Letter posted from Cheltenham, England, to Morristown, New Jersey, 1832 leaked to The Teatime Tattler
My darling Earnestine,
We arrived in Bristol Wednesday, two days behind schedule,
much the worse for weather, and happy to be back on solid ground. My darling Howard’s
brother sent a carriage to convey us from the harbor, and we couldn’t leave
swiftly enough for my nerves I tell you. If England has a less salubrious port
than this one, I don’t want to encounter it. Nefarious appearing individuals
lurked along the docks and at every corner where seedy and disreputable
establishments abounded. One has heard frightening stories of civil unrest
about the place as well, but we saw nothing of that sort. Once quit of the
place, England’s green hills unfolded in front of us and I was able to put my
fears aside.
(c) Bristol Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
The voyage proved as tedious as I anticipated. Howard
devoted himself to cards in the common room leaving my Ellie and I to our own
devices. Not far into the journey a new acquaintance alleviated our boredom—thank
goodness.
Mrs. Gordon Melrose, the sister-in-law of an actual baronet,
regaled us with tales of society and the sites of London, whetting our appetite
for the capital I can tell you. She also enlightened us about one of our more
mysterious fellow passengers.
Ellie pointed the man out almost as soon as we embarked from
New York. The girl does have an eye for a fine specimen of manhood! Tall and
lean with thick auburn hair, he had the air of one of those frontier types
young girls find so romantic, yet he dressed like a gentleman. Oddly, he
carried a three-legged cat. We rarely saw him without the beast. When Howard
complained to the captain about the presence of a feline, he was told that
having a predator to keep vermin from the hold was in fact good luck. Ellie
pronounced it adorable, though I could not see how a deformed cat could hunt.
In any case our mystery man proved to have more to his
credit than good looks. Mr. Melrose informed us that Randolph Wheatly—the man’s
name so she said—possesses important connections. His sister, the Countess of
Chadbourn holds sway in the highest reaches of society, and is a friend of two
Duchesses no less. Think of it Earnestine, a countess! (That is the wife of an
earl in case you aren’t as fully
informed as we are).
I thought it prudent to encourage Ellie’s interest in the man, but the girl was profoundly disappointed by his curt refusal of any social overtures. Quite reclusive, he moped in solitude and scowled at all who approached, as if his troubles weighed him down. Ellie of course found his brooding good looks irresistibly attractive, poor girl. When we docked he moved rapidly off the ship and disappeared into the unsavory streets of Bristol, as though the horrid place had been his final destination, something I cannot believe.
Oh well. Perhaps we will encounter him in London. Perhaps
he’ll introduce us to his sister, the countess. Think of it Earnestine!
Your loving sister,
Eunice
About the Book
Rand has good reason to brood on the voyage and to hurray away. He has a people to rescue, and family conflict to face.
Two hearts betrayed by love…
Desperate and afraid, Meggy Blair will do whatever it takes to protect her children. She’d hoped to find sanctuary from her abusive husband with her Ojibwa grandmother, but can’t locate her. When her children fall ill, she finds shelter in an isolated cabin in Upper Canada. But when the owner unexpectedly returns, he’s furious to find squatters disrupting his self-imposed solitude.
Reclusive businessman Rand Wheatly had good reason to put an ocean between himself and the family that deceived him. He just wants the intrusive woman gone, yet it isn’t long before Meggy and the children start breaking down the defensive walls he’s built. His heart isn’t as hard as he thought. But their fragile interlude is shattered when Meggy’s husband appears to claim his children, threatening to have Rand jailed.
The only way for Meggy to protect Rand is to leave him. When her husband takes her and the children to England, Meggy discovers he’s far more than an abuser; what he’s involved in endangers all their lives. To rescue the woman who has stolen his heart, Rand must follow her and do what he swore he’d never do: reconcile with his aristocratic family and finally uncover the truth behind all the lies. But time is running out for them all.
Award winning author of historical romance usually set in the Regency and Victorian eras, Caroline Warfield reckons she is on at least her third act, happily working in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the world. She nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart.
Could it be true? The answer is yes, dear
reader, and you read it here first at the Teatime Tattler.
