The Viking Village of Ribe by A.M.Westerling

My Viking romance A Heart Enslaved is available at your favourite online store HERE.

 *****

A number of years ago, my husband and I were touring Denmark about the time I was thinking of writing a Viking romance. Wouldn’t you know it, but during our travels we came across the Viking village of Ribe, a living museum situated in the south west corner of the Jutland peninsula. We spent a lovely afternoon wandering around the village. It was market day so stalls were set up with merchants selling their wares, including traditional clothing and beautiful woven cloth. 

Traditional crafts were on display as well and I absolutely adored the falcon. 

We wandered around the buildings, clumping along the wooden sidewalks and admiring the gardens surrounded by fences made with woven branches. 

We said goodbye to the three statues guarding the entrance and had one last look of the village as we walked away.

And so ends our little tour of Ribe. I highly recommend visiting this museum if you're ever in Denmark and interested in glimpsing Viking history.

*****

All my books are available through BWL Publishing, HERE. Happy reading! 

Delightful Dahlias by A.M.Westerling

 

Sophie's Choice, Book 1 of my Regency Romance series, The Ladies of Harrington House, is available from BWL Publishing HERE.

Every author has their preferred method of finding inspiration. If I'm stuck on a plot point or need inspiration, I'll go for a walk or do a bit of research. However, in the spring and summer months, I like to spend time in my garden. That's my patio right outside my backdoor. 

One of my favourite flowers is the dahlia and I have a number of varieties. I lift the tubers every fall and plant them again in pots indoors in early April before transplanting them outside. By mid summer the blooms have arrived and they’ll flower continuously until the first frost. After that, I lift the tubers, shake off the dirt and store them in a cool, dark place until next spring.

Dahlias are quite the interesting flower. They’re named after Swedish botanist Anders Dahl who originally classified them as a vegetable as the tubers are edible! They supposedly taste like a mix between radishes and potatoes although I can’t vouch for that. Originally from Mexico, they were introduced to Europe by Spanish settlers. Mexico’s national flower is a dahlia. Before the discovery of insulin, dahlia tubers were used to balance blood sugar because of their high fructose content. The petals were used to treat rashes, insect bites, infections and dry skin.

There are thousands of types of dahlias and they are categorized based on size, flower pattern and how they resemble other flowers. Some of the blooms can be as large as a dinner plate! Oddly, there are no blue dahlias although they come in every other colour. In the 19^th century, a London newspaper offered a reward of one pound to anyone who could breed a blue dahlia but the prize has never been claimed. I've had the orange pink tipped dahlia pictured above for at least 5 years. 

It was Queen Victoria’s favourite bloom and used in Victorian era wedding bouquets as a symbol of commitment and an everlasting union. They also symbolize elegance, creativity and inner strength. During the Regency era, they were included in wedding bouquets only if they were locally grown, tucked in amongst other flowers such as roses, peonies, sweet peas, scabious, lilies and delphinium. Queen Victoria is not the only one with a fondness for dahlias. Bees stop by constantly! 

The most surprising fact I discovered about dahlias while doing my research for this blog post is that the tubers are edible. I wonder who discovered that?!

 Find all my books on the BWL Publishing website HERE.

 

 

 

The Ship's Captain - Master of a Wooden World by A.M.Westerling

Sophie's Choice, Book 1 of The Ladies of Harrington House is available at all your favorite online stores HERE.

*****

I tend to write a lot about sailing ships, captains and sea voyages. I don’t know why other than I do love the ocean and I think it has something to do with living in a landlocked city. Plus life at sea during the Regency era strikes me as being quite romantic although I’m sure the reality is that it was anything but what with cramped quarters run over with cockroaches and rats, insect infested food and brackish water!

Right now I’m working on Leah’s Surrender. Leah is Sophie's sister and my hero is Heath Trevelyan, a captain in the British Royal Navy during the French and English wars at the turn of the 19^th century. At that time, the British Navy was the largest and most powerful in the world and very proficient in fighting at sea. “Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves” was certainly an apt phrase.

Being a captain was a position of great social prestige. A captain could count on a good marriage as a result and once his days at sea were over, he might end his career as a justice of the peace of perhaps even a member of parliament. Navy officers were generally drawn from the “gentlemen class”, especially the titled or the wealthy although it wasn’t unknown for talented individuals from the middle class to also achieve that rank. Sons of peers achieved the rank of officer more quickly. Therefore, the Navy became the choice for younger brothers of the aristocracy such as Heath, who is a second son.

