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London

March 1833

Lady Emily Black liked presents.

It wasn’t that she always expected to receive presents nor did she expect everyone to bring her presents when calling on her.  It was just comforting to think about presents and what might be forthcoming.

Like the anticipation on a rainy day.  There were so many possibilities when one was confined to an indoor space.  One never knew what one might embark upon.  Given a rainy day, Emily would most likely be found in the sewing room, patterns splashed across the sofas, fabrics spilling to the floor, her nose near touching the fashion plates of the latest edition of La Belle Assemblee.  She could have an entire season’s wardrobe designed in the space of one drizzly afternoon.

As she contemplated the pencils in E.B. Worths on Marlborough, her eyes didn’t see plain, black stubs of charcoal.  She saw designs springing from their tips to radiate across the blank page of her sketchbook, a waterfall of fashion from a single nub.

Yes, Emily Black very much liked presents, and these pencils would do just nicely.

“Papa,” she said then, spinning about and holding the charcoals aloft.  “I think I should like these.”

Her father did not seem to have heard her as he stared out the front window of the shop.  The light fell across him in such a way as to accent his finely tailored coat of dark cloth and trousers cut just right along the thigh and knee.  There were things about her father Emily found lacking, especially his inability to keep his gray-smattered dark hair in neat fashion, but his choice of tailor was not something with which she could find fault.

“Papa,” she said, louder this time with quite a lot of girth as her mother would say.  “Papa, I said I would like these charcoals.”

Still nothing.

After presents, the second thing Emily Black liked most was attention.  She found the blood in her temples pounded a little harder when someone denied her the attention she wished.  Right now, her papa was guilty of such a thing, which was rather unusual.  She would expect such behavior from Jane, her older cousin, and certainly from her brothers, Ashley and Michael.  She had the pleasure of her younger sister’s complete and total attention when she was present, but Emily feared that was more out of some sort of worship phase the child was going through.

Emily softly patted the cascading folds of her skirt, the fabric just the right shade of pink to complement her untarnished skin, and a soft, knowing smile came to her lips.  Madeline had every reason to adore her.  The child had shown outstanding astuteness in the choosing of a proper role model for such a thing.  As the eldest daughter of the Duke of Lofton, Emily was worthy of such a position.

What she was not worthy of was her father’s current state of inattention, and Emily’s tolerance wore thin.

“Papa,” she said again, her teeth nearly scraping with her impatience.  “Papa, I—”

“Just a moment,” her father said, raising a single hand in her direction.

Her blood went from pounding to rampaging.

If Emily felt immense joy at the prospect of presents, she felt an equally intense but entirely opposite emotion about being ignored.  Anger flared inside her.  For but a moment, her nostrils flared, her mouth tightened, and her fingers curled into fists.  However, such gestures wreak havoc on fair and untouched skin, so with a breath, she purposefully released the tension in her body.

Shaking her head, she approached her father standing at the front window of the shop.  Mother was always saying how her father did not always understand the proper handling of womanly issues, and this was apparently one of those situations.  She assumed an expression of tender understanding, not unlike the one she used on simpletons, like servants and the sons of viscounts or gad, barons.

“Papa,” she said once more, her tone dripping with what others might term condescension but Emily liked to think of as helpful and necessary correction of one’s behavior.  “You seem not to understand the importance-“

“Worth,” her father said, his tone gruff and forthright, the way it sometimes sounded when Uncle Nathan would burst into their house at whatever hour of the night, ruthlessly rousing her from her needed rest.

Something was amiss, and it was not her father’s slip in appropriate behavior.

Her father strode past her to the back of the shop where the proprietor stood, the Mr. Worth from which the name of the store was derived.

“Worth, have you an errand boy?  Anyone who could deliver a note for me?”

Emily did not like this line of questioning whatsoever.  Her father had brought her here to shop, and it was to her his attention was due.  Why was he asking about errand boys?  She put fisted hands to her hips in the manner her mother had taught her.  One’s fragile skin must be sacrificed for the good of straightening men from their misdeeds, such as not paying adequate attention to Lady Emily Black.

“Papa, I demand to know what is going on.”

London

March 1833

Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, died peacefully in his bed.  It was a Tuesday, as unremarkable as any other Tuesday, and he had gone to bed as he had any other Tuesday for the whole of his eighty-three years.  It was only as dawn broke through the curtains that his wife, Jane, found him gone when she woke beside his cold body.

His colleagues and friends had all remarked on such a virtuous end to a life lived in constant pursuit of death.  For in his work with the War Office, Richard Black had more than once traveled into the vicinity of death, caring not for the safety of his person but for the safety of an entire nation.  To have death finally come when one had lived a life as full as it was wide, having escaped attempt after attempt on his life by nefarious traitors and the like, it was a rather remarkable feat and oft mentioned at the clubs by those that survived him and admired him.

