When fictional worlds collide

Jude Knight and friends

Copyright 2015

Survivors meet in a bookshop out of time Jude Knight and Alice Langdon

A strange interlude in an inn Jude Knight and Keisha Page

Advice over tea with the Black Goddess Jude Knight and Mariana Gabrielle

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Cover image: Magic Book By Colgreyis, published under a Creative Commons License on Deviant Art. Retrieved from: http://chabien.deviantart.com/art/Magic-Book-By-Colgreyis-546067590

I blame the plot elves

I have a jackdaw mind: one that collects odd facts, interesting stories, concepts, faces, and snippets of plot ideas. They drop into the depths of my memory, and surface in unexpected patterns. I know where some of A Baron for Becky came from. I’m blaming the rest on plot elves.

The Marquis of Aldridge first appeared in my mind because I needed a hero who was a complete contrast to my crusading social zealot, Lady Charlotte Winderfield. Lady Charlotte’s story will be the third book in a series I haven’t started yet, but once I’d begun to think about Aldridge, he would not be quiet, and he soon inserted himself into my work-in-progress, Encouraging Prudence, where he is the hero’s half-brother.

Aldridge is a rake—a redeemable rake, one with charm and humour, but nonetheless full of the self-centredness of the tribe.

When the Bluestocking Belles formed a group of eight historical fiction writers, we found ourselves using our launch event page for a three-week long marathon of interactive story telling. We invented a magical inn that allowed our fictional worlds to collide, and brought along our characters for an impromptu party.

I contributed Aldridge to the fun, and it was fun! Poor Aldridge. He had a frustrating time, with his advances to one lady after another being rejected, sometimes violently.

Then along came Mrs A. Mrs Angel is the invention of Catherine Curzon, and she is a wonderful character: mistress to princes, owner of brothels, and a rollicking good-time girl. Aldridge’s pursuit of Mrs A. jumped from thread to thread and took days, with one accident after another keeping him from his goal.

Becky is no Mrs A. Initially, Catherine and I thought about writing the Aldridge/Mrs A. story, though how we would have solved the time issue, I do not know. Aldridge was newly born when Mrs Angel was in her prime. In any case, I realised that Aldridge needed quite a different kind of experience at this point in his life. Becky began to take shape in my mind—a broken bird, rescued by Aldridge but carrying scars from her past experiences.

Hugh is the baron of the title. Aldridge’s friend, he has scars of his own. And when Hugh entered the picture, an amalgam of all the best men I have known (though not a perfect man by any means), A Baron for Becky stopped being a story about Aldridge and became a story about marriage.

So in the end, my inspiration for A Baron for Becky is my experience of the healing power of love. And the plot elves.

About When Fictional Worlds Collide

My friends and I co-wrote the stories in this ebook, each taking the part of our own character. We had a lot of fun, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading them. I’ve included links to my friends’ books with their stories.

And if you’d like to watch stories being co-written, or even to be one of the writers, join the Bluestocking Belles in our bookshop—just click on the link towards the end of this book.

In When Fictional World Collide, you’ll meet my Becky and Lord Aldridge from A Baron for Becky, released August 5, 2015.

Becky is the envy of the courtesans of the demi-monde—the indulged mistress of the wealthy and charismatic Marquis of Aldridge. But she dreams of a normal life; one in which her daughter can have a future that does not depend on beauty, sex, and the whims of a man.

Finding herself with child, she hesitates to tell Aldridge. Will he cast her off, send her away, or keep her and condemn another child to this uncertain shadow world?

The devil-may-care face Hugh shows to the world hides a desperate sorrow; a sorrow he tries to drown with drink and riotous living. His years at war haunt him, but even more, he doesn’t want to think about the illness that robbed him of the ability to father a son. When he dies, his barony will die with him. His title will fall into abeyance, and his estate will be scooped up by the Crown.

When Aldridge surprises them both with a daring proposition, they do not expect love to be part of the bargain.

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Advice over tea with the Black Goddess

Jude Knight with Mariana Gabrielle

It had been some years since Becky, more commonly known as The Rose of Frampton, first met Kali Matai, The Black Goddess, and it was a meeting neither wished to remember, both having been at the mercy of protectors with no morals and less conscience. During that earlier meeting, Kali had protected Becky from the worst of the abuses at the gentlemen’s party. For that alone, Kali would always be Becky’s heroine.

When they came upon each other at Mrs. Marlowe’s Book Emporium, however, not only their prior encounter bound them, but also a mutual understanding of the way the world treats women of easy virtue—as though they have no virtues at all. Now, Becky has been bold enough to send a note asking to speak with Kali. She hesitates to put herself forward, but Kali has always been kind, and who else can she turn to? Kali’s note in response invites her to tea at Kali’s apartment.

“I can offer you tea, Mrs. Darling,” Kali said, “Or something more... fortifying. Palm wine or feni or sherry. I only keep brandy in my protectors’ homes.”

“May I try feni?” Becky says. She likes trying new things, and fortifying is exactly what she needs. “And if you would not mind, Miss Matai, My true name is not Mrs. Darling. I am not Rose. And I am not a… That was a name given me by a… by someone who wished to increase my… price. My real name is Winstanley, Miss Becky Winstanley.”

Kali pours out the liqueur into crystal glasses and passes one across the table. “Ah, very much like Miss Matai and La Déesse Noire, then. I would be grateful if we might use our real names. I am Kali Shaheen, though I beg you not make it known outside these rooms.”

“Kali Shaheen. Miss Shaheen. It is a lovely name.”

“One I have not heard in a good many years, Miss Winstanley.” Kali began, “Your note spoke of some trouble you wish to share? Some way in which I can help?”

The aroma of coconut rises from the glass. Becky takes a cautious sip, and then another, more appreciative, one. “It is not so much that I need help. More that I would appreciate someone to listen; someone who, perhaps, might... understand how complicated it is.”

Kali chuckles. “If it is about a man, my dear, there is nothing simpler.”

Becky smiles in return, and then turns wistful. “The man is simple enough, Kali, that is true. If his appetites are satisfied and his ego is stroked, he is happy. I am the complicated one.”

“Ah,” Kali sighs, taking another delicate sip of her feni. “Yes, women are certainly complicated, are we not? Have you some concern about Lord Aldridge?”

Some concern. Yes, that was exactly it. Though how to explain it... “When you and I first met,” Becky begins softly, “you rightly deduced the protector I had then was not kind. You will understand, I think, what it means when I say that he was among the best of all the men by whom I have been kept.” Kali would know what she meant. Every mistress understands all too well.

Kali nods.

“Lord Aldridge saved me—in every sense—and more important, saved my little daughter.” Kali continues to smile, but Becky senses less warmth behind it. “Not just from more of the same, but from worse. I will always be grateful to him.”

No-one knows better than I, Becky thinks, that he put himself to very little trouble. But he could have left us where he found us. Some men would have. Some men would have required a bargain before they acted. He saved us without being asked; the bargain came later.

“He is always polite. He always ensures my pleasure. He is kind to my little girl. He is generous with his gifts and with his praise. He is kind, Kali. It has been a heady experience for a woman like me.”

