My collaborator has finally agreed to put up a different work, and on her own blog for a change.
Illegal aliens is a departure from the comfortable world of the regency.
Category: Writing
Sunday Snippet, After the Ball.
A Formulaic Romance
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane.
The Master was introduced here. He was somewhat annoyed at the disturbance, but willing to see that his guests were properly entertained. The housekeeper, Mrs Hobbes, leads Rachel and Lucy to their rooms to prepare for dinner The carriage wright makes a cameo appearance in a previous snippet.
Last week saw the arrival of Rupert’s Uncle George and a hint at the complicated family history – a history that was not completely … harmonious.
After a peek into Rupert’s history, George makes a somewhat unusual proposition to Rachel which was continued. The rain finally scuds off to the North Sea leaving a fine day – for riding and other things. Rachel, unsure of her own feelings, arranged for her companion to use the only sidesaddle. Meanwhile Rupert and Rachel discover a shared interest in music, which leads to a proposal. George has just returned from finding a magistrate to deal with a mob. At the ball a slippery character from the past makes his first appearance. George disposes of him, for the time being, in the previous snippet.
This week Rupert explains things.
After the Ball – What George Did.
Once the ball was finally over, in the carriage home, Rachel asked, “What happened to that man?”
“Mr Oliver?” George said, “I suggested that he make an early night of it.” He smiled, “rather forcefully I might add.”
“And Rupert, my love, you said you’d known him.”
Rupert hesitated; then said, “Yes … he offered me money … to see, make a copy of what I was doing for the army. I think it was when I refused that he introduced An- that woman to Lord Biddle.”
“What were you doing, Gas … Rupert that would be worth money?”
“I guess what I did is not really secret, the secret details aren’t interesting anyway. You’ve shot with one of those scent-bottle locks George.” Rupert stretched back in his seat, ready to be expansive.
“Dashed good gun. Yes. Faster and more reliable than my Manton.”
“The Army thought so too. Started working on them in the Tower Armoury. They came within aces’ aim of levelling the place with all the fulminate they made. Guy Fawkes would have been delighted. His Majesty less so.”
Rachel and George leaned forward to hear every word. George said, “I see. So…”
“So I worked on more stable fulminating mixtures. Oxymuriate of potash, various … fillers to make it more stable. I was, ah, more than moderately successful. Had the war dragged on, it would have made a big difference. General Shrapnel’s shells with my fuses, mayhaps on rockets. Torpedoes that exploded on contact. Can’t say too much more. It would have been ‘interesting’ to say the least.”
Rachel gasped, “So he was a French agent?”
“Maybe. More likely working for the highest bidder – French, American, those damned Prussians or even the Tsar.”
“Good Lord Nephew. I never knew. Just thought you were playing around.”
Rupert laughed, “I’m not saying it wasn’t fun, but I’m glad to work on safer things.”
Lucy, who had been quiet because she was tired and had consumed more than her share of the punch, said, “I bet Lady Hayforth is too.”
It’s probably obvious that the title, “A Formulaic Romance” refers obliquely to chemistry. There’s another arcane reference in the text. Anyone caught it yet? It’s sort of, maybe, perhaps, important, given what Rupert worked on in the past. What are Spirits of Hartshorne?
Anyone who considers making sodium safe is either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. I leave that decision to the reader.
I suppose the secret is finally out. Oxymuriate of potash is potassium chlorate. An interesting and um, somewhat explosive oxidizer. Spirits of Hartshorne is Nitric acid. Nitrates, and particularly organo-metallic nitrates are … unpleasantly unstable. They tend to complain violently about shock. In 1803 a brave and in my informed opinion exceedingly foolish chemist made mercury fulminate by mixing ethanol, mercury and nitric acid. It is something of a surprise that he died a natural death.
The British army, seeing the advantages of the pill-bottle locks – namely that they almost always work, won’t set your hair on fire like a flintlock, and are generally faster and more reliable – wanted to use them on an army-wide scale. The trouble is that Dr Forsythe’s original design used mercury fulminate and at the scale an army would require is especially dangerous. The armoury at the tower was nearly destroyed before they abandoned the idea.
The percussion caps of the American civil war (or earlier – the Crimean war) were a mixture of oximurate of potassium and sulfur. It worked and was far less dangerous than mercury fulminate. The same mixture was used in strike-anywhere matches until recently. The Native Americans used matches to re-prime cartridges during their long rebellion against those nasty european immigrants (us). It used to be possible to hit matches with a hammer and get a decided bang.
