Friday, 29 January 2021

Westbury - Arabella Sheen - EXCERPT 2

  



Westbury

A Traditional Regency Romance

Arabella Sheen


Can Miss Georgina Morton surrender her independence and accept the Duke’s love?

Miss Georgina Morton, at the age of four-and-twenty, with a modest annual income of four hundred pounds, believes she has no need of a husband and can manage quite nicely without one. Yet within a matter of weeks, she’s betrothed to Giles Glentworth, the Sixth Duke of Westbury, and bound for Regency London.
Set in rural Wiltshire and elegant, fast-paced London...a runaway ward, a shooting at midnight, and a visit to fashionable Almack’s, are only a few of the adventures Georgina enjoys while falling for the Corinthian charms of the Duke.



Chapter One    Excerpt 2….continued.


It wasn’t often that such a smartly dressed person of obvious means arrived in Avebury. And although she was reluctant to become involved in a problem that wasn’t hers, being of a caring nature, she decided she could not ignore the fact that this young person seemed genuinely distressed and in need of assistance.
“I’m supposed to be travelling to Marlborough and from there to London,” he said. “That preposterous coachman misunderstood the matter and claimed my fare was paid only to this point and no farther. It wasn’t my fault. Truly it wasn’t. But he has thrown me from the stagecoach, and I’ve no idea where I am.”
“You are in Avebury, sir,” Georgina said.
“Avebury? But I was to change at Marlborough, not Avebury.”
“Was your fare paid only to here?”
“I don’t know. I expect so. But that’s beside the point.”
“Well, it appears the coachman didn’t agree with you. I’m sure he expected to be paid for his trouble. He couldn’t allow you to travel on the stagecoach for nothing, could he? That would be unreasonable, would it not?”
Georgina looked about her, searching for signs of assistance, but there were none. No one was in sight. The hostlers at the inn had disappeared, and it was just her and the young man to be seen. For a brief moment, Georgina wondered if she could ignore the youth’s plight and walk on. But she couldn’t.
“I explained to the coachman that I must reach London urgently and that he will be paid on the nose and in full upon arrival. But he was unwilling to understand. He laughed at me and said the coach wasn’t bound for London. Once he reached Marlborough, he was to travel south to the Port of Plymouth. This is truly awful…”
At a loss to know how to help, Georgina said, “If this is the case, then it is indeed awful.”
“He said if I wished to travel on his bone-rattler, I should cough up the necessary, and only then could I board the stage.”
“Really?”
“He did. But I could not pay him. At least I can’t pay. Not until I reach London. And as you can see, the coach has now gone.”
“Yes. It has.”
The young man ran his hand beneath his nose, and Georgina thought she heard him give a loud, woeful sniff.
“The thing is, when I reach London, I mean to ask my Great Aunt to advance me a few shillings from next quarter’s pin money. Until then, unfortunately, I’m without funds.”
Pin money!
Stepping nearer, Georgina decided her impression that something was amiss was indeed correct. This young person, dressed strangely in gentleman’s clothing, could not be the whippersnapper she had first supposed him to be. And taking a closer look, she concluded that he…was in fact a she…and was possibly fresh from the schoolroom, with tell-tell marks of girlish tears on her face to prove it.
Georgina thought the girl was of too tender an age to be allowed abroad without an escort. And by the manner in which she spoke, it was apparent she came from a good home and was well educated. There was also an air of refined gentility about her, revealing a distinct sense of quality and breeding. Georgina suspected there was more to this mystery than one would first suppose.
From the noticeable lack of luggage, there being only a couple of carpet bags to be seen, Georgina thought there was definitely a story that needed to be told.
The young girl began worriedly wringing her hands together. “I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I’ve no idea how to reach London by nightfall. I shall be extremely grateful if you can offer some suggestions on what must be done, madam. I wonder if you can help.”
Georgina was unsure what course of action should be taken. The next stagecoach passing through Avebury wasn’t due until the next day, and the idea of walking to Marlborough was unthinkable. Like the young girl, she too was at a standstill.
“I should hate to find myself in such a position as you seem to be. I’m sure I don’t know how best you may proceed, sir!” she said. Then seeing a look of disappointment appear on the girl’s face, Georgina took pity. “The only suggestion I can offer is to tell you that my father may be of some assistance in this matter. He gives excellent counsel at the most desperate of times. Let me make myself known to you. My name is Georgina Morton, and I live but a few miles yonder with my Papa at Rose Hill House. It’s situated across those fields. Near that clump of trees.” Pointing over the fields, Georgina drew attention to a large cluster of sycamores not too distant. “I’m in no doubt that once we arrive, a solution to your troubles will be found, and the world will not seem so gloomy. I’m also certain you must be famished and would perhaps like some lunch.”
“In all honesty, Miss Morton, the chance of a glass of lemonade would not come amiss.” The young girl smiled her gratitude. “I left home early this morning, and have had nothing to eat or drink since. I’ve never travelled by stagecoach, and didn’t realise that I ought to have brought some food with me. It has been terrible. We were all squashed inside the coach together and the heat was almost enough to make me swoon. That is, if gentlemen were given to swooning.”
The girl had hurriedly corrected herself.
“To be truthful, sir, I believe you not to be a gentleman at all,” said Georgina.
Georgina was determined to get to the bottom of this. If she could gain the girl’s trust and ensure all was revealed, then perhaps things might become clear.
When the girl realised her disguise had been uncovered, a blush of discomfort spread across her cheeks. “Is it so obvious that I’m not a man? I had hoped to fool everyone I met on my journey. My worry is that someone will discover who I am and return me to Bath before I reach my destination.”