Captains were generally all-powerful and kept to themselves but to attract a competent crew, along with good social contacts, they also needed bravery, keen wits, experience, a fair and unprejudiced mind and of course, luck.

You wouldn't find the captain crawling in the rigging:

The quartermaster and not the captain usually took the wheel:

If you were promoted to captain, it helped to be rich. He needed credit and money to provide the necessities such as weapons, furniture for his cabin and costly braided uniforms. As well, he needed funds to buy supplies at foreign ports and to pay for enlistment bounties. These last expenses were recovered from the Navy at the end of each voyage, but it could take years to settle the accounts. Consequently, some captains found themselves promoted into debt. However, if you were born wealthy, these financial matters didn’t impact you. Of course, a single valuable prize recovered during battle might keep any officer comfortable for the rest of his life.

At sea and as a reflection of his financial status, a captain could bring whatever he liked on board. Some cabins were opulent, full of silks, art and silver, their tables spilling over with fine foods. Crew liked serving rich captains because in an effort to improve their popularity, they would provide luxury items or extra amounts of necessities, which came out of the captain’s pocket.  

Once an officer became a captain, the size of the ship determined his promotion up the ranks as well as his level of pay. His date of commission established his eventual promotion to admiral. Only his death could prevent him reaching the status of rear admiral unless he managed to get dismissed from the Navy either by manipulating the books or blatant dereliction of duty.

So all in all, things are looking promising for Captain Heath Trevelyan and Lady Leah Harrington. You can read their story in Leah’s Surrender, Book 2 of my Regency series, The Ladies of Harrington House, coming soon from BWL Publishing!

Ten Top Ways to Know You've Had a Good Day Writing by A.M.Westerling

We’ve all had those days where we’ve sat down at the keyboard and – nothing. Writer’s block has dug in its nasty claws and no matter how hard we try to get something going, we sit staring uselessly at a vacant screen until admitting defeat and getting up to do laundry. I recently had such a bout with my current work in progress, Leah’s Surrender, Book Two of The Ladies of Harrington House series. Turns out my heroine, Lady Leah Harrington did not have a goal of her own. It’s pretty hard to write an engaging story about a spirited heroine when all the other characters push her around! 


However, what about those other days? The ones where we sit down and the word magic takes over and we become lost in the zone? That’s what happened to me with Sophie’s Choice. Sophie had her story to tell and the words literally flew from my fingers. It’s the fastest I’ve ever written a book – just over four months. (You can find Sophie's Choice at your favourite online store HERE.)

Okay, other than the obvious – words on the page – what are the other ways we can tell we’ve had a good day writing?  With a nod and a wink to David Letterman, the ten top ways to know you’ve had a good day writing are:

10.       You go for a walk at 3 in the afternoon and realize you haven’t combed your hair yet.  And then realize it’s windy and no one can see it, anyway.

9.         You emerge from your cave and your husband, after taking one look at your blank      face,  says, “Hon, instead of you cooking, why don’t we go out for dinner?”

8.         Your written world has become more real than this one for a moment or two and        when someone asks, “What did you do today?” , you can honestly say “I was on a                 Royal Navy frigate on the Atlantic Ocean that was on the verge of sinking during a                 winter storm.” Spoiler alert – yes, that is a scene in Leah’s Surrender.

7.         You take a break from writing for a minute and discover a 5 star review on Amazon    for your latest release. (Thank you Theresa for the awesome review of Sophie’s                     Choice!)

6.         Your publisher emails with words of encouragement while you’re working on a            difficult scene, leaving you with the fire in your belly to prove her right for signing                   you and darn it, you will conquer that scene. And you do.

5.         Your husband knocks on the office door and asks, “Honey, are you still alive?”

4.         You’re writing on a legal tablet in the bath, the water’s turned cold and your                significant other knocks on the door to ask if you’ve drowned.

3.         Your dog puts a guilt trip on you and you realize that it’s gone 6:00 p.m. and you’re    still in your pj’s and slippers with a half full cup of cold coffee.

2.         Your kids call you from their cell phone and say, “Mom, can you stop writing for a        minute and pick us up? We’re the last ones here.”


