This is a (first draft) excerpt for a Romantic Regency Murder Mystery WIP. Unfortunately italics don’t show and because FB fouls formatting I’ve spaced it for easier reading. I dont know how, but on first posting this it picked up members names and included them within the text. Trevellian groaned. Dismay at imminent intrusion thus expressed: “Visitor?” “Miss Hermione Knight, sir,” informed Sheldon. “Damn it. Must a man return home in disguise to escape the nuisance of social obligations so soon after stepping across the threshold? How in the deuce did she . . .” “Had you refrained from supping ale at The Unicorn,” said Hermione Knight, sweeping into the drawing room in vexed manner, “that dreadful Shaw girl would be less informed as to your whereabouts.” Whilst his visitor’s bright blue eyes appraised his untied cravat and shirt open at the neck, he in turn surveyed her dark blue riding apparel, which was fashioned to perfection and her lace cravat sporting a sapphire pin. Her blonde ringlets were somewhat windblown and bedraggled, implying she had ridden to his abode in great haste. The rules of etiquette required a gentlemen relinquish his seat upon a lady’s entry to the room, of which he purposefully let slip on this occasion, and said his piece: “Rebecca Shaw’s knowledge has clearly served purpose. Else you would not have come here without a chaperone. Furthermore, waltzing into the room uninvited is hardly the action of a well-brought up young lady.” Aware Sheldon was backing out of the room, Hermione bided her moment until the door met with the jamb and the catch clicked. “I had to come, Jonathan. We parted on such bad terms, and I so want to make amends.” “To be quite frank, Miss Knight,” said he, annoyed at his birth name having slipped her tongue, “I cannot say I have given any thought to a parting, if indeed we engaged in such. Damn it, I can barely remember when and where we last encountered one another. Perhaps, if you recall, I’ve been absent from this house for a considerable length of time.” He drew breath, wishing she would remove herself from the house forthwith, and to that aim, he furthered with, “If you are of mind that I’ve had nothing better to do than summon memories of brief soirees around Bath and attendance at grand country house picnics, then let me enlighten you to my other life. The one in which I survived the Battle of Trafalgar as a midshipman, survived a naval assault upon Algiers as a lieutenant, and have since sailed the high seas in search of illegal slavers as captain of a frigate.” Her peachy glow turned ashen, her eyes declaring inner rage at his dismissive stance. “I know you, Trevellian, know you better than you know yourself.” “Is that so?” He challenged, in surly voice before taking a swig of his brandy, his annoyance at her intrusion declared. “Then you will know my own company is all I require at present.” Unwilling to concede ground she braved his mutinous stance. “You’ve vowed never to forgive me, is that not so?” He almost laughed; his memory far from fuddled. And if truths were order of the day, he would readily admit to having enjoyed flirtatious encounters with Hermione Knight. Perchance more heated engagements might have transpired, had she been less possessive of his attention and kind to equines. Their encounters were in the past and best forgotten. In point of fact, when her sudden betrothal to a viscount was announced, Lady Luck had rid him of her pestilent attentions, for she had indeed proved a deterrent to his amorous ambitions with beauties more attuned to his personal tastes. “Miss Knight, pray tell me, why do you seek forgiveness? For I have no notion what exactly has caused your distressing circumstance.” “If you must take the formal line,” said she, snatching her riding crop from underarm, and looking as though she might indeed set about him with its vicious twitch end, “then know this, Captain. Trevellian. You cannot fool me, as much as you might wish to do so. And why you allow people to call you Captain Jack, I shall never understand.” “Forgive my curiosity, but what became of your betrothal to Viscount Drewesbury, Miss Knight?” “Horace and I realised we had rushed the course of wedlock without due thought to the consequences, and it was agreed we should go our separate ways. Besides, when you left Bath in haste, the Upper Assembly Rooms at that, I sensed the unofficial news of my betrothal had struck a mortal blow to your self esteem. Later, I knew I had made a terrible mistake in choosing Horace.” Her lip curled in feeble attempt at demure flirtation. “Can you forgive me, Jonathan?” Having heard a greatly differing account of the Hermione and Horace betrothal, the betrothal that never was, he very nearly laughed aloud. It was said ‘Hermione had begged Horace to pretend to be an ardent suitor, and all for the sake of making Trevellian jealous’. Instead Lieutenant Jack Trevellian had escaped on the stroke of midnight and fled the ball. “Well, Miss Knight,” said he, getting to his feet in order to replenish his glass with brandy, “you’d best thank Lady Luck for having saved you from a fate worse than marriage to Horace Drewesbury. The reason I departed Bath, in haste, was entirely due to my leaving word of where I could be found should urgent orders from the Admiralty require my immediate attention. Indeed, such arrived and within days I was back aboard ship. I had no notion in seeking a wife back then and it seems I would no doubt have broken your heart had you thought that likely.” “And what of now, Jonathan? Surely, to take a wife would deter gossip and speculation as to why you were the one who discovered that poor girl from Port Seaton.” Astounded by her implication he was in any way guilty of a foul deed some years beforehand, he had to ask, “The lass who was ravaged and murdered?” “It occurred not a mile from this very house,” said she, tapping her riding crop to the palm of her hand in agitated manner whilst he swigged more brandy. “As it is, the villain has yet to be apprehended and brought to justice. So, is it any wonder simple country folk hereabouts, remain suspicious of your finding that body?” Further annoyed at Hermione’s inference he was a murderer and rapist, he was sorely tempted to pick her up and throw her out of his house. “The constable knew I had no hand in her death,” said he, tone cutting. “Damn it all, I’d not long alighted from a mail coach when I stumbled upon the body. Moreover, the villainous rogue who committed what amounted to a heinous deed had thrown her into the ditch beside the byway. Presumably from a coach, for how else did she get there from Port Seaton?” “As maybe. But what of the girl who was quite obviously ravaged and murdered last evening? She was found lying but ten yards from your gates.”
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 14:37:35 +0000
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