Category: Teatime Tattler Page 141 of 157

Secrets and Lies

On December 14, 2016

December 23rd

An occasional correspondent has sent along information of a most interesting turn. lady-wallingford A widowed marchioness (we shall call her Lady W) has been seen in town this winter after an absence of several years. Instead of taking up residence in her son’s elegant townhouse, she is staying with a certain Lady J and her daughter, Miss J. Our correspondent reports rumors of an impending betrothal between the younger lady and Lady W’s son, the current marquess.

And it has also been supposed that the nuptials will be soon, as we have learned that Lord W has returned from a lengthy sojourn on the Continent. Though, in an interesting turn of events, he also is eschewing his noble abode and staying with friends, the very same Lord and Lady H to whom so much scandal attached a year ago! Yes, and this is the very same Lady H who has been in such a delicate way that the midwife was spotted arriving late yesterday.

Never fear, Dear Reader. We are sending out inquiries and will report on this curious story tomorrow!

December 28^th

Dear Reader, scant days ago we told you about a certain Lady W and her son’s expected nuptials with a certain Miss J. The festivities of the past few days have prevented us from reporting further on this matter, for which we apologize and presume to accept your forgiveness, for as it is, we have news of a most interesting turn that will not disappoint!

j-_t-_mitchell_-_elizabeth_mary_and_augustus_william_hillary_-_google_art_project-11 Lady W has decamped most abruptly from the home of Miss J, moving lodgings to the very residence where her son, Lord W, is staying. And, furthermore, she has been spotted in the park with two children, reported to be the twin daughters of Lady H’s midwife. And, most shockingly, Lord W was seen arriving at Lord H’s one morning, escorting the very same midwife, and has not been seen since. We have learned that Miss J and her parents have left London, some say to travel to their home estate, others say to visit Bath, others, the Continent.

Mark my word, Dear Reader, there is an interesting story here, and we at the Teatime Tattler will uncover it.

January 15

Dear Reader, several days ago we reported on the curious behavior of Lord W and his mother. We promised to get to the heart of this mystery, and we keep our promises! One of our intrepid correspondents has received news that Banns have been posted at Lord W’s home parish announcing the nuptials of Lord W and a bride who is most assuredly not Miss J!

We will have more news for you tomorrow on this story. You won’t want to miss it!

About the Book: The Marquess and the Midwife

Once upon a time, the younger brother of a marquess fell in love with his sister’s companion. He was sent off to war, and she was just sent off, and they both landed in very different worlds.

Now Virgil Radcliffe has returned from his self-imposed exile on the Continent to take up his late brother’s title and discover the whereabouts of the only woman he’s ever loved.

Abandoned by her lover and dismissed by her employer, Ameline Dawes has found a respectable identity as a Waterloo widow, a new life as a midwife, and a safe, secure home for her twin girls. Called to London at Christmas to attend her benefactress’s lying-in, she finds herself confronted by an unexpected house guest–a man determined to woo her anew and win her again.

But, is loving the new Marquess of Wallingford a mistake Ameline cannot afford to repeat?

The Marquess and the Midwife is specially priced at 99 cents through December 31, 2016

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~Excerpt~

Ye gods, but her ladyship needed more maids, and a couple more footmen with both arms and both legs, at least for this type of fetching and carrying.

Ameline chided herself for being insensitive and balanced the steaming bucket. She set down the lamp momentarily to gather her skirts, along with the lamp handle.

A pair of men’s boots moved into view and the lamp bobbled. Fine boots they were.

She sighed, gritting her teeth. Lord Hackwell’s visits had unnerved his lady, and Ameline had counseled him to leave.

Very well, she’d thrown him out, once almost literally. He would wonder what she was doing below stairs. He might send for the accoucheur he was mumbling about, and his lady would not like it.

“I’ve just popped down to the kitchen for a word with Alton, my lord,” she said. “All is going well, except he’s a bit short on staff.”

“We have noticed that.”

The skin on her back rippled and she shivered. This wasn’t Hackwell—it was him.