His funeral was quite the spectacle with everyone in attendance including the Earl Grey.  It was rumored even Peel would have appeared if he had been in the country at the time.  As it was, St. Paul’s ran over with the respectable and noble, the pews crammed with the latest in mourning fashions.  The people were all there to see the great Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, celebrated spy for the War Office, and in his later years, tremendous supporter of the reform acts sweeping through the House of Lords, laid to rest.

It was an exultant affair for all that those types of things could be.  His life was carefully articulated by his sons, each milestone given its due.  His achievements were itemized in detail and revered with exuberance by Lord Crawley, a man simply referred to as exemplary in his work alongside Lofton at the War Office.

As Richard Black’s merits rang through the dome of St. Paul’s, the attendees all bowed their heads, absorbing the passage of time, reflecting on their own life’s achievements or lack thereof, and all pondered on the greatness of the man they had lost.

All except one, that is.

One slight head bent not in reflection but in fear.

Fear of the days ahead.  Fear of the unknown.

Fear of not being able to keep the last promise she made to her grandfather.

April 1826

London

“You are not at all concerned your wife will find out?”

Alec stood in the bedchamber of one of London’s most refined and most adventurous widows and casually replaced the stopper in the decanter of brandy.  He set it carefully down on the gold-plated tray that seemed rather ostentatious even to him.  Lady Hilary Hunisett had a reputation for ostentatiousness though, and he supposed the tray was simply indicative of the rumors circulating about the ton.

“My wife?” Alec said, turning to the woman now.

Lady Hunisett’s robe was tied loosely at the waist, its soft folds of silk accentuating the exposed expanse of her bosom.  She was in rather good condition for her age and hedonistic lifestyle.  Alec would have thought the woman’s drinking, poor eating habits, and reckless living would have taken their toll.  But her skin was still firm and flawless, a porcelain white against the red silk of her night rail peeking out from under her robe.

Hilary Hunisett had been a catch during her season twenty years ago, or at least that was what Jane had told him.  Alec wouldn’t have doubted it.  It seemed the woman was still accustomed to such attention.  Attention she now demanded from Alec.

“I think you need not worry about my wife,” Alec continued when no response from the woman came.  Handing one of the brandy glasses to Lady Hunisett, he was careful to stroke her fingertips with his own.  He could see the responding thrill illuminate Lady Hunisett’s eyes, and Alec smiled, allowing heat to enter his gaze.

Lady Hunisett smiled coyly, reaching up to toy with a strand of her auburn hair, twirling it around her finger before allowing the curl to fall and trickle invitingly down her bosom.

“Why is that, my lord?” Hunisett said.

Alec turned his smile into more of a smirk.  “My wife is a simpleton, my lady,” Alec said, bending forward as if his words were a secret meant to be shared only between lovers.  “Surely you’ve heard the story of where my father found her?”

Lady Hunisett looked up at him through long eyelashes, much darker than her auburn tresses.  “The story?” she said.

Alec laughed softly, picking up his hand to run a single finger along the line of her collarbone.  She trembled under his touch, and Alec captured her gaze in his.  “She’s a nobody, I’m afraid,” Alec said.  “My father took pity on some old woman’s charity case, and I’ve been strapped with the burden my entire life.  You cannot imagine what I’ve been forced to endure with such a lowly bred wife.  Just once I would like…”

His finger had trailed dangerously close to the valley between her breasts.  He looked up at Hunisett’s face, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes speaking of untold horrors, terrible afflictions he’d been forced to suffer during his awful marriage.  Hunisett blinked, her lids closing slowly over her amber eyes, her gaze drinking him in until he felt completely absorbed.

“You poor man,” she said.  “Someone as extraordinary as you should never have had to suffer the way you have.”  She stepped closer to him, the folds of her robe rubbing against the fabric of his breeches.  “Whatever can I do to make your life just a little more comfortable?”  Here she slipped a single leg between his, her thigh rubbing against him in a most intimate manner.

Alec smiled.  “Oh, I think I can come up with a couple of ideas of how you might help.”  He paused, took a sip of his brandy.  “But first, you must tell me where you acquired this lovely brandy.”

Hunisett’s eyes flashed, and her smile grew devilish.  “I have a source,” she said.  “A wonderful source who gets me the finest French brandy.”

Alec laughed softly.  “Of course, the finest brandy would be French, but this is rather exquisitely aged brandy.  Tell me, my darling, could it have been acquired during that terrible skirmish with that Napoleon chap a few years ago?”

Hunisett tipped back her head and laughed, the sound that of bells tinkling in a soft wind.  “Oh, you are lovely, Stryden,” she said.  “Of course, my source smuggled in brandy for me during the war.  Do you think I would have gone without?”  She reached up, ran a fingernail along the line of his jaw.  “My man not only gets me fine brandy, my lord, but he’s very capable of doing…other things…when I ask.”