Disclaimer, Copyrights and Publishing
Any names or characters have no existence outside the imagination of the
author or are used fictitiously, and actual events are purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, copied,
stored in a retrieval system known or hereinafter invented, without
written permission of the publisher.


Copyright © 2019 by – Arabella Sheen
Published by priceplacebooks

All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-0-9575698-4-3


About Arabella Sheen
  


Arabella Sheen is a British author of contemporary romance and likes nothing more than the challenge of starting a new novel with fresh ideas and inspiring characters.
One of the many things Arabella loves to do is to read. And when she’s not researching or writing about romance, she is either on her allotment sowing and planting with the seasons or she is curled on the sofa with a book, while pandering to the demands of her attention-seeking cat.
Having lived and worked in the Netherlands as a theatre nurse for nearly twenty years, she now lives in the south-west of England with her family.
Arabella hopes her readers have as much pleasure from her romance stories as she has in writing them.

Social Media





BUY LINKS: 
Amazon – Nook – Kobo – Smashwords – Apple – etc.: https://books2read.com/u/mla2xB

Wednesday, 27 January 2021

New romances coming soon...

Sharing the NEWS!!!

I've signed another two-book contract deal with my lovely publisher
Beachwalk Press Inc.


Two #sensual #historical #romances coming soon...




Welcome to Romance Author - Lynda Stacey

I’m delighted to welcome Lynda Stacey to my blog.

Lynda Stacey - Author

Hello Lynda - I remember so vividly the occasion we first met. We had gathered at The Royal Over-Seas League building in London, with several other shortlisted candidates, for the Romantic Novelists’ Association – New Writers Scheme – Joan Hessayon Award. We were fresh to the publishing world and had little experience mingling with 'real' authors. It was an amazing evening and one which I shall never forget. Haven’t we come a long way since then? But before we discover more about your latest release Keeper of Secrets here are a few questions which will hopefully give your readers and followers and insight into some of the things that matter to you.


Arabella: You’ve got an idea for a story but it has yet to take shape. Where do you start? Do you concentrate on the location in the story, or developing the characters personalities and conflicts, or are there other key points you might consider?

Lynda:  Somehow, I always begin with a location. With House of Secrets and House of Christmas Secrets, my stories were based on my favourite hotel, the beautiful Wrea Head Hall in Scarborough.

My husband, Haydn took me to stay at the hotel for a birthday around six years ago. The moment I stepped foot through the porch, the property took my breath, there was so much history seeping out of the walls, I knew there was a story there and what’s more, I knew I had to be the one to tell it.

