Random Acts of Kindness - Barbara Baker

 

It happened while I was camping at Peter Lougheed Provincial Park in Alberta. Tucked away in Kananaskis Country, the park’s wilderness area only has cellphone reception at the secluded Park’s Visitor Centre. To log into their WiFi when the office is closed, you need to stand at the entrance door, stick your tongue out the side of your mouth and hold your phone in the air. Chances of a strong signal are better when few people are around.

 

I know, I’m in the wilderness - why do I need reception? Well, with an elderly dad, I check in every evening to make sure he’s okay.

Before supper, I drive down to the visitor centre. The parking lot is empty. Great. I’ll be able to send and receive the text and get back to the campsite in record time.

Leaning against the locked door, I see three bars on my phone. Perfect. I send my text, wait a few minutes, receive the message … all is well. I tuck my phone in my pocket and walk back to my car. Just as I reach the edge of the sidewalk a noisy, rusty car screeches to a stop in front of me. I glance around. Where the heck did they come from? And why so fast?

The front passenger window rolls down and a gal with piercings in her lip and nostril shouts, “Get in the car.”

I check around. No one. Anywhere. I bend down to talk to her but keep my distance from the open window. The driver (maybe the mom) waves a cigarette in one hand while the other hand wrestles to grab the collar of a barking, giant mutt who’s trying to jump into the front seats.

“Seriously, get in the car,” the gal with the piercings shouts again.

I shake my head slowly. I’m not rude but I’m also not the kind of person to jump into a stranger's car just because they tell me to. The driver yells at the dog to sit. The dog sits but continues to bark.

“There’s a bear.” The gal points towards my car. “He’s big.”

 

My eyes follow her pointing finger. Sure enough, a bear walks by my car and towards us. To hell with caution, I grab the back passenger door handle and ask, “Will he bite?”

“Of course not.” Her arm pushes the dog over.

I get into the backseat, close the door and press against it. The dog stops barking and stares at me. Would being chased by a bear be less intimidating? The dog leans over. And licks my cheek. Okay, that is better than dealing with a bear. 

The driver points out the window and says, “Is that your car?”

“Yup.” It sure didn’t seem that far away when I parked it.

Their car moves towards mine while we watch the bear watch us. As we get closer it saunters towards the edge of the pavement. The driver parks so my exit door is beside my driver door. I pull out my fob, unlock the door and glance at the bear.

“Thank you so much.” I pat their shoulders and give the dog a good scratch. “You saved my ass.”

“Okay. He’s moving away,” the driver says. “Go.”

I open the door, careful not to scratch my car, and take a big breath. One. Two. Three. I shut their door (a bit too hard), take the two steps to mine, jump in and slam my door (equally hard). The bear looks up and tips his head side to side.

The gal with the piercings rolls down her window, smiles and waves. I wave back and they drive away.

I look up through my car’s sunroof and whisper, “Thank you.”

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

Cornish Pasty - A Meal For The Miners by A.M.Westerling

Cornish Pasty – A Meal For The Miners by A.M.Westerling

Love Regency romance? Find this one at your favourite online bookstore here: https://books2read.com/The-Countess-Lucky-Charm

"A.M Westerling's "The Countess' Lucky Charm" is a keeper. Combine "Pygmalian" (with a happily-ever-ending), throw in a smidgeon of "Oliver Twist," add a healthy dose of love and passion, a trek through the Canadian wilderness and a host of finely drawn secondary characters, and you'll find a terrific read." Kathy Fischer-Brown

***

Okay, enough shameless self promotion. *silly grin* Today I’m sharing a classic British recipe that originated in Cornwall, the setting for my current project, a Regency romance titled Sophie. It’s Book 1 of The Ladies of Harrington House series. My hero Lord Bryce Langdon eats a pasty one day while having lunch in an inn in Truro.

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 and recipe found here:

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

Ingredients

For the pastry

·         500g/1lb 1oz strong bread flour

·         120g/4oz vegetable shortening or suet

·         1 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

·         salt and freshly ground black pepper

·         knob of butter or margarine

Method

1.    Tip 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.

***

Now that you’ve made your pasties, munch on one while you’re reading the next scene from Sophie. The previous excerpts can be found in order in my posts from August 25, September 25, October 25 and November 25. Enjoy!

