Author: Guest author Page 22 of 35

The mistress and the wife

On September 13, 2017

“Have you heard the way the master’s wife snaps at Katarina?” Sara asked. “Katarina not only has to listen to her complaints, she has to do all sorts of senseless chores.”

Anna set two mugs on the table in the kitchen of the workers’ house. “I just made some tea. Set yourself a moment.”

Sara crumpled up her soiled apron, threw it in the basket and joined Anna on the bench. “Katarina is not coping well at all. She usually enjoys the run of the house. Who would have thought that Herr Tucher would allow his wife to come out to the farm for such a long stay?”

Anna slid a wooden plate with fresh-baked honey cakes in between the two of them. “The last time Frau Tucher came to visit, she hopped right back into that coach of hers and ordered the driver back to Nuremberg. The fine lady would never live in the country.”

“Tanner said Nuremberg is much too dangerous for her and the children. The city is full of all sorts escaping the war. That’s where she really wants to be.”

“Have you heard the tone the two take when they speak to each other?” Anna asked. “I thought Frau Tucher was sharp with Katarina, but she’s worse with Herr Tucher!”

Sara took a sip of tea. “My husband would never talk to me like that.”

“Tanner’s father says she never wanted to marry Herr Tucher,” Anna said. “He says the only reason she married him was because her father forced her, to secure business ties. She wanted someone with a bit more status, not this dreamer who lives on a farm.”

“Well, Herr Tucher was also a bit of a carouser when he was younger,” Sara said. “When Tanner and I lived in Nuremberg, he was always in the Stork’s Nest tavern. Likes his drink, that one. And, Katarina was the barmaid there. Herr Tucher won her in a dice throw.”

“That’s not what Katarina says,” Anna said. “Katarina acts like they were truly in love. She says they had a proper courtship. I say she forgets who she is. Herr Tucher is a married man!”

“Herr Tucher was always smitten with Katarina,” Sara said. “He hated the way her fiancée treated her.”

“Bjarne said Herr Tucher had the man killed so he could have Katarina.”

Sara laughed and shook her head. “He wished him dead but that’s not how it happened. Don’t listen to Bjarne.”

“Well, Katarina should remember her place here.” Anna poured the rest of the tea. “She’s his maid. She must do what the master’s wife says. Frau Tucher could make her life hell.”

“Katarina knows she’s only his maid but she has been too comfortable,” Sara said. “He gives her too much freedom to speak her mind…”

“Sshh! someone’s coming….”

**Excerpt from The Soldier’s Return:**

“I hate that boy!” Isabeau said, stormed into the kitchen of the workers’ house and shoved the door closed with a fury.

Katarina managed to stop the door with her foot before it hit her in the face. “Isabeau, you almost knocked me over!”

Water spilled out of Katarina’s buckets and onto the front step outside. She kicked the door and it swung open, banging against a chair. Sara and Anna sat at the table, heads together. They stopped their whispering abruptly and looked at Katarina. They had obviously spoken about her.

It had been two weeks since Frau Tucher arrived with the children. Over the years, Isabeau had always been patient with the spoiled Christoph Tucher, who was only a few months younger than she was. When Christoph stayed on the farm without his mother, he was a cordial boy. But Frau Tucher’s influence and the intrusion her indefinite stay posed on Katarina and Isabeau was now apparent. Isabeau was used to being Herr Tucher’s little girl and had all of his attention. She was not coping with her displacement out of Herr Tucher’s daily life any better than Katarina was.

“Would you mind…” Katarina huffed and glared at Isabeau.

“He’s horrible,” Isabeau ranted on. “He spilled wine all over the kitchen floor and when that thin horse woman came in, he blamed it on me!”

“Then stay away from the main house,” Katarina yelled back.

“Herr Tucher called me in,” Isabeau said. “He had a book for me. But his wife took it away and gave it to Christoph. Then they left and Christoph spilled the wine. Not me. Then that thin horse woman came in. I would have gotten the whip if Herr Tucher hadn’t come back down and stopped her.”

