second chance love

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Spotlight on An Unpitied Sacrifice

When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.” Edmund Burke

Brought together by war, Valeria Izquierdos and Harry Redepenning had only a few short months as a couple before the war parted them again.

That war is long over when she brings a group of war brides and children to England. Her friends seek their soldier husbands. Valeria wants to find Harry or, if Harry’s long silence means he is dead, his father. Her eldest child deserves to know his English family.

Harry has never forgotten, or ceased to mourn, the warrior wife he married in the midst of war, and lost to a French ambush years ago. His courtship of a suitable wife is a practical matter, not involving the heart that has been numb since Valeria’s death.

The Redepenning family greet Valeria with suspicion, but when Harry joyously confirms her identity, they welcome her and her children with open arms—not just Kiko, whose Redepenning eyes mark him as Harry’s son, but also the daughter she adopted and the younger son who origins she has disclosed only to Harry.

But as Valeria, Harry, and the children begin living as a family, another, private, war looms before them. The lady who had been smugly awaiting Harry’s proposal is less than pleased with the couple’s reunion. She and her parents set out to destroy Valeria’s reputation, and find willing accomplices.

An old foe of the Redepennings has combined forces with a man who blames Valeria for his brother’s death, and who wants Valeria’s youngest child. A rival of Harry’s from the army would be glad to hurt Harry however he can. These enemies will stop at nothing to destroy not only Harry and Valeria, but also their family.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0GNNV18BP

https://books2read.com/u/479JAA

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Spotlight on Temptress and the Lyon

A woman on the brink of ruin. A man risen from the grave. A marriage neither of them planned, but both may die for.

Twelve years ago, Alyssia Prudence Whitcombe lost the man she was promised to marry since birth and learned how swiftly hearts can be broken. Now, with scandal snapping at her heels and her family’s future at risk, she makes a desperate choice: She will find a stranger to wed at the most dangerous gaming hell in London. A marriage of necessity. A contract. Nothing more.

She never expects that stranger to be Giles Bishop, the boy she once loved, the heir thought dead, the man who vanished without a trace.

Theodore Giles Bishop has spent years in the shadows, waiting for the moment he can reclaim the life that was stolen from him. Hardened by exile and secrecy, he means to bide his time, until he spies Alyssia standing in the Lyon’s Den, wagering her future with breathtaking courage. He makes a reckless choice: He will win her hand or die trying.

But some choices open old wounds.

Can love reclaimed be stronger than love lost? Or will the shadows that once tore them apart claim them both again?

 

Meet Tanya Wilde

Award-Winning and International Bestselling author Tanya Wilde developed a passion for reading when she had nothing better to do than lurk in the library during her lunch breaks. Her love affair with pen and paper soon followed after she devoured all of their historical romance books!

When she’s not meddling in the lives of her characters or pondering names for her imaginary big, white greyhound, she’s off on adventures with her partner in crime.

Wilde lives in a town at the foot of the Outeniqua Mountains, South Africa.

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WIP Wednesday A day in the life

In this excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice, we see Harry and Valeria settling into married life.

Waking up in Harry’s arms every morning was very nice. Not nice in the way it had been in that small village in the Spanish mountains, when they both woke with an urgent need to express their love in the most physical of ways.

Harry had either lost all desire for her, or he understood the mere thought of such intimacy shook Valeria’s frail hold on her emotions. And on her senses and her digestion. Bursting into tears, passing out, and throwing up would kill the mood, especially if she did all three at once.

It was a hurdle she would have to get over. They would have to get over, for they were married for life, and she refused to allow that fiend Antoine to ruin Harry’s life as well as her own. So far, though, she had not even been able to find the strength to raise the topic.

But they were together, she and Harry, and he had accepted her two extra children. She had everything she had hoped for during the journey to England. That she now hoped for more was testament to the courage Harry was giving her. Let them get the other women settled and then they could address her fears, and perhaps overcome them.

She smiled at the thought, and Harry, who at some point during her cogitations had opened his startlingly blue eyes, smiled back. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking how nice it is to wake up in your arms, Harry,” she told him.

“Very nice,” he agreed, and saluted her cheek with a friendly kiss, such as a brother might give a sister. And as he rolled onto his back and stretched both of his arms above his head, there was a knock on the door.

“Isabella with our coffee,” Harry said. So far, the Spanish woman was working out very well as her maid.