Panic flared in her and her hands and ankles began to tingle. He carried no light. She let her own lantern dip lower and stepped to one side. What was he doing on the servants’ staircase in the middle of the night?

If he saw her, he would remember her, but he would not want to, unless he would think to befriend her again. Heat flamed in her.

She took in a breath. “Let me pass, Lord Hackwell,” she said.

“Let me carry that bucket for you.”

“No.” She forced in another breath, willing herself to speak calmly. “That is, no thank you. I shall send a servant for you when it is time.”

Footsteps scurried on the stairs. “Mrs. Dawes?” Jenny called, breathless.

Her heart raced again. She’d tarried too long in the kitchen. “I’ll be right—”

Heat touched her hand as the bucket came out. The lantern, too, lifted higher, and she looked up into the face of Lord Virgil Radcliffe, now the latest Lord Wallenford.

“Mrs. Dawes?” His eyes widened and then narrowed, and his lips curved down.

Anger spiked in her. “Lord Wallenford.”

He moved down to the step below her, putting them at eye level, and crowded her against the hand rail.

“Give me the bucket, sir. I can manage quite well without your help.” Quite, quite well.

“Can you, indeed?” he drawled, sounding just like his brother the day he’d sacked her.

Blast him. Blast the Wallenfords. Blast the Hackwells. “Alton has a bottle set out. Best go and fetch it.”

His lips quirked.

She gritted her teeth. “Give me the blasted bucket, Virgil.”

About the Author

Award winning author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but her true passion is the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband, her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier, and the blue-eyed cat who conned his way in for dinner one day and decided the food was too good to leave.

She is the author of the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring, a 2015 RONE Award finalist, Bella’s Band, and a 2016 National Reader’s Choice Award finalist, Liliana’s Letter, as well as her latest release, The Marquess and the Midwife. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!

Visit her at:

http://alinakfield.com/
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https://twitter.com/AlinaKField
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7173518.Alina_K_Field
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Christmas at Versailles

By Aunt Augusta

On December 10, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Jessica Cale, Teatime Tattler

le_chateau_de_versailles_sous_la_neige

December 10th, 1678

Dear Jack,

Forgive me for my delay in replying. I was called, quite unexpectedly, to join the Christmas celebrations at Versailles. I was understandably wary to receive a summons bearing the King’s seal after our misadventures last autumn, but one ignores the King at one’s peril, so I made haste to that swamp with a brace of pistols hidden well within my bed linen.

Fortunately, His Radiant Majesty has made no move to clamp me in irons. Rather, I have spoken at length with Colbert on a matter of business: I am to provide sufficient sugar to keep the King, his court, and every Cherche-Midi well satisfied through the next half-dozen years. I stand to make a handsome profit–assuming, of course, war and gloire have not bankrupted the treasury so thoroughly as it is rumored.

Speaking of “gekannibaliseerd”– You will be relieved to hear the court has all but forgotten about you and Madame Sharpe. They are presently occupied with matters of love and war: the King is bored with Isabelle de Ludres and had grown to mistrust the foreign minister, Pomponne. Neither will remain in his good graces beyond the new year. It is said His Majesty confides in Madame Maintenon as he once confided in your wife, but I would wager my house in Chartres Maintenon’s ambitions are anything but innocent.

Truly, the matter of the maitresse-en-titre does not concern me, so long as he does not set his sights on my niece. I brought Laure with me to discourage Languedoc’s ever more brazen advances. Now that she is wealthy and–thanks to yours truly–dressed to the highest fashion and most refined taste, she has attracted friends as flies to honey. Only this afternoon, we went to see the elephant with Marie Angelique de Scorailles. She and Laure are of an age and chatter on as sisters. It was a pleasant enough way to pass an afternoon, until the King’s entourage passed and his gaze lingered on the girls for longer than I would have liked. Though Laure is a woman grown and not many years younger than myself, I still think of her as a child. What will I do if I ever have daughters?