Amelia reminded me to put a link to our book page.
The Art of Deception 50
The Art of Deception
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
A snippet for Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. The conversation between Roderick, Hannah, and Alice started last week continues.
“Precisely … though you did a bit more than that; I’d say you thoroughly earned your reward.”
“Her reward?”
“Her freedom, I’d left instructions with our Minister to purchase her and then send her and Thomas north; things didn’t work out so smoothly.”
Hannah said,“Y’all can say that again; you was, what was it – person not great.”
“Persona non gratia.”
Alice asked, “Why’d you have to leave?”
“Her husband left one of my burglar’s tools in the President’s House when he visited her one night; unfortunately, it was stamped ‘Sheffield’ so I had a little meeting with one Captain Lewis, personal aide to his Excellency President Jefferson.”
“They was goin’ to sell me down river,” Hannah spat out, “Out picking tobacco in the sun, like a field nigger.”
“So I really didn’t have much of a choice … Well I did, I suppose; be completely without honour or common decency.”
Hannah explained for him, “He brought his picklocks, freed us and burnt down the slave pen.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
Today’s snippet ties up a sub-plot started early in the story. Roderick was a practical emancipationist. One may ask why Thomas didn’t free his wife. The answer is that as a black man, he would have been shot or imprisoned or worse if he were caught hanging around the slave pens in the evening. Sir Roderick, of course, could simply be “inspecting the merchandise.”
Emancipation wasn’t yet in force in England. However, the movement to free the slaves was well underway at the time of this story. It wasn’t quite fully respectable, being associated with “non-conformists” who weren’t members of the Church of England. Without being preachy, I always remember that the hymn “Amazing Grace” was written by a reformed slave captain.
The idea of freeing slaves was not popular with the aristocracy. The lower left corner of the Gilray cartoon from last week shows an apish caricature of Africans signing an anti-slavery petition in the context of a gin-soaked and riotous assembly.
Still working on a cover idea – hard even though I’m a dashed good photographer (if I say so myself). That and editing the manuscript to put more description/reaction into it. (not to mention a few thousand words).
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstein’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
Like poor Cecelia, ” The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere 
This is a fun read.
Sunday Snippet, more doings at the ball.
A Formulaic Romance
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane.
The Master was introduced here. He was somewhat annoyed at the disturbance, but willing to see that his guests were properly entertained. The housekeeper, Mrs Hobbes, leads Rachel and Lucy to their rooms to prepare for dinner The carriage wright makes a cameo appearance in a previous snippet.
Last week saw the arrival of Rupert’s Uncle George and a hint at the complicated family history – a history that was not completely … harmonious.
After a peek into Rupert’s history, George makes a somewhat unusual proposition to Rachel which was continued. The rain finally scuds off to the North Sea leaving a fine day – for riding and other things. Rachel, unsure of her own feelings, arranged for her companion to use the only sidesaddle. Meanwhile Rupert and Rachel discover a shared interest in music, which leads to a proposal. George has just returned from finding a magistrate to deal with a mob. Last week while at the dance, a slippery character from the past makes his first appearance.
It won’t be his last.
An unfortunate event at a ball, ctd.
“Clearly your father didn’t tell you. It was made shortly before his unfortunate demise.”
“All I know is you helped him spend his money. Left us to rusticate on a mortgaged estate that could barely support itself.”
“I shan’t ask much for a settlement, breech of promise is such an ugly idea. Very destructive of one’s reputation, even if it is ultimately voided.”
Rupert glanced at Rachel. She was pale, barely fighting off a faint. He turned to the man and uttered “You puppy!” from his clenched mouth. Then turning to Rachel he said, “Rachel, let me help you to a seat.”
As they walked to the far side of the room, neither of them noticed the grim smile of satisfaction that coursed over Mr Oliver’s face. After Rupert had helped her to a seat, Rachel looked up and said, “Did you say you knew him, how?”
“That cad, that puppy, he carried the letters between Antonia and Lord Biddle.”
“Oh Lud! What a mull I’ve made.” Rachel put her face in her hands. “I wish that … that … that fellow were at Jericho.”
“What do you mean ‘I’ve made’? I fail to see that you’ve done anything.”
Rachel bit her lip and looked up at Rupert, tears forming in her eyes. “I didn’t know about him … him and that awful woman.”
“How could you know?”