Harry slipped out from under the covers, shrugged into his banyan and crossed to the door. “Good morning, Isabella,” he was saying as he opened it, and then, “Tom! Valeria, it is my man Tom with our coffee. Welcome back, Tom. You’ve heard then, about our changes?”

Valeria could hear the murmur of a reply, but not the actual words. Harry replied with instructions.

“Tell Mrs Rodriguez that Mrs Redepenning will need her in fifteen minutes. I’ve taken the next room for my dressing room, and will meet you there at the same time. You might like to familiarize yourself with the room while Mrs Redepenning and I drink our coffee. I have a meeting this morning, and shall be going out at ten o’clock.”

“Business, Harry?” Valeria asked, as he came back across their room with the tray holding the coffee pot, cups, and other coffee makings.

“A meeting with my father and a lawyer,” Harry said. “What are your plans this morning, dearest?”

Valeria groaned. “A final fitting for some of my gowns, including the one for your godmother’s ball.”

“Poor Valeria,” teased Harry, handing her a cup of coffee made just the way she liked it. “After my meeting, shall I come and pick you and my sisters up and take you out for tea and cakes? As a compensation for the torture you’ve suffered?”

“It is torture!” Valeria protested, laughing. She frowned, trying to think of an explanation that made sense to her, as well as Harry. “Fashion the way Susan knows it is almost a weapon. At the very least, it is a language that all of Society knows and that I must learn. The fabrics themselves, the trimmings, the colours, even the cut—all say something about my status and wealth, and therefore yours.”

“It sounds like nonsense,” said Harry.

Valeria huffed out a breath and shook her head. “It matters to too many people for me to treat it as nonsense, my dearest love. We shall raise our children with all the advantages of being part of the Redepenning family, but even the Redepennings cannot fly in the face of social opinion. If my clothing helps Society to accept me, then that shall ease the way of our children. I can do this, Harry.”

“I am confident you can,” Harry agreed. “If you think it important, my love, then I shall stop teasing. Just don’t let Susan bully you.”

Valeria chuckled. “I have not changed that much, Harry,” she told him.

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Second-chance love in WIP Wednesday

I’m just sending An Unpitied Sacrifice out to beta readers, and thought you might like an excerpt. My hero and heroine are together for the first time in five years. And what do you think of the cover?

The floor of the small room was as hard as Harry expected, and he’d grown used to occupying soft beds in the past couple of years. However, he was warm enough, and if he could not sleep, he had much to think about, both planning for the future and anguishing over his darling’s past.

His determination to stay under the same roof as Valeria was rewarded in the early hours of the morning when she came to see him. He was drowsing when the opening of the door jerked him upright, and the unique smell of his own woman soothed the battle instincts that had roused him. There she was, peering around the door, a candle in her hand.

“Harry, are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes. Is there a problem, beloved? What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. That is, there is no problem. It is just that I could not sleep. So much to think about.”

“I am the same.” He shifted so he was leaning against the back of the chair and lifted the blankets. “Come and sit beside me, beloved, and share your worries and your hopes with me, and I shall do the same with you.”

The fact she did not hesitate gave him hope for the future. She put the candle on the little table beside the chair, sat on the floor beside him, and even accepted his arm around her and leaned back against his shoulder.

Harry tucked the blankets around her with his other hand.

“Lord Renshaw was nice to my friends,” Valeria said. “They like him.”

“Alex,” he corrected. “He is your brother, so you can call him Alex, as his other sisters do.”

Alex had argued about Harry staying, but not as much as Harry expected. He had left for home without Harry, promising to tell Father Valeria really was whom she claimed to be, and Harry was refusing to be parted from her again.

“Tell Father we shall call to see him tomorrow morning,” Harry had said.

“Your brother is protective of his family,” Valeria said. “When I called in the afternoon, he was suspicious of me, and not very nice. But tonight, he discovered I really am your wife.”

“Therefore,” Harry said, continuing her line of thought, “you are part of his family and he will protect you. And the children. And even your friends and their children. That is how Alex is.”

“I think I like Alex,” said Valeria. “I understand being protective.”

Harry nodded. In that way, Alex and Valeria were very much alike. Both would cheerfully give their life to protect those they regarded as their own, and both could be hostile to any perceived threats.