“Just stay away from them altogether,” Katarina said and sat down on the bench.

Anna quieted Elsbeth’s fussing baby by putting her finger in the baby’s mouth. “Just keep your head down, do what they say,” she said to Isabeau.

Elsbeth’s girl Hannah sat at the table and sucked her thumb, her face lethargic, gray and sunken. Sara poured Katarina a mug of tea and turned away.

“Yesterday Christoph wanted to play Executioner again,” Isabeau said. “He wants me to kneel down and beg for my soul. He says he’s Meister Franz. He said I’m no better than a dirty wench.”

Sara fingered the white cap on the table, her face almost pitying. She set the cap on her head and pushed a few of the loose strands of hair back under it. Suddenly her face sparked up as she got an idea.

“Katarina, it’s going to be a lovely day.” Sara pushed one of the baskets on the table towards Katarina. “Bjarne needs help with the sheep up at the pasture beyond the North Hill. And he needs his lunch. He could use some company, too. Take his bread to him for me. And a bit of meat, too. Get out and get some air.”

Sara stood, grabbed a huge knife and sliced a hunk of bread from the round loaf. “Isabeau will stay here. She can go with Albin and help him find some tinder.”

“I want to go out with my horse!” Isabeau said, her face red and shiny.

“You have work to do, young lady,” Sara said.

Isabeau tried to stomp away but Sara caught her by the elbow and spun her around. Dragging Isabeau behind her, she opened the door and whistled. Albin appeared within a moment. She grabbed the other basket from the table, handed it to Albin, whispered to the two and they ran off.

“That settles that!” Sara smiled, satisfied with herself.

Sara set a thin slab of dried meat on the table and Katarina packed that and the bread into the basket. She filled a jug with beer and Katarina packed that as well. Anna, still holding the baby, grabbed Hannah by the hand and disappeared behind the wood stove into Sara’s room. Katarina lifted the basket and headed for the door. She looked back at Sara, who absently brushed some bread crumbs from the table into her hand. Sara’s smile was gone and the pitying expression was on her face again. Katarina felt an instant pang of anger.

“What’s that look supposed to mean?” Katarina moved back to the table.

“Oh, I’m just so sorry. I know you’re upset.”

“I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.”

“But she’s his wife,” Sara said. “You’ve always known this could happen.”

“But why now?” Katarina said. “After all these years.”

“Don’t act so surprised. You…”

“But that’s my house!”

“It is not,” Sara said. “You’re just his…”

“Say it.” Katarina slammed the basket on the table. “Just say it. I’m his mistress. I’m his whore. What else do you think I am?”

“You’re his maid, Katarina!”

Katarina closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Do you love him?” Sara said.

“Hmpff,” Katarina said.

“Do you?” Sara said.

“Do you love Tanner?”

“Of course, I do. He’s the father of my children. He’s my husband!”

Katarina grabbed the basket. She walked back to the open doorway and hesitated. She turned back to Sara, wishing Sara would make this all right again, the way she settled fights between children. Sara just whispered an apology and turned away.

Katarina made towards the North Hill, taking the time she normally didn’t have to appreciate the spring day. She had no reason to rush. No one was waiting for her. The day was cool and the birds were twittering and flying about. Pale blue sky struggled to show itself from behind stubborn clouds. Katarina strolled along the path up the North Hill observing the changes spring had made. Tiny green shoots peeked through the compressed earth. She picked a twig from a willow tree and rubbed the furry catkin on her cheek. A slight breeze fluttered through the dried leaves that had refused to fall from the trees.

Her heart pounded empty, heavy beats. Of course Katarina loved him! She loved him more than she could allow herself to feel. Her love for him encompassed her and overwhelmed her and the thought of being away from him even for the afternoon made her sick. Now she wanted to wretch. She felt like her best friend had died. Maybe, in a way, he had.

