A (very!) Brief History of Mining in Cornwall by A.M.Westerling

 Cornwall is known for its wild, craggy shorelines, its history of smuggling, as the location of Daphne du Maruier’s Jamaica Inn and of course Cornish pasties. It’s also known for its landscape which is rich in metallic mineral deposits, particularly tin and copper. In Catherine’s Passion, Book 3 of The Ladies of Harrington House, the hero is in the process of reviving an old tin mine that had flooded. Therefore this blog post will focus on tin mining although copper mining also played a great role in Cornwall’s history.

Mining activity in Cornwall dates back to the Bronze age, where tin was taken out of river valleys or by open cast mining. It was obviously a valuable commodity for there is evidence of trade between Cornwall and northern Europe and the eastern Mediterranean. It was also of great value to Britain as Cornwall (and Devon) were the only local sources of tin.

By medieval times, Cornish tinners were renowned. Because of the valuable resource they provided, they were subject to special taxes, with unique privileges granted by Royal Charter. Cornish stannaries, or the areas where tin was mined, had their own laws and own parliament.  These stannaries were organized to manage the collection of tin coinage, which was the duty payable on the tin mined in that particular area. In my story, the tin ore will be sent to Truro, one of Cornwall’s ‘stannary’ towns. Locally mined tin (and copper) was brought there twice a year for assaying and stamping before shipment. Tinners had special rights, even to the extent of ignoring some of the laws of the land.

As the surface resources faded, tinners dug deeper to follow the lodes. The tin lodes were found in near vertical sheets in the rock. Hard rock mining and draining water from shafts produced skills and machinery that eventually were exported around the world. For example, Cornishman Richard Trevithick invented the Cornish high pressure steam engine, using them to pump water from the mines, lift ore to the surface and crush ore. Once numbering around 3000, Cornish beam engine houses are truly iconic landmarks. (This book about Richard Trevithick and his inventions is available on Amazon.)

Around 25 percent of the Cornish population worked in mines, from the mineral lords and investors to working families. Even the women were involved as bal maidens (bal is Cornish for mine) working “at grass” (above ground), crushing ore into fragments by hammer on anvil with only big hats called gooks to protect them from bad weather and rock debris. The men worked underground in hot dusty tunnels, running the constant risks of drowning, rock falls, and explosions.

The courage and skills of Cornish hard rock miners provided many a miner with a good living abroad, from the California Gold Rush to Australia, South Africa and beyond. A local who made this journey became known in Cornwall as a Cousin Jack. One theory that these men were called Cousin Jack is because they were always asking for a job for their cousin “Jack” back home. Another theory is that it’s because miners always used to greet each other by cousin and Jack was the most popular name in Cornwall at that time.

It's always an interesting challenge as a writer to include historical detail into works of fiction. I find any research I do always gives me story ideas! Read about Julian Fitzgerald and his tin mine in Catherine's Passion, coming soon from BWL Publishing. 😀

 

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You can find all my books on the BWL Publishing website HERE.

Cornish Pasty - A Meal for the Miners by A.M. Westerling

 Today I’m sharing a classic British recipe that originated in Cornwall, the setting for my Regency romance series entitled The Ladies of Harrington House. I'm currently working on the third book Catherine's Passion and the hero in it, Lord Julian Fitzgerald, is reopening a tin mine. It’s thought the pasty originated as a convenient meal for Cornish miners who were unable to return to the surface at lunch time. Their hands would be dirty but the pasty could be held easily by the crust and provided a hearty meal.

Picture from the Spruce Eats website

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 Recipe found here:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/classic_cornish_pasty_67037

 

Ingredients

For the pastry

·         5  500g/1lb 1oz strong bread flour

·          120g/4oz vegetable shortening or suet

·         11 tsp salt

·         25g/1oz margarine or butter

·         175ml/6fl oz cold water

·         1 free-range egg, beaten with a little salt (for glazing)

For the filling

·         350g/12oz good-quality beef skirt, rump steak or braising steak

·         350g/12oz waxy potatoes

·         200g/7oz swede/turnip

·         175g/6oz onions

·         ssalt and freshly ground black pepper

·         knob of butter or margarine

 

Method

1.    TTip the flour into the bowl and add the shortening, a pinch of salt, the margarine or butter and all of the water.

2.    Use a spoon to gently combine the ingredients. Then use your hands to crush everything together, bringing the ingredients together as a fairly dry dough.