Since then, I’ve always gravitated towards my home county. All of my books are set in and around Yorkshire. It’s an absolutely beautiful area. We have a lot of heritage, a mountain of history and what’s more, it is known as God’s own county, so why not.!!   

Arabella: In your latest release Keeper of Secrets what is the overall theme or premise, and what made you choose this topic?

Lynda:  I’m a true Yorkshire girl, so it didn’t surprise me when I wrote Keeper of Secrets and gave it the amazing and famous backdrop of The Sand House, which I first read about in a local church magazine. I became absolutely obsessed by the story. These tunnels and carvings were actually in my own hometown. They were probably the most stunning tunnels I’d ever seen, with the most intricate carvings. After the second world war, the tunnels were filled in and a block of flats built over them. The carvings became lost forever and their history deserves to be told.

I used the tunnels, the family and the archaeology to form a complex theme around murder and suspense. My stories are always very character driven and each person within the family was given their own secret, each one bigger than the next and as each is unravelled - the story moves forward.


Image provided by - Lynda Stacey 

Image provided by - Lynda Stacey
   


Image provided by - Lynda Stacey
 
Image provided by - Lynda Stacey

Arabella: Roses, Lilies, or another flower of choice?

Lynda:  Lilies... I love them, as did my mother. She had lilies in her wedding bouquet, and I followed her tradition and did the same.


Lilies

Arabella: You’ve arranged to meet with friends and family for an afternoon of fun. In the present socially restricted climate, where do you go and what do you do?

Lynda:  The only meet up we had with family this year was in our garden. We have a big garden, a lot of garden furniture and it’s south facing, so we sat around, spaced out and chatted for a couple of hours. There was only 6 of us and we even gave everyone ‘designated family bubble’ bathrooms.

 

Arabella: All authors love and need to read. When choosing a book, do you:

a) pick off the shelf?

b) search online?

c) go with friends’ recommendations?

d) other…

Lynda:  It depends on what mood I’m in. I love reading friends books, I have some amazing friends who quite luckily are also the most fabulous authors. However, I do try to read one book for pleasure and then the next for research. My research books tend to be books in my genre, I like to see how other authors are writing. What their style is. And also, after I’ve read the book, I look at reviews to see what the readers are liking, or not liking. It’s interesting to see if their opinions are the same as mine.


Arabella: Italian, French or English. (I’ll leave it to you to decide if I mean a gourmet meal, a bottle of wine, or a partner!)

Lynda:  I love all three, can I be greedy.

My husband is English, through and through. However, we love to eat Italian food. It’s one of our favourites. Until of course, we get to dessert and you simply can’t beat a French Patisserie. They really know how to make cake. As for the wine, not a huge fan... I’d rather have a soft drink but if I’m pushed, it’d be an Italian Prosecco (with cherries and kirsch) which makes a lovely Kir Royal.


Kir Royal

Arabella: The moment we are published, a career path is usually envisaged. Do you have any aspirations or ambitions for yourself and any future novels you might write?

Lynda:  Absolutely, I do love to write, and I’d love to think that one day I could get onto supermarket shelves, get on that stage at Theakston’s Crime Festival or become a well-known name in the industry. I was once offered a contract with an agent. I was crazy enough to turn it down in favour of a publishing contract. I now realise that it was the wrong decision and although I’ll always be grateful for becoming published, I really should have taken the offer. Maybe one day, I’ll get another ... until then, I’ll just keep writing.!!

Thank you for joining me on Arabella’s Blog and Chit-Chat, Lynda. I’m sure, like me, your readers were delighted to discover a little bit more about you. And as for the Italian Prosecco with cherries and kirsch… Prost!

Wishing you lots of happy-ever-after Romantic Suspense and Psychological Thriller writing.

Arabella

www.arabellasheen.co.uk

 

About Lynda Stacey

Lynda Stacey - Author

Lynda, is a wife, stepmother and grandmother. She grew up in the mining village of Bentley, in Doncaster, and is currently the Sales Director of a stationery, office supplies and office furniture company where she has worked for the past 25 years.

Prior to this she'd also been a nurse, a model, an emergency first response instructor and a PADI Scuba Diving Instructor ... and yes, she was crazy enough to dive in the sea with sharks, without a cage.