“I suppose you’re right, I couldn’t have. Please believe me that I have no interest in seeing Mr Harding or Oliver or whatever he calls himself now ever again. His effrontery.”
Rupert shook his head sadly, “I know.”
“He really did lead my father to perdition with the dice box, faro table, and … I don’t know what all they did. My father caught an ague from some.” She stopped, unwilling to voice ‘barque of frailty.’ “That man played him for a jobberknowl until he was skint.”
“Don’t let that dandiprat cut up your peace.” Rupert paused, “Unless there is something you’re not telling me.”
“No. Well maybe. He did have some of my father’s vowels. They should have been settled with the estate. There could be something like those. Who knows what my father may have signed before he died. It was a desperate time, and he wasn’t truly in his right mind.”
The musicians chose this auspicious moment to start tuning their instruments for the next dance. Rupert bent down and took Rachel’s hand. “This dance is ours.”
“But?”
“We’ll talk later; I’ve had my dealings with that puppy, too. Not just with that woman.” Rupert led her to the middle of the floor where they started the line for the next dance. It felt to Rachel as if everyone in the room were staring at them. Sir John certainly was. Rupert bowed to him and said, “I should like to lead this dance, with my newly affianced wife.”
“Oh,” He laughed, “I guess you meant what you said.” Then he tapped on a glass and shouted to get attention. “Dear guests, before we begin, a toast – to our neighbour Lord Hartshorne and his intended. Newly engaged. May their marriage be long, and happy.”
Rachel thought, If it isn’t happy, it will certainly be long, then she shook her head and studied Rupert. It will be happy. I will make certain of that.
Mr Oliver started to object, when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. It was George. “You, sir, are coming with me. This is the last time you will bother Lady Hayforth. Do I make myself clear?”
The dance started with both Rachel and Rupert lost in each other, both too overcome with emotions to say much.
Part way through the dance, George re-entered the room, dusting his hands. He strode to his host, Sir John and said, “That’s done. What in the world ever possessed you to invite such a rotter?”
“He’s the man of the moment. Helped break those revolutionaries in Pentridge, at great personal risk.”
“Knowing him, I doubt it.”
“I must remind you I’m the host, and General Byng will be most displeased when he hears of how you’ve treated his best agent. A real British hero.”
George indicated his lack of concern when he said, “If you say so. I don’t know the general well, but I’m good friends with his cousin Poodle. I think I can weather the storm.”
It’s probably obvious that the title, “A Formulaic Romance” refers obliquely to chemistry. There’s another arcane reference in the text. Anyone caught it yet? It’s sort of, maybe, perhaps, important, given what Rupert worked on in the past. What are Spirits of Hartshorne?
Rupert is being truly the gentleman in this snippet. In a way I’m sorry that fate is waiting just around the corner for him with a stocking stuffed with sand – sand and a little fulminating salt. However, it will all work out in the end.
If you hadn’t cottoned on yet, there are hidden depths in George. Not everyone was good friends with a respected and moderately senior member of the foreign office (even if Poodle was officially a ‘clerk’).
By the way, “Pope Joan” is the card game they’re playing in the featured image and the nine of diamonds is the “Pope.” Though I do suspect there is a hidden meaning beyond that in the caption.
Amelia reminded me to put a link to our book page.
The Art of Deception 49
The Art of Deception
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week Lady Grey, with her daughter and Alice paid a social call on Roderick. While they discussed finding properly vetted servants who would work with Thomas and Hannah – whom Roderick considers essential – Alice has slipped off. Ostensibly to help with the tea (and drawing Lady Grey’s opprobrium at her ungenteel conduct), but in reality to quiz Hannah about Roderick.
Alice most definitely was not making a cake or anything else of herself; Hannah stirred the fire and put a kettle on to boil; then they waited, watching the pot, which gave Alice a chance to ask her a few questions about her new master.
“Hannah, what was Lord Fitzpatrick doing in Washington?”
“Can’t really say, Miss.”
“What were you doing for him, then?”
Hannah continued to be evasive, “Not much.”
“You can tell me, I’m cleared; he and I are going to work together.”
“Whether we like it or not, Miss Green?” Roderick had quietly slipped into the room behind them, “Hannah, she is one of us.”
“I still can’t tell you much, Miss; I just listened to Massa Jefferson and his friends; then told Thomas what I heard.”