The Soldier’s Return Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/XZ_lVzMYqXE

The Soldier’s Return is book 2 in the Heaven’s Pond trilogy.

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The unwanted child

By Guest author

On September 11, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

In a Teatime Tattler exclusive, our staff has learned of a most unusual tale. It seems, Levison Davids, the 17th Earl of Remmington, of Tegen Castle, Yorkshire, has been summoned home from his duties with the Home Office on the Continent to assume the guardianship of an Irish baron’s, one Lord Kavanagh’s, six-year-old daughter. Speculation has always surrounded the birth of the child, as Lord Kavanagh’s marriage to Miss Delia Phillips took place before anyone even knew they were courting. Moreover, our sources in Dublin say although the child was declared full term by the midwife, the baron and his baroness declared that Lady Kavanagh delivered the babe early.

“The child’s mother had the worst of the agreement between her and Lord Kavanagh,” a source close to the family, but who wishes to remain anonymous, shared. “The baron used his wife as a brood mare until a son and heir to the barony was safely delivered. The lady bore his lordship four children in a little over six years. Those within the baron’s household speak of how often he would beat his wife and call her vile name for her delivering only female children. We all grieved for the abuse Lady Kavanagh suffered, but legally there was little any of us could do, other than to issue a caution to his lordship. At length, the former Miss Phillips delivered forth a son. Only then did she know any surcease. But her gains were never celebrated, for unfortunately, the lady survived the last of her children’s births by only some three weeks.”

“Poor Miss Phillips,” the housekeeper at Phillips Hall lamented when we spoke to her last week. “Viscount Phillips’s daughter swore that the father of her first child was none other than her long-time beau, Mr. Levison Davids. The young miss and Mr. Davids held an understanding that he would marry her after his service with Wellington was complete. I don’t know how it come about that Miss Phillips and Mr. Davids knew…. I shan’t say the words. You know perfectly well what occurred without my explaining it. All I know is that the old earl, Lord Morland Davids, refused to believe that Miss Phillips carried his second son’s child, and so Viscount Phillips had no other choice but to arrange a marriage with Lord Kavanagh. Terrible situation, for Lord Kavanagh refused both Viscount and Viscountess Phillips contact with their only child and their grandchildren. His lordship sold Phillips Hall to some man none of us have ever seen, but Lord Phillips had no choice. He and the viscountess required the money from the sale of all their unentailed lands that were associated with his title to convince Lord Kavanagh to claim another man’s child as his own.”

One of Lord Remmington’s associates with the Home Office, Sir Alexander Chandler, one of the most powerful men in England, has declared, “I know Remmington’s character. He was more than a bit upset to learn that Miss Phillips had chosen to marry elsewhere. My younger brother sent me word of the arrangement when Remmington and I were serving upon the Spanish front with the English forces. It was I who delivered the news to his lordship. And as the earl and I were up to our waists with Froggies charging us left and right for months before Remmington learned of Miss Phillips’s defection, there was no means for him to be the child’s father.”

When cornered by one of our reporters, Lord Remmington said, “Despite the child and I having the same colored eyes, I am not Miss Deirdre’s father. Even so, unlike Lord Kavanagh, who labeled his firstborn with the most derogatory of terms possible, I will not abandon the child, who is not at fault in this matter. I can afford to assume the girl’s guardianship and to keep her off the parish roles. Miss Deirdre will have a home in Northumberland with my mother, the Countess of Remmington.”

So, we at Teatime Tattler wonder, if Lord Remmington and Sir Alexander are to be believed (and who would not believe two such illustrious gentlemen, certainly King George IV names them both as honorable), then who did sire the child? How did Miss Dierdre Kavanagh manage to possess the same silver-gray eyes (a most unusual shade, to be certain) as does Lord Remmington? Even his lordship would agree that he has the look of his maternal grandfather; therefore, neither Lord Remmington’s late brother nor his cousin and heir presumptive Lord Howard can be the child’s father.