The nerve of Leah, fumed Sophie, sitting beside Lord Langdon despite the impropriety of it all. Mama would doubtless have a few choice words later - she didn’t believe in airing the family dirty laundry in public and for that Leah should be grateful.

Lady Harrington clapped her hands. “Sophie, Catherine, you may begin.”

Conscious of Bryce’s eyes on her every move, Sophie glided over to stand beside the pianoforte. She cleared her throat and picked up the sheaf of lyrics, fidgeting with it while she waited for Catherine to seat herself. Catherine ran her fingers up and down the keys a few times then nodded to Sophie before playing a few bars.

Sophie began to sing:

“Alas my love you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously, For I have loved you well and long, Delighting in your company.”

She finally dared to look at Bryce in time to see Leah drop her fan at his feet. Sophie almost choked at her sister’s blatant ploy but he appeared not to notice Leah’s fan on the floor beside him. Sophie started the chorus:

“Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my Lady Greensleeves?”

She risked another glance at Bryce. He’d picked up the fan and held it in his hand. Obviously uncomfortable, he offered it to Leah, who batted her eye lashes at him. At the sight of the brazen deed, Sophie’s voice cracked on the opening notes of the next verse, drawing a shake of the head from Mama. She composed herself and managed to finish the verse.

Again she looked over to her sister and their guest of honour and repeated the chorus. During this Leah held a handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed at them, as if moved by the music. From time to time she peeped sideways to Bryce and when he appeared not to notice, dropped her handkerchief on his lap.

The little minx. Annoyed and more than a little irritated, Sophie mispronounced a word, drawing a horrified look from Mama. Look at Leah, Sophie wanted to scream, not at me. She managed to draw a quick breath and began the third verse:

“I have been ready at your hand, To grant whatever you would crave, I have both wagered life and land, Your love and goodwill for to have.”

Sophie mused on the last phrase while she began the chorus. Is that why Leah’s actions irritated her so? That Sophie wished for Bryce’s love and goodwill? No, she corrected herself. Not love but certainly goodwill and his favorable regard although why that should be so important to her didn’t make sense.

She sang the next few bars and looked over in time to see Leah make google eyes at Bryce. Would the brat never stop her wanton actions? Sophie missed a high note on a passage in the chorus she’d mastered many times before. Catherine glanced over and shook her head. Papa merely smiled, that indulgent twist of his lips that he used only with his daughters.

Sophie soldiered on. Next when she looked over, Leah tapped Bryce on the knee with her fan and leaned in close to him. Sophie almost choked then started on the wrong verse, drawing a hiss from Catherine. “Sophie, what is the matter with you? Pay attention.”

Lady Blackmore coughed into her elbow; Lord Blackmore stifled a smile. Surely they must find Sophie’s performance lacking. Or had they spied Leah’s shenanigans? Sophie could only hope that they realized the problem lay with Leah, not Sophie. With that, she sucked in a huge breath and with a nod to Catherine began the proper verse. She ignored Leah and their new neighbour and sang instead to the vicar and his wife. That worked and why hadn’t she thought of that earlier, she scolded herself.

Mercifully the song came to an end. She placed the sheets of paper back on the stand and inclined her head at the smattering of applause. “I do thank you,” she said, “but it’s Catherine who is the musical one, not I.”

“We’ll take a small break to refresh ourselves and then Leah shall read her poetry,” said Lady Harrington. Her mother gave her a speculative look then turned towards the Blackmores.

Disappointment at her performance of the piece bubbled through Sophie. She’d wanted to impress Langdon, not make an utter fool of herself. She needed a beverage to wet her throat and wash away her frustration with her recital and she sidled to the decanters of wine. Bryce joined her and she clutched the edge of the table for a moment to steady her nerves.

 “I much preferred your show this afternoon.” He glanced down to her satin slippers. His meaning was clear – he referred to the sight of her unshod feet on the beach. A warm flush crept over her cheeks and she glanced about to see if anyone heard. Everyone else was engaged in conversation except for Leah, who gave her a glowering look. Her sister stood and looked as if she meant to come over but thought better of it and sat down again.

Sophie peeped up at Bryce through her lashes. If Leah could play the coquette without drawing notice, so could she. “Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you find my vocal skills lacking?”

Things I've Learned About Cornwall, England by A.M.Westerling

My Regency Romance Her Proper Scoundrel is available from your favourite online store HERE. 