3.    Turn out the dough onto a clean work surface (there’s no need to put flour or oil onto the surface because it’s a tight rather than sticky dough).

4.    Knead the dough to combine the ingredients properly. Use the heel of your hand to stretch the dough. Roll it back up into a ball, then turn it, stretch and roll it up again. Repeat this process for about 5-6 minutes. The dough will start to become smooth as the shortening breaks down. If the dough feels grainy, keep working it until it’s smooth and glossy. Don’t be afraid to be rough – you’ll need to use lots of pressure and work the dough vigorously to get the best results.

5.    When the dough is smooth, wrap it in cling film and put it in the fridge to rest for 30–60 minutes.

6.    While the dough is resting, peel and cut the potato, swede and onion into cubes about 1cm/½in square. Cut the beef into similar sized chunks. Put all four ingredients into a bowl and mix. Season well with salt and some freshly ground black pepper, then put the filling to one side until the dough is ready.

7.    Lightly grease a baking tray with margarine (or butter) and line with baking or silicone paper (not greaseproof).

8.    Preheat the oven to 170C (150C fan assisted)/325F/Gas 3.

9.    Once the dough has had time to relax, take it out of the fridge. The margarine or butter will have chilled, giving you a tight dough. Divide the dough into four equal-sized pieces. Shape each piece into a ball and use a rolling pin to roll each ball into a disc roughly 25cm/10in wide (roughly the same size as a dinner plate).

10. Spoon a quarter of the filling onto each disc. Spread the filling on one half of the disc, leaving the other half clear. Put a knob of butter or margarine on top of the filling.

11. Carefully fold the pastry over, join the edges and push with your fingers to seal. Crimp the edge to make sure the filling is held inside – either by using a fork, or by making small twists along the sealed edge. Traditionally Cornish pasties have around 20 crimps. When you’ve crimped along the edge, fold the end corners underneath.

12.  Put the pasties onto the baking tray and brush the top of each pasty with the egg and salt mixture. Bake on the middle shelf of the oven for about 45 minutes or until the pasties are golden-brown. If your pasties aren't browning, increase the oven temperature by 10C/25F for the last 10 minutes of cooking time.

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Now that you’ve made your pasties, munch on one while you’re reading the first two books in the series, Sophie's Choice and Leah's Surrender, available on the BWL Publishing website HERE.

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Thoughts on Writing a Series by A.M.Westerling

 The Ladies of Harrington House is the first series I’ve tackled as I usually write single title, stand alone stories. My process remained the same - before I start writing a book, I spend some time researching the time period. The Ladies is a Regency era series, a period I’m familiar with so I didn’t need to do much research. The series originally consisted of three novels however an opportunity arose to write a Christmas novella so I turned that into the prequel. For all the books, I spent a few days getting to know my characters and coming up with plot lines.

I usually keep a letter size file folder for every book I write. In it are my character arcs, notes to myself, daily writing progress and print outs of material I’ve found online that I think are worthwhile to have in hard copy, particularly if it’s something I can use for other books ie names, Regency slang, Regency clothing, types of carriages, etc.

However, in the case of The Ladies of Harrington House, I put together a series bible in a three-ring binder as I needed to keep track of details throughout all the books as of course the characters appear throughout the series.

I have separate sections for Sophie, Leah, Catherine and Evelyn, plus sections that are pertinent to all four such as a description of Harrington House and its servants and a description of the fictional town of Trewater. At the front I have a map of Cornwall marked with the location of the Harrington lands. 

A close up of the character tabs - in case you're wondering, Evelyn is included in the Characters section - I suppose I could add a tab for her but I know where to find her so it works.

Peaking out from the back (above) are the pertinent research print outs of Cornish history, covering such things as mining, smuggling and fishing in the area.

As I write, I jot down notes for each character in their appropriate section to make sure I’m consistent with their appearance and to keep the names straight. This is particularly important the deeper into the series I go.

I’m more of a pantser but I always have certain scenes that I know I will be including. In Sophie’s Choice, it’s the scene in the library where Sophie finds incriminating papers on Bryce. In Leah’s Surrender, it’s the shipwreck scene. I’ve just started Catherine’s Passion and already I know I will be including a scene where a mining disaster will involve the hero, Julian. For Evelyn’s Christmas Beau, the prequel, it’s the final scene under the mistletoe.

Over the years I’ve learned not to spend too much time plotting because invariably my characters run the show. When that happens, I know I’m on the right track!

