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Showing posts from November, 2014

“You will not allow her to play Snapdragon?” he asked. “Most certainly not,” she retorted. “I seem to recall that we played at a fairly young age.” “And at that tender age, you burned both your sleeve and your eyebrows, do you recall that?” He laughed. “I had forgotten.” —From The Spinster's Christmas

She turned her face toward him, and even in the darkness he could see the gleam of her smile. He answered with one of his own, and he reached out to touch her cheek because it seemed the most natural and necessary thing for him to do. Like in the carriage when he had touched her hand, he wanted to be connected to her in a powerful way that he could not understand. Her skin trembled beneath his fingers, then she turned her face away again. —From The Spinster's Christmas

“Your knee is paining you?” She stated it calmly, already knowing the answer. “No, I am—” “There is a poultice I can make for you that will soothe it. I shall give it to your man later.” He wanted to say that he was well and in no need of any poultices, but Miranda was well known for her skill in the stillroom and sickroom. If it would indeed ease the pain, he ought not to indulge his pride and act like a muttonhead. Say thank you, Gerard. “Er … thank you, Miranda.” “You are welcome.” No fussing. No censure. Just a poultice for his knee. Miranda put him at ease like no one else had cared to do. —From The Spinster's Christmas

He had not had opportunity to speak to Miranda since the attack, but she was her usual calm self. When he had made it up the stairs to see how Ellie was doing in the nursery, Miranda had been there after finally coaxing her to sleep. Miranda had not looked as though her nerves were frayed or that she were likely to take to her bed, which was what his mother had done for an hour after he returned. She had changed, as had them all, for dinner. Her dark blue dress made her skin even whiter, and her hair glossy like a raven’s feathers. When he first saw her, she looked so lovely that he hadn’t been able to speak for a moment. Luckily, she hadn’t been looking at him, and then all the guests had started working on decorating the house with the greenery. —From The Spinster's Christmas

Gerard pulled his mouth wide in what he hoped looked like a smile and passed Miss Church-Pratton a fir branch. “Oh, Captain Foremont, are you certain your leg is not paining you?” She gave him a soulful look that brought out the blue of her eyes. “I am perfectly well, Miss Church-Pratton.” Gerard ignored the ache in his knee. “I do appreciate your help but I would not wish to cause further injury to you.” He seemed to be mostly recovered from the events of this morning. He moved a little more slowly and he was not climbing ladders in order to help decorate the chandelier, but he was perfectly able to collect greenery and deliver it to the women who arranged it around the house. Unfortunately, Miss Church-Pratton seemed to call him quite incessantly for more greenery. —From The Spinster's Christmas

She was used to hiding. She’d had to hide who she was, it seemed all her life—from her own parents, from most of her family. People had seemed to constantly remind her that she wasn’t quite right. That she was different. Her father had been disappointed that she wasn’t charming, that she was too quiet and uninteresting. Her mother had been upset that she’d been hopeless at catching a husband during her season. Felicity disliked her so much that she was eager to foist her off rather than keeping an unpaid servant. And aside from all that, there was the one secret no one could know, the one sin she could never rub out. —From The Spinster's Christmas

The last time Miranda had gathered greenery with Gerard had been sixteen years ago, the Christmas before he went to sea. He would be with the men and the yule log if his knee would have allowed him to keep up, or allowed him to ride a horse without pain. He joked with Ellie and with the other children, but every so often, the distant sound of a man’s voice in the woods made him look up, and a harshness would settle over his face like a mask. Or rather, perhaps his cheerfulness was the mask. —From The Spinster's Christmas

It was just a flicker of a glance that Miranda sent to Gerard before she looked away, but the certainty struck Laura like a blow. Miranda was in love with Gerard. It might be a girlhood crush, but the feelings were there, waiting to mature to true, deep affection. Laura was no matchmaker, but a part of her wished for happiness for both Miranda and Gerard, both of whom were lonely in their own ways. And yet how could she convince Mary Foremont to allow Miranda to travel back to their home with them and with Ellie, knowing what she did about Miranda’s feelings? Would she only be encouraging a situation that would result in heartbreak for Miranda? Or would two hearts somehow find each other across the gulf of Miranda’s protective shell and Gerard’s bitterness? —From The Spinster's Christmas

“My dear.” Laura stopped to take Miranda’s hands in hers. “It will only be for a few weeks, perhaps a few months. After Christmastide, I am promised to an elderly aunt in Northumberland, to help her organize the repair of her cottage. But once that is completed, you will come to stay with me in my townhouse in London.” “Do you need a companion?” “Not particularly,” Laura said cheerfully, “and I would suspect you would be a poor companion. You do not scurry nervously. And I have seen your embroidery, it is atrocious, so you would not be able to untangle your employer’s silks.” —From The Spinster's Christmas

He’d heard from Lady Wynwood, who obviously disliked Miss Church-Pratton, that she had broken her engagement earlier this year to an officer who had been wounded at Corunna. However, the season in London had not resulted in a second engagement, and Gerard could tell that her charm had an edge of bitterness and desperation. He had no intention of being her next matrimonial target. With his injury, he was in no condition to even consider a more far-seeing future. He must concentrate on the most immediate needs, namely being able to discard his cane and to relieve the burden upon his parents. It was a cowardly thing to do, but he simply grasped at the first idea that came to mind. He took a small glass of wassail from the maid serving the punch at a side table and then wobbled on his cane, spilling the drink on his waistcoat. The scent of wine, nutmeg, and apples grew stronger, and he felt the warmth as the hot beverage soaked through his shirt. “Oh, dear!” Miss Church-Pratton fishe...