If you’ve read my first scene of Sophie, Book 1 of the Ladies of Harrington House series, you’ll know it takes place on a secluded beach somewhere on the English coast. (see my post of Aug. 8 here on the BWL Authors blog spot.) I had to come up with a reason why Lord Bryce Langdon appeared on the beach the same time as Sophie. So I thought why not have Langdon involved with local smugglers?

Therefore when I chose the setting for the book, I needed a location conducive to smugglers and Cornwall came to mind. Its rocky cliffs, secluded beaches and large stretches of uninhabited land, coupled with few revenue men to patrol it made it the ideal location for illicit deliveries. 

Smuggling became rampant during the 17^th and 18^th centuries when excise taxes and customs duties made every day goods prohibitively expensive for the ordinary citizen. These taxes were levied by a succession of governments trying to pay for wars on the continent. Items smuggled included brandy, tea, gin, rum and tobacco. At one point, the tax on tea was nearly 70% of its initial cost! Some experts believe duty had not been paid on 80% of all the tea consumed in the country. Other sources estimate that 500,00 gallons of brandy per year smuggled into Cornwall. 

Initially smuggling was done in the open but after 1800, the numbers of revenue men increased so tunnels and passages were hacked out of the rock to facilitate stealthy movement of the goods. (The following picture of smugglers on a beach is from the smuggling.co.uk website as listed later on in this blog)

Wrecking was another pastime of the citizens of Cornwall. Wreckers would light lanterns and place them on the rocks, luring ships to their doom. Then all they had to do was salvage the cargo once it floated to shore. 

Mining was the other mainstay of the local economy and tin and copper mines flourished across the region. With the advent of the steam engine, water could be pumped from the mine shafts allowing for greater recovery of the ore. Cornish pasties (rhymes with nasty, not paste-y) became popular as a tidy meal for miners. The pastry shell served as a container for the filling, usually a mixture of beef, potatoes, turnips and onions – easy to carry and no clean up required. 

It’s only recently that I’ve learned Cornwall has benefited from a surge in popularity due to the series Poldark. Interested in learning more? Here are a couple of good websites to check out:

www.smuggling.co.uk/history.html

https://www.cornwall-calling.co.uk/smugglers.htm

***

Today’s excerpt from Sophie is the 3^rd scene. (The 2^nd scene is included with my blog post of Sept. 25 and as I’ve already mentioned the 1^st scene is from Aug. 8):

Bryce’s curiosity had gotten the better of him after he’d left the beach and he’d guided his gelding Quincy to a vantage point to watch unobserved. He waited for Sophie to appear and it wasn’t long before she clambered over the lip of the escarpment. Without any hesitation, she led her mare to a nearby fallen log and, hitching her skirts, climbed quite handily into the saddle. With the flash of trim ankles and shapely calves, he realized she rode a regular saddle, not a side saddle. Although not unheard of, it certainly confirmed his impression that Sophie was no silly miss. She sat her mare very well indeed and after tucking her skirts around her legs, set a brisk pace if the hair streaming behind her was any indication. Someone who sat her mount that well would be magnificent to watch during the hunt. His gaze remained fastened on her until she disappeared behind a distant copse. He turned his horse for home.

 Home. Briar Manor. He’d only been there a week and the house didn’t actually feel like a home yet, more like a series of vacant rooms. Furnishing a house wasn’t exactly his forte and he wasn’t sure how to tackle it so for now, the house sat mostly empty.

When he reached the manor, he tied up Quincy at the hitching post.

“Robert?” He shouted for his groom. It seemed like an extravagant expense to hire a man for only one animal but when it came to horseflesh, Bryce knew very little. He could ride and that was about it. He justified the expense by considering it a contribution to the local economy. Besides the man came highly recommended by the former owner of the property and soon Bryce hoped to add a matched pair and a curricle to his stable.

“Aye?” The man poked his head out the stable door. “Just mucking out Quincy’s stall.”

“See to it he gets an extra ration of oats.”

Robert nodded. “Rode ‘im hard, did ye?”

Bryce didn’t answer but lifted his hand and strode off.

Once he reached his library, he tore off his jacket and tossed it on the only chair he owned, a brocade wing back chair he’d found in the attic of his father’s house and claimed as his own. Along with two matching cushions came memories of his late mother. It had been her favourite chair and if he closed his eyes, he could imagine her fragrance and the warmth of her arms around him. He swallowed hard and shook his head. Hard to believe ten years had passed since her death.