It’s the first time I had to write a series blurb and this is what I came up with:

The Ladies of Harrington House is an exciting new series from BWL Publishing that is set in Regency era Cornwall. Three sisters, three stories: Sophie Harrington, the independent minded one determined to choose her own husband. However, has she lost her heart to the wrong man? Leah Harrington, the prim and proper miss. She survives a shipwreck but can she survive heartbreak? And Catherine Harrington, the quiet musician. Will her passion for the keyboard lead to passion in a man’s arms?

The first two books are already available HERE. 

 

Evelyn's Christmas Beau will be available in October of this year and Catherine's Passion is coming in January 2022. 

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My First Novel was Too Long by Diane Scott Lewis

When I decided to write a novel as an adult (I'd written many stories as a child) there was no internet, no easy access to information. I plunged ahead, (secretly, at work) writing on and on, with little thought to plot, structure, and novel length. I had no idea publishers and agents were so picky about the length of a novel. I'd seen and read huge tomes in the library, Gone with he Wind, for one. Why couldn't I write a 200,000 word epic?

Escape the Revolution

Add in all that stellar research to make my historical saga real, the word count increased. When I read a few How-To books on novel writing, imagine my shock. I had to cut it down, or cut it in two.

I even entered a contest and the judges were impressed but told me a twenty page synopsis was far too long. My story was too 'busy'. I had a lot of editing to do.

I read books on style and structure, took workshops, and attended Writers Conferences. I rode the subway in Washington, D.C. to research my time period (eighteenth century, French Revolution in England) at the Library of Congress. A writer's paradise, all those books!

Jefferson Reading Room, Library of Congress

I submitted to agents, editors, and small presses: no one wanted this huge epic. One offered to read it over if I could cut it down to 70,000 words.

I learned to tighten my writing, delete characters (painful), move the action along, cut out unnecessary words, structure scenes: they all need a beginning and end, no rambling. And I made my story into two books. There was the perfect break. My heroine leaves England to find her mother in America, but her past will follow.

Hostage to the Revolution

Thus, my two novels on the adventures of a displaced countess, running from revolutionaries in 1790, into the arms of a man who may have murdered his wife. Cornish taverns, evil rogues, a neglected child, a man of mystery, and a determined young woman who strives to remake her life.

To purchase my novels, and my other BWL books: BWL

Find out more about me and my novels on my website: Dianescottlewis

Diane Scott Lewis lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty puppy.

The Vikings in Cornwall by A.M.Westerling

 Find A Heart Enslaved at your favourite online store HERE.

I thought if I wanted to highlight my Viking romance while promoting Sophie’s Choice, Book One of my Regency series, The Ladies of Harrington House set in Cornwall, England, I had better find a link between the two. And sure enough I found it.

Although we tend to think of Cornwall as being in the far west, 1000 years ago Vikings traveling down the Irish Sea considered Cornwall a central gathering point. From here ships sailed to the south of England or across the English Channel to Frankia. They raided often for example attacking the monastery at Padstow in 980 and in 997 sailing up the Tamar river to attack the abbey at Tavistock. 

Photo of the Tamar River By Tony Atkin, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12499850

However, they also traded as actively in the area as they did in the Loire and the Seine valleys. The Orkney sagas indicate that the Vikings used the Isles of Scilly just off the Cornish coast as a base. Lundy, the island in the Bristol Channel, is an Old Norse word for Puffin Island which also proves the Viking route.

There’s not a lot of archaeological evidence of the Vikings in Cornwall – a few sculptures with Scandinavian art motifs such as the cross at Cardinham in East Cornwall on the edge of Bodmin Moor which is similar to works from the Viking age in northern England. Common in Cornwall are “hogback” stone sculptures thought to be grave markers. They’re not found in Scandinavia and are believed to have been invented by Viking settlers in England. They have a pronounced ridge and look like a small stone long house like Lanivet near Bodmin. They may have been the work of itinerant sculptors and it’s a strong possibility the patrons may have been Scandinavian settlers. (Below is a cast of a 10th C hogback stone from Govan Old Parish Church in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery and Museum in Glascow.)

However, people searching in the West Country over the past few years are discovering increasing numbers of metal objects from the period such as Viking dress-fittings, lead weights, coins and silver ingots. Also all manner of gear for horses which strikes me as odd because I mostly associate Vikings with long ships!

