I’m thrilled to announce the release of The Beaumont Betrothal, Book 2 in the Northbridge Bride series. It has been ‘Coming Soon!’ for much longer than it should. I am in love with the cover designed by Tania Hutley and must thank Bronwen Evans for her developmental edit, which saw many changes and much improvement in the manuscript. Regency Romantica author Jen Yates‘ humor, wisdom, and hospitality also paved the way to publication, as did the inspiration, example, and encouragement of many others, particularly those in our C2C (Coast-to-Coast) chapter of Romance Writers of New Zealand.
Attending a SPA Girls self-publishing workshop was the real impetus towards self-publishing, and I sincerely thank Cheryl Phipps, Wendy Vella, Trudi Jaye, and Shar Barrett, not only for the initial learning but for their ongoing support. Many see writing as a solitary occupation but sharing the support, knowledge, and experience of other writers is enriching in so many ways. I’ve always found the writing community tremendously supportive; individually, at conferences, workshops and meetings, and also on social media which is integral to our craft in today’s cyber-centered world.
Book 3 in the Northbridge Bride series has the working title The Diplomat’s Daughter. I am determined Catherine and Benedict won’t have to wait as long for their HEA as did Sophia and Bruno from The Beaumont Betrothal. Wish me luck! I love feedback from readers, so if you enjoyed reading The Beaumont Betrothal or any of my other titles, please email me at leighdansey@gmail.com
“Careful. You’ll get freckles,” came a deep voice from behind her.
Startled, she spun around to see a wide-shouldered long-legged gentleman with a thick crop of peat-colored hair roughed-up by the same breeze that played with her own. His high-bridged nose bisected a pair of bold, alert eyes and she was struck by an odd sense of familiarity. At the same time, she knew she’d never met this man before. She would not have forgotten that dark, flashing glance.
A thrill flickered inside her. Despite the blustery draught, the air around her shimmered. She brought a hand to her throat and drew in a quick breath but did not look away, imbued with an unexpected recklessness.
“I rather like freckles.” She lifted her chin, aware of the wind loosening the length of colored cloth she’d tied about her head earlier in the day.
He smiled. His teeth were very white, their color echoed in the thin, gleaming scar that tracked across the lean plane of his right cheek. Perhaps it was this injury, tugging at the muscles beneath his bronzed skin that resulted in an indent near the corner of his long upper lip and softened the hard line of his mouth.
“I do too,” he said, eyeing her in a way that brought warmth to her face. His rich baritone was dangerously attractive, and his drawling enunciation told Sophia he was not a native-born Englishman.
Conversing with a gentleman when she was unchaperoned and to whom she had not been introduced breached all the rules of etiquette, but she did not care. For she held an unhappy awareness that this could be her last chance to venture beyond the bounds of behavior society, and she herself, would demand of her should she be compelled to marry Freddy.
She found herself returning his smile. “I do not know you, Sir,” she said. “And I have been cautioned throughout my life against the perils of speaking to strangers.”
His mouth quirked. “I am not particularly strange,” he said. “But that’s certainly a valid warning for a young lady. It’s one I’d issue myself.”
She dimpled, unable to resist provoking further conversation. “Then perhaps I should bid you goodbye.” But she made no move to step away, intrigued by this new turn of events and excited by the presence of a man unlike any she had encountered before.
Despite the weather, his dress was faultless; his white cravat precisely tied, his caped surtout tailored to emphasize his wide shoulders and narrow waist. Perhaps he had unbuttoned it when the rain stopped for it lay open, displaying a cream-on-cream waistcoat beneath a charcoal jacket. Tight-fitting buckskins encased long, muscled legs and his hessian boots gleamed where they were not splashed with mud. He carried himself with an easy, masculine grace and wore his garments without pretention.
Beyond him and to the right, a bay mare cropped at the grass beside the brook. Sophia was surprised her unhappy thoughts had so engrossed her that both horse and rider had been able to approach without her knowing.
After a moment or two, he angled his face and said: “What were you searching for?”
Sophia tilted her head.
“When I first saw you, you were gazing so intently into the water. I wondered what held your interest.”
Sophia caught her lower lip between her teeth. What could she say? She was watching for mating trout? She turned her face into the cooling breeze.
“Fish,” she said truthfully though with less eloquence than she would have liked.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “To… fish for… or to eat?”
She shook her head. “To watch. They are quite beautiful.” She found herself staring at his mouth, waiting for that captivating indent to appear. When it did, her heart gave a little lurch.
His eyes flashed with humor. “I don’t recall ever encountering a woman who considered fish beautiful.”
“Oh, but they are! Only last week I saw a buck directly under this bridge with the most astonishing coloring, flashes of dark red dappled with gold.” She was aware of her expression dimming. “But I should not like to catch one, for when they are out of their own environment their colors fade to dullness.” Like hers would, once she was married to Freddy, she thought unhappily.
I have lots to do today. I should be reading, writing, editing and getting geared up to promote my soon-to-be-released ‘The Beaumont Betrothal’. But it’s a rare sunny day and I’ve found myself mooching around my little house, adjusting a cushion here, flicking a duster there and shaking the odd rug. I can’t call it ‘housework’ – more like diversional therapy!
But appreciating the space where I live has reminded me of all the things that make my house a home. I’ve moved several times over the years and there’s always been a decluttering of sorts, but some things go from house to house and it’s not until they’re in place, that the new space begins to feel like ‘home’.
The old sewing table is kind of ugly but I love it. It looks to me as if it was hand-crafted by some resourceful husband back in the day when most of what you needed, needed to be made by hand. I like to think it was a loving hand and made for a loved partner. The Bentwood chair isn’t very comfortable to sit on but it fits nicely under the table and looks as if that’s where it belongs, although I do move it around the house from time to time.
I love these little pots joined at the rim. I use them from time to time, but more likely for hummus or relish than the jam or marmalade they were probably designed for. I have numerous little jugs and dishes that have come with me over the years with new pieces being added occasionally. I’m especially fond of ferreting out bits of pottery from charity shops.
This wooden apple was made from a tall pine tree that used to grow alongside the post office where my great-grandfather was postmaster. I gave the apple to my mother for a gift many years ago and now that Mum has passed on, the piece of wooden fruit sits on my shelves and I am so happy to have it there.
This limited edition print by Richard Wardle is very special to me. The picture was used on the cover of Rosamund Pilcher’s novel, ‘The Shell Seekers’ and I won it, along with a copy of ‘The Shell Seekers’ and a cash prize, for gaining first place in a nation-wide short story competition. Winning this competition gave me the encouragement to believe in myself as a writer. Subsequently, I had other short stories published along with children’s literature, and later I began to focus on writing romance.
There are many other items in my home that are truly special to me, and I’ll bet you too have treasures that you would not part with. I’d love to hear about them!