Bluebells by Rosemary Morris

To learn more about Rosemary and her books please click the image above.

Bluebells

Blessed with a vivid imagination, at the back of my mind I have an idea for a garden which plays a prominent part in a novel so I’ve been jotting down ideas. Like me, my heroine will rejoice when spring arrives, and she welcomes the blaze of colour from crocus, daffodils and narcissi. This month I welcome bluebells, enchanting flowers that bloom in gardens and beneath canopies of woodland trees.

As a child I buried my face in bunches of these fragrant flowers which I gave to my mother. Arranged in vases their bewitching scent seemed to cast a spell.  I remember picking bluebells which filled a room with bewitching perfume when my mother arranged them in a vase.one of many names for bluebells is ‘fairy flower’.

‘Fairy flowers’ are one of many nicknames for bluebells. In my fertile imagination I visualise them imagine their sweet perfume casting a spell over people walking in woodland. Folk law claims a carpet of bluebells in full flower indicates a magical place where fairies live. If I close my eyes, in my mind’s eyes I can see a delightful picture of a bluebell flower fairy.

According to legend, fairies are reputed to cast spells on the flowers left to dry if they are disturbed. Long ago children were told that if they picked bluebells they would be spirited away, and adults would be fated to wander forever in the woods. If an unlucky person heard the fairies ring bluebells when they gathered, he or she would soon die. A reason to nick name the flowers ‘dead men’s bells’.

Bluebells are toxic to those ancient myths discouraged people from touching them.  About half of the world’s bluebells grow in the U.K, and usually inhabit four-hundred years or more woodland. Not only do we look admiringly at them they attract bees, butterflies, and hoverflies. .

 

For the Love of Chocolate by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE

 

If you read Regency romance, you will probably be familiar with the hot chocolate our heroines enjoy. We still like our hot chocolate today, whether flavored or topped with whipped cream or both. Opening a can of cocoa powder or an individual serving sachet is so much easier for us to make than it was for the Regency maid or cook. Ours is practically instant, and theirs took a good thirty minutes of work to produce a cup of silky rich hot chocolate. But from where did this fascination of ours for chocolate in all its guises come?

Anybody who likes chocolate in any form is probably familiar with the term 'food of the gods,' which reverts to chocolate's Aztec and Mayan origins when only the rich and powerful drank it. Cocoa comes

Cocoa pod and beans

from the beans, or seeds, of the cocoa tree pod. The beans could be given as a wedding gift or used as currency to buy a pig or a slave or used in official and religious ceremonies. An illustration in the Codex Tudela shows the traditional method of creating the froth the drink was famed for by pouring the liquid from one cup to another with a considerable gap between them. When the Spaniards arrived, they couldn't quite get the hang of this method, so they invented the molinillo, a type of whisk still used today.

Cocoa beans were first imported from Mexico to Seville by the conquistador Hernán Cortés in 1585. By the 17th Century, chocolate was a popular drink in France. In England, the first chocolate house was opened by a Frenchman in the Queen's Head Alley near Bishopsgate in London in 1657. Chocolate houses were the then equivalent of our coffee shops today and were a club of sorts for wealthy and elite all-male clients. White's Club, the haunt of gentlemen of the ton in many a Regency tale, was originally a chocolate house. Opened in 1693 by an Italian, Francesco Bianco, alias Frances White, the house was described by Jonathan Swift as 'the bane of the English nobility.' Such was chocolate houses' reputation for being hotbeds of gossip amongst social climbers and ambitious politicians that Charles II tried to ban them in 1675.

Ladies, of course, could not step foot in such establishments, so they drank their hot chocolate in the comfort of their own home. Not such a comfortable job, though, for the staff who had to prepare these drinks. Purchased in hard blocks about four inches wide and one or two inches thick and packed in a linen bag, in this form, chocolate would keep for about a year.

First, the chocolate was grated into a powder and placed in a pan with milk or water, maybe with a little wine or brandy in it, or even a flavoring of cinnamon, nutmeg, or flowered waters like orange blossom or rose. Then the pan was put on the stove, and the contents were brought to the boil. Constant stirring prevented the mixture from scorching. When it had boiled, the pan was removed from the heat. The contents were then whisked to blend the mixture with a chocolate mill, known in France as a molinet, and in Spain as a molinilla. Eggs, sugar, and thickening agents such as flour, corn starch or sometimes bread were then added to the pan. The cook would spin the chocolate mill between her hands, like rubbing two sticks to start a fire, further mixing the ingredients. Once that was done, the pot was put back on the heat and again brought to the boil, being stirred all the time by the cook, who must have had a strong arm. A little cream might be added, and then another good whisking would be required to produce the essential froth without which hot chocolate was not considered fit to be served.