Following a car accident in 2008, Lynda was left with limited mobility in her right arm. Unable to dive or teach anymore, she turned to her love of writing, a hobby she'd followed avidly since being a teenager.

Her own life story, along with varied career choices helps Lynda to create stories of romantic suspense, with challenging and unpredictable plots, along with (as in all romances) happy endings.

Lynda joined the Romantic Novelist Association in 2014 under the umbrella of the New Writers Scheme and in 2015, her debut novel House of Secrets won the Choc Lit Search for a Star competition.

She lives in a small rural hamlet near Doncaster, with her 'hero at home husband', Haydn, whom she's been happily married to for over 25 years

Social Media Links:

Website: www.Lyndastacey.co.uk  

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/LyndaStacey

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Lyndastaceyauthor   


Book Blurb:     Keeper of Secrets



For as long as Cassie Hunt can remember her Aunt Aggie has spoken about the forgotten world that exists just below their feet, in the tunnels and catacombs of the Sand House.

When excavation work begins on the site shocking secrets are uncovered and danger is never far away, both above or below the ground…

What folks are saying about Keeper of Secrets:

~ Lynda Stacey is up there with Nora Roberts and LJ Ross when it comes to writing jaw-dropping, nerve-twisting and addictive tales spiced with intrigue, passion and suspense and she is on top form with her latest novel, Keeper of Secrets. 

~ An outstanding tale full of menace, danger and desire, Keeper of Secrets is a book guaranteed to keep you reading long past your bedtime. 

~ Keeper of Secrets' is a gripping and emotional read that had me on the edge of my seat throughout. I will definitely be reading more of Lynda's work in the future. 

~ I loved how there was a little bit of everything within the pages of this book to keep you entertained, thrilled and shocked!

Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Keeper-Secrets-Lynda-Stacey/dp/1912550342/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Release Date 26th January 2021


 

Friday, 22 January 2021

A Merchant's Daughter - Arabella Sheen EXCERPT 3

 


A Merchant’s Daughter

Arabella Sheen


A merchant’s daughter and a destitute nobleman. Can a marriage of convenience solve their problems?
Miss Emma Brentry is happy with life, but she feels the time has come to marry. Her father, a wealthy glass merchant, has expectations of grandchildren, and Emma doesn’t wish to disappoint him. Reluctantly, and somewhat halfheartedly, she begins the search for a husband.
Mr. Aaron Trent, a gentleman of noble birth, returns to England fresh from the Napoleonic war with a scar and limp to prove it. During his absence, his estate, Windhurst Hall, has been pledged by his cousin at the gaming tables. He is now in search of the necessary funds with which to buy back his home.
Traveling to Bath, Emma finds herself stranded on the road and is compelled to stay the night at The Stag and Hounds posting inn. She encounters Aaron, an attentive, handsome stranger, who offers her some much-needed assistance. Instant attraction is felt by both, and as dusk falls, Emma makes Aaron an offer he finds difficult to refuse.
With his pride standing in the way, can Aaron stay true to his principles, or will he, with reckless, passionate abandonment, succumb to Emma’s powers of persuasion?

Content Warning: contains explicit, sensual love scenes 


Excerpt 3...continued...