And the number one way to know you’ve had a good day writing?

1.           You type the words “The End” on your current work in progress!



All my books are available through BWL Publishing HERE.

Canadian Authors Past and Present by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey--British Columbia

http://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

Canadian Authors Past and Present

Canada celebrated its 150^th anniversary in 2017. To commemorate the occasion my publisher, Books We Love, Ltd (BWL) brought out the Canadian Historical Brides Series during 2017 and 2018. There are twelve books, one about each province, one about the Yukon, and one combining the Northwest Territories and Nunavut. Each book was written by a BWL Canadian author or co-authored by a Canadian and an international BWL author.

Each province and territory of Canada has spawned many well-known authors and my series of posts this year will be about them-one or two from the past and one or two from the present, the present-day ones being the authors of the Brides book for the corresponding province or territory. The posts are in the order that the books were published.

British Columbia

Stephen Reid was born in Massey Ontario (ON) on March 13, 1950. He is the author of two books but his main claim to fame is that he belonged to Canada’s notorious Stopwatch Gang of bank robbers. The gang which also included Lionel Wright and Patrick Michael "Paddy" Mitchell who was the leader, was given its name because of the stopwatch Reid carried during the robberies. The gang was also known for their politeness to their victims and their non-violent methods.

     During the 1970s and 1980s the three men stole an estimated $15 million from more than 140 banks, gas stations, and shops across Canada and the United States. With the help of an inside man they robbed the Ottawa, ON, airport of $750,000 in gold in 1974. They were arrested but by 1979 they had all escaped from prison.

     Stephen Reid was arrested in Arizona in 1980 and returned to Canada where he began serving a twenty-one year sentence at the Kent institution in Agassiz, B.C. He started writing in 1984 and sent his manuscript to Susan Musgrave who, though her home was on Haidi Gwaii off the coast of the B.C. mainland, was the writer-in-residence at the University of Waterloo at the time. They developed a relationship and were married at the prison in 1986. Reid’s first book, Jackrabbit Patrol was published that year.

     When Stephen was released on full parole in 1987 the couple lived in Sidney, B.C. where he taught creative writing at Camosun College. He also worked as a youth counsellor in the Northwest Territories. Unfortunately, he became addicted to heroin and cocaine and returned to his old ways, robbing a bank in Victoria in June 1999. This time he was sentenced to eighteen years in prison. In 2007, a National Film Board of Canada produced a documentary film titled Inside Time about Stephen Reid’s life. His second book, A Crowbar in the Buddhist Garden: Writing from Prison, was published in 2012. It is a number of essays about his life in prison and he won the Victoria Butler Book Prize for it in 2013. Reid was granted full parole in 2014. He lived on Haidi Gwaii with his wife, Susan, until June 12, 2018 when he died from pulmonary edema and third degree heart block.

Note: Patrick Mitchell wrote his autobiography titled, This Bank Robber's Life, while he was in prison. He died of lung cancer on January 14, 2007 and his manuscript was published posthumously in 2015.

Lionel Wright, was nicknamed ‘The Ghost’ because he had the ability to blend into a crowd and disappear. He was released from prison in 1994 and his whereabouts are unknown.

Emily Carr was born on December 13, 1871, in Victoria, B.C. She was the second youngest of nine children and she and her siblings were raised by parents who kept the English customs they had been used to in England. Their home had high ceilings, decorative mouldings, and there was a parlour. Sunday mornings were for prayers, and there were evening Bible readings. Emily’s mother died in 1886 and her father in 1888.

     Emily’s father had encouraged her in her artistic pursuits but it wasn’t until two years after his death that she enrolled at the San Francisco Art Institute. She returned to Victoria in 1892 and over the next twenty years she alternated between travelling to aboriginal villages in British Columbia to sketch and paint their lifestyle and going to England and France to study art. During that time she took a job teaching at the Ladies Art Club in Vancouver but the students didn’t like her because she smoked in class and cursed them. She left after a month.

     She continued to paint and even opened a gallery in Vancouver. However, it was not a success so 1913, she once again moved to Victoria. For the next fifteen years Emily ran a boarding house called the House of all Sorts. She continued to do a little painting and over time her work was recognized by influential members of the art world and she put on an exhibit at Canada’s National Gallery. She is best known for her paintings on Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest and later in life her modernist and post-impressionist styles.

