by
Carola Dunn
My
Regency e-publisher is experimenting with pricing on Amazon. She asked
me if I'd like to find out what happened if one of my (36) Regencies was
priced at 99c (UK 77p) instead of the usual $3.99. I said okay, and she chose A Lord for Miss Larkin, originally published in paperback in 1991.
No murder here, but
there is an abduction so at a pinch you could call it crime fiction.
What it does have is dogs, as you might guess from the paperback cover.
The heroine has a Newfoundland, and three of her four eccentric aunts
have West Highland Terriers. (The protagonist of my Cornish mysteries
also has a Westie.)
With a sigh of satisfaction, Alison
closed the marbled covers of Mrs. Kitty Cuthbertson’s latest novel.
Curled in the corner of the shabby sofa, so faded its colours were
indistinguishable, for a few moments she let her imagination drift
through marble palaces and dark, sinister, ruined abbeys. How
romantic it would be to have a handsome young lord swooning at one’s
feet! Or better (suggested her practical streak), simply kneeling in
adoration.
The grey rain drummed down outside the
window. In the grate the meagre fire gave a last despairing flicker
and died. Alison shivered, uncurled, set the borrowed volume
carefully on the occasional table by the parlour door and picked
up her feather duster.
The huge black dog sprawled on the
hearth rug raised his head to watch tolerantly as she flitted about
the room, making mysterious passes at shelves and picture frames and
the one remaining Dresden shepherdess on the mantel. The whims
of humans were inexplicable. He lumbered to his feet and padded over
to the window. The sill was just the right height for his chin, and
even though it was raining there was always the possibility that a
cat might venture to dash across the street.
What he did not know was that at
present Alison was not a romantic heroine but a fairy godmother. With
her magic wand she was turning everything in the room into gold.
Then she would buy a splendid gown for her dear goddaughter, Miss
Alison Larkin, who would go to a ball and meet—well, a prince was
too much to expect, and even a duke’s son seemed a lot to ask for,
although judging by Mrs. Meeke’s novels they were two a penny.
Alison would be satisfied with an earl or a viscount, or even a mere
baron.
She gave an extra whisk of the duster
to the picture over the mantelpiece. Looking at the portrait was
almost like gazing in a mirror—curly black hair, brilliant
blue eyes and delicate, pixie-like features. When the likeness was
painted Mama had been nineteen, Alison’s present age, and Papa not
much older. She did not remember them.
She curtsied, blew a kiss and turned
away...
The terriers decided she wanted a game
and gamboled about her feet, nearly tripping her. Midnight sat
by the closed kitchen door regarding her hopefully, the tip of his
tail swishing gently on the flagstones. She rubbed his huge head as
she passed.
“Sorry, boy, you will have to wait.
Sit, Flake, Goose, Drop. Stay!”
The terriers obeyed, with a reproachful
look that made her laugh. She slipped into the warm kitchen, fragrant
with the odour of baking, and closed the door firmly again behind
her.
All three of her aunts were sitting at
the well-scrubbed white wood table, sipping tea from cheap china
cups. Aunt Cleo, plump and rosy-cheeked, reached for the teapot as
Alison entered and poured a fourth cup.
“Who was it, dear?” she asked.
“A messenger, with a letter from Aunt
Zenobia.”
She set the package in front of Aunt
Polly and sat down beside her.
As the eldest of the sisters, Polly
Larkin was entitled to be the one to open the letter. A vague-looking
woman with wisps of grey hair escaping from her cap, she poked the
package with a nervous expression.
“Oh dear. Di, will you read it?”
she said pleadingly, just as everyone expected.
Warming her hands on her cup of tea,
Alison waited impatiently as the ritual proceeded. Aunt Di found her
steel-rimmed spectacles suspended round her neck, as always. Aunt
Cleo provided a sharp knife to slit the seal, warning her sister to
be careful not to damage the contents. Aunt Zenobia Winkle had not
been heard from in two years, but they all remembered the bright-hued
silk scarves that had been enclosed with her last letter, though they
had been sold long since to buy coals.