“My family is now your family,” Harry said. “Father will be delighted to have three new grandchildren. He was already excited when I spoke to him, before Alex and I came over last night. Shall we take them with us when we call on Father in the morning?”

“All of them?” Valeria asked. “Rian too?”

“I think it best if we make no difference between them,” said Harry. “Rian shall be my son as much as Enrique. Kiko, as you call him.”

“I named our son Enrique after you,” Valeria said softly. “It means ‘ruler of the home’. Did you know that?”

“Our eldest son rules the home?” Harry asked, smiling at the thought.

“You do, too, Harry. I saw that with your brother. Yes, he is protective of you, but he also accepts your authority and looks to you for guidance.”

Perhaps she was right. Harry had not thought about it, but then he took it for granted that his brothers and cousins would take his lead. He changed the subject. “What does Zorian mean? It is not a name I am familiar with.”

“It is used among the Basque,” she told him. “But I think elsewhere, too. It means ‘happiness’. That is what I wish for him, Harry. That the disaster of his origins does not touch his life. And in general, he is a happy child. As for Marie, her full name is Marie-Therese. Therese for her own mother, and Marie for the mother of us all.”

She was relaxed and warm at his side. He could not see her face, but she sounded as if she was smiling.

“Tell me about them,” Harry coaxed. “Kiko is the leader. Rian is happy. What else, and what of Marie?”

They sat by the light of Valeria’s candle and talked about their children until Valeria’s head grew heavy on Harry’s shoulder. Then he blew out the candle, lowered them both into the nest of blankets, and slept peacefully with her in his arms.

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Awkward situation on WIP Wednesday

In An Unpitied Sacrifice, Harry’s joy at his reunion with his wife causes him to forget something important.

“I am looking for a house,” Harry told his father, brothers, and cousin, while Valeria was busy getting to know the ladies of his family. “Valeria is commited to finding the English families of the women and children she brought to England with her, and London is the best place for us to be while we’re busy with that. But I do not like the area where they are currently lodged, and besides, it is not big enough now that I have joined them. If you hear of anything, would you let me know?”

“It will be hard to find anything decent at this time of year,” Gil warned. “The Season is just getting started.”

“You can all move in here,” Father offered.

“Thank you, Father. I shall keep that as an option,” Harry said. “If possible, I would rather get to know my wife and children under a roof that, if not my own, is at least paid for by me. Does that make sense? But more space would be nice. And also servants to do the heavy work.”

The men all nodded, even Father. “I shall ask around,” Alex said, and the others said they would also enquire among their friends and other contacts.

“The priority is to find the information that Valeria’s friends need,” Alex pointed out. “Once they are settled, Harry, you can find something smaller for yourself and your own family.”

“You are right,” Harry agreed. “Father, will you go with me to the War Department this afternoon?”

“Of course, my son. We shall pay a visit to my old friend Arthur, and ask for his authority to wave at various underlings. Do you have the ladies’ names and those of their spouses?”

Harry nodded. And yes, Father’s strategy was sound. If they started with a call on the Duke of Wellington and were able to proceed with his blessing, everyone would fall over themselves to be helpful. Otherwise, five Spanish women of dubious marital status, whether they regarded themselves as married or not, were likely to be brushed off as irrelevant to the mission of the mighty British army.

“What are you going to do about Miss Bretherton?” Alex asked. “You’ll need to tell her before someone else does.”

Before Harry could answer, Valeria’s voice came from immediately behind him. “Who is Miss Bretherton?”

Ariadne Bretherton! In the excitement of his wife returning from the dead with three children, Harry had not given the woman he’d been courting a single thought. He turned to face Valeria, and nearly flinched at the hurt she was trying to hide behind an impassive expression.

The only way out of this mess was through it. Charge ahead, Harry, and pray you are not seriously wounded on the way. “She is a lady I completely forgot about the moment I saw you. She is a pleasant person whom I thought might make me a comfortable wife. I could not love again, you see, after losing you. I was looking for companionship and a partner in my endeavours. Also someone to run my house.”

“Oh,” said Valeria, the mask of her expression now so impenetrable that he had no idea what she was thinking and feeling.

He rushed on, trying to elicit a response. “I need to write to her, my love. She is coming to London next week, and Alex is right. I need to tell her before someone else does that my wife is alive, and that I shall not be pursuing a courtship with her.”