Emma felt flustered and out of her depth. Approached by a stranger, she had no idea how she ought to react. Should she be affronted, or should she simply ignore him? If he was prepared to assist, she decided that perhaps she ought to be civil in case she was compelled to accept his offer of help.
“My name is Emma Brentry, and I’m from Bath, sir.”
Emma stood and dropped a curtsy. She wasn’t used to introducing herself to strangers. Then again, neither was she used to frequenting posting inns.
“Miss Brentry.” The gentleman bowed. “Mr. Aaron Trent at your service. I was about to suggest I collect your belongings. My curricle is outside, and as I have yet to stable my grays, it will be no hardship to drive a mile or two and retrieve your luggage. Is that idea acceptable to you?”
The man before her was olive-skinned and unfashionably bronzed, as if he’d spent much of his time outdoors in the sun. He had a strong jawline and a straight nose that hinted of noble birth. For some unknown reason, Emma felt the immediate pull of his undeniable magnetism and was instantly attracted.
“The idea of you collecting my luggage is more than acceptable, sir. But might I be so bold to suggest I accompany you? You see, my father’s coachman, Gresham, is suspicious of most people we encounter, and he might not relinquish my belongings to you. I would also like to assure him that I am all right. He’s such a worrier, and as you and I are not known to one another…”
“I’m pleased to hear you have a coachman. To be honest, I was beginning to doubt your story. I could not envisage you driving a barouche or tackling the problems of a broken wheel alone. Certainly, you may ride with me. As for my credentials, here is my calling card.” Aaron’s hand delved into his pocket and emerged with a delicately engraved silver card case. He flipped the lid open and handed her a card. “Griffin will also vouch for me. Will you not, Griffin?”
“Course I will, Major Trent, sir. I’ve known you nigh on ten years or more. You’ve often stayed in Newton Saint Loe with your uncle, Lord Merton―God rest his soul. Merton Manor is just down the road. His lordship was always well-respected hereabouts. It’s a shame he passed away. And now that your cousin has―”
“Thank you, Griffin. I’m certain Miss Brentry has no need of my life history. If you could see your good wife prepares a room for her, and also somewhere for the coachman to sleep, we shall be indebted.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll ask Mrs. Griffin to see to it right away.”
Aaron placed his hand beneath Emma’s elbow, and he steered her carefully toward the door. As they stepped away from the inn and emerged into the bright sunlight and fresh air, she was made aware of exactly how dark and musky it had been inside. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she turned to face Aaron. 
Glancing briefly at his calling card, she read his details before placing it in her reticule for safekeeping. He seemed an honest enough person, and her instincts told her she could trust him.
“Well, Mr. Trent…what now, sir?” she asked.
Emma tilted her head to look up at Aaron. She estimated he was all of six-foot-two inches, and in the afternoon light, she could see that what she had thought to be dark brown curls were in fact jet-black locks. And then she noticed the rough, jagged line of a scar across his left cheek. It looked raw, fresh, and ugly.
As his eyes looked searchingly into hers, seeking her reaction to his injury, she only just managed not to turn her gaze away with unthinking revulsion. When inside the inn, she had not seen the scar, but perhaps that was because Aaron had intentionally kept his face averted in order to conceal the unsightly wound.
Emma looked across the cobbled yard and noticed an ivory-colored phaeton with two matching grays. It was standing near the water trough.
She hadn’t noticed the carriage earlier and surmised that the stagecoach, while waiting to depart, had blocked her view. It was a fine piece of equipment, and if she was of a sporting nature, which she wasn’t, she would be full of admiration for the elegance of the carriage and the thoroughbreds attached.
“Your carriage awaits, my lady. Shall we?”
As they walked toward the phaeton, Emma detected a slight limp in Aaron’s gait. At first, she’d thought the ivory cane he held was purely a fashionable accessory, as most dandies and coxcombs carried such a thing with them, but she’d been wrong. Aaron wasn’t using the cane for effect; he used it for support and as a walking aid.
Thinking it best not to comment on his disability, Emma remained silent. She didn’t want to offend. If she offered assistance, he might feel affronted.
Reaching the carriage, and without further ado, Aaron took her hand, and then, placing an arm around her waist, he assisted her onto the high seat of the phaeton. It felt strange having a man touch her. But there was no one to see. No one to chaperone, and no one to condemn their actions either. To Emma, it felt excitingly illicit. Being so free with a man and behaving in such a way was not her normal behavior. 
Aaron walked around to the other side of the vehicle and joined her. They were perched on high, and to Emma, who had never previously ridden in such an excellent carriage, the ground seemed ominously far below.
She was unusually nervous. She was about to set off with a stranger and was aware that anything could happen.
The phaeton was light and well-sprung, and she’d been told by Harold, her sister’s husband, that to own such a carriage was extremely fashionable.
Emma leaned forward and smiled. “In case I forget, I must say how grateful I am for your thoughtfulness, and I do appreciate your kind offer. I have no idea how I am to repay you for your kindness, but I shall―”
Cutting her speech of thanks short, Aaron lifted the reins and asked, “Left or right?”
“Um…turn right, please. It is not far, and we should be there in―”
Her words were lost as, with a flick of the whip, the horses sprang forward and they were off at a spanking pace. 
  