Eyes widened as four pairs of gold
earrings emerged from their tissue paper wrappings.
“I shall buy a goose!” exclaimed
Aunt Cleo. “I did want a goose to roast for Christmas, but better
late than never.”
Alison let out her breath in a long,
silent sigh. Of course, they would have to be sold. With a reverent
fingertip she touched the nearest one, a delightful dangling creation
shaped like a pagoda.
“They are a bit flashy,” said Aunt
Di, doubtfully. “Do you think anyone will buy them?”
“Of course. There is a certain type
of female who likes to be flashy.”
Alison was about to request elucidation
of this fascinating comment when Aunt Polly’s timid voice was
heard.
“Surely the gold alone must be worth
something?”
“Quite right, Polly.” Cleo patted
her hand. “I daresay there will be enough to buy us each a new
dress.”
Visions of silks and satins danced
before Alison’s eyes. Resolutely she banished them. A sprig muslin
for spring would do nicely. “What does the letter say, Aunt Di?”
she asked.
Her aunt unfolded the sheet of paper
with some trepidation. Zenobia’s communications were generally full
of incomprehensible and unpronounceable memsahibs and howdahs
and chukkers and tiffins.
“My goodness!” she gasped. “Mr.
Winkle is gone to his reward and Zenobia is coming home at last. And
this letter must have been delayed—she expects to arrive at
the end of January. She may be here any day!”
..............
...there was a peremptory rapping at the
front door.
She started towards it, failing to
remember that the household now boasted a maid, one of whose duties
was to answer the door. At that moment three balls of white fur raced
into view from the back of the house, yipping their joy at seeing
her. Midnight followed at a more staid pace.
Bess, the new maid, must have gone out
into the garden, forgetting that the dogs were supposed to be shut
out of the house while Lady Emma was there. Alison was in a quandary.
The terriers must be chased out, but the door knocker was sounding
again, plied with a vigorous urgency that brooked no denial.
“Sit, Drop,” she ordered. “Sit,
Flake and Goose.” She opened the door.
The gentleman on the doorstep looked
her up and down with an air of cool appraisal. He was of middle
height, elegantly if quietly dressed, with no more than two modest
capes to his greatcoat. His features were clear-cut but nothing out
of the ordinary except, perhaps, his determined chin. Alison
took instant exception to the faint boredom in his brown eyes.
“I have come to fetch Lady Emma,”
he announced. “My name is Trevelyan. Be so good as to announce
me to your mistress, girl.”
“I am Alison Larkin,” she corrected
him.
The terriers decided hopefully that she
was giving them permission to move. They scampered to greet the
stranger, two of them sniffing suspiciously at the ankles of his
gleaming top-boots while Flake, the boldest, jumped up to place two
paws on his knee and look him in the face.
“Down!” said Alison and Mr.
Trevelyan with one voice.
Flake obeyed instantly, leaving two
muddy paw prints on the hitherto immaculate dove-coloured
inexpressibles. A flush of annoyance stained the high
cheekbones, which lent the gentleman’s face a sensitivity at
odds with his manner.
Alison succeeded in smothering a
giggle, but before she could apologize, Midnight sauntered up. Mr.
Trevelyan stood his ground.
“I trust your Newfoundland has better
manners,” he said grimly.
This
book is the first of a trilogy, so if sales go up, the second and third
books may follow at the regular price--one can always hope!
The
second book, The Road to Gretna, features an elopement--or rather two
elopements that get entangled with each other--and an extremely
troublesome kitten.
The third, Thea's Marquis, doesn't feature any animals, but it does have a villain or two and it ends with a thrilling rescue...
It
will be interesting to see what the pricing does for the sales and
whether any increase carries over to the sequels and even to the rest of
the 36. We won't know for a month or two, when the numbers come in.
Fingers crossed!