Kali’s smile softens. “Go on,” she urges

“It has been nine months since we signed a contract. For six months, he barely let me leave his side. You will think me foolish, but I imagined... I knew he would not marry me. Indeed, so I told his… certain members of his family. But I thought we were in love. Foolish.”

Kali raises a brow and the softness in her eyes vanishes. “Quite.” Her hand trembles just slightly as she finishes her drink and pours another, also offering it to her guest. Becky holds out her glass. She seldom indulges, but she feels the need today.

She had thought she was over the heartbreak. But as she speaks, all the feelings flood back: the sense of betrayal, the knowledge that her wounds were self-inflicted. Her tone is bleak as she continues. “I forgot what you told me when we met before. I forgot he is my buyer, not my lover. Not my friend. I knew it, but I forgot.”

At Kali’s frown, she hastens to explain, “He did not encourage me, Kali. It was my own doing. He did not speak of love. He did not talk of permanence. But he was kind. And I have known so little kindness.”

Kali grasps Becky’s hand in one of her own. “It is an easy thing to forget when they so believe they wish to be our friends.” She sets her glass aside, taking Becky’s chilly fingers between the palms of her hands. “Do you expect he will set you aside?”

He wouldn’t. Would he? Her face must mirror her doubts, because Kali asks gently, “Have you savings to keep you? He has given you the deed to the house, has he not?”

Ah yes. She breathes again. For a moment, she had forgotten. “The house and my income are mine to keep if I finish the two years, or if he chooses to end the contract early. I lose them only if I leave.” She examines her empty glass, wondering if she should explain the circumstances under which they negotiated the contract. “Lord Aldridge’s cousin, Lord Chirbury, suggested the clause.”

“He is a wise man, then, and you are fortunate to have received his counsel.” From the dry tone in Kali’s voice, she has little faith in Aldridge’s honour. “Do you not have a solicitor? A woman alone must have her own solicitor, Miss Winstanley.”

Becky, though, doesn’t doubt he will keep to the terms of the contract. The contract is not the problem. “A solicitor? A solicitor could not help me with my problem, Miss Shaheen.”

“You are not considering... Surely not.” Kali’s brows drew together. “Think, Miss Winstanley. Do not feel.”

“Considering what?” Becky’s brows drew together. Becky was attempting to think, not feel; had been doing so this last three months. Indeed, it was thinking that brought her here today.

“Never you mind, sweetling.” Kali pats Becky’s hand. “Tell me what it is I can do to help.”

“Aldridge owns my body,” Becky says, baldly. “Or perhaps it would be truer to say he holds the lease. I need it returned to me in good condition at the end of the contract. Not for my sake. For my daughter.”

“I cannot believe,” Kali says slowly, “with what I know of Lord Aldridge, that you are concerned about maltreatment.”

Becky shakes her head.

“So, rather, you worry about... disease?” She sat back. “Or is it only your heart for which you fear?”

“Aldridge returned my heart to me when he began swiving other women and discussing it with me. It is bruised, I cannot deny, but he is a man of prodigious appetite who enjoys variety. Yet he returns to me several times each week. And…” Becky colours, “he seems to need very little sleep.” Choking on the words, she finally spits out, “Truth be told, Miss Shaheen, I fear the pox.”

How did she put this next bit? Kali had been so kind to her. Would she be insulted?

“Forgive me if I offend,” Becky stammers, “but I have heard that ladies of the Orient know remedies, preventatives...”

“You are right to be concerned,” Kali says in measured tones. “On this subject, however, I have no more knowledge than any other woman well-versed in our trade. Tell me, does he wash the part of himself that is of concern? Wash it well, I mean, with strong soap?”

Becky nodded, hiding her eyes behind her lashes and allowing the hair falling across her forehead to drop like a curtain to hide her face. Aldridge’s bathing habits, and the variety of activities he thought suitable for a bath, had been a revelation.

“Yes. He is very thorough. He... Never mind… He… Yes.”

“Good. You can, of course, ensure such cleanliness by offering to attend him in his baths. He will never decline, and it will provide you some measure of control.”

“That... I already... He rather likes me to…” Becky could feel her ears burning. She thoroughly enjoyed her protector’s intimate ministrations, and she even enjoyed returned them, which she never would have believed a year ago. But she had not expected to discuss such matters.

Kali smiled and patted her hand. “Of course he does. As I have said, men are simple creatures. Does he use sheaths when you have relations? As a matter of course? With all of the women with whom he—?” She stops short, not wanting to hurt the poor, wounded bird any more than her protector already had.

Becky gathers her dignity. “He gives me to believe that he always wears a cundum. He is not unaware of the dangers, and he wishes no mo—er, no children out of wedlock.” Aldridge had three children. Three that he knew of. But Kali did not need to know that.

“If he is consistent with you, his regular mistress, you can guess that he is with the others.” Kali frowns. “But do not forget that a man will say anything to lie with a woman he desires.” Sighing, she follows with, “Of course, you cannot insist. As you say, he owns the lease on your body. There are risks... to this way of life. This is one... your beautiful daughter is another.”

Sarah. Becky shuddered. Sarah was an even bigger worry than the pox.

“Sarah is only eight, Miss Shaheen. I worry about her living in the house where I... where I sell myself. And I am determined to escape this life with enough money to give her more options.”

“Many would send her away,” Kali suggests, in a tentative manner. “To school, perhaps? To a friend or family in the country?”

Becky shook her head. She had considered a school, but she preferred to keep Sarah close, where she knew that she was safe. “I have no family—I have no friends. I fear to send her to strangers. Of course, I am also afraid to keep her with me. You will think me silly to be so uncertain, but she is the one treasure of my life, and I would do anything for her. But the best thing? I do not know.”

“I do not think you foolish, and you have a friend in me. As such, I must tell you: you have fewer choices than one might hope. You must make your own luck and control your own future, my dear. You must subtly suggest Lord Aldridge give you jewels and gold and silver ornaments, for emeralds and rubies may be sold to keep you, no matter his inclination. Should he be generous enough, you may give Sarah and yourself any life you choose.” Eyes narrowed, lips thinned, she continues, “You do not protect yourself, Miss Winstanley. This is a mistake of the most immense proportions. Much more concern than the pox.

“You allow yourself to be defined by the gentleman in your life, most of whom do not have your interests in mind. Lord Aldridge is better than some, but he is inconstant, and will leave you in the street when he tires of you. You are a strong woman—” She holds up one finger. “No, do not think to argue that point when you have survived so much. You have a mind and heart worth cultivating, and your protectors will not do so. So then, you must do it yourself. That, my dear, is the legacy for your daughter. That is what you will give her and why you will keep her safe with you.”

Becky opened her mouth, thought again about what she wanted to say, and then closed it again.

She did not for a moment believe Aldridge would leave her in the street, but he was inconstant. Could she use him as Miss Shaheen suggested? It seemed so cold; so calculated. But she had to think of Becky!

After a moment, she looked up from the glass she had been examining intently.

“You are right. You are right, Miss Shaheen. He has purchased the use of my body, but his needs do not define me. Indeed,” perhaps she had more power than she thought, “it is not my body that keeps him visiting. He has never before signed a two-year contract. Did you know that? His... a relative of his told me.