I am passing fond of the elephant. All of the ladies like to see him in the snow, to hang flowers from his neck and feed him peas and wine. They treat me likewise as a curiosity from darkest Africa, though I am French as the King himself. They are kinder to me this year, though few will dance with me and fewer still will consent to coffee. I regret postponing my journey to London. I hope to go once the roads are clear enough to make my escape. If the English women are as gracious as your lady wife, I may yet bring one home with me.

Do give my love to Alice and your son. Your small family is ever in my prayers.

Your affectionate friend,

Achille

The Long Way Home

(The Southwark Saga, Book 3)
By Jessica Cale

A paranoid king, a poison plot, and hideous shoes…it’s not easy being Cinderella.

After saving the life of the glamorous Marquise de Harfleur, painfully shy barmaid Alice Henshawe is employed as the lady’s companion and whisked away to Versailles. There, she catches King Louis’ eye and quickly becomes a court favorite as the muse for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella. The palace appears to be heaven itself, but there is danger hidden beneath the façade and Alice soon finds herself thrust into a world of intrigue, murder, and Satanism at the heart of the French court.

Having left his apprenticeship to serve King Charles as a spy, Jack Sharpe is given a mission that may just kill him. In the midst of the Franco-Dutch war, he is to investigate rumors of a poison plot by posing as a courtier, but he has a mission of his own. His childhood friend Alice Henshawe is missing and he will stop at nothing to see her safe. When he finds her in the company of the very people he is meant to be investigating, Jack begins to wonder if the sweet girl he grew up with has a dark side.

When a careless lie finds them accidentally married, Alice and Jack must rely on one another to survive the intrigues of the court. As old affection gives way to new passion, suspicion lingers. Can they trust each other, or is the real danger closer than they suspect?

“Really brilliant writing that’s so engaging with such endearing characters! I especially love the way Jack and Alice are both so devoted to each other! I was totally absorbed in this exciting and fascinating world Jessica Cale created from the very first paragraph to the last! I read this all in one sitting, staying awake late to finish, just had to!” – Romazing Reader

Jessica Cale is the award-winning author of the historical romance series,The Southwark Saga. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in North Carolina. She is the editor of Dirty, Sexy History and a Bluestocking Belle.

Swift Marriage Shocks the Ton

By Aunt Augusta

On December 7, 2016

In Guest author, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

armand_dore_der_kleine_liebling_1860 It is with considerable surprise that the Teatime Tattler has learned that Sebastian Hastings, Earl of Langford, has married Miss Sarah Martin.

To say that this is a surprise could well be considered an under-statement, given that Miss Martin has never been to London. Indeed, according to a reliable source, the Earl of Langford only met Miss Martin one week ago.

The motivation and speed of the nuptials gives this writer cause to ponder, particularly as the new Countess of Langford has both limited financial resources and physical attributes. Moreover, she has been noted walking without her maid and in a garb which cannot be considered in the height of fashion.

However, Lady Harrington, Lord Langford’s great aunt, approves of the marriage.

“She is an individual of considerable sense and I am not averse to the match,” Lady Harrington explains.

Again, this writer must question this conclusion. According to one of London’s most fashionable dressmakers, the Countess of Langford has several peculiar habits which hardly seem ‘sensible’. Naturally, I am averse to idle gossip, but it appears that the new Countess keeps numerous animals about her person and apartment. My source wasn’t certain whether the animals were mice, rats or rabbits but assured this writer that they are numerous in the extreme.

Of course, the Earl of Langford has not had a happy matrimonial history. Doubtless my readers will recall his first wife. Sadly, she lost her heart and left rather abruptly for Paris two years ago. Now, more recently, she also lost her head. As is well known, only the Earl of Langford’s daughter has returned to London. His son is still somewhere in France.

This writer and The Teatime Tattler, naturally, wish both the Earl of Langford and his new Countess every success and happiness. I know that London society will join with me in that regard and I certainly will do everything possible to keep my readership updated.

