Dear Readers,
More intriguing reports have arrived in our mailbox. This one is a letter shared which I trust you will enjoy:
Mayfair, the seventh of December, 1816.
My dear S,
I’m quite beside myself! You’ll never guess what has happened. I’m positively trembling as I write.
You know the B family had their traditional St. Nicholas party last night? I was there of course, being N.B.’s almost- fiancée. What a pity you had a putrid sore throat and couldn’t come! I was wearing my new pink taffeta with the lace inserts. You were with me when I bought the yardage, remember? It really did make up very well. My maid dyed my slippers to match and, for once, she did a really good job. Not like those lilac monstrosities that time! I’ll never forget how awful I felt wearing them, but by the time I realized what a mess she’d made of them, it was too late to buy anything else. You may be sure I boxed her ears for that!
Anyway, though I say it myself, I was looking very pretty, and I was sure N.’s Papa would finally agree to our making an Announcement. Then a tall red-headed woman in a gold gown (I ask you- a gold gown with red hair? Really!) came sailing into the doorway of the drawing room and positively stood under the Kissing Ball! The mistletoe, you know. I mean, who would stand there just waiting to be kissed? It simply isn’t done! But she did, and dear Q. S. took pity on her. Well, someone had to, or I declare she would have stood there all night!
They had a little chat (you know Q. Such a gentleman, he wouldn’t just leave her!) and then they disappeared. Well, you can imagine what I thought. They’d only just met, and she’d already gone off with him alone! No better than she should be, I shouldn’t wonder, with all that red hair!
A little while later, N. came into the drawing room to find me. I was just telling J. how disappointed we were that his Papa wouldn’t come up to scratch, but he took my arm urgently and led me away to the library. Then he told me the shattering news: that woman, L. W. was her name, was his Betrothed Bride! Their fathers had set it all up when they were born! N., poor lamb, knew nothing about it! He was as upset as I. But his Papa is adamant. N. says that if he doesn’t marry that L., he’ll be cut off without a penny!
I cried all the way home, and all night too. I look a positive fright this morning. But what is to be done? I don’t think I could live without a penny! I wouldn’t be able to keep my maid, and then who would dye my slippers?
Yours with a broken heart,
A.
Poor Amy, the receiver of this bad news, appears in the first story in the collection:
The Kissing Ball, a Christmas and other Regency Short Stories.
By GL Robinson
In the title story it’s just before Christmas and an unexpected visitor arrives, claiming to be the fiancée of the son of the house. But he knows nothing about it. This muddle has to be sorted out, or it’s not only Christmas that will be ruined.
There are four other Regency stories to make you smile. A widow finds love when an unusual new neighbour turns up looking for help; a young woman finds a buyer for her father’s chemistry laboratory, but gets more than she bargained for; Sir Robert befriends a homely governess and her charge and conveys them to London, where his future is changed forever by a dog and a dimple; a young woman with an extraordinarily beautiful best friend discovers that beauty isn’t everything.
These charming and cozy stories are perfect for a bedtime read or for curling up next to the fire in a favorite chair. Happy endings all the way!
“I never dislike a thing about GL Robinson’s books! In fact, this is a delightful treat. It’s like taking bites of your favorite crisp with each story. I can read half a one as I walk my dogs and the other half when I get my coffee.” Amazon Reviewer
https://www.amazon.com/Kissing-Ball-Christmas-Regency-Stories-ebook/dp/B08LDZZ7NX
An excerpt from Sir Robert, the Dog and the Dimple
“I’m sorry,” came a clear, well-bred woman’s voice from the parlor, “but no matter who the gentleman may be, it’s impossible for me to move Miss Worthington now. You can see how poorly she is.”
“But Madam,” came the harassed landlord’s voice from the same direction, “Sir Robert cannot be made to wait out in the hall. He is desirous of partaking of the nuncheon he bespoke.”
Sir Robert, waiting in the hall with a small spaniel, not much more than a puppy, frisking by his heels, decided it was time to intervene. He walked into the parlor and there beheld a plain woman, plainly dressed, hovering over an equally plain young woman lying ashen-faced on the settle by the wall, her eyes closed.
With the good manners for which he was well-known, he bowed. But with no such reserve, the spaniel, observing opportunities for making new friends, trotted gaily up to the plain woman standing there and placed both front paws on her grey gown. Sir Robert was pleasantly surprised to see that the woman did not shriek or push her away, but rather distractedly patted the silky head.
“I’m sorry, Madam.” said Sir Robert, “Molly has no discretion. She seems to think everyone and everything in the world is her friend. This personality trait, though charming in its way, rendered her useless for duck-hunting. She was convinced the birds were her playfellows. I’m taking her to my sister for the children. I could not leave her in the carriage for fear she befriend a passing squirrel and form such an attachment that she would be lost forever. Though I might have been able to bear up under the separation, my sister would never have forgiven me.”
He was delighted to see a dimple peeping on the lady’s cheek, though she said nothing.
“Sir Robert,” the landlord bustled forward, “Miss… er, Miss…”
“Fellowes,” supplied the plain lady, dimple gone. “Nicola Fellowes.”
Sir Robert bowed again, but the landlord continued, “Miss Fellowes is insisting on remaining in the parlor you bespoke for your nuncheon. It seems the young lady cannot be moved.”
“She is much too unwell to be moved. Anyone can see that,” explained Miss Fellowes. “But Sir… er, Robert, I pray you to continue. If you can be happy eating your meal at the table, we will stay quietly over here and not disturb you in the least. You may eat with your back to us and forget we are here,” she added, with a spark of humor in her tone.