“And he comes back to me from his other women. I have something that he needs. If I can work out what that is, Miss Shaheen, then I can… I can negotiate... Jewellery, yes. A separate house and a governess for my daughter, so she can be safe and… uncorrupted. And another two-year term. I have but a year left of this one.”

How would she bear to live with Aldridge another three years, losing her armour daily to his kindness and his charm? She would have to bear it. She would do anything for Sarah.

“Three more years of using his purse as he uses my body will mean I can keep Sarah safe; give her a better life than this one. Yes. Those requisites will serve. They will serve very well.”

“All of those, my friend,” Kali laughs, “are as simple as the man is himself. I will call for tea, and we shall begin today.”

Meet Kali and read her story in La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess.

Sired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.

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Survivors meet in a bookshop out of time

Jude Knight with Alice Langdon

In two widely different places, separated by space and time, a street of shops changed, each building nudging itself along a little to allow room for one more. The Bookshop slid into place, its advent unnoticed by those who belonged. Only those for whom it was intended would see the shop, let alone open its welcoming blue doors to discover the treasures within.

The Bookshop is about to have two guests with more in common than they think: one from 1809 London, and one from 1880 New Hampshire.

Becky Winstanley was returning from a walk in the park, her footman trailing protectively behind her. She was bored. Her daughter Sarah was at the seaside with the daughter of the Countess of Chirbury, Aldridge was from London on duchy business, and Becky’s friend Kali had a new protector and was preoccupied.

She drew up short when she saw the building on the corner. “Matthews,” she said to her shadow, “surely that bookshop was not there yesterday.”

The footman drew his brows together. “What bookshop, ma’am?”

“The one on the...” Becky’s voice faded. Matthews was looking around him in apparent bewilderment.

On an impulse, Becky left the footman behind and crossed the street. She opened the door, and stepped over the threshold into a paradise of books.

The shop was bright, and much larger inside than it appeared from without. It seemed empty. No-one came to the jangle of the bell on the door; no other customers browsed the shelves that stretched away in every direction.

After a moment’s hesitation, Becky began to roam. Soon she was happily browsing along a shelf of books about gardening. One day, she hoped to have a garden. She dreamed of a cottage, perhaps in a little village where no-one knew her past, and when she had time she planned the flowers she would grow.

Deeply engrossed in a tome about the cultivation of roses, Becky accidentally knocked another book with her reticule, and stepped back out of its way.

“Oof.” She had collided with a woman, sending her parcels scattering. Becky had not realised anyone else was in the shop, let alone at the fiction shelves behind her.

“I am so sorry!” she said, kneeling to pick up the woman’s dropped bags and parcels.

The woman was smiling and accepting Becky’s apologies. How odd her clothes were, though the narrow waist above the broad bell of the skirt certainly suited the stranger.

She caught herself staring, and the woman seemed just as curious about her. Well, no wonder. Becky had nearly sent her, and not just her packages, crashing to the floor. How could she make amends for her clumsiness?

“I see they sell refreshments. Please, let me buy you a cup of tea.”

“I would love some tea, but will that interfere with your work? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble...”

“Work?” Becky wondered how the woman knew that she had ‘work’. But she was not looking disapproving or unkind. “Oh no, not at all. Aldridge is out of town, and—in any case—he is very kind. Shall we?” She lead the way to the small sitting area, where a maid waited to take their orders.

Folding her hands in her lap, the woman said. “Any black tea will do for me, please.”

“Oolong, if you have it,” Becky says. She was sneaking peaks at the other lady’s unusual clothes. “I have never seen this shop before,” she commented, “yet it looks as if it has been in the same place for a long time.”

“I thought the same thing! Do you live in town, or are you visiting?” The stranger flinched nervously, as if expecting to be reprimanded. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I only just realised that I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ellie Baker.”

“I’m Becky Winstanley, and yes, I live right here in London. Just around the corner, in fact.”

The other woman shifted uncomfortably, then spoke gently, as if to a child or an invalid.

“Oh... um. It is a pleasure to meet you, Becky. I adore your ensemble. You must enjoy the look and feel of Regency fashion. I, too, would prefer it to the bustles, embellishments and painfully tight corsets of today’s standards. Your dressmaker is very talented.”

“I am not sure I understand,” Becky said cautiously. The woman seems niced enough, but what she said made no sense. Regency? Today’s standards?

“You are from the United States of America, I think?” she asked, and at Ellie’s nod, “The clothes you wear are very pretty, but now that you are in London, perhaps you may wish to visit one of our modistes? They are, as you say, very talented.”

Ellie hesitated, then rushed into speech. “I... am not only from America, I live in America now. When I walked into this shop, I was still in New Hampshire. My younger cousin is waiting in line to attend the grand opening of the new wax museum. You said you live in London. May I ask what year it is?”

Becky found it hard to believe. But Ellie did not act as if she were mad, and her clothes were certainly odd.  “Can it be true? But how...? Ellie, when I left the park to walk home, it was July in 1809. In what year is your cousin waiting?”

Ellie peered around the shop then leant towards Becky, lowering her voice as if she feared being overheard. “1880. And it is late Fall.”

Becky occupied herself pouring a bowl of the tea that had suddenly appeared on the table before her. This was passing strange!

“How wonderful. You are from the future! Tell me what is it like? Aldridge and I were talking about gas lighting—there are several streets now in London with gas lamps. He says it will be used in houses, though I cannot imagine such a thing! And roads! There is a new process for roads that they say will make travel much faster. Do you use it in the wilds of your United States?

Ellie nodded. “Err... gas lamps are very common, here on the streets. In my home, the overhead lighting and sconces are all gas lit, but we still have a few oil lamps, too. For example, the lamp on my bedside table. And we most definitely have roads. I have never known a time when we didn’t.”

She too, poured herself a steaming cup of tea. Raising it to her lips, she said, “So much has happened since the turn of the century... I don’t know where to begin. The industrial revolution has improved our way of life immensely. Perhaps the most incredible mode of transportation in this day in age is the locomotive. Trains can carry masses of people, livestock and textiles across the entire country now. They are enormous, run on coal and travel on steel tracks. Oh, and I can’t even begin on the subject of medicine. Gabriel—”

She hesitated, and Becky’s attention sharpened. “A dear friend of mine is a doctor, and whenever he speaks of how far we have come and where we are headed medically, I can barely understand it.”

She smiled, leaning forward in her enthusiasm. “But your time seems so... romantic. The parties and dances. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favourite stories. When it is published in four years, you must read it!”

“Pride and Prejudice. I will look out for it, Ellie. Trains on steel tracks? Like at the mines, you mean? How wonderful. As to romantic... I could not say, Ellie. Aldridge always complains when he must attend one of his mother’s entertainments, but I think it would be lovely, just for an evening, to pretend...” She catches herself, and changes the subject. “Your time sounds very interesting.”

“You have mentioned Aldridge several times. I hope I am not too bold in asking... Is he your husband?” Ellie finally mustered the courage to say.