Alec raised a single eyebrow.  “Is that so?” he asked.

Hunisett’s smile faded into something more beguiling.  “My man brings me the finest silks, the best tea, and the loveliest spices from India without having to go through the East India Company,” Hunisett batted her eyelashes at him.  “I haven’t paid a single tax or fee on anything in years.  I’m a rather spoiled woman, I’m afraid.”

Alec smiled, reaching out to pull Hunisett closer.  The movement brought her body against the length of his, and he cradled her in his arm.  “And I know you would share your source with me, wouldn’t you, my lady?  I mean in the interest of improving my rather burdened life?”

Hunisett smiled, reaching up that single finger to once more stroke the line of his jaw.  She seemed to push herself higher against him, and her lips came closer to his.  “His name is Lord Lucian Rye,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she waited for his kiss.

Squee, peeps! Jack and Maggie recently visited the Teatime Tattler! If you’re not familiar with the Tattler, then you probably don’t know the Belles in Blue either. Pop on over for a scandalous account of Jack and Maggie’s first encounter in society.

For more about To Save a Viscount, the bestselling Regency romance, visit the book page.

So now I want to ask you!

Which of the Spy Series short stories is your favorite?

Were you surprised by Samuel’s choice in To Be a Spy?

Who do you think will win the heart of the Marquess of Evanshire?

Was Lady Emily a surprise? Do you love her or hate her?

And I’d like to say I’m sorry about To Be a Lady and what happens to Richard. But it needed to happen for the story to go on. Are you sad about it? Or do you understand?

What are you most anticipating from Once Upon a Page?

Join in the conversation and let me know in the comments below.

Sam and Penelope’s story is speedily coming along and will be available this fall. Once Upon a Page is the first book in the new Shadowing London Series, which takes place at the conclusion of the Spy Series Short Stories.

Haven’t read the short stories?

Here they are in order so you can get ready!

To Be a Spy – Samuel must decide if he’ll be a spy like his father or choose his own path. Both are likely to give his mother chest pains.

To Be a Duke – Alec faces the realization that one day he will be duke.

To Be a Lady – Baby Jane is all grown up and given a mission of her own. A mission she fears she may not be able to complete.

To Be a Debutante – We meet Lady Emily Black, Alec and Sarah’s eldest daughter, and well, you’re just not going to like her.

Each short story is only 99 cents, so download them all today and get ready for Once Upon a Page coming this fall.

Let’s start with the lady, because she arrived first.

The hubby and I were married in 2011. We bought a house in August 2012. I gave my husband a task. I said, I want a dog by Christmas. Go. It was really that simple, because my husband is the shopper. He is good at finding things, and he’s good at finding the one that’s right for us.

We knew we wanted a Basset hound. I had had many dogs throughout my life, but a Basset hound found us. It was late on 4th of July, and we were walking back from the river when a tinkling noise came out of the darkness, attached to the romping Basset hound it belonged to. The poor guy had gotten spooked from the fireworks and broke out of his yard. His name was Cory, and he sauntered up to us, plopped his rolly butt down at our feet, and proceeded to love us eternally. We knew a Basset was the right dog from that moment on.

So in the fall of 2012, my husband went in search of a Basset hound. Turns out, Basset puppies are hard to get. Have you seen a Basset puppy? I mean seriously. There is nothing cuter on the PLANET. We could probably solve all of the world’s problems just by handing out Basset puppies. But perhaps that’s why there’s so many problems. Basset puppies are very hard to find.

In fact, in the hubby’s search of the entire New England area, he only found one. This one.

He sent me this photo while I was at work. It was a Tuesday afternoon in October, and the text said, we’re going to pick her up on Saturday. She’s in New York.

I looked at the photo, and I said, Her name is Lady Josephine, and we will call her Josie. We went and picked her up, and that was that. She was our baby girl from the moment she ran up to me and put a single paw on my knee, her big eyes searching my face as if to say, are you my mom?

It turns out I was her mom, whether she liked it or not, because her puppyhood from that moment on would become the adventure no one expected. We took her to Western New York to meet her grandpa. Only when we got there, we found Grandpa had to have his gallbladder removed, and the lady spent an odd week in the car in Erie, PA, encountering a swarm of dead fish, loud, smelly traffic, and a lot of walks around a hospital park. She was praised when she peed on the hotel bathroom floor. Remember she was a puppy. Potty training was still a new thing to her, and when she went on the tile of the hotel bathroom floor instead of the carpet, she was the best puppy in the world! She didn’t care. She just wanted a carrot.

It didn’t get much more normal after that. There was a big scary yard, and a dog hidden behind a fence that parked at her when she peed. So she just didn’t pee. That was until she found her voice. That other dog doesn’t bother her anymore. But the scary yard and the dog who barked at her when she peed meant she didn’t pee anywhere except one spot in her yard. It was a lot of walking and a lot of hot dogs that finally got her comfortable peeing outside of that one spot.