     Emily Carr suffered heart attacks in 1937 and 1939. She had a serious stroke in 1940 and another heart attack in 1942. These left her unable to paint so she concentrating on her writing. Her first book Klee Wyck was published in 1941 and she won the Governor-General Award for non-fiction for the book. The Book of Small came out in 1942 and The House of all Sorts, named after her boarding house which provided material for the book, was published in 1944.

     Emily Carr died from a heart attack On March 2, 1945. She had three books published posthumously: Growing Pains (1946); Pause, The Heart of a Peacock (1953); and Hundreds and Thousands (1966).

     As an author, Emily Carr was one of the earliest story tellers of life in the province of British Columbia.

Book 4 of the Canadian Historical Brides Series:  Barkerville Beginnings (British Columbia) - A.M. Westerling) - June 2017

A.M. Westerling grew up in a small Alberta town. She loved to read and when she was in her teens, her mother introduced her to romance novels, then her father got her reading historical romance novels. Historical novels are still her favourite today. She graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Chemical Engineering, from the University of Calgary, married and worked in the oil industry. She tried writing but when she and her husband had two children and began an engineering business in Calgary she set that aside.

     After selling the business years later, A.M. began her full-time writing career, concentrating on action-adventure, historical romance. Her aim is to take her readers away from their every-day lives and transport them into a different time. Her first two novels, A Countess’ Lucky Charm and Her Proper Scoundrel both came out in 2012. Since then she has had three more books published with Books We Love, Ltd.

     Besides writing, she enjoys gardening, camping, yoga, going for walks, and watching sports, especially her hometown Calgary Stampeders and Calgary Flames. She belongs to the Romance Writers of America, and is active in the Calgary chapter of the RWA.

     As she says: “History is romantic. To combine history with a love story is my ultimate joy and, I hope, yours as well.”

http://www.bookswelove.com/canadian-historical-brides-collection/

http://www.bookswelove.com/romance-authors/westerling-

http://www.amwesterling.com/index.html

Christmas Chuckles by A.M.Westerling

If you’re reading this post on the 25th it means you’ve found a few minutes to yourself to put your feet up and take a small break from the busyness of the day. I’ll be taking it easy and recovering today as we have our Christmas meal and gift opening on Christmas Eve. I’m hosting the family this year so we’ll have twelve around the table. On the menu? Turkey with stuffing, pork loin roast, red cabbage, carrots with chives, festive mushrooms, potatoes and gravy, followed by rice pudding and cherry sauce. The rice pudding is a Danish tradition – if you find the whole almond in your pudding, you win the prized marzipan pig! One year both my daughters in law won. That's my brother, disappointed he was oh so close...

I thought I might share a few of my favourite Christmas chuckles and if you follow my FB fan page, you know I’m a sucker for a good pun. On that note, I’ll sign off. I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and all the best in 2020!



Just a comment on the first one – you might have to be a certain age to appreciate it. As a young girl, I remember my father sitting with the string of lights in his lap, unscrewing each bulb and checking them out on his volt meter.

And I absolutely love this one (not sure what it says about my sense of humour...!):

Cornwall Continued by A.M.Westerling

Haha, I know, a medieval knight hasn't got much to do with 1805 Cornwall but I love this eye catching cover! You can find it at your favourite online store HERE.

In my blog post last month, I talked a bit about Cornwall and the large part smuggling played in its history. Research is actually one of the reasons why I enjoy writing historical romance as much as I do. It’s always interesting to see what curious bits I can find and in today’s post I thought I’d share a few of the anecdotes that caught my fancy.


Once smuggled goods were dropped off on shore, the contraband made its way to inns and hostelries such as Jamaica Inn on Bodmin Moor. This inn is the inspiration for Daphne Du Maurier’s novel which now is on my to be read list. Then there’s the quick-witted landlady who hid a keg of spirits beneath her skirts during an unexpected search by the revenue men. Hmm, I don't think I'd have the nerve to do that. And it’s rumoured some villages had so much illegal gin the villages washed their windows with it! Why not, glass cleaner contains alcohol although not of the drinking variety. *wink*



Finally, signals were needed so smugglers knew when it was safe to land their cargo on shore. A local farmer used a white horse – if the men saw a white horse parading up and down the coast, they knew it was safe to land. If there was danger, the farmer would simply ride his horse home.