Becky’s face flushed scarlet. “Oh dear,” she said. “I am usually so careful not to...” She did not meet Ellie’s eyes, looking instead into the delicate porcelain tea bowl she held in both hands. She had been so enjoying the quiet conversation. Well, she would not return Ellie’s kindness with an untruth. “I am... that is, the Marquis of Aldridge is the man who pays for my... I am Aldridge’s mistress.” She looked up, then, a quick glance. “This has been a very pleasant interlude, Miss Baker. I apologise for imposing my presence on you.”

She put the bowl down, and gathered up her shawl and reticule.

“Wait!” Ellie placed her cup back on its saucer and reached across the table. “There is no judgement here, I assure you. I too have been terrified of hatred and ridicule. I am far from perfect. Please, do not be ashamed, Becky. Sit.”

Becky subsided back into her chair, doubt and hope warring. “Really? You do not mind? I suppose... No-one will see, and, after all, even if someone from your distant future saw you here with me, how could they know who I am.” She smiles, then, a warm joyous beam. “Yes. I would love to stay. Though I am sorry to hear you have known the scorn of the scandalmongers. That is what you meant, is it not? Do you wish to speak of it? I am the safest pair of ears you could possibly imagine!”

Ellie returned Becky’s smile then sighed, tucking a stray, black tendril behind her ear. “I am from Colorado originally. When my parents died, I had nothing but debts and painful memories surrounding me. I moved to a town several miles away, and I was so desperate for work, that I was... tricked by a terrible man. He stripped me of my virginity and forced me to work at his brothel. It was the worst two weeks of my life.”

Becky reached for Ellie’s hands, tears filling her blue eyes. “Oh my dear. I am so sorry. But someone rescued you? Or you escaped?” Was her three years any worse than Ellie’s two weeks? Perhaps not—the same days, the same nights, repeated over and over and over until the mind went numb.

Ellie held onto Becky’s hands tightly, visibly struggling with her own tears.

“I’d thought I had no family left, but I was wrong. I received a letter from a very distant relative, insisting that I come to New Hampshire to live as his ward. When the brothel owner learned of the letter, he...” Ellie’s words trailed off, and she took a sip of tea. “He hurt me badly. But, before he could do something even worse, Gabriel rescued me. He pulled me out of that place and helped me into a coach bound for the train station. By the strangest miracle, we were reunited all the way out here.”

Her green eyes searched Becky’s blue ones. “This Marquis... how long have you been servicing him? Does he treat you well?”

Becky blushed again. “Aldridge rescued me, Ellie. Me and my daughter, Sarah. My story starts as yours did, with betrayal and a brothel. I was there three years, and then passed from protector to protector until the last sold me back into a brothel again. And not just me, but my seven-year-old child.”

She shuddered at the memory. “Aldridge rescued us both, without demanding a reward until we were safe. Yes, he wanted me for his own use, but he is kind and generous. Things could be much worse. Things have been much, much worse.” Though never as bad as that last disastrous fate from which Aldridge saved them.

“One day... I have been saving, Ellie, and when my contract with Aldridge ends, I hope to be able to buy a place where Sarah and I can start a new life.”

She smiled again, and pressed her new friend’s hands. “They make us nothing, these men. Just vessels for their lusts. But we are more, Ellie. We are much more. We do not need to let them define and shape us. We can be whoever we choose to be. You are a fine, strong woman, You have survived the worst that could happen, and you have a life and a future. And, perhaps, this Gabriel?”

She hoped the softness in Ellie’s eyes when she spoke of her friend would be rewarded. To know a woman who had been so degraded could find respectability and even love—that would be a wonderful thought to take back to her own life.

“That is so kind of you to say, Becky. You are much stronger than I. And I thought the same thing about men for so long.” Ellie glanced around as if checking they were alone.

Lowering her voice, she said, “After the way I’d been treated, I was so sure a woman could never feel any pleasure. I thought only a man possessed that power. I didn’t believe in romantic love, only betrayal and broken hearts. I had seen and experienced too much to ever think otherwise.”

Ellie blushed. “But... Gabriel has shown me things I never imagined I was capable of experiencing. I fought him for so long, but I can no longer deny the way he pulls at me. We had been best friends for five years as children, and after several years apart, fate has brought us together again. I cannot believe I am saying this, but do not lose your faith in mankind.”

She leant forward again, and asked, “How long is your contract with this man? Is he married?”

Becky was startled at the question. “Aldridge? No, he is not married, nor like to be for some time. He will have to marry, of course. He is to be a duke, and a duke must have a duchess—a lilly-white maid to give him high-born sons.” She heard the bitter edge in her voice and took a deep breath before continuing more calmly, “I will have my freedom in less than two years. I...” she blushed again, and hesitated, but after a moment decided to speak. “Ellie, Aldridge has taught me that a woman can feel pleasure—should feel pleasure, Aldridge says, if a man has any courtesy in him. What we have is certainly not a romance. But we are friends, I think, in a way.”

She had fallen in love with him, of course, when he first rescued her. But she’d learned her mistake when he began to take other lovers. “Perhaps, when Sarah is grown and cannot be hurt by it, I will take a lover. Someone I choose. Because I wish, with no obligation between us.”

Ellie did not need to know about Becky’s foolish heart. “But tell me more of this Gabriel of yours? Is he married?”

“No, Gabriel is not married,” Ellie said. “He had a family arrangement with a young woman for several years, but that has ended due to... circumstance.”

Lowering her eyes, she traced an imaginary pattern on the floral tablecloth. “I am afraid I have found myself in a terrible bind, Becky. Gabriel is away, guest teaching at Harvard Medical School until mid-December. My caretaker Mr. Westgate is Gabriel’s uncle, and they are in a terrible feud with one another that will not end.” She glanced up, and then back down at her restless finger.

“Mr. Westgate is unaware that Gabriel and I have known each other since childhood... and he certainly doesn’t know that I sneak off to spend time with his nephew now. Mr. Westgate is also urging me to marry his friend, Mr. Cain. The man is nearly fifty, and I would be nothing but an obedient wife and prize on his arm to him.”

She shook off her mood, forcing a smile. “But I am so happy that you have found pleasure with your friend, Becky. I understand what you say about romance. I’m not certain I know what love feels like. I wouldn’t know if I was in love, were it right in front of my face.”

Becky spoke slowly, choosing each word with care. “I believe in romance, Ellie. Not for me...” she paused, her eyes wistful, then leans across the table and pressed Ellie’s hands again.

“Believe in romance, Ellie. Believe in love. I have seen it; couples who are friends as well as lovers. I have seen a wife’s eyes light up when her husband enters the room, and a husband prefer an evening at home with his wife to any other entertainment.” Not for her. Never for her. But perhaps for Sarah, and perhaps for this new friend who had suffered as she had.

“Believe in yourself. Your eyes shine when you speak of this Gabriel. I think the love you speak of is right in front of your face. But even if not Gabriel, you deserve better than an old man who won’t treasure you as he should.”

She frowned. Perhaps the uncle would force Ellie. “What will Mr Westgate do if you refuse this Mr Cain, or put off making a decision?”