As always, we at Teatime Tattler will stay on the trail and bring you more details as they come in.

_______________________________

The Earl Claims His Comfort

Introducing The Earl Claims His Comfort: Book 2 in the Twins’ Trilogy, releasing September 16, 2017, from Black Opal Books — a 2016 Hot Prospects finalist in Romantic Suspense

Hurrying home to Tegen Castle from the Continent to assume guardianship of a child not his, but one who holds his countenance, Levison Davids, Earl of Remmington, is shot and left to die upon the road leading to his manor house. The incident has Remmington chasing after a man who remains one step ahead and who claims a distinct similarity—a man who wishes to replace Remmington as the rightful earl. Rem must solve the mystery of how a stranger’s life parallels his, while protecting his title, the child, and the woman he loves.

Comfort Neville has escorted Deirdre Kavanaugh from Ireland to England, in hopes that the Earl of Remmington will prove a better guardian for the girl than did the child’s father. When she discovers the earl’s body upon a road backing the castle, it is she who nurses him to health. As the daughter of a minor son of an Irish baron, Comfort is impossibly removed from the earl’s sphere, but the man claims her affections. She will do anything for him, including confronting his enemies. When she is kidnapped as part of a plot for revenge against the earl, she must protect Rem’s life, while guarding her heart.

Amazon preorder link

________________________________

Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep: Book 1 of the Twins’ Trilogy

-a 2017 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense finalist

-a SOLA’s Eighth Annual Dixie Kane Memorial Award finalist for Historical Romance

Huntington McLaughlin, the Marquess of Malvern, wakes in a farmhouse, after a head injury, being tended by an ethereal “angel,” who claims to be his wife. However, reality is often deceptive, and Angelica Lovelace is far from innocent in Hunt’s difficulties. Yet, there is something about the woman that calls to him as no other ever has. When she attends his mother’s annual summer house party, their lives are intertwined in a series of mistaken identities, assaults, kidnappings, overlapping relations, and murders, which will either bring them together forever or tear them irretrievably apart. As Hunt attempts to right his world from problems caused by the head injury that has robbed him of parts of his memory, his best friend, the Earl of Remmington, makes it clear that he intends to claim Angelica as his wife. Hunt must decide whether to permit her to align herself with the earldom or claim the only woman who stirs his heart–and if he does the latter, can he still serve the dukedom with a hoydenish American heiress at his side?

The story is charming, with interesting and realistic characters, a complex plot with plenty of surprises, and a sweet romance woven through it all. The author has a good command of what it was like to be a woman in nineteenth-century England–almost as if she had been there. She really did her research for this one. ~ Suspended Reality Reviews

If you enjoy a romance with plenty of murder and mayhem and one with delightful characters and a villain that you will never guess, then you will love Angel Comes to Devil’s Keep. ~ Vikki Vaught

Nook ♦ Kobo ♦ Smashwords ♦ Amazon ♦ Kindle ♦ B&N ♦ iTunes ♦ Regency Reader

The girl he had ruined

By Guest author

On September 6, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

This author has learned Miss S—- H— has returned from her extended sojourn on the Continent. Tattler readers may remember Miss H— from the Unfortunate Incident a decade past that precipitated such a journey. One wonders how a certain earl will take her return, although when last they knew each other, she was a debutante while he was a mere viscount and the architect of her disgrace.

Readers may recall the scandal, though ten years have passed. Some noted at the time the then-viscount displayed a distinct preference for Miss H—-. He was often seen partnering her in a dance, or offering an arm to walk with her in a garden. Many a brow was raised at the sight, as the viscount had seemed determined to set upon a path of ruination and sin. The lure of the ostensibly innocent Miss H—-, however, had society wondering if perhaps the viscount would set upon a new path, this one leading to respectability and, indeed, matrimony.