Alice looked at Roderick, “And Thomas told you?”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
Nothing under the sun is new. The late Georgian/Early Regency was a time fraught with fearsome change and political turmoil. This Gilray cartoon shows the unwashed and uncouth masses (in caricature) demonstrating at Copenhagen fields in 1795. The London Corresponding Society held a meeting November 12th where they demanded parliamentary reform. Reforms that would have benefited the commoners. They were dealt with by the treason act (1795) and eventually completely banned in 1799. One of the artistic touches is actually a message – the commoners are drawn as clownish, stupid figures – incapable of self-governance and requiring the firm hand of authority. A hand Pitt (featured image) was more than willing to supply. The Poor Law he shepherded through parliament laid the basis for the workhouses of Dicken’s day.
In the featured image, Pitt’s right foot (on the left) is being kissed by the members of his party (Torys) and his right rests upon the opposition (Whigs). Charles Fox is clearly visible underneath his big toe. Meanwhile he plays with the world as if it were a yoyo.
Still working on a cover idea – hard even though I’m a dashed good photographer (if I say so myself). That and editing the manuscript to put more description/reaction into it. (not to mention a few thousand words).
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstein’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
Like poor Cecelia, ” The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Sunday Snippet, at the ball.
A Formulaic Romance
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane.
The Master was introduced here. He was somewhat annoyed at the disturbance, but willing to see that his guests were properly entertained. The housekeeper, Mrs Hobbes, leads Rachel and Lucy to their rooms to prepare for dinner The carriage wright makes a cameo appearance in a previous snippet.
Last week saw the arrival of Rupert’s Uncle George and a hint at the complicated family history – a history that was not completely … harmonious.
After a peek into Rupert’s history, George makes a somewhat unusual proposition to Rachel which was continued. The rain finally scuds off to the North Sea leaving a fine day – for riding and other things. Rachel, unsure of her own feelings, arranged for her companion to use the only sidesaddle. Meanwhile Rupert and Rachel discover a shared interest in music, which leads to a proposal. George has just returned from finding a magistrate to deal with a mob. This week they’re at the country dance mentioned in the last snippet.
An unfortunate event at a ball.
The orchestra, a pair of violinists, a bass and clarinet, struck up the first dance. Fortuitously it was a familiar country-dance in slow time because both Rupert and Rachel were out of practice. It also gave them time to converse, though most of the time Rupert smiled at his partner. Rachel thought It’s as if he can’t believe his good luck. When they finished, he said as he bowed, “Thank you. You must think I’m a poor conversationalist, but I was counting the figures. Wouldn’t do to disgrace you with an awkward partner.”
Rachel talked more during the next dance with George. He started, “I must admit you have made a difference in the poor lad. Good thing I suggested it.”
“You didn’t, you know. Just that I try to befriend him. Anyway he had guessed.”
“Observant little tyke, my nephew. Still.” The figures moved them apart. He continued when they came together again, “Still I am surprised that he proposed.”
“Or that I accepted?”
“That too.”
“To be honest, I refused at first. Hardly knowing him, but Miss Holloway pointed out the certain evils or my choice.”
“That you might not get another offer? He’s an odd one, Ma’am. Full of surprises. I didn’t know.” The figures intervened again, “I didn’t know about his work for the army. Old Gas making bangs.”
“Why should you have known about it?”
“Ah … I have my sources.”
Rachel studied George’s self-satisfied smile. What’s he mean by that? His sources.
Eventually the chords drew to a close and it was time for supper. Rupert claimed Rachel’s company from his uncle. Disaster struck. A strange man interrupted Rachel and Rupert as they walked together to the table where the refreshments were served. He was dressed in plain and simple clothes, but was clearly important. On the other hand, perhaps, it was clear that he thought he was important.
“Miss Heppleworth.” He bowed to her.
“Do I know you?”
“Surely you’ve not forgotten me so soon.”
Rachel studied him, “Mr Harding, out of fleet prison already; who paid your debts?”
“It’s Mr Oliver, Mr William Oliver. May I be introduced to your partner?”
Rupert’s face stiffened. “I believe we’ve met as well. How to you know my fiancée?”
Mr Harding or Oliver or indeed one of several other names chosen for convenience and anonymity bowed to him and said, “I knew her father, quite well. She was promised to me.”
“I wasn’t. Never.”
It’s probably obvious that the title, “A Formulaic Romance” refers obliquely to chemistry. There’s another arcane reference in the text. Anyone caught it yet? It’s sort of, maybe, perhaps, important, given what Rupert worked on in the past. What are Spirits of Hartshorne?