Married for His Convenience

Tainted by illegitimacy, plain Sarah Martin has no illusions of a grand marriage. So when the Earl of Langford makes her a proposal that will take her one step closer to finding her half sister, she can’t refuse!

Sebastian’s dreams of romance died with his late wife’s affair, so now he needs a convenient wife to act as governess for his silent daughter. Yet Sarah continues to surprise and challenge him, and soon Sebastian can’t deny the joy his new bride could bring to his life—and into his bed!

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Excerpt

Dramatic events never happened to her. Ever.

‘If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?’ The voice was male. Warm breath touched her ear.

Sarah nodded. The man loosened his hold. She turned.

Her eyes widened as she took in his size, the breadth of his shoulders and the midnight-black of his clothes.

‘Good God, you’re a woman,’ he said.

‘You’re…you’re a gentleman.’ For the cloth he wore was fine and not the roughened garb of a common thief.

She grabbed on to these details as though, through their analysis, she would make sense of the situation.

‘What was your purpose for spying on me?’ His gaze narrowed, his voice calm and without emotion.

‘Spying? I don’t even know you.’ The rabbit squirmed and she clutched it more tightly.

‘Then why are you hiding?’

‘I’m not. Even if I were, you have no reason to accost me.’

Her cheeks flushed with indignation as her fear lessened.
He dropped his hand, stepping back. ‘I apologise. I thought you were a burglar.’

‘We tend not to get many burglars in these parts. Who are you anyway?’

‘Sebastian Hastings, Earl of Langford, at your service.’

He made his bow. ‘And a guest at Eavensham.’

‘A guest? Then why are you in the kitchen garden?’

‘Taking the air,’ he said.

‘That usually doesn’t involve accosting one’s fellow man. You are lucky I am not of a hysterical disposition.’

‘Indeed.’

Briefly, she wondered if wry humour laced his voice, but his lips were straight and no twinkle softened his expression. In the fading light, the strong chin and cheekbones looked more akin to a statue than anything having the softness of flesh.

At this moment, the rabbit thrust its head free of the shawl.

‘Dinner is running late, I presume.’ Lord Langford’s eyes widened, but he spoke with an unnerving lack of any natural surprise.

‘The creature is hurt and I need to bandage him, except Mr. Hudson, the butler, is not fond of animals and I wanted to ensure his absence.’

‘The butler has my sympathies.’

Sarah opened her mouth to respond but the rabbit, suddenly spooked, kicked at her stomach as it clawed against the shawl. Sarah gasped, doubling over, instinctively whispering the reassurances offered by her mother after childhood nightmares.

‘You speak French?’

‘What?’

‘French? You are fluent?’

‘What? Yes, my mother spoke it—could we discuss my linguistic skills later?’ she gasped, so intent on holding the rabbit that she lost her footing and stumbled against the man. His hand shot out. She felt his touch and the strangely tingling pressure of his strong fingers splayed against her back.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes—um—I was momentarily thrown off balance.’

She straightened. They stood so close she heard the intake of his breath and felt its whisper.

‘Perhaps,’ she added, ‘you could see if the butler is in the kitchen? I do not know how long I can keep hold of this fellow.’

‘Of course.’ Lord Langford stepped towards the window as though spying on the servants were an everyday occurrence. ‘I can see the cook and several girls, scullery maids, I assume. I believe the butler is absent.’

‘Thank you. I am obliged.’

Tightening her hold on the rabbit, Sarah paused, briefly reluctant to curtail the surreal interlude. Then, with a nod of thanks, she stooped to pick up the valise.

‘Allow me,’ Lord Langford said, opening the door. ‘You seem to have your hands full.’

‘Er—thank you.’ She glanced up. The hallway’s flickering oil lamp cast interesting shadows across his face, emphasising the harsh line of his cheek and chin and the blackness of his hair.

She stepped inside and exhaled as the door swung shut, conscious of relief, regret and an unpleasant wobbliness in both her stomach and knees.