However, blood will out, and the viscount’s had always been bad. Caught in clandestine embrace, the viscount disavowed Miss H—-, who had clearly forgotten the lessons learned by many an unfortunate lady before her. Such impropriety shredded her reputation, and only a quick decampment to the continent brought an end to whispers and speculation. There she remained…or she had until her recent return to London.

This author will be watching with baited breath for the reunion of debutant and earl. With the myriad of events planned for this season, surely such an encounter is inevitable?

Scandalous

Cassandra Dean

Part of SECOND CHANCES: A Romance Writers of America Collection

The dissolute Earl of Edgington is last man Miss Sofia Hargrove ever wanted to see again. Ten years ago, she fell foolishly in love and, worse, she thought he loved her in return. Recklessly, she indulged her passion in a moonlit garden….and was caught. Ruined, she ran to the Continent, and then was devastated again when he didn’t follow. Now, at a London ball, he stands before her and begs for a chance to explain.

Edgington knows Sofie will never forgive him. For ten years, memories of her have haunted him, but his memories pale next to the bright, vibrant woman she’s become. The chance to explain, to ask her forgiveness, burns inside him, alongside the dormant passion he’s never forgotten and a long-held love that will no longer be denied.

Cassandra Dean, author of the bestselling Teach Me, entices readers once more with a tale of passion, love and second chances.

Excerpt

Hidden in the crowd, Edgington watched her. Now, it was obvious why he’d come to the ball—for the slight chance he would see her.

He’d heard about her return. It had been in all the papers, the triumphant return of Viscount Hargrove’s sister. They’d been full of her exploits on the Continent, the countries she’d seen, the society she’d kept. Each article he’d devoured, unable to keep the distance he maintained with everyone else, but then, that was nothing new. He’d never been able to distance himself from her.

Ten years since he’d seen her, and she hadn’t changed. Maybe she was a bit older, her hair a bit more gold, but she still looked as she did when he was a callow youth of twenty-one and more than a little infatuated. He remembered every curve of her face, the softness of her skin. The way her mouth moved under his.

Her gaze wandered to the dancing, and a wistful kind of smile occupied her face. His pulse a thunder in his ears, he wanted, quite stupidly, to ask her to dance.

Closing his eyes briefly, he shook himself. As if she would say yes. If he were to approach her, the smile would disappear from her features, as would all emotion. He knew. He’d seen it happen before.

Her gaze moved again and their eyes locked.

For a moment, a split second, her smile remained, and he had an insane hope that all had been forgiven, that, perhaps, he could approach her. Then, all expression bled from her face, and she regarded him coolly, her joy in the evening gone.
His heart sank. He’d known she’d react so, though a part of him had hoped he’d been wrong. A part of him had hoped he could approach her, could ask her to dance, could ask for her hand.

But, of course, he couldn’t. She was Miss Sofia Hargrove. The girl he’d ruined.

Buy links:

Amazon: AU | US | UK
B&N

Cassandra Dean is a best-selling, multi-published author of historical and fantasy romance and is a 2016 finalist in the Romance Writers of Australia’s coveted R*BY Award. Her latest novel, SILK & SCHOLAR, is book 4 of her popular Silk Series featuring law-loving peeps and their happily ever after.

Cassandra is proud to call South Australia her home, where she regularly cheers on her AFL football team and creates her next tale.

Visit Cassandra’s website at http://cassandradean.com

Join Cassandra’s mailing list at http://cassandradean.com/extras/newsletter-postcard-mailing-list

Follow Cassandra on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraDean and on Twitter @authorCassDean

Contact Cassandra at cassandra@cassandradean.com

The bogus seamstress: Madame Latour eavesdrops in her own dress shop…

By Guest author

On August 30, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Mimi Latour paused at the top of the stairs to the kitchen and listened to the voices of her workers drifting upwards. Thank le bon Dieu there were no customers.

“What do you think of the new seamstress?” Dolly Isaacs asked.

Peggy O’Shea snorted audibly. “Seamstress, me fine fanny. If she’s a seamstress, then I’m the bloody duchess of Connemara.”

