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?