“Poor lady. My happiness has been purchased at the cost of hers. Yes, you must let her know. I am sorry, Harry. I changed your plans.”

“I thank God for it,” Harry assured her. “And imagine how much more dreadful it would have been for her had you arrived after the proposal. Or after the wedding!”

“I never imagined you marrying someone else,” Valeria said, in a low murmur that seemed to be intended for her own ears and no one else’s. “How foolish of me.”

“It was a business arrangement,” Harry assured her. “No feelings were involved.”

The look she gave him was scathing. “I doubt that, Harry. I doubt that very much. She would not have accepted your courtship if she did not at least like you, and I gather that things have gone far enough that her family and probably her friends are in imminent expectation of a proposal. Her pride is going to be hurt, if nothing else.”

She was correct, of course, but what could Harry do about it? His wife was the only woman he wanted, and even if that wasn’t the case, he was married. His wife was alive, and he had a family, furthermore. He could not marry Miss Bretherton even if he still wanted to do so.

In fact, he had never wanted to do so, he realised. He had made a plan and carried it out step by step, but his heart—not the organ that continued to pump blood around his body, but the centre of his emotions that he had wrongly believed to be frozen and atrophied—his heart had never been convinced it was a good idea.

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Stolen Kisses in Love’s Perilous Road

STOLEN KISSES by Cerise DeLand

When Lance Winters first kissed Emma Tomkins pretending to be a highwayman years ago, she was ruined. 

But things have changed. Now she has a fortune—and she’s determined to live as she wishes. Alone.

As a captain in the Army, Lancelot Winters never had the means to claim Emma as his wife. But he vowed one day he would return for her.

Now the war is over. With a title and an estate, he plans to make her laugh again. And love him again.

So he disguises himself as a highwayman and tracks Emma in her carriage. Then he grabs her off the coach—and in front of other passengers, he kisses her.

Oh, yes. She remembers his lips. His rakish charm. But he ruined her once and she’s determined it won’t happen again.

But the man is persistent, showing up to court her everywhere! Suddenly, Lance can’t live without her. And she can’t imagine marrying anyone else.

Their biggest problem?

A Bow Street Runner comes looking for the highwayman who troubles the countryside.

An Excerpt from Stolen Kisses

Lance cocked an ear. A coachman’s crack of whip and the grinding of wheels signaled his darling came near in her coach to Brighton.

“I saw you climb in this morning,” he murmured to himself. “I doubt you’ve stayed in Crowley.”

He had seen her and her cousin Diana climb down for a respite at the carriage inn when the coach stopped. But he had not waited for Emma or Diana to get back inside. He’d spurred his horse on to the bend in the road. Here he had waited patiently to demonstrate to his beloved that time had not destroyed his love of her. And that the ton could go hang by their own silly rules.

He was here, standing and delivering like a true highwayman that love and laughter went hand in hand—and he’d give it to her from this day forward.

From his vantage point, he saw the dust cloud billow above the hedgerow—and at once, there was the coach, fast on approach.

He put up his half mask and brandished his wooden pistol. Then he charged forward.

Headed straight for the carriage, he halted a hundred yards or so from view and encouraged his horse to paw the air. He’d even asked the groom where he’d rented the horse if the animal could and would do that on command. He did now….and Lance grinned at the image he must make. A black horse, large and rearing, upon which sat a large man in black, his face half concealed by his black scarf.

“Halt! Halt, I say!” He shouted as the coachman slowed his horses and came to an idle, then stopped.

The fellow stood in the box. “What ho, sir? Ye don’t want to hurt us, nay!”

“Order your passengers out.”

The man sank to his seat. “No!”

“I say…” Lance waved his replica of a fine pistol. “Tell them to come out.”

The man turned and yelled towards the cab.

In the window, Lance saw Emma’s face. At first she was bewildered, then frightened. But now, as the coachman left his perch and jumped down to open the door, she met Lance’s gaze and her fear went to shock, then to recognition.

She took the coachman’s hand, climbed down and approached Lance. “Why do this?”

He met her and let his horse dance around her. “You know why.”

“No. I am at a loss.”

“How many in the carriage?” He knew she’d be concerned about gossip of this, but in Crawley he’d seen the other passenger. The woman was young, pretty—and already tipsy when she joined Emma and Diana in the coach.