Later during Viking times Cornwall was allowed to continue as an independent nation as long as they paid danegeld to the Kings of Denmark. If you're interested in learning more about the Vikings in Cornwall, you might like to check out the following websites:uth-wst were not immune from the atD,

https://www.cornwalllife.co.uk/out-about/places/the-return-of-the-vikings-1-1631755

www.theconversation.com/viking-invaders-struck-deep-into-the-west-of-england-and-may-have-stuck-around-57598

https://www.thevintagenews.com/2017/01/25/hogbacks-stone-carved-viking-monuments-generally-accepted-as-grave-markers/

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If you've been following my blog posts on the 25th of every month, you know I've been including excerpts from Sophie's Choice, coming in April. Here's the next one!

 “Oh, I assure you, Lady Sophie, I find none of your skills lacking. You ride admirably well, your voice is lovely and it’s obvious you’re not one to kowtow to society’s rules.” The scamp. Again he referred to their unexpected meeting earlier today.

“By your comments, you demonstrate you are not one to follow proper etiquette,” she sniffed.

He chuckled and poured himself another glass of wine. “What is proper etiquette far from the madding crowd? We comport ourselves as we see fit for the occasion, do we not?”

“Far from the madding crowd? Do you favour the works of Thomas Gray?” She cocked her head and dared look at him full on. So much for being the coquette. Why should that comment surprise her? As a barrister, he would be a man of letters.

He blinked, whether from surprise at her question or her bold stare she didn’t know. “You’re familiar with his poem, “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard?””

“Why does that astonish you?” She finally let go of the table and reached for the wine.

“May I?” He leaned past her and snagged a glass for her. He pointed towards the red wine and at her nod, poured.

She caught the fruity aroma as he handed her the wine and her head spun. Since when did the fragrance wine affect her? When Lord Bryce Langdon handed it to her, that’s when.

“You haven’t answered me,” he said. “About the poem.”

“I do enjoy reading a well written poem,” she began. “Because I enjoy time well spent in my father’s library with a good book of poetry. Shakespeare for one, although that may not be considered pure poetry. Lord Byron. Percy Shelley.”

“Since when do you enjoy poetry?” Leah interrupted. She’d made her way over to stand on the other side of Bryce at the table. “You never comment favorably on what I write.” Her sister flicked open her fan and gazed at him above the lacy edge.

Sophie ground her teeth at the blatant adoration in her sister’s eyes. “I dare say there’s a fair discrepancy between what Gray and Byron write and what you consider poetry.”

“We shall let Lord Langdon be the judge, then, shall we not? It’s almost time for me to read aloud my work and we shall ask.” She fluttered her eye lashes at Bryce, who appeared not to notice.

If Leah batted her eye lashes one more time, Sophie thought, she would bat her sister right out of the room. She’d not stoop to arguing with her in front of Bryce Langdon, though. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her sister and glared. Her sister had the grace to blush; she looked away. Good. Maybe the minx finally realized her behaviour was totally beyond the pale.

“Which I most assuredly look forward to,” said Langdon. A smile hovered over his lips and he clamped his mouth as if to ward it off. “If you ladies shall excuse me, I’ll return to my seat.” He bowed and walked away.

“Really, Leah, must you be so forward? Mama will be having fits over your actions tonight.” Sophie shook her head.

“You’re jealous because he favours me. Did you see the look on his face when I mentioned I wrote poetry? Nothing but admiration.” Leah flounced off.

Lady Harrington stood and raised a hand. “Attention all, shall we continue with our program?” At the murmurs of assent, she waved Leah over to the music stand by the pianoforte, who flipped through the sheaf of papers on the stand.

“My poem is not here,” she said. “I left it here earlier.” She glowered at Sophie. “What have you done with it?”

“Oh my, you must search again. It was there when I finished my piece,” Sophie insisted.

“Lord Langdon, perhaps you could help me search?” Leah cast a beseeching look towards him.

Bryce frowned and he rubbed his hand along his jaw, uncomfortable with the request.

“Come Leah, there’s no need to bother our guest,” said Lady Harrington. “Sophie, perhaps you misplaced it.”

I did not. Leah is playing another one of her tricks. “Let me look.” Someone snickered. Bryce, perhaps? Sophie hoped not. She could smack Leah for her antics this evening, how childish he must find the two of them. At least Catherine had retired to a chair by the window and kept out of it. She watched the proceedings with an innocent look on her face, no doubt enjoying the spectacle being put on by Leah.