A Merchant’s Daughter
Copyright © 2019, Arabella Sheen
ISBN: 9781949300468
Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.
Electronic Publication: August 2019
Editor: Pamela Tyner
Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs

eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. 

About Arabella Sheen



Arabella Sheen is a British author of contemporary romance and likes nothing more than the challenge of starting a new novel with fresh ideas and inspiring characters.
One of the many things Arabella loves to do is to read. And when she’s not researching or writing about romance, she is either on her allotment sowing and planting with the seasons or she is curled on the sofa with a book, while pandering to the demands of her attention-seeking cat.
Having lived and worked in the Netherlands as a theatre nurse for nearly twenty years, she now lives in the south-west of England with her family.
Arabella hopes her readers have as much pleasure from her romance stories as she has in writing them.

Social Media


And other reputable ebook retailers... https://books2read.com/u/3kpAog 

Arabella Sheen  http://arabellasheen.co.uk 

Wednesday, 20 January 2021

Westbury - Arabella Sheen - EXCERPT 1

  



Westbury

A Traditional Regency Romance

Arabella Sheen


Can Miss Georgina Morton surrender her independence and accept the Duke’s love?

Miss Georgina Morton, at the age of four-and-twenty, with a modest annual income of four hundred pounds, believes she has no need of a husband and can manage quite nicely without one. Yet within a matter of weeks, she’s betrothed to Giles Glentworth, the Sixth Duke of Westbury, and bound for Regency London.
Set in rural Wiltshire and elegant, fast-paced London...a runaway ward, a shooting at midnight, and a visit to fashionable Almack’s, are only a few of the adventures Georgina enjoys while falling for the Corinthian charms of the Duke.