This story is set at the time of the Pentrich Rising. A combination of depression due to the immediate halt of government spending at the end of the Napoleonic wars, a crop failure, and a lack of employment due to increased automation resulted in an ill-fated march on Nottingham. One of the sparks of the rebellion was a government provocateur, one William Oliver (aka Oliver the spy). Mr Oliver or Harding (another alias he used) spent the three weeks prior to the march covering on horseback or carriage or foot an itinerary that would be difficult today. Leeds, London, Sheffield, Nottingham, and Derby within a few days, and with a stop off at General Byng’s camp to coordinate. Before trains or cars or any of those new-fangled means of transport.
I suppose Amelia’s and my inner lefty is showing because he’s one of the villains of the piece.
Amelia reminded me to put a link to our book page.
Dragon Trap – a guest post
All Marisol Lewis had ever wanted was a family, but her ex-husband back on Earth made sure that would never happen while they were together.
Now? After waking up on an alien planet, she has a plan and she’s more determined than ever to see it through on her own. When the contract comes up that will give her exactly what she’s always dreamed of, she’s eager to sign on the dotted line and begin the journey to her new home planet of Dolovia.
But when things go horribly wrong, she ends up surrounded by mad doctors and Frankenstein space pirates. Luca and Baelion are dragon shifters with a troubled past, shunned by their own people, they now work for the Coalition Council taking rescue jobs that no one else can do.
They manage to find Marisol—but their rescue plans take a wrong turn and they all end up stranded on a dangerous quarantined planet.
Mari finds out the hard way that life often gets in the way of best-laid plans…and dragon shifters most definitely do get in the way of hers.
Good thing for her that dragons are naturally quite stubborn once they decide they want something—and they’ve decided she’s theirs.
Purchase Link:
www.bookstrand.com/book/dragon-trap
Author Bio:
Sarah Marsh was born in British Columbia where she still lives, she has only recently began her writing career finding it the perfect outlet for taking the edge off a nine to five office job. She’s been a science fiction and romance junkie for years and when her imagination started to take the characters she’d read about even further in their adventures she decided to try writing something of her own.
Sarah’s also a former pastry chef and spends a lot of time cooking and baking for friends and family as well as painting and knitting. Her biggest weaknesses are animals of any kind…she even loves the ones that wake you up at four in the morning because they can almost see the bottom of their food dish.
When it comes to life in general she’s a big believer that laughter is the best medicine and that there’s no such thing as too much love, which is why she’s such a sucker for a happy ending.
The Art of Deception 48
The Art of Deception
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. In the last installment, Lord Grey met with both Roderick and Alice. Lady Grey has brought her daughter and Alice to pay a social call on Roderick. We meet with Thomas and his wife again.
Once inside, it was clear that the work on opening up the house had only just begun; Holland covers were on almost all of the furniture and the front parlour hung with dusty cobwebs, “Massa’s in back; Thomas and I cleared out the dining parlour.”
Lord Roderick, apparently was listening, “Hannah,” he called from deep within the building, “I’m not ‘Massa’, I’m Roderick, Lord Fitzpatrick.”
“Yes, Massa, Lord Fitzpatrick is in the parlour, if you’d follow.”
She led them to a small room, away from the noise of the street and conveniently lit only by windows that opened onto the garden; It was comfortably furnished; clearly, a quiet place to remove to when the strain of life in London required a short break.
Roderick rose from his seat when the women entered the room, “Lady Grey,” he bowed, “Miss Grey and Miss Green; enchanted to see you again.”
Lady Grey was frosty, “That was the most unusual of receptions – have we met?”
“Five years ago, before I was posted to Washington, to keep an eye on those damned rebellious colonists.”
“And you’ve only just returned?”
“As you can see … apparently I met your niece in Bristol.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
Nothing under the sun is new. The late Georgian/Early Regency was a time fraught with fearsome change and political turmoil.
This Gilray cartoon from 1791 shows William Pitt taming Catherine II of Russia, one of her advisors and the King of Prussia. She had tried to interfere with internal affairs in various parts of Europe and the Middle East. Pitt is shown as Petruchio (e.g. ‘Little Rock’ or more figuratively ‘Clod hopper’) from Shakespeare. He’s joined by other members of his government as Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. A mixed metaphor to say the least. King George III, descending on his way into madness after the loss of his American colonies (other than Canada), is kissing the horse’s tail. It could be worse.