Dolly giggled. “I know. Did you see her hands? All smooth and white and not a callous on them.”

“That won’t last. Wait till she stabs them with a needle a few times. She can’t even sew a straight hem.”

“But she does beautiful embroidery,” Dolly said.

“And who learns to embroider, I ask ye?”

“Ladies!” they chorused.

Scare bleu! How could Lady Elinor Ashworth think she could blend in as a seamstress? She was nobly born, but no one could know that. If only her mama were still alive…

“And the way she talks, like the grand lady of the manner,” Peggy went on. “And who give her that black eye? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Madame said what she’s a widow.”

Peggy snorted again. “Runaway wife, more like. I’ve seen men do their wives like that afore. Can’t blame her for leaving the blighter.”

“But why is she here?” Dolly asked. “She’s awful friendly with Madame, even sleeping upstairs. You don’t suppose…”

“That one of us is about to get the boot?” Peggy asked her tone glum. “Aye, maybe. Ma needs on me wages to feed the little ones. I dunno what we’ll do if I’m let go.”

“You’re a good seamstress,” Dolly said. “We can find other work.”

Peggy sighed. “Easy for ye to say. Ye’re English. What other shop would hire an Irish seamstress?”

Mimi had heard enough. It was time to nip this in the blossom, as the English say. She started down the stairs, her knees complaining at every step. The voices below stopped.

“Time to go back to work, girls,” she announced. “But first I wish to talk to you.”

Dolly and Peggy exchanged guilty looks.

“Yes, I heard you.” Mimi glared at them. “Such talk is très mal, very bad. Madame Brown will be with us for a short time only, so no one’s job is in jeopardy. But if I hear more gossip from either of you…” She let the threat trail off unspoken. “Now back to work.”

The girls scrambled up the stairs at breakneck speed. When they were gone, Mimi sank into a chair. “Oh, Ellie, what were you thinking?”

Lady Elinor’s Escape

By Linda McLaughlin

Lady Elinor Ashworth always longed for adventure, but when she runs away from her abusive aunt, she finds more than she bargained for. Elinor fears her aunt who is irrational and dangerous, threatening Elinor and anyone she associates with. When she encounters an inquisitive gentleman, she accepts his help, but fearing for his safety, hides her identity by pretending to be a seamstress. She resists his every attempt to draw her out, all the while fighting her attraction to him.

There are too many women in barrister Stephen Chaplin’s life, but he has never been able to turn his back on a damsel in distress. The younger son of a baronet is a rescuer of troubled females, an unusual vocation fueled by guilt over his failure to save the woman he loved from her brutal husband. He cannot help falling in love with the secretive seamstress, but to his dismay, the truth of her background reveals Stephen as the ineligible party.

Buy links:

Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00CHSNEII

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lady-elinors-escape-linda-mclaughlin/1100559263

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/lady-elinor-s-escape

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/312406

Excerpt:

“Excuse me, madam, but I could not help overhearing you say that you must leave for London immediately. Allow me to introduce myself. Stephen Chaplin, Esquire, at your service.”

Elinor turned to face the gentleman who had suddenly appeared. She stared at him through a haze of black, taking advantage of her veil to get a closer look at this tall, dark-haired, seemingly well bred gentleman. He was above average height, with finely chiseled features, and while he could not, strictly speaking, be deemed handsome, there was something in the intense scrutiny of his light brown eyes that drew her to him. By the cut of his bottle green Superfine coat, which emphasized his broad shoulders, but was not so tight as to hamper movement, and his casually tied neckcloth, she surmised he was no society dandy.

“How do you do?” she said politely, extending one black-gloved hand.

“Fine, thank you.”

As he took her hand and bowed over it, Elinor savored the warmth of his touch for a moment. It had been a long time since someone had touched her out of kindness. Suddenly realizing she was clutching his hand, she withdrew hers. He studied her, his gaze seeming to penetrate the veil, and she could only stand like the veriest lump under his scrutiny.