And then there was puppy school. In case you haven’t figured it out, the lady is very food driven. School was her jam, man. There was so much food! And all she had to do was what I told her to do, and she’d get hot dog and cheese! School was the best thing ever. She skipped puppy school because she was too smart. Went right into Adult 2. She fell asleep during the final exam and still passed. So then it was on to Canine Good Citizen training. She was the queen of the school and pranced around with all of her neat tricks.

Until something terrible happened.

The lady was in a car accident with my mother. She was in the front seat, and that likely saved her from a lot of trauma. My mother was rear-ended, and the lady fell off the seat. The vet explained that she wouldn’t understand that that is not supposed to happen. She now thinks that can happen at anytime. The lady became anxious. Terribly anxious. She was afraid of the remote control, she was afraid of any noise. She was terrified of the car. We had to give her a tranquilizer if we had to go anywhere long distance. She was no longer the confident, demanding puppy she had been. She was broken.

We talked to the trainer. We talked to the vet. We talked to the breeder. Everyone said the same thing.

Get another dog.

I said no. I actually said hell no. We just finished potty training this one. We just finished puppy school. We had already done all this work, and she had been so perfect. She largely was still perfect. But the anxiety. The anxiety broke this mommy’s heart. I knew what she had been like. The bossy, sassy princess of the house. And now she hid in fear.

So I made the call. I called the breeder and said we’re looking for another puppy to help our lady. The breeder said, we don’t have any puppies but…

We have this guy.

Runner was the lady’s actual brother. From the same litter. He’d led the life of a show dog while the lady had been busy being a pampered princess. I had a lot of weird emotions all at once. I was worried about bringing a second full-grown dog into the mix. Would his personality fit with our lady’s? Was he a good boy? (The lady was perfect, and we were not going to mess that up.) Would he like us?

But the lady was too frightened, and my heart was too broken to say no. We went and picked up the dude in Rhode Island after a field trial. And we brought him home, and our lives would never be the same.

The first week he was here he ate a rock and had to have major surgery. MAJOR. They opened him up from chest to boy parts to find the rock that had wedged in his intestine. We got to keep the rock. The lady realized this new guy was in trouble. She realized he was in pain. And suddenly, magically, unbelievably…

Lady Barks-a-lot was back!

It was like someone had flicked a switch, and the lady realized she was really a bad ass. She was strong and confident and smart and no one – NO ONE- was going to mess with her brother while he was hurt. It was a long, slow recovery for the captain because he kept peeing on his incision. The vet recommended slow, long walks to get him moving.

One night we were out in the hood, and a Great Dane broke out of his yard. (I can’t make this stuff up.) A big, scary Great Dane that charged at us, barking and yapping. I need to point out here that it was a GREAT DANE. The lady and the captain are like six inches tall. This was a GREAT DANE. The captain was still wrapped in a bandage from his incision, and the lady was having none of it. She attacked. I mean that literally.  She went full throttle on this Great Dane, and the poor dane didn’t know what hit him. I was holding the lady’s leash, and of course, I should have pulled her off. I should have made her stop. But I was too stunned. This dog who only weeks before was afraid of the remote control was suddenly ripping into a Great Dane. Finally, I realized what was happening and pulled her off, but by then the Great Dane had relented and his owner had come to get him.

The lady was still riled as we walked away, and the captain? The captain turned around and went woof. (Subtext: yeah, don’t mess with me or my sister will get you!)

And so began the adventures of Lady Barks-a-lot and Captain Licky.

I didn’t think I could love another dog the way I love the lady. Especially one that I hadn’t raised myself. But let me assure you. If you ever meet the captain, you will understand. Runner is a dog that dares you not to love him. He’s not perfect. Far from it. He’s caused this momma a lot of grief and many tears. But if that Great Dane ever shows up again, you’d better believe I’m going to give him hell. The captain is the goofiest part of our family. He’s a lover. He’s a cuddle bug. He’s a Basset hound.

We got him to save the lady. But he really saved us all.

And that is the story of a lady and her captain.

Download your copy from Audible or iTunes.

Visit the book page for more format options.

Want to know more about what it’s like to produce an audiobook? Check out my visit to Alicia Dean’s blog where I talk about finding Rachael and producing the Spy Series for audio.

I don’t know what’s more exciting about this post:

1. The amazingly talented Rachael Beresford is currently hard at work on the audio edition of To Save a Viscount or…
2. I got to write SPRING in this post!

Yes, To Save a Viscount will be available in audio this spring, so if you’re like me and use any excuse you can to listen to audiobooks, set aside the cleaning for a few weeks and store up some cleaning time to listen to this Regency romance.  You won’t regret it!