Of course there are many other examples but I have a Grey Cup party to go to this afternoon so am keeping this post short. Haha, yes, I am a master of procrastination…😊


I’m finishing off with the next excerpt from Sophie, Book 1 of The Ladies of Harrington House series coming soon. This is scene number four. Enjoy!

Bryce cantered up the gravel drive to Harrington House, flanked by manicured holly shrubs interspersed periodically with the silvery white trunks of birch trees. He rounded a final curve and came upon the building in all its three-story brick and stone glory. The pediment above the front door held a coat of arms and the carving on the solid oak door depicted a stag with multipronged antlers. In short, the country estate of a silk stocking family. He didn’t have much of a chance to examine the workmanship before the door swung open on well oiled hinges.

“Good evening.” The butler bowed. “You must be Lord Langdon. Welcome. I am Montgomery.” He held out one arm. “May I take your coat and hat?”

“Thank you.” Bryce handed over his gloves and beaver hat. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the opposite wall. Polished black boots, black pantaloons, white shirt, striped grey, black and red waistcoat with a grey jacket. Simple yet well tailored and in the latest fashion. He hoped to make a good impression on his guests for not only did he want acceptance by the local ton, he wanted their confidence.

He adjusted his white silk necktie then glanced around at the comfortable yet elegant front hall. Harrington House showed pride of ownership. The planked oak floors gleamed, the oriental carpets lay perfectly, the candles in their wall sconces cast an inviting glow as did the massive brass candelabra on the marble topped table. A row of portraits, Harringtons past presumably, looked down their noses at him. The most recent portrait showed a young couple with two small dark-haired girls and a toddler. Yes, that must be Sophie and her family. Even at the age of the girls as shown in the portrait – five, perhaps six? – he recognized her dazzling green eyes and shade of hair. The pretty little girl had grown into a beautiful young woman.

Montgomery returned. “This way if you please.”

The butler showed him into a sitting room dominated by a pianoforte in the corner. “Lord Langdon,” he announced before bowing and backing out.

“Welcome to Harrington House. I am Lady Evelyn Harrington.” An attractive blonde woman in her forties rose and made her way to him. She carried herself with the grace and assurance of one who knew her place and knew it very well.

He bowed. “Lord Bryce Langdon.” He glanced about the room – a settee, several groups of arm chairs – but no sign of glossy chestnut curls. Had Sophie been mistaken, that they were to meet this evening? He stifled the disappointment and kept his expression bland.

“My husband, Oliver Harrington.” A middle aged man with brown streaked grey at the temples lifted his hand.

She gestured to a well dressed, elderly couple seated on a bench by the windows. “Lord and Lady Blackmore.”

“Please, not so formal,” said the man. “Call me Simon.”

“And I am Priscilla,” twittered his wife. The woman, resplendent in pearls and an outmoded dress of royal blue satin, lifted her pearl studded lorgnette and regarded him intently.

Bryce had the uncomfortable sensation she studied him for nefarious purposes. As if she searched for something from him and found him lacking. Thankfully, another couple entered the room just then and he turned away.

“Ah, Vicar, Mrs. Sinclair, welcome.” Lady Evelyn waved them over. “This is our new neighbour, Lord Bryce Langdon.”

“Well met, my boy.”

My boy? Bryce stifled a grin. The vicar, a tall balding man with a bearing as upright as his convictions, didn’t appear to be much older than Bryce.

Mrs. Sinclair curtsied. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She stood almost as tall as the vicar and with her severe black frock, sharp features and prominent nose, reminded Bryce of a crow.

“Of course you know the Earl of Blackmore and his wife?”

Both the vicar and his wife nodded. “Indeed we do.” The vicar cleared his throat.

“Indeed,” squeaked his wife, dropping another curtsy in the vague direction of the Blackmores.

The two were obviously uncomfortable with the company they kept this evening. Bryce stepped over to strike up a conversation to put them more at ease. “How long have you served the local parish?”

The vicar cleared his throat again. “Just over a year.”

“A year.” Mrs. Sinclair fluttered a hand toward her neck then dropped it to clutch her reticule so tightly her knuckles whitened.