Ellie blushed. “Oh, I have put it off. I have asked for more time. I was afraid of refusing the offer immediately, because Mr. Westgate has done so much for me. He has given me an entirely new life that I couldn’t have imagined... one I still feel I don’t deserve. I had planned on making myself so unappealing to Mr. Cain that he would never propose. But an unexpected turn of events is keeping him from calling on me for at least three months. Gabriel will return before that time, and my plan is to find a way to reunite him with his uncle before it is too late.”

She winced and squeezed Becky’s hands, but in good humour. “Wish me luck. Tell me more about your daughter Sarah, Becky. How old were you when she was born? Is her father long gone?”

“I wish you every luck in the world, Ellie. And never believe you do not deserve it. Never blame yourself for the pain that others have caused you. They tried to make you nothing, just an object to be used. Make them nothing in return. Do not let the past mould your future.”

She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “Listen to me, preaching away. You asked about my darling Sarah. She turns nine soon, and is the delight of my heart. Her father... she has no father. I don’t remember the customers... who they were, how many...” Her voice trailed off, and for a long moment she looked down the years at the horror that had been her life.

“Please, you don’t have to say any more.” Ellie had tears in her eyes again. She also, no doubt, had memories that returned in dreams to give her sleepless nights.

“I can tell you love Sarah very much by the way you speak of her. Caring and providing for her must be very difficult, but no doubt she gives you a purpose to wake every morning and strive for a better life. I’ve heard so many horrible stories at the brothel, about women who had found themselves with child and what became of them. How lucky your daughter is to have such a brave and doting mother. Surely she is the shining beacon in your dark past.”

“She is. I would not have survived without her, Ellie. I was lucky... though it did not seem that way at the time. I was... sick. The brothel madam thought I was dying. She sold me to a man who... It does not matter. I survived, and Sarah survived, and if my life has not been all I would wish, at least she did not grow up in a brothel. And Aldridge is good to her, Ellie.”

“I am so glad. Aldridge seems like a caring man. Sarah will surely be sad when your contract is finished. She will miss him, and I don’t doubt he will miss her, too. Has he had such arrangements with other women in the past?”

“Yes, and he has many casual lovers as well. He is wealthy and titled and handsome, and will be a duke one day. He has no trouble finding women to fill his bed. But I think few of them care to know him, or care about him.”

Becky sighed. “I hope he finds love one day. If he falls in love with his wife, passionately, deeply; if he commits to marriage, he will be happy, I think. But if he contracts the type of marriage he fears, with a foolish debutante whose prime asset is the right pedigree, he will be a dreadful husband, and they will both be unhappy.”

Poor Aldridge. She could see little hope for him. She, of course, had no contact with the ladies thought fit to be mate to the future Duke of Haverford, but from what she had observed in the park, and heard from Aldridge and his friends, few of them thought beyond their clothes and making a match that would impress their friends.

“Well ... I hope he finds true happiness. I pray you both do. May I ask ... If you were a duchess, would things be different between you? Would you ever marry him?”

Becky laughed. She would never admit that once she had hoped... No. Hoped was too strong a word. Dreamt, for a few shining months, that she and Aldridge... “No, Ellie. Never. I could not abide a husband who was unfaithful. Besides, I will never marry. Who would want a wife with my past?”

“You must not blame yourself,” Ellie told Becky.

“I do not,” Becky assured her. “But society would, if they knew. Is it different in your time?”

“No. Not really,” The two women exchanged a silent glance full of meaning as they took another sip of their tea.

“Becky, I must go. My cousin will be worried about me.”

They made their way to the door together, but stopped just inside to look deeply into one another’s eyes.

“Ellie, I will hope with all my heart that you find happiness with your Gabriel,” Becky said.

“Becky, I will hope with all my heart that you, too, find happiness.”

They are sisters separated by time, Becky thought, and—on an impulse she has never felt before—leant forward to give Ellie a hug before they stepped through the door arm-in-arm.

But as they passed the doorstep, Becky’s arm was suddenly empty. Ellie was gone.

Meet Ellie and hear her story in Trusting Desire.

What if the only thing that could save you—was the thing you feared most?

Naive, destitute and alone, Ellie Baker’s world crumbles when she’s kidnapped and forced into a brothel to repay her father’s mistakes. Betrayed to the core, Ellie vows to never trust another man—even Gabriel Peterson, her favourite childhood friend.

Gabriel can’t get past his mother’s brutal murder. Drinking, gambling and whoring help him forget, yet his guilt-ridden habits have made him a social outcast. When the girl from his youth confronts him, he is shocked out of despair and vows to help Ellie escape... But can he break free of his own demons?

Neither expects the reunion to last—until their lives overlap in unimaginable ways. When Ellie helps Gabriel in his quest for vengeance, she can’t deny their forbidden attraction. Being together feels dangerous, yet how can Ellie resist, when his slightest touch makes her body ache for more?

With reputations in the balance, these two must learn to trust in themselves—or risk losing the only love they’ve ever known.

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A strange interlude at an inn

Jude Knight with Keisha Page

Aldridge checked his horse at the top of the rise. Surely that was an inn in the hollow? And one that hadn’t been there three weeks ago when he rode north?

He was wet, cold, and tired. If they had a warm room and good brandy, he’d take it. Mystery or no mystery.

An ostler took his horse in the stable yard, and the front door opened to warmth and the welcoming smells of stew and fresh bread. This was exactly what he needed!

The public room was nearly empty, apart from the old codgers in the corner who seemed to live in every public room he’d ever frequented. Aldridge took a seat at a table near the fire and grinned invitingly at the girl at the bar, who was fetchingly, if surprisingly, dressed in skin tight pantaloons of some dark material.

The serving girl handed Aldridge a beautifully written menu—printed, it looked like. Aldridge raised an eyebrow at the expense of such a print job, but the appetising odours had already made up his mind.

“A dish of your stew, my sweet, and some of that bread I can smell. And soon, dearest, if you love me? I’ve been riding since dawn, and my belly thinks my throat’s been cut. And brandy, if you have a good French brandy. Otherwise, your best ale.”

The barmaid did not appear impressed at his endearments, but she pressed a device in her hand, and said, “Be right wiv ya,” before turning to the man who had just taken a seat at the next table, a strangely dressed fellow in tight leather pants and a bulky leather jacket. And was that a helmet under his arm?

“When did this place open?” the man asked. Aldridge could not place his accent.

“Oh, we’ve been around for ages, sweets. We’re just not always in the same place twice.” She sauntered away, her swaying rump delightfully outlined by the tight cloth of her outrageous garment.

At the next table, the stranger swiped his hand down the front of the jacket he wore, and it split into two pieces. How was that possible? Aldridge couldn’t see the fastening, just a series of tiny metal bars down both front seams.

It didn’t take the servant long to return with his brandy. Aldridge held the beautifully formed glass in his hands to warm the drink, and inhaled its fragrance. Yes. This would do nicely. The man at the next table was watching him. He raised the glass slightly and tipped his head in a polite salute. “If the taste is up to the bouquet, I can recommend it,” he said.

“Fantastic, thanks,” the man said; then, after a long pull from his beer. “This is going to sound strange, but why are you dressed like that?”