Still working on a cover idea – hard even though I’m a dashed good photographer (if I say so myself). That and editing the manuscript to put more description/reaction into it. (not to mention a few thousand words).
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstein’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
Like poor Cecelia, ” The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Sunday Snippet, a stroll.
A Formulaic Romance
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane.
The Master was introduced here. He was somewhat annoyed at the disturbance, but willing to see that his guests were properly entertained. The housekeeper, Mrs Hobbes, leads Rachel and Lucy to their rooms to prepare for dinner The carriage wright makes a cameo appearance in a previous snippet.
Last week saw the arrival of Rupert’s Uncle George and a hint at the complicated family history – a history that was not completely … harmonious.
After a peek into Rupert’s history, George makes a somewhat unusual proposition to Rachel which was continued. The rain finally scuds off to the North Sea leaving a fine day – for riding and other things. Rachel, unsure of her own feelings, arranged for her companion to use the only sidesaddle. Meanwhile Rupert and Rachel discover a shared interest in music, which leads to a proposal. George has just returned from finding a magistrate to deal with a mob at the start of this snippet.
A Stroll in the Country.
When George arrived back at the Hall, he found Rupert, uncharacteristically, enjoying a nuncheon with Rachel and Lucinda. Even more uncharacteristically, he was smiling.
“What did I miss, Gas?”
“Rachel has made me happy.”
George’s brow wrinkled when he glanced at her and said, “That was fast work my lady.”
She replied, “It was Rupert who asked me. He’s the fast worker.”
“I see.”
“We played a duet on the spinet.”
“And on that basis he asked you to marry him?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
Rupert added, “We were wondering if a double wedding were in order, Uncle. Do you think Miss Deacon would mind?”
“I think she’d be delighted … At least I’d hope she would. Have you written Lady Bedlington yet?”
“No, which reminds me. There was another thing I wanted to discuss. When should we put the formal announcement in the Gazette? Rachel thinks not until the settlements have been negotiated. What did you do with Miss Deacon?”
After giving Rachel a hard stare, George said, “I’d keep it quiet – for the moment.”
Rupert said, “You haven’t answered my question.”
“I will post my announcement when I return to London. It was only polite to ask the head of my family first.”
After they’d finished eating, Lucy chaperoned Rupert and Rachel as he showed her the downs. George insisted on tailing along with them. As Lucy and Rupert walked ahead, he dropped back with Rachel.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I like Lord Hartshorne, very much, if that’s what you mean.”
George stopped; then surveyed the field of still-green corn beside the path. Rachel watched too. The heads were starting to fill out and the wind made waves in it as it blew along the down.
Rachel continued, “I’m sure I’ll grow to love him and him to love me. We’ll suit, both practical rather than passionate.”
“That’s not what I mean. Oh damn.”
“You’re engaged too. What would Miss Deacon think?”
“I mean, you’re too good for him.”
Rachel looked away and grimaced, “I doubt that. You don’t know me very well.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you well enough.”
“Besides,” she laughed, “he’s the best available. My cousin, Lord Bromley, wasn’t enthusiastic about my chances at the marriage mart in London – even with his help. If your nephew likes me enough to make me comfortable, then who am I to argue?”
George shook his head, “Yes. I’m sorry. Viewed in a practical light you acted with sense. I wish you well. At least you won’t run off like Antonia Green. That really did hurt him. It was unforgivable.”
“I can safely promise you that won’t happen. Lord Bedlington –“
“George.”
“George, I’m conformable. I’m sure I’ll be happy with Rupert and do my best to make him happy. What more can one hope in marriage?”
“Not much more. I hope it isn’t marry in haste and repent at leisure.”
“It won’t be.”
George looked up the path, “They’re getting ahead of us.”
“So?”
Lord Hartshorne and Miss Holloway waited at the top of the hill. Rupert pointed at a smudge in the distance. “General Byng’s camp. The town of Pontefract beyond.”
Lucy squinted, too vain to wear the spectacles she required to see clearly, and said “It is?”
When they caught up with them, George drew a deep breath and said, “I forget Gas … sorry, Rupert, how much I enjoy the freshness out here. Even with the occasional whiff of cow, it’s far better than London. Clean air, nothing like it.”
“Rupert,” Rachel asked, “You were showing something to Lucy. What was it?”
“General Byng’s camp. The 15th Hussars. What with all the troubles, I’m glad they’re nearby.”
“Troubles?”