Chapter One    Excerpt 1

March 1814 – The Runaway Ward
Avebury, Wiltshire, England


Miss Georgina Morton placed the basket of eggs she carried on the boundary wall and paused in the act of walking to the vicarage. It was noon, and the south-bound stagecoach, with its heavy load of luggage and boisterous passengers, was arriving at The Red Lion Inn.
Enthralled by the commotion unfolding before her, Georgina watched with interest as the drama evolved.
The coach slowed to enter the inn’s cobblestoned courtyard, and with a sharp tug on the horses’ reins, the coachman brought the vehicle to an abrupt standstill. A swirling veil of dust was left in the stage’s wake, and when the cloud of dry dirt settled, the inn came alive with the sound of bustling people.
Without ceremony, the door to the coach was flung open, and as it slammed hard against the side of the vehicle, a young man, irate with temper and shouting his protests, leapt from the carriage, demanding the postilion’s attention.
“Why have we stopped?” he said. “We must leave…now. I’ve travelled from Bath and it’s essential I reach Marlborough before noon. I must catch the next stage to London and insist we depart from here at once.”
The weary postilion shrugged his shoulders in an uncaring way, and in a broad West Country accent, said, “Young sir, I’m afraid that can’t be done. We’re obliged to stop and rest the horses. We also have to wait for these good people to finish inside the inn.”
With much speed and eagerness, the other travellers on the stage hurriedly disembarked, and vanished through an arched doorway into the tavern.
The postilion, ignoring the young man and his grievances, walked to the horses’ heads and checked the bridles and tack, before inspecting the thick leather straps on the heavy luggage. He was ensuring the passengers' trunks and baggage were securely buckled in place prior to the coach’s departure.
The incensed youngster, with his fair curls awry and his attire askew, paced back and forth with impatience.
His annoyance at his unfortunate situation was made known, and it was clear he was in a hurry to be on his way. He demanded of anyone within earshot that the stage changed its route to accommodate the urgency of his journey, but none of his fellow passengers were listening.
Georgina looked on with amusement as the young person flayed his hands in the air and stamped a foot with frustration. All his efforts for a speedy departure were futile. And the postilion, unconcerned for the young traveller’s plight, continued tending the horses.
From where Georgina stood, she could see, through large casement windows, travellers busily eating what they could, before having to leave the turnpike inn. The stage was to stop briefly, and people had only a fleeting chance to benefit from a tankard of ale or a glass of wine before continuing on their travels.
For some, breaking their journey at The Red Lion Inn was a welcome chance to stretch their legs and rest from travelling, but the young sir paid no heed to the needs of his fellow travellers. His concern was wholly for himself and his desire to be on his way.
“I tell you, we must proceed at once,” he again berated the postilion. “There is no time for delay.”
His argument created a commotion, and Georgina, along with several passing villagers, watched on with interest as the furore unfolded.
Another coachman, who was somewhat older and had a mass of curling whiskers, wandered over and joined in with the discussion.
With legs astride and arms akimbo, the coachman, taking matters in hand, said, “Now you listen here, little breeches. Seems my friend, the postilion, ain’t getting his message across. We’re waiting for everyone inside to finish.”
“But―”
“And I be takin’ no orders from the likes of you. You’re nout but a young ‘un.”
“Fustian! I’m old enough to know what I’m doing, and old enough to know I have to be on my way. I’ve a right to―”
“And I’ve the right to throw anyone from the stage I think might cause trouble. If you ain’t careful, you’ll find yourself stranded.”
“Not if I have any say in the matter,” said the young sir.
Gripping the handle on the carriage door, the young man flung the door open and clambered hastily inside. He then sat with his nose haughtily in the air, and looked out of the carriage window at the affronted faces of the coachman and postilion.
A large crowd had gathered, drawn by the noise the men were making. Curiosity had taken hold and people wanted to know what had happened.
“Out,” said the coachman with rage in his voice. “I said, out!”
Then from the postilion, warning shouts of imminent departure were called. “Stagecoach leaving! Stagecoach leaving!”
Chaos was in the air.
Although curious to know the outcome of the heated discussion, Georgina, with places to be and things to do, lifted her basket off the wall and walked on. It was only on her return journey, having delivered the freshly laid eggs to the vicarage and collected a package for her father from the post-office that she discovered the young man from earlier was still stood outside the inn. He’d not, as she first supposed, continued on his journey.
She also noticed he was not of an age to be called a man, but was in fact, a mere slip of a boy: a young whippersnapper, as her Papa would say.
What little luggage he had was at his feet, and he was alone.
All signs of the stagecoach and its passengers having stopped at the turnpike inn were gone; and there was now a strange, disconcerting silence about the place. The frenzied activity of earlier was no longer.
Even though the young man was dressed in clothes of excellent quality, it was obvious that what he wore, including the tasselled Hessian boots on his feet and the pristine white neckcloth tied stylishly beneath his shirt points, could not belong to him. Everything he wore was several sizes too large and his attire had clearly not been tailored to fit his petite frame.
The young man gingerly approached.
“Excuse me for being so bold.” His eyes were wide with panic. “I find myself to be in somewhat of a predicament.”
The young man was scared and trembled visibly. Something had alarmed him, and he appeared quite distressed.
“And what might that predicament be?” Georgina asked. She wondered what was to come.


Disclaimer, Copyrights and Publishing
Any names or characters have no existence outside the imagination of the
author or are used fictitiously, and actual events are purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, copied,
stored in a retrieval system known or hereinafter invented, without
written permission of the publisher.


Copyright © 2019 by – Arabella Sheen
Published by priceplacebooks

All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-0-9575698-4-3


About Arabella Sheen






Arabella Sheen is a British author of contemporary romance and likes nothing more than the challenge of starting a new novel with fresh ideas and inspiring characters.
One of the many things Arabella loves to do is to read. And when she’s not researching or writing about romance, she is either on her allotment sowing and planting with the seasons or she is curled on the sofa with a book, while pandering to the demands of her attention-seeking cat.
Having lived and worked in the Netherlands as a theatre nurse for nearly twenty years, she now lives in the south-west of England with her family.
Arabella hopes her readers have as much pleasure from her romance stories as she has in writing them.

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A Gentleman in Love - Arabella Sheen - Excerpt 2

A Gentleman in Love by Arabella Sheen A Christmas wedding and a growing passion. Will a political scandal destroy their love? Desperate to e...