The man was right. It did sound strange. How else should he be dressed? Riding jacket now open to show the richly embroidered waistcoat underneath; check. Cravat, neatly tied in a knot a hundred dandies would sell their eyeteeth to duplicate; check. Pantaloons, formerly almost white but showing the impact of a day’s hard riding; check. Hessian boots, with tassels of his own design; check. His beaver and the many-caped greatcoat that had kept off the worst of the rain were hanging in the foyer.

Perhaps the man thought he should be in breeches for dinner?

“One does not normally dress formally for a country inn,” he explained. “Would you care to join me at my table?” Aldridge would appreciate a closer look at the man’s own clothes. Especially the clever fastening for the jacket.

A strange expression crossed the other man’s face, then he picked up his mug, and moved to Aldridge’s table. “Sir, you’re sitting in a restaurant in the middle of New York City.”

Aldridge blinked. That made no sense at all. “New York City? In the colonies? I beg your pardon, I should say the United States, of course. Sir, I rode up to this inn not fifteen minutes ago in the countryside between Margate and Canterbury. In England.”

The servant placed a fragrant plate of stew in front of each of them, and a whole loaf of fresh hot bread on its own cutting block in the centre of the table. “Told you,” she said. “Sometimes we’re not even in the same place once.”

Aldridge raised both eyebrows. Surely she could not mean that as it sounded. Had he stepped into a gothick romance? He took a deep breath of the stew to ground himself in something real.

Then his dinner companion said, “I’m Alex, current denizen of twenty-first century New York City. Pleased to meet you.”

“Twenty-first....?” Aldridge shook his head. Two centuries in his future? Impossible. Nonetheless, he put out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Alex. I’m Aldridge. And when I rode out this morning from Margate, it was 1810.”

Alex’s grasp was firm for a hallucination. And he returned to the slice of fresh bread he’s cut with an enthusiasm Aldridge did not associate with ghosts. “Margate?” he asked, between mouthfuls. “Is that your home?”

“It will be,” Aldridge said, without much enthusiasm. “One of them. I mostly live in London, though.” He smiled, his expression softening. Officially, his London residence was the heir’s wing at Haverford House. But the townhouse he’d purchased for his mistress, Becky, was more of a home to him than anywhere else on the planet. “I’ll be home tomorrow,” he said.

Aldridge hoped this was true; that he’d walk out of here and it would still be 1810. “And do you live in New York, Alex?”

“I’ve been to London a few times. I’m guessing it looks much different now. Cars and pollution, and, oh, all of the new buildings that have been built. I live here in New York, in an apartment in the Bronx. My kids live with their mother, in a house a few miles from my place. At least they’re close enough that I can see them all the time.” Alex dunked his piece of bread in his stew.

The London Aldridge knew had dirt and filth enough; pollution, certainly. Cars? He’d seen a few processions, but perhaps this modern London had more? He focussed on the part of Alex’s statement he could make sense of. The term ‘kids’ clearly meant children. “I also have children who live with their mothers, but I see little of them. You are fortunate to have yours close.”

Alex nodded.

“I am pretty lucky. My girl, Leslie, wants to move here, but if she does, then her kids’ dad wouldn’t be able to see their kids. It’s kind of a pain in the ass. Not the kids, but the making sure that everyone gets to see each other when they’re supposed to. I don’t know how anyone makes a second marriage work.”

Another statement with outlandish implications. The man had been married to the mother of his children and now wanted to be married again to someone who had children by another man? How outraged Society’s dragons would be to hear Alex refer so casually to second marriages.

“So, Aldridge, how many times have you been married?”

Aldridge ignored the question, still thinking about Alex’s statement. Perhaps his interpretation was wrong.  “May I... I do not wish to give offence, so please tell me if I breach courtesy in asking this... may I confirm that I understand correctly? Your children live with their mother. And the woman you would marry lives near the father of her children.

‘But you speak of a second marriage. You are both divorced, then? And all the parties work together so that the children can see their fathers and their mothers?”

“Dude. That is the least offensive thing you could say.” Alex smiled at Aldridge, clearly not offended.

“Yes, Leslie is divorced from her first husband, the father of her children. They both live in Denver. I am divorced from my first wife, who is the mother of my children. She lives near me here. We’re actually required by law to make things work. If Leslie moved the children here without her ex-husband’s permission, a judge could put her in jail. And so far, her husband won’t agree to let her move here.

“Truthfully, I can’t say I blame the guy, but it’s frustrating. Leslie and I… I can’t stand being without her. She lives eighteen hundred miles away, so we only get to see each other every few months. The last time I got to see her, it was only for a couple of days; I was in the middle of a tour, so I couldn’t stay long.”

He held up his brandy snifter to catch the attention of the waitress. She nodded in his direction. He set the glass down and looked at Aldridge.

“I didn’t realise divorce was common in 1810. Or even legal, I guess.”

“It isn’t common,” Aldridge confirmed. “It requires a Bill in Parliament, which means washing the family’s dirty linen in full view of every gossip in England.”

Not an option for any person of consequence. No decent man would do that to his wife and children, nor any respectable woman, either, unless in peril of her life.

“A man can get a divorce and custody of his children if he proves his wife was unfaithful. A woman has to prove extreme cruelty, and even then she might not keep the children. A man might survive the scandal, but a woman? I can only imagine what would drive a woman to such a course.”

There was always the Scottish option—six weeks residence and a divorce on the grounds of adultery—but the social cost was still incalculable.

He took another slow sip of brandy, saying out loud the doom his father had been enjoining on him all this last visit to Margate.

“I’ll have to marry some day. When I do, it will be for the rest of my life.”

Alex said, “Oh boy. It works much differently now. It’s mostly paperwork. You file papers in court, and if a judge agrees that the division of assets is equitable, then six months later, you’re single again.”

It couldn’t possibly be as easy as that. Could it? Aldridge took another bite of the excellent bread. Alex was still talking.

“I hope it works out forever with Leslie. I love her more than I ever thought I could love someone. When we’re together, I feel like I can conquer the world. Do you have a girlfriend?”

At one score and ten, he was old for a girl, but he’d have to choose one, he supposed. A girl who was a friend? He had largely ignored this year’s crop of debutantes, but it seemed unlikely he’d find a friend in their ranks. How he wished... Well. No point in that. “I envy you, Alex. And I hope it works out for you, too.” He suppressed a sigh. No point in repining. Privilege must be paid for.

“I will marry some women with the right lineage, and for the land or political advantage she offers my family. It does not matter for me... I think I am not capable of the kind of love you mention. But I feel sorry for the poor lady I marry.” Despite his determination, his mind drifted back to his mistress, and he heard himself saying, “If I could love, I expect I’d be head over heels for Becky, the woman I am going to now. She is... well, she is a fine woman. Beautiful, intelligent, kind. I could see spending the rest of my life with Becky.”

If he married his mistress, elevated her to future Duchess of Haverford, the dragons would tear her to pieces. They would never accept her. They would not rest until they had destroyed her and her children with her. He could not subject her to that horror.

Alex, though, did not agree. “No, I don’t understand. What do you mean you can’t marry for love? Why can’t you marry Becky?” He was nearly shouting, attracting the attention of the old men in the corner.