For the better part of the last half hour, Gerard had been staring up Cecil’s hairy nostril. It was most unpleasant, but Cecil had kept his nose upturned the entire time of their discussion here in the library, which had taken place directly after dinner. Gerard wondered that Cecil didn’t get a crick in his neck from looking down at all the world, all the time. Or perhaps Cecil simply had extraordinarily large nostrils. “Regardless of what you say, I still see no need to remove Eleanor from my care,” Sir Cecil said, playing with pretentiously large silver paperweight upon his desk. “She is perfectly content here.” —From The Spinster's Christmas

She turned to leave, but he suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand. Neither of them wore gloves, and she felt the callouses of his fingers, the warmth of his palm. Somehow, his touch made her feel more substantial than she usually did in this household. He knew her, he saw her, where everyone else tried to forget her. She realized she had been getting used to the feeling of having lost her identity. “I meant what I said,” Gerard said. “I am glad to see you. For me, you are part of the Christmas season.” —From The Spinster's Christmas

He said incredulously, “Felicity has barred you from the dining room?” “Nothing quite so barbaric. You know how fanatically she values order and appearances. She does not wish an odd number of guests at table tonight.” Gerard’s face grew thunderous. “That is outside of enough.” “Gerard, I shall not be missed in the least.” While she knew it was true, saying it out loud seemed to hammer it into her chest with an hollow blow. No one would notice her absence, and indeed, some members of the party would even welcome it. Her words seemed to have shocked him. Finally he sputtered, “Of course you will be missed. We all grew up together. It would not be the same without you there.” He checked himself, then added, “You and everyone else, of course.” The spark of warmth that had involuntarily risen at his words was doused by the splash of reality. Gerard had never looked at her as other than a friend, and surely by now, after years apart, she had outgrown her childish infatuation with ...

“Are you here to see Ellie?” she asked. “Yes. I can hear the noise from the nursery all the way down the staircase.” “All the children are excited to be with their cousins again.” “I recall we were that way, at their age.” She had lived for the times he had joined their large family gatherings. His father’s close friendship with her uncle Edward had enabled him to practically grow up with her and her cousins, at least until he went to sea. He had never known how much she cared for him, how she had pined for him with girlish tears. She was a girl no longer, but she still felt remnants of that wistful longing for him, that little gasp of excitement in her chest when he looked at her. Gerard would never know. He must never know. —From The Spinster's Christmas

He was careful in climbing the stairs, his good leg beginning to shake with the strain from the two flights of the grand staircase. When he finally reached the drawing room, Miranda had disappeared. He lowered himself into a gold and white striped chair, but his leg gave out and he fell heavily into the seat, making it wobble on its delicately carved legs. He winced. Yes, Gerard, the quickest way to cultivate Cecil’s good graces is to break his furniture. —From The Spinster's Christmas

Dorsetshire, England December 23rd, 1810 “I am heartily sick of your complaining and moaning, you old woman,” Lady Wynwood told her companion lounging on the seat across from her in her travelling coach. The “old woman” was in actuality a fit man in his fourth decade, a rugged face and easy smile hovering on the edges of his mouth. His jaw might not be as firm as twenty years ago, but he was still the handsome buck Laura had first met when she had her debut in London, and he knew it, too. “Reduced to name-calling, Laura?” Solomon Drydale drawled. “Would you rather I simply open this coach door and boot you out of it?” —From The Spinster's Christmas

Gerard's Red and Black Scarf

For fun, I decided to knit the Regency scarf that Gerard, my hero, gives to my heroine in my Christmas short novel, The Spinster's Christmas . I can’t remember if I posted the finished scarf on my blog, including any changes I made to the pattern, so here it is. I chose A Gentleman’s Comforter from The Ladies’ Knitting and Netting Book, First Series by Miss Watts, originally published in 1837. You can download the .pdf of the Fifth Edition, with additions, which was published in 1840 . I’m pretty sure this pattern was in use in the Regency, because most patterns had been passed down by word of mouth long before they were published. So Jane Austen could have gotten this pattern from a friend or family member and used it when making a scarf for her father. :) Here’s the original pattern: I wasn't entirely certain what “coarse steel needles” and “5 skeins of fine wool yarn” mean, so I just guessed. I used US 1 needles and fingering weight wool yarn, but you could use a...

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Gerard's Red and Black Scarf

Gerard's red and black scarf

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