About Eleanor Webster

Eleanor Webster loves high-heels and sun, which is ironic as she lives in northern Canada, the land of snowhills and unflattering footwear. Various crafting experiences, including a nasty glue-gun episode, have proven that her creative soul is best expressed through the written word.

Eleanor is currently pursuing a doctoral degree in psychology and holds an undergraduate degree in history and creative writing. She loves to use her writing to explore her fascination with the past.

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Interview with Charlotte Clark from Cherishing Charlotte

By Susana Ellis

On December 3, 2016

In Character Interview, Regency (19th century Britain), Susana Ellis, Teatime Tattler

Cherishing Charlotte is Book 3

of The Hertfordshire Hoydens

by Susana Ellis

Charlotte Clark is the oldest child of John (Jack) and Marianne Clark, who operate a charity school for boys in Oxford. Her maternal grandfather, a wealthy landowner who disinherited his daughter for running off with the tutor, appears to have relented somewhat, having invited his granddaughter to visit his estate, Heatherwyck. But does he have an ulterior motive?

Charlotte agreed to have tea with me at Miss Clemens’s Oxford Street Book Palace and Tea Rooms on Mount Street in London.

female model posing in a historical regency period empire waist dress

Charlotte Clark from Cherishing Charlotte

Susana: Thank you so much for meeting me today, Miss Clark. I know it is a bit of a journey for you from Oxford.

Charlotte: Indeed. It is only the second time I have been to London in all of my nineteen years. If not for Mama needing my help with Papa, I would have remained home with the boys. My twin brothers Robert and Thomas. They are ten. They are looking after the pig and chickens in our absence. [grinning] And the neighbors are looking after them.

Susana: Is your father in poor health, then? Is that why you have come to London?

Charlotte [taking a deep breath]: Yes. Unfortunately, he is afflicted with consumption. The local doctor doesn’t give much hope, but Mama wanted to consult a London physician. We didn’t have the money, but one of Papa’s former pupils graciously offered to provide the fee and lodgings at his home. Papa wanted to refuse, but Mama would not hear of it.

Susana: Your father must have made quite an impression on his students, then.

Charlotte [nodding enthusiastically]: Oh yes! He is a first-rate teacher. Many of his students who have been to Oxford or Cambridge have said that Papa is superior to most of the dons. I’m sure he would have been one himself had he not married Mama instead.

Susana: So dons cannot be married, then?

Charlotte: That is correct. But after he met Mama, nothing else mattered. He’s such a romantic, you see.

Susana: And your mother?

Charlotte [smiling]: Oh, she loves him madly too, of course. But she’s the practical one. Which is really quite fortunate for us, because it was she who managed to keep us fed all these years. Papa is more of a dreamer, and as she is fond of saying, dreams don’t keep food on the table.

Susana: And yet, she agreed to elope with her tutor. More romantic than practical, wouldn’t you agree?

Charlotte [shaking her head]: She was young and silly and at loggerheads with her father. Her mother had just died, and I don’t think she really believed he would cut her off, since there was just the two of them. But hurt pride can be pernicious. Mama has it in full measure. I’m sure she is determined to show him she could make a success of things. [sighing] Although she couldn’t have known how difficult it would turn out to be.

Susana: Do you think she regrets the decision she made, then?

Charlotte: No. Yes. Well, in a way I believe she resents having to struggle so hard to survive when her father has Heatherwyck all to himself.

Susana: Heatherwyck?

Charlotte: Yes. Heatherwyck is my grandfather’s family estate. The Chapmans have owned it for five generations. Mama says it is one of the largest estates in Hertfordshire. [biting her lip] Only recently I discovered she has hopes of reclaiming it. My grandfather invited me to spend the summer with him, you see.

Susana: Just you? Not the rest of the family?

Charlotte [stiffening]: : Yes. Just me. And his nephew, Wyatt.

Susana: Ah. So you suspect matchmaking.

Charlotte [teacup rattling vehemently as she sets it down on the saucer]: I know it!

Susana [delicately]: I don’t suppose there’s any harm in going, at least. It’s not like you can be forced into marriage, after all.