“Seeing as how you are relative newcomers, perhaps you could help me?”

She turned wide eyes to him. “Help you?”

“I am finding it difficult to set up my house and would welcome advice.”

“Advice?”

Bryce almost snorted with laughter at the horrified expression that crept over the woman’s face. Surely as a vicar’s wife, she would be accustomed to helping parish members in whatever capacity was required? He took pity on her. “Please, forgive my impertinence. I’m certain you have much more pressing matters in the parish to attend to than helping a newcomer settle in.”

A sigh of relief whooshed out of the woman’s thin lips. “I thank you for your understanding.”

The vicar spoke then. “If you wish, I could raise the matter this Sunday with my congregation. I’m sure someone would be pleased to oblige.”

Lady Harrington barged over. “My goodness, Vicar, there is no need. I should be delighted to visit Lord Langdon in his new home to give him my thoughts.”

“Lady Harrington considers herself something of an artiste,” remarked Lady Blackmore. “I myself have relied on her judgement. No one has a better eye for colour than she does. You must come and see my drawing room and draw your own conclusions.”

“How kind of you to say so, Priscilla.” Evelyn flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose on you like that,” protested Bryce.

“Nonsense, it’s no imposition. Are you in tomorrow afternoon?”

Despite her diminutive stature, Bryce realized no one dared argue with Evelyn Harrington. “I am and I would be delighted to receive you, say four o’clock?”

She nodded. “That’s settled then. I shall look forward to it.”

The door opened and Bryce looked towards it hopefully. A footman entered carrying two decanters of wine and crystal glasses. Damnation. Still no sign of the lovely Lady Sophie. After serving the room’s occupants, the footman left the remainder of the wine and three glasses on a side table and left.

The clatter of slippers on wooden stairs and girlish giggles drifted through the air and the door burst open to reveal Sophie and two other young ladies who could only be her sisters. His chest tightened at the sight of her in a charming lilac frock and he could scarce tear his eyes away during introductions.

“Finally, our daughters have arrived. Better late than never, I always say,” Lord Harrington said fondly. Eyes bright with pride, he pointed as he chimed off their names. “Sophie, Leah and Catherine.”

Bryce noted Sophie and Leah obviously favoured their father, both of average height and with chestnut coloured hair, while Catherine, short and blonde, took after their mother.

“Please accept our apologies for our tardiness,” murmured Sophie, dropping a graceful curtsy. Leah and Catherine followed suit. “However that is the hazard of sharing a maid,” she continued. For an instant she looked directly at Bryce; a faint flush coloured her cheeks and Bryce thought he had never seen anyone so alluring. His heart stilled briefly then began pounding.

“It wouldn’t have been a problem if Leah hadn’t insisted on trying every evening frock she owned before deciding on the very first one she put on,” interrupted Catherine, her voice grievous.

“I wasn’t the one who demanded three ribbons threaded through her hair,” Leah grumped. She stared at Bryce until Sophie thumped her in the ribs with a well placed elbow.

“Girls,” admonished their mother. “Our guests have no interest in hearing your difficulties.” She clapped her hands. “Now, we have planned a small program to entertain you while we wait for our dinner. Lord Langdon, if you please.” She pointed to the chair closest to the pianoforte.

“Bryce if you please. Lord Langdon makes me sound like my father.” With an incline of his head, he sat down.

“Very well, Bryce it is.”

Before her mother could say anything more, Leah scuttled over and dropped into the chair beside him, which elicited raised eyebrows from both her parents. Lady Harrington frowned but said nothing. Apparently her daughter’s forward action was not worthy of a rebuke. At least not in public.

The vicar and his wife settled in behind them while the earl and countess stayed where they were. The Harringtons chose the settee.

“La, sir, I am certain you will enjoy this.” Leah leaned over and tapped her fan on Bryce’s knee. Her altogether too familiar deed drew a puzzled look from Sophie. Then comprehension dawned on her face and she compressed her lips while glaring at Leah.

Bryce had the distinct feeling he was going to be the centre of a battle between the two young women. He well knew from his own sisters how nasty things could get between them if all wanted the same prize. Deuced uncomfortable situation particularly as Sophie piqued his interest, not Leah.

He ran his finger beneath his starched collar and swallowed hard. How should he comport himself in order not to insult Leah, his hosts and especially Sophie?