“I beg your pardon, madam, but what did you say your name was?”

“Eli—” Elinor broke off and feigned a cough, panic bubbling up inside. Her name. Dear heavens, she needed a new name. If she told him who she was, he would never agree to take her to Mimi. She stared down at the gentleman’s yellow nankeen trousers and shiny brown boots. “Brown,” she stammered. “Ellie Brown.”

“Mrs. Brown, may I offer my assistance? I’m heading for London myself and would be pleased to convey you as far as Chippenham, where you may pick up another stage coach.”

Relief flooded through her at his offer, but could she trust him? No proper young lady rides in a closed carriage with a gentleman who is not related to her. The words of her governess rang in her ears. “I do not think—”

“Of course, you are cautious,” he interrupted smoothly. “Any genteel lady would hesitate to trust a strange gentleman.”

“But I am not a lady,” she blurted. If Aunt Sarah learned that a ‘lady’ had been here, she would know where to look for her. “I am merely a seamstress.”

“Really,” he drawled, doubt evident in his tone.

“Yes, I have a position awaiting me in London.” She was surprised, and a bit uncomfortable, at how easily the lies flowed from her lips, but they were necessary.

Meet Linda McLaughlin

Linda McLaughlin grew up with a love of books and history, so it’s only natural she prefers writing historical romance. She loves transporting her readers into the past where her characters learn that, in the journey of life, love is the sweetest reward. Linda also writes steamy to erotic romance under the name Lyndi Lamont, and is one half of the writing team of Lyn O’Farrell. She lives in Orange County, California.

You can find her online at:

Website: http://lindalyndi.com

Blog: http://lindalyndi.com/reading-room-blog/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LindaMcLaughlinAuthor

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/lindamclaughlin

Twitter: @Lyndi Lamont https://twitter.com/LyndiLamont

A Scandalous Affair

By Guest author

On August 23, 2017

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

Tongues are wagging this week in the exclusive enclave of Belgravia as news spreads of one of their own caught in the midst of a dishonest deed. I overheard The Countess B relating the details to her good friend Lady J whilst taking tea at the Imperial. With a lightning fast hand, I faithfully recorded their conversation for you, dear readers.

“I swear I am in earnest, Lady J. I heard it from a most reliable source.”

“I cannot believe it to be true. I have always thought Mr T to be most upstanding. His late wife’s family were of an excellent lineage. Why, I even had his delightful daughter, Miss T, to dine only a week past.”

“I, too, have received them and that is what makes the whole situation so distasteful. How could he steal from the very people who have welcomed him and his children into their homes and treated them as equals?”

“This is, without a doubt, the most shocking and outrageous thing I have ever heard. I will be speaking to my husband this evening. I expect he will remove our business from that bank without delay.”

“As will mine, I am sure.”

“It is as I have always feared. When you allow merchants and traders into society, you do not know to whom you open your doors. These people may have money, but they have no breeding. You can put a Saville Row suit on a man, but that does not make him a gentleman. From now on, I will only be admitting into my home those whose pedigree I am confident of. One must learn to draw the line, don’t you think?”

“I completely agree. Would you like to hear what has become of them?”

“I suppose so, if only to be aware of which establishments they frequent so I can be sure to avoid them.”

“They are to immigrate to New Zealand.”

“New Zealand? What fate will befall them in such a place? Particularly Miss T; even with her father’s low birth she, at least, had some hope of an advantageous marriage because of her mother’s connections.”

“And she is so pretty.”

“She’s passable I suppose. But I did find all that curly, red hair most off-putting. Such characteristics are often an indication of wild and unsavoury tendencies in a person.”

“Who do you suppose she will find a match with now?”

“If she is fortunate perhaps a gentleman farmer will take her. I don’t imagine that she will be able to hope for much better.”

“Perhaps she will wed a native with a bone through his nose.”

“Oh, Countess, you are a card. How shocking.”