Confirmation has been verified that none other than the Duke of H is back on the market and will once more be looking for a bride after Lady R returned his ring. The foolish girl. Doesn’t she know the riches she has given up by breaking off their engagement?
This paper has it on the highest authority that the young lady has returned to the country in a self-imposed exile. But the question remains… who will the Duke choose as his bride? Whoever she may be, we certainly know he won’t be choosing his last mistress, much to her annoyance. Still… Inquiring minds want to know…
Samuel Clemons read this latest tidbit from the Danver sisters and grinned. His readers will go mad with the news that the Duke of Hartford lost the lady whom some have whispered was a love match. Love… what a silly emotion getting the better of oneself.
His office door opened and Samuel handed the parchment to the young man whose ink stained fingers implied he had been busy in the press room.
“Make this a special edition,” Samuel declared with a smirk. “I want it on the front page and not buried inside. Our readers deserve to see this first thing with their breakfast.”
“Yes,
sir!”
Samuel
watch the man leave before leaning back in his chair. A laugh escaped him. He
loved his job and was satisfied the Teatime Tattler would be sold out come the
morning. Tomorrow was going to be a glorious day.
Sherry Ewing recently learned that her Regency novel One Moment In Time: A Family of Worth, Book Two was nominated as a RONE finalist with InD’Tale Magazine. It also won their crowned heart and a five star review. She is grateful to all the readers who voted for her story in order for One Moment In Time to become a finalist. Enjoy this excerpt.
Excerpt:
Edmond
opened his eyes and found himself gazing into the face of an angel. Emerald
pools, green as the Scottish moors, stared back at him with an expression of
wonder. He reached out to lightly caress her cheek just to ensure she was real.
She trembled beneath his touch and he thanked God Roselyn had awoken once more.
Swinging
his legs down to the floor, he stood and reached for her hands to help her to
rise. Her beautiful face wore a confused frown, and without thought he acted on
the urge to assure himself she was real and on the mend, bringing her into his
embrace. He knew in his heart his gesture was inappropriate; he should not be
so bold, especially considering all that she had been through, but he could not
resist.
Stepping
back as he should became impossible when she returned his affection by placing
her arms around his waist. As if they had a will of their own, his hands made
their way up her arms and into her glorious curling hair that cascaded down the
length of her back. It felt like the softest silk to his touch and a lock
coiled around his fingers taking possession of him.
He
took her chin in his fingers and tilted it up so he could see the face she had
been hiding in his chest. Once more staring into her eyes, he saw her lips
tremble and wondered how sweet they would taste. Leaning forward, he came to
within a breath and hesitated. But only for one second. At last, he brought his
mouth down to hers in a gentle first kiss.
There
could be no mistaking her hesitation nor that she was inexperienced in her
technique. Edmond retained enough control to remember she was a young innocent
and he did not wish to scare her away. His heart rejoiced when he felt her arms
creep up his back and he tightened his hold upon her. One taste would in no way
satisfy the sudden desire he had for her and her encouragement gave him the
permission he needed to deepen the kiss all the more.
His
sanity finally reined in his desire, and he broke the spell by ending their
kiss abruptly. Alarm briefly shook him when Roselyn took several steps
backwards to put some distance between them. In the silence of the room, the
only sound was the two of them attempting to catch their breaths after the heat
of the moment.
One Moment In Time: A Family of Worth, Book Two
One moment in time may be enough, if it lasts forever…
When the man Lady Roselyn Anne Winslow has loved since she was a
young girl begins to court her, Roselyn thinks all her dreams have come true…
until the dream turns into a nightmare.
Lady Roselyn is everything Edmond Worthington, 9th Duke of
Hartford, could ask for in a wife and he is delighted to find she returns his
love… until he loses her, not once but twice.
From England’s ballrooms, to Berwyck Castle and a tropical
island that is anything but paradise, Edmond and Roselyn face ruthless enemies
who will do anything to tear them apart. Can they recover their one moment in
time?