“Only three,” shouted Diana from the window. “My cousin, me and Miss Frobisher, Mister Highwayman, sir. And …um…sir? Miss Frobisher is very frightened.” But by the grin spreading across Diana’s glowing features, Lance could tell the girl enjoying this tremendously.

“Tell Miss Frobisher, she need fear no one.” He walked his horse nearer Emma. “Certainly not me,” he crooned as he slid to his feet, removed his mask and took Emma in his arms to put his lips to hers.

Willing, pliant in his embrace, she allowed him his kiss. Long and soft, intrusive at the end, but quickly satisfying, his capture of her mouth was just as he had hoped.

“Why?” she asked him, dazed, as he pulled away.

“Because you need surprise and laughter.”

Her arms, tight around his neck, she sank her fingers into the wealth of his silky hair at his nape. “Why could you not wait and do this properly?”

“In a ballroom? Or church?”

He took her lips once more, a leisurely claim of reassurance. “I’ll do that too. And soon. But I wanted you to remember and value what had happened that day.”

“Oh, I do recall every moment.”

“That I kissed you?”

“Thoroughly.”

“That I told you I loved you?”

“Unforgettably.”

“And that if I ever had the means, I would return for you and carry you away to happiness….and marriage.”

“Oh, yes, such a declaration a woman never forgets.”

“I renew it all now, my darling.”

It was then Lance felt the barrel of a rifle in the small of his back.

“Ye’ll take yer hands off the lady.”

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Surprises on WIP Wednesday

A longish excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice, the next Golden Redepenning novel. Harry arrives back in London after a visit to make up his mind about a prospective bride. But his family has unexpected news for him.

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Harry was riding through Mayfair now. Home soon. He hoped Father was home, for Harry was keen to talk to him about Miss Bretherton. Once he had told Father, and once he proposed to that lady, the die was cast, and perhaps then, when marrying the lady became a matter of honour, he would be at peace with the decision.

Here was the mews—the lane that ran behind his father’s townhouse. Perhaps the horse sensed the end of the journey, or perhaps his own eagerness to step into the comforting embrace of the place that had always been his London home communicated itself to the beast, for it quickened its pace, and they completed the last fifty yards in a brisk trot.

“Halloo, the stable,” he shouted, as they drew to a stop.

A stable boy came to the open door. “Major Redepenning, sir,” he greeted Harry, and ran the few steps to the horse’s head. Harry left instructions to take it to the White Swan, the London end of the circuit that had provided the mount for the last leg of his ride.

He hurried up through the garden, his saddle bags over his shoulder. It was late in the afternoon, but this side of the house faced west, and the garden doors were open from the family parlour, letting light and warmth stream into the room. Harry went up the steps to the terrace, took a moment for a deep breath, then stepped over the threshold.

Father looked up with a smile of greeting, as did Alex and Ellie.

“Welcome, Harry. Have you eaten? I shall send for something to sustain you until dinner. Alex, you are nearest, pull the bell rope, will you?”

“Just a cup of tea, Father. I had a superb repast at the Crown and Goat not three hours ago. Ellie, I am sorry to walk in on you in my dirt. I expected Father to be on his own.”

“Do sit down, Alex,” Ellie told him. “It is just family this evening.”

Harry sat in his favourite chair and smiled around at these three beloved family members.

“It is only a flying visit,” Alex said.

“We came to Town for some shopping, Harry,” his sister-in-law explained. Alex’s wife was one of Harry’s favourite people. She had been an army wife, so she understood military men. She had been an apprentice to her father who had been an army doctor, so made certain that Alex looked after his lame leg and ran a clinic for her entire neighbourhood.

Of medium height and build, with brown hair and a pleasant face, one might consider her looks only average, until one noticed her lovely eyes and splendid complexion. But it was in character that she shone. Baroness Renshaw was adored by her husband and children, loved by her husband’s family, and nigh worshipped by her servants and tenants.

“It is too far to bring the children for just a few days,” said Ellie, as a footman entered the room silently, accepted Father’s instructions for a fresh pot of tea, and took Harry’s saddle bags away to be sent to his room.

“Melly and Freddie are safe enough with Jonno and Mattie,” Alex said. The pair had a habit of alternating sentences, as if they were one person with a single message. Harry caught the note of doubt in Alex’s voice, which confirmed that—though he trusted his valet and housekeeper—he did not think anyone else could protect his children as well as he could.