Charlotte [nostrils flaring]: That’s just what Mama says! Perhaps I shall like him. Or Grandfather will take a fancy to me and effect a reconciliation regardless. And it would be so good for the boys, you see, if he would sponsor them to Eton.

Susana: Why Eton? It sounds as though they are getting an equally good education at your father’s school.

Charlotte: True, but Mama has high hopes for them. So many political and social connections are made there. And they really are bright boys. [closing her eyes briefly] I shall feel obligated to fall in line with Grandfather’s plans for them. And for Papa. And Mama. What shall we do when Papa can no longer teach? [swallowing and holding back tears]. Mama might be a good manager, but when-if Papa is gone, there won’t be anything to manage.

Susana: It is quite a dilemma. I understand that you feel it is on you to become the sacrificial lamb for your family. That is a very great burden to put on such a young girl.

Charlotte [chin quivering]: Perhaps I should be more grateful to have the opportunity to make a difference in the future of my parents and brothers, but in all honesty, I have no wish to be a martyr. I am no Maid of Orléans, Miss Ellis. Burning at the stake does not appeal to me, any more than a marriage of convenience does. Do you not think me a wretched person?

Susana [reaching forward to stroke her forearm]: Wretched? No. Human? Yes. And a bit dramatic, perhaps. [takes out a handkerchief] Now, stop crying and and take another biscuit. I always think things look better after I’ve consumed a good dose of sugar. I wonder if we can order some fruit scones here, with strawberry jam and clotted cream?

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Cherishing Charlotte, Book 3 in The Hertfordshire Hoydens, is due for release in March 2017. Book 1, Treasuring Theresa, is available on Amazon. Book 2, Valuing Vanessa, is part of the Belles’ 2016 collection, Holly and Hopeful Hearts.

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Vagabond or Dropped From Grace?

By Guest author

On November 30, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

(Overheard within the confines of a fashionable and oft-crowded tea room, in the month of April)

Our state of Pennsylvania in this April of 18— can either be fairylike or devilish in temperament. As of late, the mud and damp have forced the ladyfolk of our area to the embracing arms of parlors and tearooms. The tempestuous weather—and, it seems, one specific bit of gossip—have congregated the women into swarms.

tea “I overheard it at the jeweler’s,” the anonymous reporter overheard one women say between pouring the Early Gray and reaching for a buttered scone. “That dear Mr. Godfrey was resetting a stone in my necklace, and Miss Emmeline was talking about that boy, Lou, I believe his name was? Laurence? Larson?

“Louis,” a second woman (wearing quite an outrageously plumed hat) chimed in. “But I believe he pronounces it like the French king did. Very much putting on airs, if you ask me. He and his mother live in a shack, I believe!”

A daintier girl in the gathering raised her eyes from her cup and saucer. Her quaint, narrow face pinched a little at the mouth. “What did you overhear, Mama?”

“Oh, you know—Miss Emmeline, what a gorgeous girl, even though she has that unfortunate Irish coloring. Freckled all over like a brown egg, but anyhow—the young miss was, quite boldly, if you ask me—demanding of Mr. Godfrey if he’d received any letters from Louis. Quite odd!”

The tea circle hmm’d and yes-quite’d.

“He’s gone away to London, you know,” the dainty girl in blue murmured. Her gloved hand reached for a slice of pound cake so prized at the tea house.

“Truly, Bridgette?” squawked her mother. “I heard that as well, I must admit—but is there any truth to it? Did the young man really propose to Miss Emmeline? He’s basically a vagabond—from what I heard tell of him,” she hastily added, reaching for her cup which shook indignantly between her fingers. “I never knew of him before now, and now he’s vanished like a ghost.”

Bridgette propped her chin primly in her hand. “I heard from Laura Ashford, down at Theresa’s knitting circle last Wednesday, that he proposed to Emmeline with a ring fit for a regent.” Her eyes sparkled. “Only, no one’s seen it.”