Sophie made her way to the stand. “It’s here, you ninnywit,” she whispered to Leah, pulling the sheets of poetry from beneath the music. Sophie raised her voice. “No harm, it’s here. Leah must have missed it in her fluster to read for our company.”

She turned to find a seat; Bryce gestured to the chair beside him, the one on which Leah had sat. Turnabout is fair play, she thought. She glanced at Leah. Her sister’s eyes popped from her head and she looked about to have a fit. Watch me, thought Sophie, watch how a lady comports herself for a gentleman. Although earlier today, he’d implied otherwise and perhaps he had a point seeing as how he had found her bare foot and bare headed. Nonetheless, this evening she would conduct herself beyond reproach and worthy of mention in the pages of WHAT. Bryce rose and offered his hand. She lowered her gaze, placed one hand in his, collected her skirts with the other and sat down.

“Have I mentioned how delightful you look this evening?” When she shot him a glance, he quirked a dark eyebrow.

“I thought you preferred my attire of this afternoon.”

He chuckled at her sharp rejoinder. “Ah, but there’s nothing more lovely than a lady in her evening dress. But yes, you looked delightful earlier. I daresay there’s not a moment you don’t look utterly delightful.”

She flushed at the compliment and looked away. “You are too kind.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hands on his thighs. Firm hands, manicured, a bit tanned. He didn’t spend all his time inside ensconced with his books then. She flapped open her fan and peeked at him from behind the safety of the printed silk. She sat up straight, folded her fan, and put her hands in her lap. This is how a proper lady sat.

She hoped he noticed.

So conscious of his presence was she, she heard none of Leah’s poetry. Not that it mattered, she’d heard those three particular poems many times before. Leah tried but her poetry tended to be quite insipid.

Instead, she could only hear the man beside her – the sough of his breath, slow and steady. The occasional creak of his chair as he shifted position. The tap of his boot on the parquet floor. He leaned down to brush something off his pantaloon and she lifted her nose to catch his scent, a whiff of leather and citrus. So crisp, so masculine, so – enticing.

Leah finished her recitation and Lady Harrington stood, waiting for the applause to die down before saying anything. “Thank you, Leah, that was utterly charming. Now, if all of you could follow me, supper is served. Leah, you and Catherine shall pair.”

“Oh,” Leah pouted. “I had thought to ask Lord Langdon his opinion on my poetry.” She threw a pleading look towards Bryce that made Sophie want to vomit.

“That is quite enough, Leah,” said Lady Harrington. She looked at Bryce. “I must apologize for my daughter’s outspoken ways.”

“If I may, I found the reading most agreeable,” said their guest, oozing politeness. “Lady Leah is indeed a young lady of talent.” Leah preened herself at Bryce’s words and darted a victorious glance in Sophie’s direction. She made a move towards Langdon but one glance from her mother convinced her otherwise and with a shake of the head, she linked her arm with Catherine’s.

Despite Leah’s best attempts and to Sophie’s delight, she found herself paired with Bryce.

“Do you enjoy yourself?” Sophie managed to whisper as they made their way to the dining room. “You must find us bumpkins.”

“Not at all,” he murmured. “I am flattered to find myself considered a prize worth pursuing.” This time a smile spread fully across his lips, brightening his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat.

So, he had noticed Leah’s behaviour because Leah evidently considered him worth pursuing. However, had he noticed Sophie sitting beside him? Had he been as aware of her as she had been of him?

“I would think many have thought of you as a prize?” A prying question, to be sure and she astonished herself with her boldness. “I must ask, what game do you think we play, sir, that you are the end reward?”

“A game of your choosing.” He inclined his head. “As far as the spoils going to the victor, I suppose some may think me a good catch but it seems to me the attraction must go both ways for any union to be successful. Do you agree?”

Oh my, now who asked the bold question? She looked up at him and his eyes were on her, intent on her answer.

“Why yes. One need only look to my parents to see the proof of that.”

He handed her off and maneuvered past the chairs to his place at the far end of the table. Just as well they didn’t sit together, she was sure she couldn’t eat a bite if he were beside or directly across from her.

But almost every time she looked up, his eyes were on her. And if they weren’t, within a second or two they were, as if he could feel her gaze.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves and excitement at his perusal. It didn’t help her appetite but it helped with her self confidence. He gazed at her.

Not Leah.

Her.

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?