Nothing but the best silver or porcelain would do for this beverage to be served from for the upper classes. Chocolate pots were tall and slim and often had an elegant swan-necked spout. They might even have a finial of polished wood or ivory on top of the lid. Some had a hole in which the handle of the whisk

Trembleuse

 could be inserted so the chocolate mixture could be spun again to produce that all-important froth before pouring. Chocolate cups often had a holder in the centre of the saucer and were known as a trembleuse in France and a mancerina in Spain. When the habit of drinking hot chocolate spread to the rest of society, pots were made of sturdier materials such as pewter and pottery.

The history of chocolate is as deep and rich as the end product. Dark chocolate is reputed to have excellent qualities, from improving blood flow and lowering blood pressure to being rich in antioxidants. It can improve your mood and improve brain function. Amongst its nutritional qualities, it contains Vitamins A, C, D, B-6, and calcium, magnesium and potassium. In fact, in ratios per 100 grams, chocolate is richer in potassium than a banana. There is so much more to this marvelous treat that it should be a food group on its own. So, from the food of the gods to being feared by some religious bodies as exotic and decadent, to whether you like large or small marshmallows in your hot chocolate, we enjoy it in all its forms.

Victoria Chatham

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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.

 

 

 

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?”

Twelfth Night by Rosemary Morris

To find out more about Rosemary's work click on the cover above.

Twelfth Night

In England, Christians observe Epiphany 12 days after Christmas on January 6th to celebrate the Three Wise Men aka the Three Kings who visited Jesus. On this night, in many countries it is traditional to add their figures to the nativity scene.
In fact, since childhood, one of my favourite Christmas carols has been We Three Kings of Orient are. I imagined the bright star, the lands they travelled through, the joy of visiting the holy infant and their gifts. I am still in awe when the first verse and refrain is sung.

We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts, we traverse afarGift of the Magi
Field and fountain
Moor and mountain
Following yonder star.

Oh, star of wonder, star of might
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading
Still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light.

Apart from making a wish for the New Year there are many customs associated with Twelfth Night. In my classical Regency Romance, Wednesday’s Child
In my novel, Wednesday’s Child, Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week, Book Four, I described customs observed during the Regency era.

“In the morning, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed. A quarter to seven. Twelfth night. Amelia glanced at the hearth. When would a fire be lit? To avoid misfortune throughout the following year the countess had ordered servants to sweep the ashes from all the hearths and remove the greenery which decorated the house.
Before dinner, which all the children would attend, they would play games such as Hunt the Slipper. Earlier in the day, Cassie declared, her dimpled face all smiles, ‘I hope the bean will be in my slice of plum cake. If it is, I will be crowned Lord of Misrule and everyone will obey me.”
The child’s mention of the ancient custom amused Amelia; but heaven help the m if Cassie were crowned. God alone knew which orders the little imp would give. Yet when the countess mentioned bad luck a shiver ran down Amelia’s spine.
Tears gathered in her eyes. On this day, on Twelfth Night Grandmamma always called read from the Bible. Afterwards they exchanged gifts in memory of those wise men who travelled afar to worship the King of Kings and give Him gold, frankincense and myrrh.”

Now, many people remove Christmas decorations, including the tree, on Twelfth Night, a custom which originated from the belief that failure to do so would result in bad luck during the following year, Then, at the stroke of midnight the chances are that the New Year will be ushered in by singing Auld Lang Syne. The song is considered to refer to reunion and reconciliation, which encourages us to think about the past and present and move forward together.


Classic Historical Fiction by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels

False Pretences.

Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Books One to Six, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child, Thursday’s Child, and Friday’s Child. (The novels in the series are not dependent on each other, although events in previous novels are referred to and characters reappear.) Saturday’s Child will be published in July. 2020.

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

https;//bwlpublishing.net/authors/rosemary-morris-rosemary-historical-uk/

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.