Seraphina Frogmore

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Tea with two quiet little girls

The hostesses of today’s afternoon tea were very serious about the proceedings. Miss Frogmore had charge of the teapot. Miss Helena Frogmore was charged with carrying each cup carefully to its intended recipient. She did it very well, though holding the tip of one’s tongue in one’s teeth as an aid to concentration was not a common sight in most drawing rooms. However, this was the nursery and Helena was only five years old, two years younger than the sister who was pouring the lemonade.

The guests were very grand: two duchesses and a baron. Mind you, the baron was not yet a year old, and one of the duchesses had him on her knee, ready to feed him his drink–which was lemonade–from a tea spoon.

Her Grace the Duchess of Winshire thought they made a pretty picture, her daughter-in-law and the infant. She prayed that the Duchess of Haverford, her son’s beloved Cherry, would be blessed one day with a child of her own, but no one looking at her clucking over the little boy would know how much she longed to fill her own cradles.

When Eleanor Winshire received the invitation to visit, she had not expected to be whisked up to the nursery floor, and entertained with lemonade and shortbread in the schoolroom. Cherry had explained. Baron Frogmore and his two sisters needed a safe place to stay, and Cherry had agreed to provide sanctuary. Tomorrow, the children’s mother was appearing in court to argue that their current guardian had no right to the place, and was abusing the trust put in him by the courts. Eleanor hoped she would win, for the wicked man had taken the children from their widowed mother, who was a delightful young woman.

If necessary, her son was going to petition the courts to be made guardian in place of the usurper, but he and Cherry hoped for a different outcome. Either way, the dear little children would have their mother back, for the Haverfords would bring Seraphina Frogmore to live with them, if need be. But Anthony and Cherry hoped Lady Frogmore would marry again, to a gentleman respected throughout the ton. Eleanor would not have believed it if she had not seen it with her own eyes. She had thought Lord Lancelot Versey to be a confirmed bachelor. However, it was clear to anyone who saw them together, that he was head over heels for the widowed baroness.

Eleanor accepted a second cup from Helena. How lovely to assist, not only in reuniting a family, but in promoting a romance.

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In The Talons of a Lyon, Lance Versey kidnaps the three Frogmore children from the wicked couple who are attempting to abduct them from London, and takes them to the Duchess of Haverford. Here’s an excerpt from the story.

The house was so large, it took several minutes to reach the duchess’s private sitting room. Haverford poked his head around the door, and said, “I have some visitors for you, my love.” He opened the door wider, and ushered Seraphina’s two little girls in. Lance followed.

Haverford stopped the servants at the door. “Please take a chair while you wait,” he told them, and closed the door in their faces.

Lance bowed to the duke’s wife. “Your Grace, I apologize for calling unannounced.”

The duke said, “Lance has, I deduce, come for our help to hide his crimes. He has stolen Lady Frogmore’s children back from their wicked uncle.”

Helena tugged on Lance’s coat. “Have you? Are you going to give us back to Mama?” She had removed her bonnet, and the blonde plaits that confined her hair had tumbled down.

As if of their own volition, his arms tightened on little Harry, and the boy wriggled. Lance made himself relax. He did not need to protect the children against all comers. Not here in the duchess’s private sitting room.

The duchess will have them, will she not? He raised his eyebrows in question, and Her Grace exchanged glances with her husband and then nodded.

“Will we have to wait for very long?” Hannah asked, her voice girlish but her question suprisingly mature.  “Harry needs her. We tell him about her every night after the governess goes to bed, but I think he has forgotten her.”

“You shall see her soon,” Haverford declared. “You do not appear to be worried about Lord Lancelot kidnapping you, young ladies.”

Helena shrugged. “We recognized him. He is the man who comes every morning to the park with Mama.  She used to hide behind the bushes, so sad.” She drooped her shoulders and poked out a trembling lower lip to illustrate. “We would slow down as much as we dared, but Miss Brant, the governess, would hit us with her switch if we did not keep walking. I do not think Miss Brant ever saw her.”