**Excerpt from ‘The Moral Compass’ by K A Servian**

Having gathered her few most precious possessions in her reticule and pinned her mother’s brooch to the neck of her dress, Florence peered at Jack sitting astride his Clydesdale. He reached down to her.

“You cannot be serious, you don’t even have a saddle.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do we not take the cart?”

“Poor old Nellie needs a break from dragging that thing around.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “And I thought I’d be more fun this way. Give us a chance to get to know each other.”

Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly grasped his hand and placed her foot onto his. He hauled her off the ground as if she were weightless. There was only just time to twist her body as she landed sideways with a thump on Nellie’s wide rump.

He peered over his shoulder at her. “You’ll be more secure if you sit astride.”

She shook her head. Despite the fact that her seat was precarious, there was no way that she would sit in such an undignified way and she certainly did not want to be any closer to him than absolutely necessary. At least in this position, she could retain her decorum and keep some distance between them. “I have ridden side saddle since I was a child, I am sure that I will be able to keep my seat, thank you.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’d better hang on to me. It’s a long way down.”

“No thank you.”

Jack shook his head as he pressed his knees into Nellie’s sides and she lumbered across the grass towards the gravel road.

Florence felt for something to grip onto as her body lurched from side to side. Nellie moved quite differently from the thoroughbreds Florence was used to riding. She eyed the ground. It was a long way down.

“Tell me,” said Jack. “How did you and your brother end up here?”

She frowned. “I’d prefer not to speak about it if you don’t mind.”

“Were you running away from something? Most people I’ve met here in New Zealand are running away from something.”

“As I said, I’d prefer—”

“—not to speak about it.” He shrugged again.

A stream ran across the road and Nellie stepped sideways to avoid a crevice created by the water. They lurched and an involuntary cry escaped Florence’s lips as her backside slid. She scrabbled to hold on and as it seemed inevitable that she would fall, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, catching her just in time.

“Will you stop being so damned stubborn and sit astride,” Jack snapped as he hauled her up. He eased Nellie to a stop and slid forward.

Florence scowled at him as she manoeuvred her leg over Nellie’s back whilst grappling with her petticoats in a vain attempt to maintain her modesty. Finally, after a few very undignified moments, she was securely astride.

Jack slid backwards closing the gap between their bodies and Nellie resumed her slow amble. “Hold onto me it gets a bit rough up ahead.”

Florence glared at his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist, gripping the rough linen of his shirt.

“See, that’s not so bad is it?”

“Humph.”

The slow roll of Nellie’s gait combined with Florence’s previously sleepless night had a soporific effect and soon she found her eyes growing heavy. Leaning into the firm warmth of Jack’s body she inhaled the mingled scents of linen and something spicy that reminded her of Christmas. She tightened her grip and snuggled closer as she drifted off to sleep.

About The Moral Compass

The Moral Compass is part one in the Shaking the Tree Series in which several generations of women from one family battle for their independence and learn how to love.

Florence Thackeray has a charmed life. The poverty and filth of Victorian London are beyond her notice as she attends an endless round of balls, suppers and parties.

However, when her father suffers a spectacular fall from grace, Florence’s world comes crashing down around her. Forced to emigrate to the other side of the world leaving behind the man she loves, she faces hardship beyond anything she could have imagined.

Florence becomes a working-class wife when she is given no choice but to marry Jack Cameron who is ‘the wrong sort of man.’ She learns that there is more to life than parties and pretty dresses and that love can sneak up on you when you least expect it.

But a piece of the spoilt little rich girl still remains within Florence and when she is offered the opportunity to escape the drudgery of her daily life, just for a short time, she takes it. However, she soon discovers that the offer is not all it seems. There is a high price attached and she must live with the heart-breaking consequences of her decision.

The Moral Compass is due for release later this year. Sign-up to my newsletter here, check out my blog or like my page on Facebook to keep in touch and be in to receive a free pre-release copy.