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 17th and 18th 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:
***
Today’s excerpt from Sophie is
the 3rd scene. (The 2nd scene is included with my blog
post of Sept. 25 and as I’ve already mentioned the 1st 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.
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