Sherry
is proud to be one of the Bluestocking Belles. Sherry picked up her
first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever
since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to
awaken the soul one heart at a time. When
not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an
Information Technology Specialist.
You can
learn more about her on the tab above or visit her on one of these social media
outlets:
It is a sad day indeed when we are forced to communicate
such news as follows, but it is our duty to bring you even the most scandalous incidents…even
if they involve one of the most highly regarded residents of our region—the
venerated war hero, Colonel Johnathon P. Wescott.
Mrs. Charlotte Tisdale, a well-respected resident of New
Hope reported the following, and we relay it now to you. It seems that an
impromptu gala was thrown together at Lacewood by Colonel Wescott’s men, who
were given leave by their beloved commander to take part in Christmas Eve
festivities. It was late at night before Colonel Wescott left his post on the battlefield,
but he finally appeared at Lacewood, looking as gallant and intrepid as ever
such a highly esteemed man can look.
Of course, those in attendance at Lacewood included all of
the eligible young ladies from the region who hoped to catch a glimpse—or
perhaps even a dance—with the widowed father.
Dear readers, here is the news of which I warned you. It has
been reported to us by Mrs. Tisdale (and others) that the Colonel danced the
night away—not with one of the highly regarded Southern belles in attendance—but
with the Yankee caretaker of his young daughter!
Yes, friends, if you live in New Hope, you know the sad
story. The poor child was left motherless by the passing of his wife almost a
year ago, and now the sweet darling has been left in the hands of a stranger
whose reputation and character are known to us only by the gossip that trickles
in by attentive neighbors.
However, we know all we need to know. Mrs. Tisdale confirmed
that this woman, this Yankee she-devil, hails from New York and has a brother
in the Union army. Yes, you read that correctly. A brother…In the Union Army.
Wishing to verify these rumors—which are obviously too
absurd and preposterous to be accepted on their face, we discovered that the
news gets even worse. It seems Miss Annie Logan (the caretaker) placed herself
beneath the mistletoe when Colonel Wescott was near, and, of course, being a
Southern gentlemen of the highest order, he felt obligated to satisfy the
tradition that has been handed down for centuries.
My own face reddens at the thought of this conniving kiss. Who
knows what else has transpired between the walls of Lacewood? We can only hope
that it will not stain the character of its occupants for generations to come…
About the Book
Two people trying to escape
their pasts find a connection through an old house—and fulfill a destiny
through the secrets it shares. Part love story, part ghost story, Lacewood is
a timeless novel about trusting in fate, letting of the past, and believing in
things that can’t be seen.
MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN in Virginia is a big
change for New York socialite Katie McCain. But when she stumbles across an
abandoned 200-year-old mansion, she’s enthralled by the enduring beauty of the
neglected estate—and captivated by the haunting portrait of a woman in
mourning.
Purchasing the property on a whim, Katie attempts to fit in with the colorful characters in the town of New Hope, while trying to unravel the mystery of the “widow of Lacewood.” As she pieces together the previous owner’s heartrending story, Katie uncovers secrets the house has held for centuries, and discovers the key to coming to terms with her own sense of loss.
Sometimes
love is just too powerful for one lifetime…
The past and present converge when hometown
hero Will Durham returns and begins his own healing process by helping the
“city girl” restore the place that holds so many memories. As the mystic web of destiny
is woven, a love story that might have been lost forever is exposed, and a
destiny that has been waiting in the shadows for centuries is fulfilled.
Take advantage of the low
launch-week price of only $3.99, and sign up for the author’s newsletter at https://www.jessicajamesbooks.com.
“I think Jon has finally broken away from the ladies,” Luke
said at last. “Here he comes.”
Annie turned and watched with an incredible degree of
composure as Colonel Wescott strode toward her with calm detachment, pinioning
her where she stood with his devouring stare. A strange sensation throbbed
in her then—like the beating of a new heart—and she marveled at its power to
fluster and confuse.
When he reached her he stopped, but his caressing gaze
continued to play across her face. “You are aware of the tradition, I suppose.”
Colonel Wescott’s voice, Annie had learned, could be
penetrating and commanding, or gentle and kind. He could easily silence an
entire roomful of people without yelling or losing control—and could just as
effortlessly melt her heart with the tender tones of a father.