Aldridge glared at them, and Alex said, “Go on, mind your business.”

How could Aldridge explain his duty to a man who thought divorce was just a matter of paperwork? He shrugged. “I will be the Duke of Haverford, when my father dies. My wife needs to be... can you imagine what the harpies of the ton would do to a woman who has... I should explain, Alex. I do not know what things are like here in the twenty-first century, but in my world, women who sell their bodies are... reviled is the best word, I suppose.

“It is hypocritical. I know only a handful of men who have not had a ladybird or two in their keeping. And many women of the highest ranks in the land take a lover once they have given their lord an heir.

“Nobody says a word, as long as they are discrete.”

Though Heaven help them if they were not. Men can bed as many women as they liked, but let a woman be seen to let a man under her skirts and her reputation was lost forever.

“But Becky... well, she has had a hard life, and I would never expose her to the kind of hatred and ridicule she would get if she were my duchess, and people were to find out..” he trails off, and stares once more into his brandy.

“Not that I have not considered it...” But think as he might, he could not find a path that didn’t end in disaster.

Alex signalled the girl to bring Aldridge another brandy, and she responded quickly.

“Prostitution really isn’t legal here, but it happens,” Alex said. “Your Becky would probably be called an ‘escort’, today. Someone you spend time with in exchange for money. Legally, there’s not supposed to be sex involved. But we all know there is, and if it’s proven, both the man and the woman could go to jail. Other than a scandal if it’s a celebrity, it’s not really a huge deal. But I don’t think that most people take lovers today. We expect our spouses to be monogamous.”

Becky would expect her spouse to be monogamous. She was, in many ways, a conventional soul despite the life she’d been forced into. Could Aldridge be faithful to one woman? He’d never tried beyond the usual initial period of infatuation with a new lover. Other men managed, so it must be possible.

Alex was clearly bothered by Aldridge’s dilemma. “Surely, there’s something you could do. I mean, I don’t know who this ‘ton’ is but what could they possibly do? And don’t people step down from that royal stuff all the time? Some duke did it a long time ago, when he fell in love with a divorced woman. I guess it was pretty scandalous, but once the initial shock and surprise was over, I don’t think anyone really cared. People have other things to do with their lives. I mean, the Prince of England has been divorced, and remarried a divorced woman, and he’s still next in line to the throne. And no one even likes his current wife!”

Society had clearly changed greatly in 200 years. “My own prince would happily divorce, but he would lose the throne if he did, and he will not risk that.”

Aldridge took several more mouthfuls of his stew, thinking about what Alex had said.

“In my world, women who sell their bodies can be imprisoned, but mostly only the poor unfortunates who work the streets are actually arrested. The brothels pay bribes to the constables to be left alone, and people like my Becky... no one would dare to accuse any woman that has me for her protector, you can be sure of that.”

It was still unfair, though. Whores faced whipping, the stocks, even transportation, while their customers mostly walked away unscathed.

“But a world where people marry for love and divorce is easy? Monogamy would work, I think.” Indeed, most of the time Aldridge was faithful to one lover at a time, which was easy enough since few of his affairs lasted long—some no more than a night. He raised his brandy glass to toast that kind of monogamy. “One woman at a time.”

“It’s like that here, too,” Alex confirmed. “Usually the women you see on the streets are drug addicts, or forced into prostitution. We have one state where it’s legal, and highly regulated. But mostly, no. I think what your Becky does would be looked at as no big deal.

“But I don’t understand why you can’t just go somewhere, where no one knows you, and begin life fresh with the woman you love. Surely, since you own multiple homes, money wouldn’t be an issue?”

Aldridge was rich, that was true, though the homes Alex spoke of belonged to the duchy. His money was tied up though. He’d followed the investment advice of his cousin and half-brother and ignored that of his father, and, as a result, he was now buying the unentailed properties his father was selling whenever another gaming debt fell due. Technically, they belonged to Aldridge, but in his mind they were part of the duchy. Still, even without those properties, he would not be penniless.

“I do have some personal money that doesn’t belong to the duchy. There is merit in what you say. I couldn’t just disappear, of course. I will be duke whether I want to or not. But perhaps I could engineer my own death? I have a younger brother... ”

No. It wouldn’t do. He could not leave the duchy to Jonathan. “But he’s a feckless fool, Alex. I love him, but... I’ve trained to be duke my whole life. His Grace my father put me in charge of one of his estates when I was twenty-one, and since then I’ve taken over more and more. I run it all now; the estates, the properties, the industries, the trading enterprises. His Grace plays at politics, drinks with his cronies, and chases women young enough to be his daughters.”

And wastes his patrimony at the tables, and abuses his heir for not raising the rents when the harvests have been poor.

“Thousands of people depend on me for their livelihood; one could say their lives, if that does not sound too dramatic. The duchy was in poor condition when I took over, but it hums along very nicely now. Can I abandon them just to take what I want?”

Alex was shaking his head, rejecting Aldridge’s argument.

“Aldridge, I’ve had some regrets in my life. To tell you the truth, I’ve done some very stupid things. But I’ll never regret a moment spent with Leslie. Not one single moment. If I had an opportunity to marry her, to be with her in a way that wouldn’t rip apart a family, I would jump on it. Can’t you hire a manager or something? Someone qualified to run the estate in your stead? Then your folks, those who depend on you for their livelihood, would be taken care of, and you would still have an estate for your children to inherit. I travel a lot, with the band, but I own a thriving business here, and I would never be able to do that without a great manager to take care of things when I’m gone. Surely, you could find someone who could manage things for you? Then, you could have your Becky.”

Aldridge shrugged off his melancholy with a visible effort. “I will think on it,” he promised. It would never work. This man from the future couldn’t understand. Aldridge had managers for all duchy’s enterprises, and he supposed he might be able to find someone he trusted enough to oversee them. But only the duke could represent the Grenfords at court and in The Lords. An absentee duke? Never. He couldn’t do it.

He changed the subject. “But what of you? Eighteen hundred miles, you said? I cannot imagine the rigours of such a journey. That is... why that’s four and a half times the distance between London and Edinburgh, and even the fastest mail coaches, travelling without stopping except for fresh horses, cannot do that trip in less than two days. A week is more likely; more if the weather is unkind. You must love her very much to make such a trip every few months.”

Alex smiled. “Transportation is vastly different now. We have cars; they’re combustion powered wagons that can travel many hundreds of miles in a day. Imagine if a wagon were pulled by three hundred horses all working together. It’s kind of like that, but without the actual horses. I can drive to Denver in two days, if I stop to sleep. Faster if I fly.”

“You can fly?” Aldridge does his best not to look skeptical. How many brandies has Alex had?

Alex laughed.

“Not me. I get into a machine called an airplane, and it flies. The airplane can get me to Denver in about four hours.”

Alex slid the rest of his brandy across the table toward Aldridge.

“You may need this. An airplane can fly from New York City to London in less than eight hours.”

“Eight hours? I find that difficult to... I mean no insult, friend Alex, truly, but... Eight hours?” He pushed the brandy back towards Alex. “In truth, I appear to have had more than enough. Men from the twenty-first century. Machines that fly. Carriages that need no horses.” He shook his head slowly.