Hannah nodded, and commented, “Then Lord Lance started bringing her, and soon she was not so sad.”

Helena continued. “Miss Brant said we would never see Mama again, but we saw her every day. Miss Brant said she had forgotten us, but we knew she had not. We knew she was afraid of Miss Brant and Uncle Marcus, so we did not tell them she came to watch us. When you helped us into the coach today—” she smiled up at Lance— “we knew Mama sent you. I am so glad. I like you, Lord Lance.”

Lance had a lump in his throat which needed to be swallowed before he could reply. A welcome interruption allowed him time to recover. Little Lord Harry struggled to be put down, and then set off at great speed across the floor, not so much crawling as wriggling like a caterpillar. His destination was a kitten, who had just stepped out from behind the duchess’s couch. The kitten, alarmed perhaps by the intent look in Lord Harry’s eyes, shot up one of the curtains, and Harry stopped, hoisted himself into a sitting position, and looked balefully around the room as if the kitten’s escape must be someone else’s fault.

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Spotlight on The Talons of a Lyon

Published this Wednesday

The death of Lady Frogmore’s neglectful and disloyal husband should have been a relief. But then her nasty brother-in-law seizes her three children and turns her out, telling the whole of Society that she is a crude, vulgar, loose woman. Without allies or friends, Serafina, Lady Frogmore, turns to Mrs. Dove Lyon, also known as the Black Widow of Whitehall for help, paying her with a promise to grant whatever favor Mrs Dove Lyon asks.

Lord Lancelot Versey has always tried to be a perfect gentleman, and a gentleman honors his debts, even when an unwise wager obliges him to escort a notorious widow into Society. But Lady Frogmore is not what he expects, and helping her becomes a quest worthy of the knight for whom he was named.

Except Mrs. Dove Lyon calls in Seraphina’s promise. The favor she asks might destroy all they have found together.

https://amzn.to/3YVLvPt

Excerpt

Lance was early. He hoped it would give him an advantage of some kind to be here when the notorious baroness arrived. It was only when the solemn little schoolroom party had passed him that he noticed the dark shadow in the bushes.

For a moment, his mind had teamed with thoughts of kidnappers and thieves, but then a woman in widow’s weeds had stepped from the bushes to stare longingly after the retreating children and their servants.

Surely it was no coincidence that the two little girls were also in black? Then he saw the splash of white on the woman’s chest. He knew who she must be. She did not look coarse or vulgar, although all he could really see was her face, a sweet oval of a face with large brown eyes and a delicately molded nose, mouth, and chin.

He had not expected to have any sympathy for her after the rumors he had heard, but the longing on her face as she watched the girls march meekly away spoke to something within him. Perhaps Frogmore was correct to refuse to allow the woman to raise her children, but this scene went beyond that.

Surely, nothing she had done was bad enough to justify forcing her to hide in a bush so she could watch the two daughters she loved walk by? Having seen her face, he could not doubt that she loved them, and the unseen baby in the baby carriage. A little boy, or so he understood. The current Lord Frogmore, born a month after the death of his father.

If for no other reason than the comfort of the children, the mother should be allowed at least supervised meetings.

He walked toward her. His first impression of her delicacy was confirmed when he towered over her by nearly a foot. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, with a shallow bow. “I am Lancelot Versey.”

She blinked away the tears that were standing in her eyes, composing her expression into a blank, and curtseyed in return. “Lord Versey, I am Seraphina Frogmore.”

“Lord Lancelot,” he corrected. Had she never heard of him? “I am the second son of the Duke of Dellborough.”

“I beg your pardon,” she responded, without any of the admiring looks he was accustomed to receiving. “I did not realize. Lord Lancelot, then. Thank you for coming to meet me.”

He bowed again, considering that it might be ungracious to say he had not been given a choice.

He supposed he should ask what she wanted of him. “Were those your daughters?” he blurted.

She glanced along the path where the girls had recently walked. “My two little darlings,” she confirmed, a smile transforming her face. “Hannah and Helena. Hannah is the eldest, and very responsible.” The smile faded and her eyes clouded with worry. “Helena is a good girl, but full of life. I fear for her, Lord Lancelot. For them both, and for their little brother, who is in the baby carriage. That governess…” She shuddered.