“Of course, they are safe,” Father said, soothingly.

“Of course,” Alex agreed, and turned to his wife, “so we could stay, couldn’t we? Until this business of Harry’s is sorted out?”

Harry, who had been riding all day, on horses of differing quality, was thinking about how his bones were less tolerant than they used to be, and was only half aware of Alex’s words until he heard his name.

“What business of mine?” he asked, wondering if they had somehow heard about his courtship of Miss Bretherton. And, of course, he had not made a secret of it. Not precisely. It was just that he’d not trumpeted it about.

“It is your wife, Harry,” said Father.

Harry chuckled. One should never underestimate the power of gossip. He would lay odds that his sister Susan had heard something and passed it on to the rest of the family. “Wife is a bit beforehand, to be fair. I have not yet proposed to Miss Bretherton. I have made up my mind to do so, however. I look forward to introducing her to you all.”

What was up with his family? They were exchanging looks of alarm.

“Oh, Harry!” Ellie sounded distressed.

Did they know something to Miss Bretherton’s discredit? He could not believe it. If so, she must be the best actress in the world! Yes, and her parents, too. “What is wrong with Miss Bretherton?” he asked.

“I had no idea…” Father trailed off. “That is not to the point. I’ll be blunt, Harry. Your wife Valeria may be alive.”

It was as well Harry was sitting. The room swam before his eyes and for a moment, he struggled to breath. Blunt, indeed. If he had been hit over the head with a blunt object, he could not have been more disoriented.

From a great distance, he heard Father say, “Pour your brother a brandy, Alex,” and a moment later a glass was pressed into his hand.

He took more of a gulp than a sip, but the burn of the alcohol did the trick, drawing him back into himself. “Alive,” he repeated, and his heart, racing in his chest, demanded that he leap to his feet and begin tearing the world apart until he found her.

“A lady claiming to be your wife called this afternoon,” his father told him.

It was a second shock on top of the first. His reeling mind could not produce meaningful words, but could only repeat Father’s words. “This afternoon.” He took another sip of the brandy and managed to add, “Tell me.”

“I did not even know you had a wife,” Alex complained.

Father handed over a piece of white pasteboard of the standard size for visiting cards. “She sent this up with the butler, so we saw her straight away.”

Harry was reading the card. On one side of it was written, in blue ink, Valeria’s names—at the top, Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo, with Mrs. H. Redepenning underneath. He had not seen Valeria’s handwriting for a long time, but it could, indeed, be hers.

“She knew how the two of you met,” Father added, “and she explained why she was not with her band when they were ambushed. Harry, she claims that she had stayed behind in a convent because she was about to give birth.”

“She thought you were dead, Harry,” Alex interjected. “She might be someone who knew Valeria, and hopes to batten on to a rich English family by passing her own child off as yours.”

“She was genuinely happy to know you were alive, Harry,” Ellie said. “She had tears in her eyes, and she spoke in a language I did not know.”

“It was not Spanish,” Alex growled.

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Meeting the in-laws on WIP Wednesday

And so, as The Night Dancers goes to beta, I have begun An Unpitied Sacrifice.

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Chapter One

London, 1816

In the street outside of the elegant townhouse, Valeria Izquierdo checked the address. The sheet of paper had suffered since her husband gave it to her on their wedding night, five years ago. Stains marred the surface, one corner was torn away, and the folds were worn and beginning to come apart. It was still precious to her, not just for the address, which she had memorized long ago, but because it was a witness to Harry’s care for her—almost the only one to survive the intervening years.

“Take this and keep it safe,” he had said. “If anything happens to me, go to my father. He will welcome you for my sake.”

But would he? Valeria owed it to Harry to put it to the test, but she was not confident that either she or Ricci would find the promised welcome. And if she had no doubt that Ricci deserved recognition and a place, she was not so certain about herself.

That was the reason she had come on her own, leaving her children and her companions at the lodgings her English agent had found. If she was turned away at the door, at least she would be the only one to know and to suffer.

Perhaps, after all, Valeria should have written. But letters are far easier to ignore than callers, and besides, how could she explain the past five years in a letter?

Indeed, how could she explain it at all? Which was why she was dithering in the street like an idiot. What would those who had nigh worshipped El Phantome say if they could see her now? What would her current followers say, come to that?

