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Posts Tagged ‘Lord Falmont’s Muddle’

Lord Falmont’s Muddle is finished two weeks after it began. I managed 359 pages or 107,000+ words.

The story of a lord who is responsible for seeing his two sisters launched into society. As he does this, returning from a long time away from his family, he meets the family of the neighbors of his country manor. They naturally fall into the same society as they are close in the country. Over this time our lord falls for the daughter of the neighboring lord. She also falls in love with our hero. The twist though is that the neighboring lord, father of our heroine has just remarried and our heroine does not know if she can trust her new mother.

She realizes that this colors her caring for our hero. When he offers for her she is unsure that she fell in love with our hero only because should she accept him, then she will be able to spy on her new mother and still see and support her father.

For January so far I am at 170,000 words and it is the 2nd most prolific span of time since I have been recording my output, with some more days to account for still.

My next work is :The Prize is not as Great as you think. This will be a Ruritanian Romance. I had begun to think of Anthony Hope’s 220px-Anthony_Hope_Hawkins_by_Alfred_Ellis_%26_Walery.VCnYJKU9dgJK.jpg great work, The Prisoner of Zenda 51RcgGgZclL._BO2%2C204%2C203%2C200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click%2CTopRight%2C35%2C-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_.yqqGlLNydzRb.jpga piece that not as many people seem to know as should.

I came to this realization when watching The Great Race 51IzjwrXmfL._SL500_AA300_.qHS68Sdxe36A.jpg over the holidays. So many know the movie with Professor Fate and the Great Leslie but don’t realize the European gag with Jack Lemmon playing double as Prince Hoepnick is the Prisoner of Zenda tale. So it is time for a retelling of these types of stories.

Not to plagiarize the entire story as some have done, (Royal Flash51Y1tPYoFeL._BO2%2C204%2C203%2C200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click%2CTopRight%2C35%2C-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_.gdAOpqKeTEMy.jpg) but to set them in these mitteleuropa settings. I started to research and found that the homages to The Prisoner of Zenda are abundant but that many other stories came out that were successful with the theme of a Ruritanian Romance.

The third chapter of Lord Falmont’s Muddle, marking the end of the project is revealed here:

3) We came all this way to meet the Neighbors

Fanny was content to sit in the window seat at the London House and look out at the world from it. It would still be a good half hour before she was disturbed by Lady Mary or her sister Beth. It was possible but doubtful that Henry would stir from his study until the women had made of themselves a comfortable place in the drawing room. Two days they had been out of mourning, and Beth was anxious to go to balls, routs and fetes all at once. Fanny should like to go and meet people but salons and art showings were more to her taste. Something quiet.

Fanny marveled at how nice the room was, and even Henry admitted that there was little he needed to change in the house. That it took up the best part of a block along the square did not speak to their father’s astute purchase but of his grandfather’s when the square was laid out. That the house though looked modern once inside was all of their father’s doing. Even the papering of the walls had been done last year, though the staff had mentioned that it was done each year. Their father having spent his monies here in London for that was where he was seen by society. It was why he had the latest and newest wall covering.

And fresh paint as well. Stepping into the foyer, a room whose rich red paint almost hid fine gold motifs that had been added throughout that made the color glow, marble slabs were spread across the floor with rugs from Persia and the Orient there and in other rooms whose carved wood doors were usually opened so that visitors could see their elegant display as well. Furniture by Chippendale and Wilkins, paintings by esteemed members of the Royal Academy, a Reynolds commanding the top of the stairwell at the landing of the first floor. The staff also said that just two years before William Wilkins had overseen renovations to the interior of the house and the extension of the west wing further into the gardens.

The drawing room where Fanny sat was rose colored, and the staff pointed out that if her father entertained in the room, he never wore his red hued clothing. He liked to contrast and not compliment, and since he did entertain quite often, there was another room in the new addition that was in dark colors where he could be seen presiding in his crimson colored clothing. The servants also had told her how the very next year the Marquess would alter the color schemes, and quite likely Rose would become Blue or Green, while the dark room might tinged in pale yellows. Each year a complete change.