The tenor tonight was both warm and imposing, throwing her
off balance. Her eyes darted around, not understanding his meaning.
“Tradition?”
He merely gestured to a place over her head, his smile
widening as she took in the swag of mistletoe hanging above her.
Grasping Luke’s ruse that had placed her in this spot, Annie
transferred her gaze to Luke just as he was exchanging a mischievous wink with
his brother. Even Miss Benton was now brimming over with amusement.
“Do you need schooling in the ritual?” Colonel Wescott’s
tone was businesslike, but the sentiment on his face was not. It reflected a
playfulness, a cheerful joviality that was both infatuating and intimidating.
He’d never crossed this line of familiarity with her before—and Annie was
fairly sure he’d not done so with others, even those he considered close
friends.
She wanted to pretend an affront, but when faced with his
appealing smile her defenses melted away. Candlelight and music filled the air,
exaggerating and intensifying the intoxication of her senses. Laughter and
conversation blended and blurred until nothing existed but the man before her,
whose smoldering eyes beckoned seductively.
About the Author
Jessica James is an
award-winning author of romantic suspense, historical fiction, and Christian
fiction, who combined all of her favorite things to create Lacewood.
Her new release is a
multi-era, small town, clean, inspirational novel that melds together elements
of mystery, history, and romance.
As someone who lives in a
200-year-old house, Jessica was intrigued when thinking about the generations
of people who occupied the same home. Lacewood
gives readers a behind-the-scenes glimpse of what took place in an old
neglected Southern mansion before two people from the modern world stumble
across it and into each other. It’s a love story that spans centuries, taking
readers on a journey into the past as the house reveals secrets about a
long-lost love affair.
The most unusual and upsetting of occurrences
has happened, and I wish now more than ever that Randall would leave this
forsaken place and move back to civilization. I imagine the snow is beautiful
banking along the Thames, and how I long for an outing to Mrs. Starling’s millinery
shop. I am in dire need of a new hat and there is not a one milliner worthy of
such a task here in Clun. I suppose I shall just catch cold rather than wear
such an atrocity upon my head!
But back to the urgent matter at hand, the
Constable here has up and died by his own witlessness. The man had some sort of
infirmity and ended up dying in the woods. They found him frozen through, but
thank goodness no animals had yet discovered him. Otherwise, I might have
fainted straight away.
And, the worst of it, the absolute most
obscene part of it, is that a woman, an odd although in other respects pretty
and intelligent creature, has decided to become Clun’s new layer-out of the
dead. She even enlisted her poor younger sister to aid her in such an endeavor.
I do have some semblance of sympathy for
them as they did lose their parents not long ago in another entirely different grizzly
affair, which I relayed to you last month. But to resort to such unseemly means
to provide for themselves is more than I can fathom. I have insisted that Randall
speak with her and forbid it, but he tells me there is no law against women
making foolish decisions. I told him there should be. The girls are throwing
away any chance of a future by making such a choice.
I am spent in writing this to you and find
I must now retire for a spell to regain my spirits. All this ghastly business
has worn me through.
Send my love to your sweet daughters and
please do invite me to come visit for I must escape this place. . .and soon, my
dear.
With an
urgency to be elsewhere,
Catherine
About the Book: Lovely Digits
When
two murders strike the sleepy Victorian town of Clun, England, an unlikely
partnership forms. But can the killer be found before there is a third?
Lovely Digits is the town
oddity…
But
quirky spinster Lucy Wycliffe prefers to ignore gossip and embrace her position
as the town’s layer out of the dead, despite how her parents’ deaths thrust her
into such unlikely work. Lovely Digits, as she’s known to the local
townspeople, no longer dreams of marriage, but takes pride in providing dignity
to the dead. Desperate to hold on to her family’s cottage and support her
widowed sister and young niece, an unexpected offer of employment as assistant
to the constable arrives at the perfect time.
Former sailor John Brodie is
the mysterious new constable…
But John Brodie is far from a stranger to Clun
or the events of its past. Accepting the position as constable in the small
town is a double edged sword meant to heal his past and redeem his future, but
falling for the beautiful and intelligent Lucy Wycliffe was never part of his
plan. As the killer closes in, will John reveal his secret and risk losing
everything to save Lucy’s life?
Want to
read more? Here is my Amazon Buy Link:
Excerpt from the Book:
Clun,
England
February,
1839
Old
Man Codger’s frozen toe rolled across the floor toward the door.
“Lord
above. Mind the corner, sister,” Lucy muttered. She blew an errant curl from
her cheek as they swung the man’s stiff body onto the scarred wooden table in
front of the hearth. The body landed with a thud.
Blast. Lucy scanned the floor. Nothing. Where had it gone? She lifted her
skirts.
“There
you are,” she grumbled. The rogue digit rested between the scuffed heels of her
old brown boots. Using the edge of one of the sleeves of her faded blue blouse,
she leaned down and clutched the rather putrid, large hairy toe and placed it
on the man’s chest. Now she’d have to sew on a toe, too. A frozen toe.
Perfect.
Priscilla
covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yielded a dry retch. Plugging
her nose, she rolled her eyes. “There has
to be another way.”
Lucy
eyed her pert younger sister and sighed. At thirteen, Cil was on the cusp of
womanhood. There were so many things she would miss from their parents not
being there to guide her. The guilt over the death of Mother and Father a month
past stung like a barb under Lucy’s skin. If only she’d arrived home at the
cottage sooner instead of lingering about the forest to find her pet starling.
She banished the thought away.
After
tying back her hair, Lucy pushed up her sleeves to the elbow. “If there had
been any other option, we’d have done it. It’s either prep him for burial or
starve. It’s just us now, Cil.”
The
old man’s time in the woods had not been kind to him, but at least the extreme
cold had kept the insects at bay. A white milky maggot dropped from his nose to
the table. Lucy shuddered. Most of them.
She loathed insects, especially worms. Things that could move without legs
weren’t natural.
“Hand
me the needle and thread.” Lucy rested her hands on her hips. “I need to get
this toe sewn back on when he thaws. I’ll not be docked pay for him missing
parts.”
About the Author
Jeanine
Englert is a Golden Heart ® Finalist and Daphne du Maurier Award winner in historical romantic suspense.
After years of writing in secret, she joined Romance Writers of America and
Georgia Romance Writers in 2013 and has been an active member ever since. She
writes Scottish Highland historicals and historical romantic suspense novels.
When she isn’t wrangling with her characters on
the page, she can be found trying to convince her husband to watch her latest
Masterpiece or BBC show obsession. She loves to talk about books, writing, her
beloved pups, and of course mysteries with other readers on Twitter
@JeanineWrites, Facebook, or at her website www.jeaninewrites.com.
Her debut novel, Lovely Digits, released in June of 2019 by Soul Mate Publishing, is a Victorian romantic suspense that won the 2017 Daphne du Maurier Award and was named a 2018 Golden Heart ® Finalist for best unpublished romantic suspense.
From the journal of Sophie Hartford – the Tattler has received her PRIVATE Journal from Chateau de Fontanes, the Pyranees, 1818
Tuesday, 28th
April.
We returned to the chateau today. I was sorry to say goodbye to my friends in
Ax-les-Thermes but the marquise assures me we’ll go back there soon. For now,
we’re going to spend a quiet few days here in the mountains, and I’m going to
be watching my sister closely. I sense she’s attracted to Joachim. Indeed, who
wouldn’t be, so handsome and warmhearted as he is. With those big brown eyes
and that smile like sunshine, he’s most alluring. But Nell is Nell and she hides
her feelings behind a cool composure. On the other hand, Joachim is making it
plain he likes and admires her.
This afternoon we went down to the stables and the two of them started talking together. I may be four years younger than Nell, but I’m grown up enough to see that Joachim only had eyes for her. So I dawdled around, stroking my horse, petting the stable cat, and then sat down on a bench. Joachim’s lurcher dog, Flocon, came and sat by me. They didn’t notice they were alone as they wandered off down the paddock, talking all the time. At several points they stopped, I could see them waving their arms around as they discussed something. Surely they must be coming to an agreement. Indeed, all the stableboys and grooms found excuses to come out and watch them as well.
My romantic hopes were sadly dashed when
they returned, and I found they’d spent the entire time talking about educating
the poor children of the estate. But tomorrow is another day and I’ll think up
a scheme to bring them together. Why is my 22 year old sister resisting such
charm?
Wednesday
29th April. This morning Nell was in the music room, helping a
little boy with his lesson. I casually told Joachim of this and soon I saw him
rush along to the music room. The little boy came out, and I pretended to be
arranging flowers in a vase in the corridor, so as to keep an eye on the door, in
case anyone else tried to go in. Flocon has become attached to me and he sat
watching as I fiddled with the flowers. A rather long time went by and I began
to worry that our kind hostess might come in search of us. So I tiptoed up to
the door, which wasn’t quite shut.
The Chateau de Fontanes
Somehow I stifled a gasp on seeing them
locked in a very passionate embrace
on the windowseat. As I peeped, they
slid down until Joachim was lying almost on top of her. Oh, my stars! What
lightning progress from yesterday’s formal behaviour. But I had to stop them before
they forgot themselves utterly. Suddenly I had a brainwave. I nudged the door a
little further open and pushed Flocon into the room. He started barking and ran
to jump up at his master. I saw Joachim jerk his head up, so I pulled the door
shut again and fled.
This evening. At dinner I
was expecting an Announcement but they both behaved as usual. Such a
disappointment. And later, when we came up to go to bed, Nell didn’t say a word
about her relationship with Joachim. She’s being very sly but tomorrow I shall
tell her that I KNOW!
About the book: TheOutcasts
Joachim is the youngest of the three Montailhac brothers.
Always close to the land, he now manages his father’s estates and
livestock. Athletic and handsome, Joachim seems to have an
ideal existence. But he has a guilty secret and it suddenly reappears to
cause havoc. His life is further complicated by dealing with an accident at the
iron mine on the estate just as visitors arrive, bringing yet more problems.
Nell and Sophie Hartford are cousins of Joachim’s sister-in-law, Olivia [see Scandalous Lady]. In the Spring of 1818 they find themselves outcasts from their officer father’s home in Paris, and are forced to accept Olivia’s assurance that her mother-in-law, the Marquise de Fontanes, will make them welcome. After all, says Olivia, life in the family chateau in the Pyrenees will be a tonic for them. Two unhappy girls struggle to fit into the very different lifestyle of the large and slightly exotic Montailhac family. At the same time, danger threatens from a deranged criminal bent on vengeance against their hosts.
Read an excerpt from The Outcasts
Nell seemed to have grown even prettier while he was away. Joachim joined his family in the Assembly Rooms and gazed appreciatively at her while she exchanged greetings with several of her new friends. Her primrose yellow dress brought out the russet gleams in her hair. She looked elegant and appealing. Glancing towards his mother he found her watching him with a twinkle in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow and he stepped close.
‘Mother, you’ve wrought a miracle. When she first arrived, dressed all in grey, I called her ‘Miss Dismal’ to myself. Now, I wonder if even her own father would recognise her.’
The marquise squeezed his hand. ‘Poor girls. Cast out as they were, no wonder they were so dejected. It is a pleasure to see them thrive here.’ She smiled at the buzz of light hearted chatter coming from the group. ‘Now you can keep an eye on them. I want to talk to my friends for a while.’
‘Hey, Joachim,’ one of the young men greeted him with a horrified air, ‘Did you know what’s in store this evening? Old Deschamps is going to recite one of his endless poems.’
There was a general muttering and some groans.
Nell gave a choke of laughter and looked enquiringly at Joachim.
He crossed his eyes at her, which made her laugh aloud. He sobered suddenly, staring into her green-grey eyes. She really was lovely, especially with that wash of pink colouring her cheeks. He wanted to get her away from the others.
‘Do you play cards? Then we could escape to the card room.’
‘No, neither of us plays.’ She looked round for her sister, but Sophie had disappeared.
‘She doesn’t like poetry recitals, I take it?’ said Joachim, amused.
‘No, but this is rude. I must find her.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ They slipped off towards the other room. ‘Well,’ said Joachim, ‘it seems we don’t care for poetry recitals either.’
She gave him a glance full of mischief, and laughed again, making him want to get her right away from everyone. ‘Let’s hope we don’t find Sophie too quickly, then.’
However, ten minutes later, Sophie was nowhere to be seen and Nell was showing signs of alarm.
‘I’d better see if she’s returned to the recital,’ she decided. They stood in the doorway, peering in. The marquise saw them and beckoned. Nell went to her and sat down. The poet was in full flow, and Joachim shook his head at his mother, who shrugged. He turned back into the card room and came face to face with Sophie. She smiled naughtily.
‘I saw you looking for me,’ she told him. ‘Bertrand spotted me but he didn’t say anything.’
‘Bad girl.’
She tossed her head. ‘You had more fun looking for me with Nell than being bored to death in there. Let’s play cards.’ She spun away, towards a table at the back of the room, where Bertrand was shuffling a pack of cards. He rose to his feet and pulled out a chair. Sophie sat down, casting a look of triumph at Joachim.
‘Nell said you don’t play,’ he protested.
She bit her lip, looking shamefaced suddenly. ‘Not really,’ she mumbled, ‘but I can watch you.’
A few of the older players were casting disapproving looks their way, although there were other ladies in the room. It was simply that Sophie was so very young. His mother would give him an earful later but until the poet finished his recitation, they would stay here.
‘Vingt-et-un?’ suggested Bertrand, dealing. The luck went against him for several games. He slammed his cards down. ‘Let’s have a drink. It might turn the luck in my favour.’ He beckoned to a waiter and held up three fingers.
‘Have they still not finished next door?’ he asked. He smiled at Sophie. ‘There’ll be some folk-songs later. You’ll enjoy that.’
She agreed and glanced at the approaching waiter. She stared for a moment and gave a gasp of surprise.
Joachim heard her and looked up. It was that toothy lad, and something was wrong. He saw the boy’s face change as he looked at Sophie. He set the tray down awkwardly, keeping his head bent down.
Bertrand picked up a glass and offered it to Sophie.
‘Er, no, no, sir,’ spluttered the waiter, jerking his hand out, but Sophie had already raised the glass to her lips.
‘Don’t drink,’ said Joachim sharply. Too late.
She set the empty glass down and tossed her head. ‘I’m old enough to drink wine, you know.’ Then the blood drained from her face. She put a hand to her throat. ‘Aargh,’ she croaked.
Both young men were on their feet. Joachim seized Sophie by the arm. ‘Get Nell,’ he shot at Bertrand and pulling Sophie’s arm round his shoulders he half-walked, half-dragged her towards the back door, which was close by.
‘Open it, you,’ he panted.
The rabbit-toothed waiter darted to obey.
They barely made it outside before Sophie began to retch. Joachim pulled out his handkerchief and was turning to look for some water when something struck him on the back of his head. He saw a mighty flash of red and then nothing more.
About the Author
Beth Elliott
Beth Elliott loves speaking different languages and traveling to out of the way places. A Welsh mother and a Lancashire father mean she has a complicated mix of imagination and practical common sense. After a teaching career in several countries, she settled in the Thames Valley. Settled, that is, except when the traveling bug takes her. An excuse for this is that she has published a number of travel articles, and of course, she can use the settings for her novels.
Her Regency Tales are
stories of intrigue, adventure and romance, with a few real people in among the
cast of characters who find themselves caught up in events that rather upset
their normal lives. She hasn’t yet put Napoleon himself in a story, but he’s on
the waiting list. On the principle of ladies first, especially in the Regency
era, Lady Hester Stanhope played a small but vital role in ‘Scandalous Lady.’
From her own experience of life in Turkey, Beth likes to add a
touch of exotic to some of her stories. But adventure and romance can – and do
– occur just as easily in London, Bath or Brighton as in Constantinople.
For more information, visit her at the following links.