Sir Robert bowed again. “Thank you, Miss Fellowes,” he said. “That would seem a very sensible solution. Except for the recommendation about turning my back. I’m afraid I should be too uncomfortable to eat at all under those circumstances. Is your… er, companion asleep? If so, might you be persuaded to lunch with me? That is, unless you have eaten already?”
Nicola was still recovering from the bustle of helping her charge off the Mail Coach, holding her shoulders while she was copiously sick into the bushes at the side of the yard, almost carrying her into the parlor, calling for a glass of water and, ignoring the landlord’s protests, laying her on the settle in the parlor. She had dealt with the driver of the Mail who followed her into the inn, saying vociferously he had no time to spare, and if Miss was goin’ to be a-laying there, their luggage would be taken off the coach and they could take their chances with the next one. She had distractedly told him to do what he must, and their bags were now piled in one corner of the parlor, looking as sad as their contents undoubtedly were. It was only in the last few minutes that she had become aware of the delicious smells emanating from the back of the inn, reminding her she had eaten nearly nothing all day.
“Yes,” she therefore responded to Sir Robert, “Irene is asleep, thank goodness. Neither of us had any idea how sick she would feel on the coach. We’ve neither of us travelled much before, you see. I was fine, but the poor girl very soon began to feel unwell. She held on as long as she could but when we stopped here, she said she simply had to get off. It’s a good thing we did. She was fearfully sick. Anyway,” she concluded, “thank you, I would be glad of a meal. Though it seems heartless to say so, I must confess I am very hungry.”
Sir Robert replied with a smile, “Then I’m glad to be able to invite you to share my lunch. But I should introduce myself properly. I am Robert Heathsmith. At your service.” He bowed for the third time. “And you are Miss Fellowes.” She nodded and extended her hand, which he took. “Irene is your…?” He was going to say daughter, but now he looked at Miss Fellowes more closely, she was younger than he had at first thought. Not in her first youth, but surely not more than thirty. She was rather small and very slender. Her long, thin face was rendered horse-like by the tight braids wound in bands around her head. But now he looked at her, he saw she had fine eyebrows arched over her rather deep-set but intelligent eyes, and there was the shadow of that elusive dimple.
“My pupil,” supplied Miss Fellowes. “I am her governess.”
For her part, she had formed an immediate good opinion of Sir Robert when he first entered the room. Apart from his excellent manners, he was good-looking. He was tall and well dressed, though not extravagantly so. The grey wool coat that fit him to perfection had not been made by any provincial tailor, and his dark breeches were tucked into top boots that still shone, in spite of the mud splatters around the foot. His brown hair was brushed forward into what she did not know was a Stanhope Crop. He looked like what he was. A gentleman of comfortable and perhaps even prosperous means, with an estate in the country (he had talked about hunting after all), and no doubt a place in town.
But Molly had also smelled the kitchen odors and had run off to investigate. They suddenly heard a crash and a commotion accompanied by a loud, angry wail. Ears flying, Molly came running into the room with what looked like a chicken leg in her mouth, followed closely by the landlord. “The Animal has bitten the leg off the Nice Capon prepared for your nuncheon, sir,” he explained. “I’m afraid my wife is having something of a Spasm as a result.”
“You wretched animal! I should have let them drown you!” exclaimed Sir Robert, picking Molly up by the scruff of her neck and removing the leg from her mouth. To do her credit, the dog repaid this gross injustice by giving her master a lick on the nose, which caused Miss Fellowes’ fleeting dimple to put in an appearance.
“Well, since it was my capon, bring the remains of it in and we’ll eat it anyway.” He placed the mangled leg on the table, and put Molly on the floor. The unrepentant dog now made every effort to leap up the table leg to retrieve her prize, but the table was too high and no chairs had as yet been placed next to it for her to scramble onto.
“You shouldn’t eat chicken bones, anyway, Molly,” said Miss Fellowes. “They may stick in your throat. I’ll strip the flesh off for you in a minute. Now SIT DOWN!” She said the last two words in a very firm voice, which the dog responded to immediately and sat down on her plump haunches, her tongue hanging out and a smile on her face.
“Good heavens! You are the first person the dratted animal has minded,” said Sir Robert.
“Years of being a governess.” replied Miss Fellowes, “It gives one a voice of authority.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Sir Robert. “I almost sat down myself!”
https://www.amazon.com/Kissing-Ball-Christmas-Regency-Stories-ebook/dp/B08LDZZ7NX
A Note About the Author, GL Robinson
I was born in Portsmouth, England (no, I won’t tell you the date!), but I’ve lived in the USA for over 40 years.
During the 50’s and early 60’s my sister and I were at a convent boarding school in southern England.
I began writing Regency Romances in 2018 after the death of my dear sister. All my books are dedicated to her. I can still see us in the convent under the bedcovers after lights out with a flashlight reading the Romances of Georgette Heyer.
So far, I’ve written 17 Regency Romances, including two volumes of short stories, of which The Kissing Ball is one, a Contemporary Romance and two Crime Romances.
Please visit my website to read about my books, sign up for a free short story or get a code for a free audiobook. I record them myself. Please contact me at any time. I love hearing from my readers!
http://romancenovelsbyglrobinson.com
Thank you and I hope to hear from you!
Dear Daughter,
A Winter’s Romance: A Regency Anthology