Throughout the room, four settees and couches for guests to sit at, or the two tables with chairs enough that card games could ensue. One change Henry had made was placing a chess board upon a table. He was in the midst of a game against himself. He pointed out that he played cards, but had more than enough of playing such while in the army and at his club, when he would venture there. Now something he would do that mourning was over. Chess worked his mind he said in another way.

There was room for more than twenty and two window seats such as she sat in then. Even more could fit comfortably in the room. Along the sides, the furniture by both Chippendales, and a couple pieces that the architect had designed. While on two cabinets, an arrangement of flowers overflowed their vases, the work of the maids then rearranged by Lady Mary each day, two others had cast bronzes and ceramics. One piece the second half of a pair. The other piece had been at their mother’s house in Richmond. That mystery intrigued her and when she mentioned it to Henry, he could not provide her with any information. Their father had not spoken of it, and had hardly spoken to Henry since his return from Flanders and Waterloo.

That they all had little to do with their father and had been in the London House seldom, Henry more then they, had given Fanny more than enough that was new for her to explore. Beth however had been in the house an hour before she wished to go out. Lady Mary, quite correctly telling her at that time that she should not. She was still in half mourning then. Their governess did allow that Beth could begin a correspondence to her friends to let them know that she had arrived in town. All subject to Lady Mary’s inspection that nothing untoward was mentioned.

The first two letters, Beth had to correct for Lady Mary had decided that it was inappropriate to beg to be asked to a ball. She helped Beth rewrite the letters in such a way that it would not seem like she was pandering for an invitation. Then Lady Mary had cajoled Fanny into writing at least three letters herself. It had taken a good half hour for her to think of correspondents who would be in London that she could write to, and then compose the letters. None of which needed Lady Mary’s censoring.

Since then they had received some callers, notably the Duchess of Lincoln had arrived, without any of her children and said she was proud to meet her cousins. It had only been a few short years since she had been introduced into society but her position allowed her to make a great many introductions. In two days, the Duchess was to have them to tea and they were to meet several of her intimates. That satisfied Fanny no end. It however was but one item on a long list of things that Beth wished for her own season.

I also have had a cold, and even so, I kept my writing up with several 10000 word days. It influences my Gratitude Log, but I was surprised by the output as when I had the flu I could write nothing.

Gratitude Log

  1. Kleenex-Tissues–I blew my nose so much the first three days that it is chaped beyond repair. Well almost beyond repair. Without Kleenex though it would be a horror. I have used a handkerchief until it was a saturated. Not pretty.
  2. Vaseline–This saving device eases the pain from my nose be rubbed raw.
  3. Decongestants–And here the medicine stops the sneezing and dries me out.
  4. Europa Universalis–With all my games packed in storage, I watch those who can play games and make videos of them right now. One of the most interesting is Eurpoa Universalis 3. 51Woj5hOC4L._SL500_AA300_.WMHuIYU1ie9B.jpg Complex world domination from 1399 to 1835.
  5. Brian Malion–DSCN1402.mMe9vMNj42Q0.jpgThis friend of mine fits right up there with the discussion of Professor Fate and then back to the Prisoner of Zenda. At one of our CCOBS Curious Collector of Baker Street a Sherlock Holmes group, Brian one year for annual ball dressed as Professor Fate and then a few weeks later at Loscon, the science fiction convention for LA did the same costume. It was a riot.
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Another Milestone, and the story is in the home stretch. 300 pages in 12 days, and just a little over two more chapters I think.

Our heroine’s turmoil of wanting to be a protector of her father from the sponge of a step mother since he has just remarried continues to cloud her judgement over whether she loves our hero or not.

Even as she resolves matters with the step-mother. Now we have to see if she can resolve matters with the hero.