“How do you mean?” a severe-seeming gentlewoman piped up from behind the sandwich tier. “How do you know there was a ring if no one has seen?”

Her tone bit the air, young Bridgette fluttered her lashes as if threatened. “I only repeat what I heard. The family is all very hush-hush about it. Perhaps he stole the ring, Heaven knows! I heard he went to London to seek his fortune or some such. Has family in France.”

A round-cheeked maid who’d previously remained silent now broke into a smile. “Perhaps he’s a noble dropped from grace!” She turned to the severe woman. “Does France still have nobles, Aunt Clara?”

Her aunt’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t the faintest, girl.”

The girl’s mouth puckered. “It all sounds terribly romantic. A bit.”

About the Book: The Christmas Lights

“Where do Christmas lights come from?”
Those tiny bulbs of color that burn on a Christmas tree,
Or outside a house to shine in the night.
Does anyone really know where they originate?
What if someone told you
They weren’t intended for Christmas at all,
But really for a miracle?
That they were for love, a desperate idea, to light a boy’s way home?
In that case, you must have some questions. What boy? What love?

Have a seat. Allow me to tell you a story.

~Excerpt~
“Because your father requires…a dowry, of sorts. A guarantee you’ll be well taken care of.”

Emmy’s hand turned sweaty. “Oh, Louis. What does that mean?”

I swallowed the sour taste at the back of my mouth, nerves trembling in my fingers. “Our engagement lasts until December twenty-fifth. If by that time I’ve not returned—”

“Returned?” Emmy’s gaze burned me. “Louis, where are you going? Won’t my father give you a job?”

I didn’t move and barely opened my mouth to let the words escape. “He’s got me a job.”

“What?”

I loosened my shoulders and shrugged. “Marks Brothers pays their floor workers very well.”

“Who?”

“I’d stack inventory outside, in the clean air, and I’d work with a few fellows who’d watch out for me…” “Louis!”

“…I hear factories in London are much safer than here.”

“London! Louis, Louis, what are you talking about?” Emmy grabbed my face.

I squinted at two sparkling brown orbs. Was she crying?

“No.” Emmy covered her mouth with a hand. “No, you aren’t going to London. How could you? No one loves you there. No one knows you there…”

Your father seems to think it is my home country.

“Emmy. Emmy Emmy Emmy.” I held her close, stroking her hair. “I don’t plan to work there.”

She sat back. “What?”

“I’ve heard Mr. Godfrey talk about them. A London factory is the last place I should work. Your father means well, but I can’t do that. They wouldn’t take a blind boy.”

“Wh-where will you go, then? How on earth will you make money?”

“I have family in Paris. Mother says they have wine vineyards. I’ll work for them.”

“That…” Emmy’s fingers traced the veins on the back of my hand. “That’s much safer.” She was silent for the longest time. “You’ll be safe? And come home quickly?”

I pulled her hands away and stood, playing with the ring on her finger. “I will. I love you.”

“Louis…”

“Emmy. I don’t have a choice. You want to marry me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But, Louis…”

“Yes, love?”

“How long will you be gone?” How long? How long to board a ship, to find a place I’d only heard about, to earn and save an impossible amount of money? How long, indeed.

I set my expression. “I’ll be home by Christmas.”

Buy Links

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https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Lights-Rachael-Kosinski-ebook/dp/B00OMFS0S8/
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https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-christmas-lights
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https://www.scribd.com/book/243684383/The-Christmas-Lights
https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/museitup/romance/historical-romance/the-christmas-lights-detail

About the Author

When she was little, Rachael Kosinski wanted to be a paleontologist, an astronaut, a nature photographer, a writer for National Geographic, an Egyptologist, and the next Jane Goodall. Instead of being a new link between man and chimp, or discovering a planet suitable for sustained human life, or maybe even winning renowned fame by stumbling across an undiscovered dinosaur, Rachael finally decided that, if she never became a writer, she would simply die. Nine years later, she now possesses a quirky knowledge of world mythology, an addiction to coffee, and a penchant for making over-expressive faces at her laptop.