It was the last consideration that allowed her to break the paralysis that kept her hesitating in the street. She could not ask the women with her to approach the families of their husbands or lovers when she was not prepared to make such a move herself.

Five paces brought her to the steps that led to the front door. Ten of them, bridging a kind of small dark courtyard set into the ground and surrounded by a fence. As she looked over the rail, a maid with a basket came out from the house from the basement below and set off up a flight of steps that brought her up to street level, where she opened a hitherto unseen gate in the fence and turned set off down the street.

Two more steps, and then knock on the door, she commanded herself.

The knocker was in the form of an ugly little man. Ricci and Marie-Therese would love that. She lifted the ring that the little man held in his oversized hands, and dropped it again to strike the brass plate below. Knock, knock, knock.

And wait.

But she had not taken more than a couple of breaths before the door opened. The man who opened the door stood in the entrance way, ensuring she could not enter. He had the air of an upper servant of some kind. “May I be of assistance, Madam?” he enquired.

Valeria had come prepared with a small rectangle of pasteboard, according to the English custom. She had written her name on it. Both her own name—Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo—and Mrs. H. Redepenning, for the English had the custom that a woman took her husband’s name upon marriage.

“Please ask Lord Redepenning if he will see me,” she said the butler, handing him the card.

She was permitted inside, to stand in the entry hall, still wearing her bonnet and coat, while the butler went up the stairs to discover the wishes of the master of the house. It was a lovely space, with furniture that was not new but that had been lovingly dusted and polished so that it gleamed with a rich patina. The carpet and the matching stair runner were likewise a little worn but clean and richly covered. On one wall, a large mirror in a gilt frame reflected light around the hall and made it seem larger.

A large vase of fresh flowers stood on a table under the mirror, adding a light floral high note to the atmosphere.

The butler came back down the stairs almost immediately. “His lordship shall see you, Madam.” He gave a shallow bow. “May I take Madam’s bonnet and coat?” Once he had placed the items on a polished brass coat stand near the door, he led her up the stairs.

On the landing for the next floor, he turned right and opened the nearest door. “Your visitor, my lord,” he said.

Perhaps he does not want to mangle my Basque surname nor give me the family’s surname when I have not yet been accepted.

The man stepped out of Valeria’s way, and she walked into the room where her husband’s father waited.

She knew him immediately. Both of the men who stood up when she entered were relatives of Harry’s—that was clear at a glance. Both had the striking blue eyes. The older gentleman must be Baron Redepenning, her father-in-law. He was still vigorous and handsome, and his eyes were as striking a blue as her husband’s. However, his hair had faded with age to a sandy-brown rather than her husband’s guinea-gold, and also receded from his forehead.

His well-lined face had the heavier look around the jaw of a man approaching old age, and his figure was also somewhat stouter than his son’s. He still had the carriage of the soldier she knew him to be. He held a general’s rank, though when she asked for him at the Horse Guard yesterday, she had been told he was retired.

He inclined slightly toward her in a bow and smiled in welcome.

The other man’s hair was still bright gold. No smile here. His blue eyes were hard with suspicion, and his brows were drawn together in a frown.

by

Tea with a scandalous woman

Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire, was reserving judgement.

The Duke of Kempbury was coming to visit, and bringing with him his new duchess. Some were whispering, with approval, that he had finally wed the lady to whom he had been ten years ago. Others assured their friends that they’d had doubts about that betrothal at the time. A duke marrying the daughter of a mere gentleman? And not even the legitimate daughter, but the child of a long ago mistress, whom he and his wife had raised with their own daughter.

Eleanor had been sympathetic at the time. She firmly believed that a child should not be blamed for the sins of his or her parents, and Adaline Fairbanks had been raised as a lady.

Then came the scandal, ending the betrothal, justifying the critics and casting Miss Fairbanks into Society’s outer darkness. Those who had stirred the scandal broth at the time were doing so again now that Adaline was finally the Duchess of Kembury.

Hence Kempbury’s call on Eleanor yesterday, to assure her that the betrothal had been broken over a misunderstanding, that the scandalous encounter had been a plot against Adaline, and that his lady was innocent.

Eleanor had to wonder whether he had been duped. After all, credible witnesses placed Adaline Fairbanks in an intimate embrace with the Duke of Richport. However, Kempbury was no fool. He insisted that Eleanor would understand all if she only spoke to his wife.