Starting the day I was just at 90K words for the story and as the day progressed more than 10 pages additionally written. For the month of January, not quite four weeks of writing I am at 144K words, or over 480 pages. A pace of 1,800,000+ words for the year, or over 6,000 pages. That would be a big achievement but the only way I can continue that pace it to start seeing a bigger return from all I have written already. It will happen, just maybe not this year.

This excerpt is the beginning of the second chapter.

2) New Mother, Brothers, and Neighbors

Reed had called her plain, which was insulting. Very insulting. Especially since she could not see that he had anything that distinguished his appearance or character.

Then Lewis had said she did have one nice thing. That her auburn hair made her smile glow when she chose to reveal it. That though only said something about her hair and her teeth, which for the most part were straight. That she new was an attribute that many would pay good money for if they could. Straight teeth, and not overly large. She used a looking glass often enough to be able to tell such things despite what the boys said. They were men and older than she, but they were boys in manner and action.

Sure that Mrs. Palmer was not a fortune seeker, she had wondered how two such young men could grow to be such a trial, but knew they had three hundred a year each from their father’s estate and Mrs. Palmer had the remainder until she remarried. The boys wanted that to occur as quickly as possible for such luck would gain them new monies.

Margaret Clarisse Hunter could not compare herself to Mrs. Palmer whose red hair was what set her apart. It had been her second event in town, and they had gone to the Baron of Innerdale’s ball for his daughter, Liselle. The Palmers had also been in attendance. Reed even asking her to stand up for one dance. Lewis not motivated at all. She danced with Reed, a man who was noticeably under six feet tall and thus barely taller than her own five feet four inches, thin with a rather vulpine face, and two stone of weight that seemed to do nothing useful but round out his trunk. While dancing, not for all of ten minutes, her father began to speak to his mother. After that, the two families met one way or another throughout the season weekly.

Before the end, she knew her father had decided to remarry after ten years of being a widower. And though Lady Margaret had felt indifference to the boys, she knew that Mrs. Palmer was doing her best to become friends. Not that the Earl of Hereford required that his second wife befriend his daughter once his mind was made up to marry.

Margaret knew that the real reason Mrs. Palmer had decided they should have a very short wedding tour and return to take Margaret back to London and another season was the hopes that they would get her to form an alliance. It was so obvious. And the servants told her well enough that no bride liked to be challenged in her house. Margaret having been mistress of Carnerford Hall, since the age of eight, but really acting as such these last two years.

She was to go down to the drawing room, and meet there with the rest of the family for it was nearly dinner time. Margaret took stock of herself for her abigail had just left, having finished her hair. Her locks teased into place with little effort for she was lucky in having hair that was very much adapted to the fashion. Her evening dress was white with black sleeves and brocade. Her figure snug at the waist and full in the chest, rounded where it should be. She knew that the footmen and butlers, grooms and groundsmen all admired her as they could.

And if they did, then so to did Reed and Lewis for all their words that deprecated her. Even were she their true sister, and the church service in two days would make her so, they shouldn’t say such things to her. The first time she had retired to her room and wept for she thought it might be true. Her eyes, she always suspected were too far apart, her neck too thin, making her jawline that of a cliff, it was so straight.

Then she had a little tan to her skin, that which could be seen as she often was out about the grounds of Carnerford. Even before the last Countess had died, her mother had taken her along as they paid calls on the cottagers at least once each month. When the Countess had died, nurse and her tutor both helped her to carry on the tradition. Now she attended to the matter with Mrs. Palmer, though that lady grew tired before even half the cottagers had been seen.

Mrs. Palmer though did not shirk the duty. Sometimes Margaret could not understand the lady. She did seem to love the Earl, and want to truly become the Countess that Hereford had lacked. But at other times, like the decision to ensure Lady Margaret had a season that would see her wed, it showed an entire different side.