“It may be I have fallen asleep on my horse and am dreaming this whole interlude, but this is certainly the best dream stew and most unusual dream conversation I have ever had. Perhaps the dream will let me visit this New York of the far future. Will you give me a tour, Alex?”

“I would be honoured to give you a tour! There’s so much for you to see! Skyscrapers and elevators and the Brooklyn Bridge. I kind of can’t believe I’m having this conversation, because it’s so, well, surreal, but yes, Aldridge! Let me show you the wonders of the twenty-first century. And if you thought the stew was good, just wait. There’s so much food for you to try!”

“Better than this stew?” Aldridge grinned. “You can keep your roast peacock and turtle soup. At the end of a day’s ride, there’s nothing better than good plain hearty fare like this. And the bread is superb. Tell me about your children, Alex. How many do you have? And what are they named?”

Alex’s eyes softened and he smiled. “I have three. My Ella is seventeen. She’s going to be a senior this year. She wants to spend the summer after she graduates in Europe, and I’m not so sure that’s such a hot idea. I know I’m an overprotective father, but I’m not sure she’s as ready to conquer the world as she thinks she is. Leslie and Ella’s mom both tell me that I need to let her go, but I’ve been overseas. I know what the guys there are like.”

Alex shifted in his chair. “My son Ryan is twelve. He’s almost taller than his mom already. He’s gonna be a beast. He’s on the track team and the wrestling team. He’s the fastest kid in his grade, too.” And his father’s pride in the boy is obvious.

“Samantha is ten. She is something else, man. Spoiled rotten, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve gotten to spend a lot more time with her when she was younger than I did with Ella, and it made such a difference. I’ve been able to give my kids everything they’ve ever needed because of my job, but I’m not completely convinced that missing out on months of their lives at a time was worth it. What about your kids?”

Aldridge swirls his brandy in his glass. It really is an excellent drop. “I have three, too. I think my world is very different to yours, Alex. I missed the Grand Tour myself. Napoleon, you know. But in our world, it is the men who are sent off to see the world, and the women stay home.” Men were at risk enough, but the risks a travelling woman would take—what father could bear to allow it?

“My Antonia—I say mine, but I did not know of her existence until she was six years of age, and to this day she knows me only as an uncle. I would not for the world attract the attention of the gossips and scandalmongers by telling anyone of our closer bond. But—ah Alex, what a girl!” Undoubtedly his smile is every bit as soft and silly as the one Alex wore when talking about his girls.

“She is smart, she is kind, she is every bit as lovely as her mother. I feel very privileged that they let me see her, and be an uncle to her. And anything my name and title can do to smooth her path... Her stepfather won’t ask, of course. But it is hers, nonetheless.” Antonia is ten, too. The same age as Alex’s youngest.

“And I have two boys. I was luckier with them, or perhaps kinder to their mothers would be more the truth. With each one, when I found my mistress was with child... I take precautions, Alex. I would not have you think I am careless, but they don’t always work. Well, twice now, I’ve found my chêre aimée a husband who will welcome my child as my own.” He made sure to see them when he visited the estates where they lived, and both were fine, healthy boys growing up as the eldest of a tribe of younger ones.

“I would give a great deal to be in your shoes, and able to acknowledge them without hurting them and their families.”

Alex sipped thoughtfully. “Well, it’s different now. When my parents were kids, if it happened, the girl got shipped off somewhere to have the baby in secret, and it would be adopted out. When I was younger, if a guy got his girl pregnant, it was expected that they would get married. I saw a lot of unhappy marriages end in divorce that way. I was married when my kids were conceived, but I don’t think it really matters much, as long as the kids are taken care of. Today, I wouldn’t dream of making my daughters get married because they were pregnant, but I would expect the fathers to help.” He waved his brandy to emphasise his point.

“But women today have more options. They can get a college degree, and any job they want, even if they have a child; so they are far less dependent on someone else for their financial stability. Not that divorced or single women trying to raise kids have it easy, but it’s better than it was even a generation ago.”

Alex smiled. “Birth control works better, too.”

“ ‘Oh, wonder!

How many goodly creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,

That has such people in’t!’ “ Aldridge quoted. “Your world sounds a paradise indeed.”

Alex burst into laughter. “I happen to agree with you, but I’ll tell you, not everyone would. There’s a great deal of unhappiness in my world today. Talking with you makes me realise just how great we’ve got it. But we still have war, and people are still homeless, and we still have great and horrible diseases ravaging the world. People are fighting over religion, and race, and the world is an ever-changing place and some folks just aren’t happy about that. It seems like some things may never change.”

Aldridge grinned back. “Ah. Human nature has not changed then, in 200 years. It was too much to hope that it would. And in Shakespeare’s play, Miranda’s ‘goodly creatures’ proved a venal and greedy group, on the whole. Shakespeare knew his human kind. What do you say to this tour, my friend?”

Alex signalled the serving girl, and she brought them bills written on paper. “You take care out there, gentlemen. It’s been a right pleasure serving you this afternoon.”

Aldridge slipped a couple of gold guineas to her as he headed to the door, and held it open. As Alex passed him, Aldridge looked back to wink at the waitress. Perhaps she was fairy folk like in the tales his nanny used to tell him. If so, he could see why they were called the fair folk.

He turned to follow Alex and found himself in the inn yard, with enough light to show the countryside of Southeast England spreading around him.

Perhaps he would find his way back to the future if he went back in and exited again, keeping his mind on Alex this time. But the door handle would not budge. Aldridge stepped back, and looked at the building. Through the windows, he could see stacks of hay and a floor strewn with trash. Definitely not the inn where he’d just spent several hours with a man from the future.

From one of the ramshackle outbuildings, he heard a horse nicker. It was more of a shed than a stable, his horse the only occupant, tied in a broken-down stall. It had been rubbed down, and supplied with fresh water and feed, though no one came when he called.

He searched, but the place was deserted—not just empty of human life, but seemingly abandoned for years. Finally, he tacked up the horse. The persistent drizzle that had driven him to stop at the inn had gone, and the sun would not set for at least two hours. And in London, Becky waited.

Rhythm of Love in Unwrapping Love

Meet Alex and his Leslie in Rhythm of Love, part of the Word Wenches’ anthology, Unwrapping Love.

Twenty-one of today’s freshest romance authors have come together to bring you their sweetest and, in some cases, steamiest, holiday happily ever afters.

Unwrap love and lose yourself in the Writing Wenches Holiday Anthology.

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Jude Knight writes strong determined heroines, heroes who can appreciate a clever capable woman, villains you’ll love to loathe, and all with a leavening of humour.

After a career in commercial writing, editing, and publishing, Jude Knight returned to her first love, fiction. Her novella, Candle’s Christmas Chair, was released in December 2014, and has spent months in the top twenty on several Amazon bestseller lists in the US and UK. Her first novel Farewell to Kindness, was released on 1 April, and is first in a series: The Golden Redepennings.

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Table of Contents

I blame the plot elves

Advice over tea with the Black Goddess

Survivors meet in a bookshop out of time

A strange interlude at an inn

Rhythm of Love in Unwrapping Love