear his only attraction was his unwed cousins, one an earl and one the heir to an earl. Philip wasn’t close to either, and had not seen her since she discovered that fact. He assumed her pursuit was unsuccessful; certainly, she had wed before the end of that season, to a lowly and rather elderly baron who proved to be not as wealthy as rumour had painted.

Clearly, Philip’s attractiveness had increased with his accession to the title, since Lady Markhurst fluttered her fan and her eyelashes, and fingered the diamond drop dangling from her ornate necklace into the valley between her breasts.

“Why, Lord Calne. Surely you cannot intend to dance with a merchant’s daughter. Your inheritance cannot be in such a dire state as that. Let me save you from such a fate by offering myself as a partner instead.” The throaty note in her last sentence made it a naughty innuendo.

He ignored Lady Markhurst and her outstretched hand, offering Miss Finchurch his bad arm, which functioned well enough as a prop for a lady. Lady Markhurst’s face flushed and then whitened. She had not learned to control her temper, then.

Miss Finchurch made up her mind, set her book to one side, and stood to slip her hand into his elbow, and he turned to the door. Lady Markhurst launched another attack before they reached it.

“Do be warned, Miss Finchurch. The Calne title comes with a bankrupt estate and a crippled earl.”

Miss Finchurch gripped his arm, making him wince, and she sensed it, too, the fires she was about to turn on Lady Markhurst doused by her concern for him. He took another step towards the door.

“Ignore Lady Markhurst, Miss Finchurch. I would say her disappointment in her ambitions has made her bitter, but she was always a scold.”

His mother would have punished such rudeness, but he was well compensated by the gasps from behind him as he whisked Miss Finchurch into the hall and pulled the door closed. She was tiny; perhaps no more than five feet tall, the top of her head barely on a level with his shoulder, and he shortened his steps when he realised she was near running to keep up with him. She was, however, by no means quelled. “You and Lady Markhurst are old friends, it seems, Lord Calne.”

“Not since I discovered her heart was made of the same substance as the stones in her necklace.”

Miss Finchurch laughed, an amused gurgle. “Paste, you mean? Very appropriate! Cold, hard and false.”
“Paste? Really?”

“I am the daughter and niece of diamond merchants, Lord Calne. I would need to examine the smaller stones more closely, but the drop is decidedly not a diamond. Perhaps it is ill bred of me to disclose the lady’s secrets, so I shall compound the error by making it clear I am not looking for a husband, and if I were, I would not accept a fortune hunter under any circumstances.”

A game of truths, was it? “Nor am I looking for a wife, Miss Finchurch. Especially one prepared to take a destitute cripple for the sake of his useless title. But a dance might be safe enough? I have managed several tonight and am as yet unwed.”

That earned him the gurgle again, and they took the positions for a long dance, Philip apologising in advance for being unable to grasp with his withered left hand.

Miss Finchurch assured him she would grasp well enough for them both. “What happened, Lord Calne? Or were you born with it? Or should I not ask?”

How refreshing to meet someone who said outright what everyone else speculated about in whispers behind his back. Philip answered as simply. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were crossing a newly repaired bridge in Sicily. But the French had set dynamite, and it blew up, with half the baggage train. I lost the use of one hand.”

His writing hand, but he could manage well enough with his right, after years of tutors who had punished the use of the other. “Many lost more.” His brother-in-law for one, which directly led to the deaths of his sister and her baby. She had gone into labour shortly after the news reached her in Malta, and when the child was born dead, she had turned her face to the wall and died. Or so Philip had been told when he recovered from the fever, by which time he was in England, in his uncle’s care.

“You were in the army?”

“With the Engineers.” And in charge of the repair of the bridge. He should have detected the sabotage. The deaths—all the deaths, not just those of his family—were his fault.

Their turn came in the figures of the dance, giving him time to bludgeon his mind into accepting that the room was not caving in on him; that the glittering crowd were not about to turn on him to demand his immediate conviction for dereliction of duty.

Either something in his face caused Miss Finchurch to take pity on him, or she was bored with the subject, because when they stood out next, she reopened the conversation by asking whether he enjoyed this kind of entertainment in a voice so doubtful he laughed.

“No more than you, I suspect, Miss Finchurch, though more so since fate handed me a partner who does not send me to sleep with talk of fashion and gossip. Tell me, what is a diamond assessor doing in a Haverford House entertainment? You came with Lady Carngrove, those vixens said?”

“My aunt.” The mournful tone suggested this was not a circumstance for congratulation. “I live with her. At the moment.”

If you like Christmas novellas set in the Regency, with a wee bit of a mystery and a sweet old aunt, go check out my book page for blurb and buy links.