Margaret reached for a silk shawl from the orient, all greens and reds and blues. The greens were the color of her eyes, which is why the Earl had given it to her before the start of the last season. If he had not been so besotted he might have remembered he had a daughter, but nearly from the first moment that Mrs. Palmer had come into their lives, that had been forgotten.

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Since finishing Hoveria, have been hard at work on new Regency.

Our hero, Henry St. James Evermond, the Marquess of Falmont has two sisters that have been neglected by his father, that last Marquess. Now that he has the title, he knows that they both must be launched into society and takes them up to Town for the season. Here he finds that he too is affected by what happens when a young lady is presented around town during the season. Lord Falmont had no desire to become attached, but he could not deny that his heart was affected so.

As of today, I am 60,357 words since Monday the 17th At this rate, I may be finished by the weekend and look for a third book to work on this month.
In my last posts I talked of being sick and taking a few days off for that and for my speaking to a reading group. However I have written so much that by the end of the day I should be at 120,000 words for January. A pace of 36,000 each and every week of this year, though last week I had written over 50,000 words. It has worked out at 12,000 words week one, 36,000 words week 2, and 50,000 words week 3. Here in Week 4, and this is a 5 week month, I want to write as much as possible for from Thursday on next week I am taking time off again and may find it hard to write.

There will also be no writing on SuperBowl Sunday…. (See Below)

Though I should have posted Chapter 1 at the 100 page milestone, we have reached 200 pages so here is chapter 1.

1) At Home After Father Was Gone

Henry St.James Evermond, the Marquess of Falmont bounced in his saddle once more. “We have to smooth out the path, don’t we lad.” He talked to his horse, not as an eccentric would, for though he knew that he had some tendencies society and the Ton might think of so, he wasn’t so far from the path of sanity that he made a habit of having conversations with his mounts. No, he had spoken to reassure the both of them. He did not like the many times that morning that he had bounced up off his saddle and landed again. Not that his backside could not withstand the shock, but this estate, as had the others in his inheritance, could stand some improvement.

Improvements that his agents had said his father would not allow.

Slowing to a stop, Henry turned the horse around and slowly walked back to the site where he had felt the uneven road. His father’s death was unexpected, and did not come fast, for near the last two weeks of the season he had been struck down, Henry being summoned at once to his side. If the estates in the country showed signs of wear, certainly the London House was the top of fashionable living. Henry had a good allowance though his friends would have said a bit sparse considering he was heir to the title now. His older brother Michael dying three years before from dueling. A foolish thing to be doing, especially over such a small matter of honor.

Michael had been called an unflattering term. Michael also thought he was rather good with a sword and pistol. Three previous duels had proven that. His opponents ended cut, and he unscathed. Henry was with Wellington and the army and so had not been able to talk his brother out of such folly at any time. The fourth time Michael had been not only slower to land a touch upon his opponent, but the man had cut too high upon the neck. Michael was dead in moments, and Sir Claire Everington had fled for the West Indies, doubtless never thinking that he would have killed the heir to a peerage.

Henry dismounted where the path, the nicest to observe the grounds and ride about the Park of Falmont, had caused him to notice it’s disrepair. Three estates and all the monies that should have gone to their upkeep his father had spent on the London House, which of course was called with no sense of creativity, the London House. The Marquess, his father had spent thirty years being a Pink of the Ton in London, though few could say they had been invited to Falmont. If they had he certainly would have lost his notoriety.

Now Henry had to restore the balance, though it was not insurmountable. It was just going to be a tremendous task and would take years. With the war over and his return to London society, though, he had the time. With the Marquess having been stricken, he lingered more than a month before succumbing. By then Town was cleared of most of those who had spoken of the previous Marquess as a friend. Not that Henry ever thought that his father had many friends. Many who were in his pocket perhaps, but not friends.

A small memorial service was held in the St. Edmund’s Chapel of Westminster Abbey. The Archbishop did not even preside, and the Marquess of Falmont a peer of the realm. