I finally typed The End, which I almost never do, on the 174th sheet of my new Regency. Whether it is the end or not, it is printed out and needs a title.  I'm thinking of Double Trouble but don't take that as final. Here's the opening:

London, 1811

 “Confound it, Ellen! Why in the world is he talking to her?”

Phee’s voice, though low, carried the unmistakable edge of fury. A flush rose high on her cheeks, and her periwinkle eyes, ordinarily cool and composed, sparked with indignation. She stood rigid, chin lifted, the ostrich plume in her hair trembling slightly with the force of her restraint.

Only Ellen, standing close enough to catch the words, heard them. She blinked once, slowly, and followed her sister’s gaze across the crowded withdrawing room that tonight did duty as ballroom.

There, beneath the golden glow of a dozen chandeliers, stood Richard, Lord Quarrington. Tall, dark-haired, and infuriatingly at ease with his situation, he was engaged in what appeared to be a most agreeable conversation with Lady Cecilia Frosterley. The latter, all pale gold curls and artful delicacy, tilted her head just so, her gloved fingers resting lightly on the edge of her fan. Her laugh, soft and silvery, floated across the room like a bell.

“He may speak to whomever he pleases,” Ellen said mildly, though her tone carried more caution than conviction.

But Phee was already moving, her silk skirts whispering with purpose as she strode across the parquet floor. Guests parted instinctively, some with murmured greetings, others with sidelong glances. Ellen followed, her own steps quieter, more measured.

“He does not need anyone’s permission to speak to any young lady of our acquaintance,” she added, catching up.

Phee halted so abruptly that Ellen nearly collided with her. Eyes blazing, she declared, “But he knows how much I dislike her.”

Ellen opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had learned, over the years, that Phee’s tempers were best met with patience, not argument. Still, she ventured, “And Lady Cecilia knows how much you admire him.”

Phee’s breath caught and for a moment, her expression faltered, showing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the outrage. Then she drew herself up, spine straight as a sword. “That is entirely beside the point.”

“Is it?” Ellen asked gently.

Phee didn’t answer. Her gaze had returned to the far corner of the room, where Lord Quarrington now leaned in slightly, saying something that made Lady Cecilia smile. Not the demure smile expected of a debutante, but something sly, knowing. And downright possessive.

Phee’s hands clenched at her sides.

The room was stifling. The scent of beeswax and lavender hung heavy in the air, mingling with the perfume of roses and the faint tang of perspiration. Music drifted from the musicians’ gallery playing a waltz, languid and sweet but Phee heard none of it. Her world had narrowed to that corner of the room, to that smile, to the way Richard’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.

He had laughed like that with her once.

The Ellsdon Affair under way

These, at the moment, are the first paragraphs of my new novel. They may yet change or be deleted as I am still very much at work on it! (The highlighting is for me to keep check of a sub-plot as I go through the chapters. So easy to forget things, or get them out of place in the time line.) he title will undoubtedly be The Ellsdon Affair. As yet I have no cover....

The coach rolled to a stop in the small Northumberland village of Ellsdon, the door opened and Miss Rosa Brewster fell out onto the stony track. By sheer chance, her cousin Louise, impatiently awaiting her arrival, dashed forward, caught her by the arm and prevented her from pitching headlong in the dust.

“Careful!” she cried. Young enough to laugh at mishaps, they clung together, chuckling. “What were you doing?”

“Thank goodness you were waiting for me,” Rosa gasped. She held her cousin at arm’s length and scanned her fair curls and amused blue eyes with pleasure. “I’ve been so cramped the entire journey I think my foot has gone to sleep because I can’t feel a thing. Do you think we might dare a quick stroll?” She waved at the village green behind her.

Louise darted a glance at the house behind her. “Quickly then. The others will hear the coach and be out in a moment.”

With Louise to steady her, Rosa hobbled a step or two until feeling came back into her foot. “I could not wait to get here,” Rosa declared. It was the truth, but she declined to speak of the reason for such longing. Time for such disclosures once she was settled in with her cousins.  

Louise snatched an assessing glance at her companion. “We shall have such fun.” For a moment, her fair brows drew together. “We even have a little mystery I think you ought to know about. It involves Grace.”

Rosa stopped brushing dust from her gown. “Your sensible older sister? What can Grace have done to cause alarm?”

There was a heatwave that year

My gift to everyone over lockdown was to make each of my titles free for 4 days. 

I chose the order in which the books would appear by drawing straws - or the equivalent - out of a hat, and the 9th title is up as I write. If nothing else the exercise has shown me which genre is the most popular - and that is Regency romance. So far The Gybford Affair: the heiress and the fortune hunter is the clear winner but The Matfen Affair : the bridesmaid and the ghost is not far behind. 

I am keen for the end of the run, for then I will be able to look at the true statistics for all titles. I am rather surprised that the early medievals, Tudor tales and Viking stories lag behind in the popularity stakes, but they are as much romances as "histories." 

My current story is now at 50k and going fine. With a working title of Silver Season, which may or may not last the course, this one is not Regency, but Edwardian.  It is set in 1911 when the Titanic was undergoing sea trials and King George V and Queen Mary were crowned. The time period is very close to the opening season of Downton, but my story will take place within the one year. 

There was a heat wave that year, hints of coming war with Germany and a sense that the season may well be the last of its kind. My heroine is Ellen Montgomery, an American heiress born in Boston and married to Charles Byland, heir to the 5th Marquess of Durrington in the north of England. They have been happily married for three years, but with one flaw ~ there is no sign of a child and that impinges rather heavily on their happiness.

Good for him, good for me

It must be all the good weather that is making Facebook and Twitter so quiet. So many things to distract! I am watching the clay court tennis season and working hard on a new book - another Viking story set in Stornoway. So I am not putting anything much on Fb apart from a few pics I have taken recently.

The new book is layering up nicely. My plan for it was sketchy at the start but a fortnight and 13k words in and it is taking shape. If only I knew how it would end!

The weather has turned hot again, so I am walking Tim early in the morning when it is still cool. Good for him, and good for me. Makes for a longer day, and a chance to get much more done. Our garden is colouring up  with everything coming into flower. I haven't planned it, but we seem to have an early summer garden; probably comes of darting off to France in the middle of summer. After the end of July it is a case of restoring order and cutting things back after the riot of growth.

I'd like to get as much done as I can before we do go away. I'd also like to do another Mailchimp mail shot, but am wary because I have forgotten how to do it. I'm not sure it did any good anyway, but then, how would I know?

These are the opening lines of the new book:

Fritha learned to sew, cook and look after livestock before she was ten years old not because she wanted to but because she had to when her mother died birthing the youngest child. 

Maybe I shall add more in later posts. What is it famous authors do? Add lines of the day? Yes, maybe I shall do it too. If I remember, that is.

What shall I call this?

Northumberland 1544

   ‘You haven’t heard the news?’ Harry Wharton lounged against the fence post, one ankle crossed over the other and regarded Matho with mock surprise. ‘The King of France was clapping his heels so loud you could hear it from the cliffs of Dover on a windy day.’

‘There’s nowt new about siring bairns.’ Matho’s long muscles moved easily as he continued the rhythmic grooming of his horse. ‘Hereabouts folk manage it wi’ nae trouble.’

‘It’s taken Dauphin Henri and Catherine de Medici ten years. People say witchcraft is involved.’

‘Aye, a new French prince will put everything on a different footing. There’ll be new plans hatching.’ Matho hooked one arm across his horse’s back and regarded his well-born friend. ‘The Dowager Queen of Scots will marry her daughter back into France. That will send King Henry into a rage because he wants her to marry his son. Arran wanted the bairn for his own son, so he’ll be annoyed. Cardinal Beton hates the idea of being under French control, so he’ll be stamping and spitting around the Scots court.’

‘You appear to know her well, this Dowager Queen.’

Matho looked down at the brush in his hand and pulled a few tufts of hair from the bristles. ‘Aye, well. Ye tend to remember a woman when she gives orders to take yer head off next morning.’

These are the opening words of my as yet untitled sequel to Abduction of the Scots Queen.