He ambled to one of the empty shelves which he’d set up as a temporary sideboard and poured himself a cognac – courtesy of smugglers, no doubt – before returning to the chair and collapsing into it. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, inhaling the aroma before taking a swallow. He really must find someone to help him set up his library. Crates of his books, both for work and pleasure, lined the wall behind him.

Plus he needed some sort of butler. Next time he rode into Truro he would make inquiries. With any luck he could find a local and not have to hare off to London to find a suitable man. He’d kept the housekeeper/cook who came with the house – again recommended by the previous owner – and so far, he hadn’t been disappointed. If nothing else, Mrs. Moore’s roast beef and Yorkshire puddings were enough to keep her.

But enough of the banalities of setting up a new home in a new town. He raised the glass to his lips and sucked in a long draught. Finding an attractive young woman on the beach below Briar Manor had been a pleasant surprise.

But also an unwelcome one.

He’d chosen his new home for its proximity to the sea. Cornwall was famous for its hidden coves, ideal for hiding from unwanted attention. The beach below Briar Manor must remain deserted if he had any hope of landing boats there undetected. Prying eyes would ruin everything although perhaps he could overlook a certain pair of clear green eyes.

What was he thinking? He shook his head. He knew very well what he was thinking - when Sophie had taken out her hair pins, he ached to run his fingers through her glorious chestnut curls. The breath caught in his throat when he glimpsed her trim ankles and perfect toes and he had to stop himself from racing across the beach to scoop her in his arms. As if that wasn’t enough, when they’d conversed, he realized she had a head on her shoulders to match her pretty face. He admired her wit and lack of artifice. So much so, he looked forward to seeing her again.

Very much.

Let Me Entertain You by A.M.Westerling

Available at your favourite online store HERE.

I’m new to this blog so perhaps let me tell you a bit about myself. I write historical romance as A.M. Westerling and my friends know me as Astrid. I live in Calgary, Canada and am a huge fan of the Calgary Stampeders and Calgary Flames because yes, I’m a homer. 😊 (I love pro sports because to me, that IS reality television and I have been known to spend a Sunday or two watching NFL football as well…😉) Hmm, what else, I’m married and have two wonderful sons, two delightful daughters in law plus Tilly (left) and Arlow, my grand dogs to show for it. 

I’m a chemical engineer by education and worked in Alberta’s oil and gas industry but now I’ve left that and can do the things I really enjoy – like researching and writing my books. I love my garden and I absolutely adore camping off the grid. I like yoga and I like my spin class and I love a good British detective series. A girl of simple tastes, really.

I’ve published 5 books with BWL Publishing, the first was my Regency romance "The Countess' Lucky Charm" which is the book I'm spotlighting here today. Now I’ve snagged a spot on the BWL Publishing Authors blog so it seems I’ve hit the big times! It’s not my first foray into blogging, I did participate in the BWL Publishing Canadian Historical Brides blog spot. Here’s the link if you want to see what I’ve been up to there:


bwlcanadianhistoricalbrides.blogspot.com/




I don’t write serious novels and I certainly don’t claim to have written the Great Canadian Novel. What I write is romance, pure and simple. Boy Meets Girl then Boy and Girl must overcome obstacles to get their Happily Ever After. Throw in a little history and there you have it - escapism from the realities of every day life and that’s what I call entertainment.


Now I’ll share a little secret with you. On August 8 of this year, I guest blogged here and submitted a Regency short story that I’d written a number of years ago. Much to my surprise, my publisher emailed me a couple of hours later and told me she’d loved the story and could I possibly turn it into a three book series? She even came up with the series title – The Ladies of Harrington House. Well, could I?! Of course I could! 


The opening scene in the book is the Aug. 8 blog spot so you might want to nip back there and take a read. Today’s excerpt is the second scene of Sophie, Book 1 of The Ladies of Harrington House:

Sophie handed the reins to Hobbs, the head groom. He tipped his cap, revealing a thatch of red hair matching the freckles scattered across his cheeks, before fishing in his pocket for a carrot. He handed it to her.  “Looks as if you’ve given Dancer a bit of a ride,” he said.