Lance raised his brows. “Is she so awful? Governesses must sometimes be stern to teach the children in their charge.”

“Perhaps.” Her one word dripped with doubt. “But it is not her stern countenance that concerns me. It is the fact that she allows no play time, insists on lady-like behavior every minute of the day, hits the children’s hands with a ruler if they disobey or fidget or fail in any particular, and is doing her best to crush any joy out of them.” She was marching back and forth by the time she had finished this diatribe, her hands clenched into fists.

Lance was feeling an unwelcome surge of sympathy for the little girls, and for their mother. Who was, he had to remind himself, a disgraced woman and a merchant’s daughter.

“I do not see how this concerns me,” he said.

Lady Frogmore examined his face, searching for something she clearly did not find. “Thank you for coming, Lord Lancelot. I shall let Mrs. Dove Lyon know you are unsuitable.” She turned to walk away.

“What?” No one had ever called Lance unsuitable in his life. “But…” The woman was walking away. “Wait!”

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Proposals on WIP Wednesday

I have The Talons of a Lyon ready to go to Dragonblade, and am just waiting till the end of tomorrow in case the last beta reader has some comments. Meanwhile, I wanted to share with you Lance’s third proposal. He mucked up the first two.

“I asked Elaine for some time alone with you, Seraphina. Can you not guess why?”

“Oh,” she said, and to his dismay cast a longing glance at the door before abruptly sitting down on the nearest chair. “You mean to propose again.”

However hard he tried; he could not interpret her tone as encouraging. Nonetheless, he sank to one knee.

She leaned toward him, her hands up as if in protest. “You should not, Lance. You have done so much for me already. I cannot let you sacrifice your chances of a match with someone worthy of you.”

His surge of anger was not at her, but at all the people who had convinced her of her unworthiness, with her father and Lord Frogmore at the top of the list. “It is I who am not worthy of you, Seraphina. Your courage, your devotion to your family, your determination, your dignity—they humble me. As for sacrifice—the shoe is quite on the other foot, but I am more selfish than you. You could do much better than the left-over spare of a duke, whose brother has sons and a grandson to take his place. I’ve never achieved much in my life beyond good manners and a well-tied cravat. I don’t deserve you, but I am asking, anyway. If you will have me, I will be the best husband and father that I can.”

Seraphina stood to stamp one foot. “You shall not say such things. The left-over spare, indeed! No one could have done what you have done for me. Ever since you gave me hope that day in the park, you have always known exactly the right person to help me, and how to persuade them. If not for you, I would still be living in Pond Street, separated from my children, my reputation in ruins. I am so grateful, Lance. That is why I cannot take further advantage of your generosity.”

Lance felt like stamping his own foot. Might have, if he’d not still been on one knee. “Dammit, woman, I am not being generous. I love you.”

She sank back into her chair, one hand fluttering over her chest. “What did you say?”

He felt his cheeks heat. “I beg your pardon, Seraphina. Language unbecoming. I don’t know what came over me.”

She waved his apology away. “Not the curse, Lance. You said… did you really say you love me?” Tears trembled in her eyes, but she was smiling, almost glowing.

“I love you,” Lance repeated, hope almost choking the words. He swallowed hard and continued, “I cannot imagine facing the rest of my life without you. Will you marry me, Seraphina? Even if it is just because you need a guardian for your children, let it be me. I will ask nothing you are not prepared to give. Only the privilege of being your husband, of loving you.”

She slipped off her chair to kneel before him, slipping her hands into his. “I want to give you everything,” she told him. “I love you, Lance.”

“You will marry me?” Lance needed her to say the words, so he could start to believe them.

Her smile spread. “I will marry you.”

His eyes focused on her lips, turned up towards him, and his mouth lowered almost without his volition. “I am going to kiss you, my love,” he warned her.

Seraphina said nothing, but lifted her mouth to meet his.