“That meeting in Nottingham several weeks ago, and the march on Butterly. A bad business.”
Rachel said, “Not that they don’t have a point. The corn laws are oppressive.”
“I know. It’s just we’ve fought to put down those nasty Frogs and now … “
“We’ve fought?” George said. “I didn’t know you had a commission.”
“I didn’t, but I did work on things. Things for the army, the navy.”
Rachel asked, “What kinds of things?”
Rupert smiled; then held up his hands, spreading them. “Explosives. Can’t say too much more. Still have ten fingers. I was luckier than most.”
A horseman rode up to them and hailed them with a voice practiced from years of running to hounds. The squire and local magistrate of the parish, Sir John Tennant called. “My Lord, I haven’t seen you out this year. Never with such fair company.”
Rupert bowed his head gently, acknowledging Sir John with what he felt to be the proper amount of condescension. “Sir John, may I introduce my Uncle, Lord Bedlington, Lady Hayforth and her companion Miss Holloway?”
“Delighted to meet you. Chasing the young ladies again, at last?”
“More than just a chase, Sir John. Lady Hayforth has agreed to be my wife.”
“Good lord, I didn’t think you had it in you … I say, I didn’t send you an invitation since I knew you’d refuse, but this changes everything. I mean if you’re entertaining company again.”
“An invitation?”
“A ball, informal of course, at the manor. Tomorrow night. There’ll be officers from the 15th, maybe even General Byng himself.”
It’s probably obvious that the title, “A Formulaic Romance” refers obliquely to chemistry. There’s another arcane reference in the text. Anyone caught it yet? It’s sort of, maybe, perhaps, important, given what Rupert worked on in the past. What are Spirits of Hartshorne?
This story is set at the time of the Butterly Revolt. A combination of depression due to the immediate halt of government spending at the end of the Napoleonic wars, a crop failure, and a lack of employment due to increased automation resulted in an ill-fated march on Nottingham. One of the sparks of the rebellion was a government provocateur, one William Oliver (aka Oliver the spy). The General Byng referenced in this snippet is a cousin of Poodle Byng. The corn laws were meant to protect British farmers (e.g. the nobility and their rents) from cheap imported American wheat. Combined with a crop failure it meant real hardship for the working class.
The featured image, while from Wales, shows what the view from the open downs can be like.
Amelia reminded me to put a link to our book page.
Sunday Snippet, After the concert.
A Formulaic Romance
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane.
The Master was introduced here. He was somewhat annoyed at the disturbance, but willing to see that his guests were properly entertained. The housekeeper, Mrs Hobbes, leads Rachel and Lucy to their rooms to prepare for dinner The carriage wright makes a cameo appearance in a previous snippet.
Last week saw the arrival of Rupert’s Uncle George and a hint at the complicated family history – a history that was not completely … harmonious.
After a peek into Rupert’s history, George makes a somewhat unusual proposition to Rachel which was continued. The rain finally scuds off to the North Sea leaving a fine day – for riding and other things. Rachel, unsure of her own feelings, arranged for her companion to use the only sidesaddle. Meanwhile Rupert and Rachel discover a shared interest in music.
Music Lessons and more.
“Good.” Rachel suddenly felt a little breathless. She sat too close, too alone, to a man. Not only that, she held his hand. Without gloves. The bleached streaks and white pallor of his skin accentuated the darkness of his eyes. She sat far too close to a far too handsome man for comfort.
Rupert only made it worse. “Marry me.”
“What?”
“Marry me.”
“Lord Hartshorne,” Rachel rapidly backed away and tried to stand. Only to trip on her gown and crash to the floor.
Rupert calmly slid across the piano bench and helped her up. “I’m sure George has, by now, asked you to help shift me to London.”
“How’d?”
“I know my Uncle. For that matter, I could tell something was up, from Mrs Hobbes. The way she smirked this morning. What did he offer you?”
“To help pay for my season.”
“I see. A bit mercenary of you?”
Rachel laughed, “No, a bit desperate. Lord Hartshorne,”
“Rupert.”
“Rupert, then. I hardly know you, and you hardly know me. How could we possibly wed?”
“I like the way you play your instrument, and you’re beautiful. You handled my … impoliteness with grace.”
“That’s not enough and you know it. Or you’d know it if you thought it through.”
“I thought it through with Antonia. Should have just kept looking.”
Rachel saw a flash of distress on his face. He still is in love with her. “Are, are you sure? I, I can’t.”