She held out the carrot and the mare’s lips rippled across her palm before snagging the treat. “It was a beautiful day for it and I’m afraid time ran away from me.” That wasn’t really the truth. Her encounter with Bryce Langdon had left her feeling unsettled and she’d tried to ride away the feeling. She stroked Dancer’s nose. “You’ll give her a good rub down?”

“Of course,” he replied. “And I should warn you, your mother’s been searching for you and is in quite a state. Sent one of the footmen out here to see if you’d returned yet.”

Sophie groaned. She’d really hoped to make it to the sanctuary of her room to change before catching her mother’s notice. The entire household was in an uproar over tonight’s dinner party. Lady Harrington’s evenings were always a success and invitations to them were highly sought after. That success didn’t come without a price – Mama ran herself ragged organizing to the tiniest detail. Every last bit of silver must be polished, every last candle in the sconces must be replenished and Harrington House dusted and polished from top to bottom. Her mood wasn’t always the best at these times and the family had learned to stay out of her way. “Thank you, I shall pay heed.” She patted Dancer one last time before waving at Hobbs and turning away.

She darted across the cobblestones that paved the courtyard between the stables and the house and slipped into the kitchen door. As expected, pandemonium reigned in the kitchen and Sophie knew better than to interrupt. Mrs. Winston, the cook. The woman, red faced and perspiring, tossed her a distracted glance then focused again on what looked to be buttered apple tarts.

No sooner had Sophie stepped into the hall than she heard her sister Leah’s voice. They were three – Sophie, the eldest at twenty, Leah, two years younger and Catherine, two years younger again.

“You’re in for it,” Leah said, waggling her finger at Sophie. “Mama’s been looking for you for the past hour.”

Sophie rolled her eyes skyward. As usual, Leah was her impeccable self, not a hair out of place and her peach colored muslin frock freshly pressed and tidy.

Not like Sophie. Despite her attempts to re-pin her hair, most of it hung loose down her back and the sea water had left damp stains on the skirts of her riding habit. She bunched them forward so her sister wouldn’t notice. “We all know how she ties herself in knots when she’s entertaining.”

“Particularly this evening as we are to welcome our new neighbor, Lord Langdon.”

Whom I’ve already met, she thought and a frisson of excitement tickled her scalp when she remember the admiring look in his dark eyes. “Yes, I know,” she said aloud.

“What do you suppose he’s like?” Louise’s face grew dreamy. “He’s said to be ever so handsome and he’s unmarried. Do you suppose he’ll fancy one of us?”

Sophie snorted. “Don’t expect Papa to agree to us marrying anyone at this time. You know he’s said we’re to wait until we’re twenty-one.”

“I don’t know why,” Leah pouted. “Abigail Penner had her season at eighteen and is already engaged to be married while we are stuck here in Cornwall.”

Where I much prefer to be. “It’s not so terrible. There are shops and tea rooms and a theatre close by in Truro.”

Leah gave her an incredulous look. “You? What do you know of the shops?”

Sophie made a wry grimace. She fooled no one, visiting the shops was not her favourite form of pleasure. She much preferred outdoor past times such as riding or archery. If she must be indoors, then she filled her time with reading or sketching. Needlework made her head ache and her fingers were like sausages on the pianoforte that graced the sitting room. “I’ve heard tell that some of the establishments are as fine as any that can be found in London.”

Leah frowned and gave Sophie a push. “You’d best find Mama.” Her grey eyes were earnest. “Or she’ll have your head.”

Sophie nodded and headed towards the staircase leading to the upper floors. With any luck she could shed her riding habit and its telltale stains.

Halfway up the staircase, Catherine flashed past her heading downstairs, blonde curls bouncing with every step. “Where have you been?” she threw over her shoulder as she reached the bottom. “Mama’s in a state and nothing will do but she must speak with you.” She didn’t wait for Sophie to respond but darted into the library.

To hide, Sophie could only presume, and she picked up her pace. Mama must really be annoyed with her this time if both Leah and Catherine issued warnings. She reached the first landing and had her hand on the railing of the stairs leading to her room on the next level when Lady Evelyn Harrington’s voice rang through the air.

“Sophie.” 

