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Life is more than a little angsty for the Thornwoods, especially for Elizabeth. But don’t let her fool you. She might be small in stature, but she’s mighty with determination. Join her on her journey from the country to the city—all the way back into her husband’s heart.

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LOVE ABANDONED

If you enjoy historical romance set in Regency-era England, I hope you'll check out Love Abandoned. It's the second novel in the series Honorable Intentions for Dragonblade Publishing. Release is scheduled for June 1, 2022. In the meantime, please enjoy an excerpt.  

Prologue

Hear my soul speak:

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,

To make me a slave to it;

 

~Shakespeare (The Tempest)

 

1808

 

Three years, and Elizabeth was as bewitching as the day he’d married her. As beguiling as the first day they met. Richard would ravish her where she stood were it not for the room full of guests. And it would be hours before they could retire, so he might as well rein in his lustful aspirations and turn his attention elsewhere. What a rubbish idea this anniversary gathering turned out to be. Even worse, it was his rubbish idea.

Richard had been in town for far too long, chasing down business investments, when he’d rather be chasing down Elizabeth. But the estate could not sustain itself indefinitely, and it was time to expand his fortunes. One day an heir would be grateful for his forethought. Hopefully, the manor would be full of children to support. Children. He’d far prefer slipping away and trying to create one than this standing around talking about inconsequential trivia. Unfortunately, he’d thought an anniversary celebration would be cheering for Elizabeth. The lack of children had been wearing on them both.

“Still gawking at your wife after all these years?” Bentley slapped Richard on the back jovially. “You almost make me consider marriage.”

Richard cast his glance sideways at his old school chum and raised an eyebrow. “Is there something…or someone…I should know about?”

“I said, almost, my friend. You know me better than that. Too many skirts in the wilderness, waiting to be tamed, for me to put myself in a cage.”

“Once a rake, always a rake? Don’t be so certain. Someday you’ll find your Lady Bentley, and she’ll cast her spell over you as mine has done to me. And you’ll be glad of it.”

Bentley guffawed, drawing the attention of some of the guests, and of Elizabeth. Richard smiled at her and held her stare. Her pale cheeks flushed a soft pink, but she did not look away. “If you’ll excuse me, Bentley?” he said and walked toward her.

Lovely gathering. Such a wonderful evening. Good to see you, Lord Thornwood. The voices swirled around him, but he had eyes only for Elizabeth. “Lady Thornwood,” he said, interrupting old Mrs. Farnsworth who was wearing far more ribbons and bows than a fresh debutante. “May I see you in private for a moment?” Her cheeks deepened to scarlet, but she nodded and set her hand on his arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Farnsworth,” he said, not waiting for her response. More platitudes followed them out of the room.

“Is there something I can do for you, my lord?” Hastings asked, two footmen in tow behind him, each carrying several decanters of wine.

“No, Hastings, we’re fine.” Richard tilted his head back toward the room. “Make sure glasses are full and no one is need of anything. And set the food out a little early.”

“Yes, my lord.”

No one would complain with an overflowing glass in hand and a full stomach. They would not be missed. He’d been delayed and had arrived along with guests, and he couldn’t wait another minute to hold her in his arms.

“Richard?”

“Shh,” he said. “Let me whisk you away.”

Her smile lit the hallway, and she leaned into him as they walked silently along the corridor. Although it would afford them definitive privacy, as no one would dare enter it, he chose not to stop at his study. The saloon next door to it had been opened to the large drawing room, which put the revelers far too close for comfort.

He released an audible sigh of relief when they made it to the library without encountering any strays. Richard pulled Elizabeth inside, begrudgingly letting her go to firmly close the doors. He turned around and leaned back on them, drinking her in. She stood there, looking shy and confident at the same time. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, but she’d left wisps caressing her long slender neck. Only two gilt lamps had been lit, and they were behind her. Her lovely shape was well illuminated with the backlighting, but he could not see her eyes. It didn’t matter. He knew them by heart and was confident they mirrored the love she would see in his.