“It won’t be passion, I’m done with passion, but I can offer you comfort, comfort and security … I think we should get on well enough. Learn to love each other in time. So what about it?”
“I can’t say yes. You know that.”
Rupert’s face fell.
“But I won’t say no. How would ‘maybe’ work for you? You’re not unattractive.”
“That’s damning.”
“Alright, you’re handsome, and you don’t seem vicious. I’m willing to see what happens when we know each other better. Will that do?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s better than no.”
Rupert chuckled. “You’re right. Maybe will be first rate.”
“And you’ll come to London with me?”
“I’ll bring you to London. If only to show George that he shouldn’t trifle with the head of the family.” Rupert’s smile broke into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m just imagining the expression on my step-grandmother’s face when I turn up with a dashed good-looking armful.”
Lucy interrupted Rachel’s attempt to question Rupert about why that should matter. She stood in the door and shouted, “Miss Rachel, what are you doing? Alone with a man.”
“It’s fine Lucy. Lord Hartshorne has been a perfect gentleman. We were-”
“That is as may be. But you shouldn’t be alone with him.”
Rupert rose, bowed and said, “Miss Holloway, how was your ride?”
“It was exquisite. Now Miss Rachel, come with me. We will have a conversation, about your deportment.”
Rachel gave Rupert a wan smile, “See how I’m managed.”
“It’s for your own good, Ma’am.”
Upstairs, in Rachel’s room, as she helped Lucy out of her riding habit, she asked, “How did it go, really?”
“It was fine. The mare was a little barn-soured, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Lord Bedlington was nothing if not a gentleman.”
“Exactly what I’d expect of him.”
“It is. What, may I ask, were you and Lord Hartshorne doing?”
“Playing the spinet. I found a duet. We played it together.”
Lucy chuckled, “Since you haven’t practiced, in … I don’t know, ever so long. I’m glad I was out riding.” She noted that Rachel was unusually distracted, thoughtful. “Did something else happen?”
“He, he asked me to marry him.”
“I hope you accepted, much nicer to be engaged. It’ll solve no end of problems.”
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t refuse him!”
“I didn’t. I said maybe.”
“Whatever possessed you? You know your situation, and … Good Lord Rachel. Get yourself back down there and tell him you accept his hand.”
“But?”
“But nothing young miss. He’ll make you happy. Happy enough.”
Rachel sighed, “I suppose you’re right.”
“I am. You know I am. With the war, there aren’t enough able and eligible men left, and things are so tight with so many soldiers returning from France. We saw a mob.”
“You did?”
“I’ll tell you after you’ve talked to Lord Hartshorne. Lord Bedlington and the groom went to find the local magistrate … that mob, it looked ugly.”
“Can you come with me?”
“Support you in your time of crisis? If you insist.”
Accompanied by her companion, Rachel returned to the study. Then she rang the bell for the servants. When Mr Brindle appeared, she asked him if he’d seen his master.
“I believe, Ma’am, that the Master was headed to his workshop.” Rachel couldn’t read Mr Brindle’s well-trained impassivity. “I could, if you desire, show you the way.”
“Please.” I hope I’m doing the right thing. Lucy thinks I am. But then she’s not the one getting married.
Rupert was in his laboratory, with the window open, while he worked through his notes. Rachel’s nose puckered at the remaining smell, the peculiar tang of chemistry. “Lord Hartshorne, Rupert,” She curtsied, “About what you asked me.”
“Yes?”
“I had the time to think, to gather my thoughts. I shouldn’t have said maybe.”
Rupert’s face tightened with worry, then relaxed when he saw she was smiling at him.
“I should have said yes.”
It’s probably obvious that the title, “A Formulaic Romance” refers obliquely to chemistry. There’s another arcane reference in the text. Anyone caught it yet? It’s sort of, maybe, perhaps, important, given what Rupert worked on in the past. (No one yet has found the answer, so I’m leaving the question pending.)
Another clue, the material Rupert worked on was used to ignite gunpowder, and its synthesis was published in the proceedings of the Royal Academy in 1803. The paper is available for download, and requires a level of heroic chemistry that I wouldn’t do (the chemists tasted their product and said it didn’t taste like calomel). Your mileage might vary. It isn’t used as a primer any longer, but please do not fire into the air at midnight. You have no idea where the bullet will land.
Amelia reminded me to put a link to our book page.
R. Harrison, Creative Enterprises 