Mama’s annoyed tone couldn’t be ignored. Drat. Sophie’s heart sank and she cast a longing glance up the stairs. She’d not make her escape after all. She turned and spied her mother advancing on her like a square-rigged frigate. Plump and petite, her stature belied an iron will. A few wrinkles haloed her blue eyes and a few grey hairs shadowed her blonde hair but she was still attractive and Papa adored her. She still looked much as she had when their family portrait was painted soon after Catherine’s arrival. It hung over the staircase with other Harringtons past.

“I’d ask where you’ve been for most of the afternoon but I see you’ve been wading.” Her mouth tightened and she pointed to the hem of Sophie’s skirts. “I can only assume your boots are also wet because I can’t imagine a daughter of mine being so foolish as to splash about barefoot where others might see you. And please don’t tell me you went down to the beach. It’s not safe with all the smugglers sullying our coast.”

Sophie clasped her hands at her waist. “No Mama, I didn’t go to the beach. I was hot so I dipped my toes in the creek behind the mill.” Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks and she hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt over the fib. Thankfully she said nothing about Sophie riding out without a groom to accompany her so Hobbs must have kept that to himself.

Lady Harrington sniffed. “More than your toes, I’d say. But never mind that for now.” She smoothed an imaginary stray hair. “The Earl and Countess of Blackmore will be joining us this evening, as well as Vicar Sinclair and his wife and of course Lord Langdon. I have in mind a small entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” Sophie dug her fingers into her palms. Please no, not the pianoforte. Despite hours at the keyboard, the fugue by Bach she’d been working on for weeks resembled the screeches of a tom cat rather than anything musical.

Her mother smiled. “I’m not deaf, I’m not expecting you to play. I had thought Catherine could accompany you while you sing. Your voice is more than passable.”

“Sing?” For Lord Langdon? How could she look him in the face after their encounter this afternoon?

“Yes, sing. I suggest “Greensleeves”. It’s a lovely piece and your sister has mastered it admirably.”

“Sing Greensleeves?”

“You’ll find the music on the bench. If you’d been home sooner, you’d have had more time to practice.”

“But -.”

Her mother raised a manicured finger. “There will be no excuses from you. I intend to make a good impression on our guests, particularly our new neighbour. I understand he is a barrister of some note.”

“I see.” A barrister. A man who earned his living. That explained his comment that he was no drawing room fop. A small burst of admiration flushed her cheeks anew. Most men she knew, including her father, contented themselves with overseeing the management of their estates. But perhaps Langdon didn’t have an estate before purchasing the neighboring property. That would explain his foray into law and if he were as successful as her mother implied, he’d done well for himself to become a landowner.

“Besides,” continued her mother, “it’s a good opportunity to practice the entertainment we shall offer once we are in London for your coming out this Season. We shall host evenings where you will sing, Catherine shall play and Leah will read her poetry.”

“I don’t want to come out in London. I’m quite happy here in Cornwall.”

“Nonsense. How are we to find you a suitable husband otherwise?”

“I don’t fancy being paraded about like a prize thoroughbred and given away to the highest bidder.” Sophie tried to keep the petulance from her voice but failed miserably judging by the frown on her mother’s face.

“Paraded? Given away? It won’t be like that at all. We’ll find a suitable young man and soon enough you’ll be inclined to accept his attentions, you’ll see. Perhaps someone like Viscount Weston.” She slanted a glance at Sophie. “His parents are ever so charming and you could do far worse.”

I doubt that very much, she thought. Giles Weston might be considered a catch and she might be able to overlook his pimpled face and yellowed teeth however once she’d seen him whip his horse until the animal bled. That cruel streak she could not overlook. Nonetheless arguing with Mama would lead nowhere. Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it. Sophie bit her lip. Best to say nothing.

Lady Evelyn stood on tiptoe and kissed Sophie’s cheek. “Do wear your lilac frock this evening. It brings out your eyes.”

“As you wish.” Well, at least that was one thing they could agree on. Until now, she’d not had the opportunity to wear her newest frock. She loved the white silk embroidered flowers along the hem and indeed, the lavender shade made her green eyes a deeper hue. 

Her mother sailed off, leaving a rose scented breeze behind her and a befuddled Sophie clutching the carved oak railing of the stairs. Not only was she to reacquaint herself with Lord Bryce Langdon this evening, she must sing for the man. How was she to do that without bursting into giggles of embarrassment?

By making sure she sang as well as she possibly could. After she changed, she’d search out Catherine so the two could practice as Mama had suggested.