Richard opened his arms in invitation. She smiled and stepped into them, and he embraced her. Her heart beat against his own. This was home. “I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you too,” she said and tilted her face to look at him.

He could resist no longer. He took possession of her mouth, hoping his kiss would tell her more adequately than words the truth of his longing for her. They parted, both panting breathlessly.

“Richard,” she finally managed, touching her lips as she spoke his name. “The guests will see…”

He glanced out the windows at the night. It was a miserable one, windy and rainy. No one would be strolling the gardens. He told her so.

She smiled tentatively and touched her lips again. “No, that’s not what I meant. They will see the evidence. You know how easily I bruise.”

“Did I hurt you, my love?” He cursed himself for being an uncontrolled lecher, tugged her close, and kissed her forehead. “I would never willingly do so. You know that, don’t you?” He pulled back so he could see her face.

“Of course, I do.” This time her smile was mischievous. “Hurt me again.”

And wolfishly, he did. This time, when he finally let her go, he wondered how either of them were going to be able to return to the soiree. They would be fodder for endless gossip. He could hear them now disdaining a married couple who were actually in love.

“Come sit with me, and we’ll give ourselves some time to recompose.” He touched her swollen lips, and she kissed his fingers. “Elizabeth,” he growled in warning. His blood would never cool if she continued to look at him like that. He led her to the sofa and pulled her down beside him. “It is good to see the rose in your cheeks. You were exceptionally pale when I arrived, and I worried this gathering had put too much of a strain on you. I do apologize. It was a thick-witted idea.”

“Not at all, my dearest. A husband who remembers an anniversary is special. One who wishes to celebrate it is a rare find.”

He kissed her cheek, feeling as young and in love as when they’d first met five years ago. He’d been able to claim her as his own now for three years, and the glow that warmed him at the mere thought of her did not dull. She entwined her fingers in his.

“And we have much to celebrate,” she said quietly. She shifted their hands to her midriff and clasped them with her other hand, holding them tightly to her stomach. “Much to celebrate.”

Richard’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Dare he hope? “You are..? We are...?”

She nodded, her eyes shimmering in the dull light. “We are, Lord Thornwood. Finally.”

He pulled her close, biting back the emotion clogging his throat, making it impossible to speak. It was all he’d dreamed of in his young years. To hear the voices of other children ringing off these old walls. And now it was going to happen. His children. Her children. Their children. “Thank you,” he finally managed to whisper into her hair.

“Oh, Richard,” she whispered back. “This is only the beginning.”

 

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An apt quotation is like a lamp which flings its light over the whole sentence. ~Letitia Elizabeth Landon

I meant to take two days off at Christmas but didn't quite manage it. I ended up working until 1 pm on Christmas Eve. It seems I am consumed by all things connected to writing, and once I begin something, I cannot let it go.

In this case it was quotes. For those of you who have followed my blog, you already know that I have a thing for quotes. Sometimes the quote is my prompt, but more often than not, I am off searching for one that fits what I have written. That approach spilled over into Love Denied, and since I like continuity, it will be part of the entire series.

While there were moments during the search for quotes for Love Abandoned that I wanted to do a head slap, more often than not I tunnelled down the rabbit hole and happily rolled around in the words of Shakespeare and Wordsworth, of Keats and Byron. They paint images of the natural world, explore love and hate, happiness and despair, and probe the depths of what it is to be human. Their cadence, their rhythm call to be read aloud, and I would find myself whispering, lost in the music of their poetry.

However, I include them in my novels, not simply to share their beauty, but to enhance each chapter. And in doing so, I centre my own writing. As I review and revise each chapter, I look for its purpose. What role does it play in the story? Does it reflect the overarching theme? Do we gain insight into a character? Does it focus on a developing emotion? Is it a plot catalyst or a resolution? If I cannot name its goal, then it must be revised or eliminated. When I can name it, I know the essence of the quote that is needed and go off on my treasure hunt.

My husband says he skips such things when he reads. I suspect many do. Still, I am hopeful that I am not alone in enjoying the bards of yore or in looking at connections between pieces of writing—in this case, my chapters and their quotes. I hope like-minded souls enjoy them as much as I do.