So here she was. Waiting to have tea with a scandalous lady.

They would be here any moment. Eleanor resolved that, whatever had happened in the past, she would support Kempbury. And his duchess, too, if that lady could convince Eleanor that she was a fit mate for duke. Scandal could always be turned around, when a person knew how to manage it.

 

The Lyon’s Dilemma

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party, particularly one attended by her. Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel. The one woman put on God’s earth to lure him from his duty. But Kempbury’s purpose is strong. Nothing she can offer will tempt him from his chosen path.

Only 99c until July 30th.

 

 

by

Spotlight on The Lyon’s Dilemma – published this coming Wednesday

She shattered his heart—now she’s his perfect match.

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party. But the matchmaker Mrs. Dove Lyon has promised him that his perfect match will be there, and Felix yearns for a wife.

He is horrified to find that the woman who meets the matchmaker’s description is Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel.

The one woman on God’s earth he will never marry. Not after what she did last time they were betrothed.

Published July 30th

Excerpt

Felix did not go back to the house. More than ever, he needed to be alone. He needed to think. He took a path that led further out into the park. His mind was reeling.

In his country seat, Felix had a miniature of himself as a child of nine or ten. Melody Beverley could be that child’s twin, green eyes and all. It was easy to tell where her name had come from, for Adaline had once told him that her mother’s name was Melody.

Felix remembered everything she had told him in the brief few weeks of their romance. Everything she said and did, though his memories were colored by what came after.

He should have expected her to be a wanton. She was, after all, the baseborn child of Arthur Fairbanks and his mistress, even if she was raised in the Fairbanks house with the legitimate daughter. She had been honest with him about that even from the first.

He had admired her for it, he remembered, had said that he was a duke and could do anything he pleased short of treason, had said she would be a duchess and—even if people did find out about her tarnished birth—it wouldn’t matter, because she would be ranked above all but the queen and the royal princesses, and a score or so of other duchesses.

Even when she came to his bed, he didn’t despise her for it. They had made promises to one another, after all. He had thought only that she loved him too much to wait, or to make him wait, for them to repeat those vows in a church.

He had, at the time, believed her to be a virgin, though he had doubted that later. Whether or not it was true, he could no longer doubt that the child—of whose existence he had so recently learned—who went by the surname of Beverley was conceived on that night.

She was his daughter, and Adaline had kept her from him.

Felix was, he realized, being a little unfair. She had visited him at his townhouse and been turned away. She had written to him twice, and he had ordered the letters returned, refusing even to touch them.

He did not feel like being fair. He did not know how he felt, in fact. His mind, heart—his soul even—echoed with the beat of the repeated words. I have a daughter.

A daughter who was four months past her ninth birthday, if she was born nine months or so after the night that Felix and Adaline spent together. Felix had missed more than nine years of her life. It hurt more than he could bear, like an ache over his entire being. He felt as if he had missed her all his life, though two days ago, he had not even known she existed. “Adaline will not keep me out of my daughter’s life anymore,” he swore.

Melody. She seemed a nice child. She spoke politely and curtseyed beautifully, and there was obvious affection between her and her mother.

But was Adaline a fit person to raise a child? A daughter? If he did not intervene, would he not be condemning his own child to the kind of life Adaline must have lived? Condemning some poor fool to the kind of betrayal he had experienced?

He could take Melody from Adaline, citing her immoral conduct as a reason. The legal ground would be shaky, but he had no doubt he could succeed. Wealthy dukes had few limits. But was it the right thing to do?

No child deserved to lose a loving, even if unfit, . Felix did not remember his own mother, but he had seen his sister-in-law Dorcas with his nephew Stephen and her new baby. The impersonal attention of servants was no replacement for maternal affection.

No matter how far he walked, he could not make up his mind. “Felix, you need more facts,” he decided, as he made his way back towards the house. “Talk to Mrs. Stillwater. Talk to others who know Adaline. Talk to Adaline herself, as distasteful as that may be, to Melody. You are no longer a cub, still wet behind the ears. You won’t be taken in again.”

Felix was not altogether confident about the last point. Even with everything he knew about her, he still felt the tug in Adaline’s direction. But he was a man in his thirties, a respected peer, and a gentleman. He could trust himself to resist Adaline’s wiles and to do the right thing.

Couldn’t he?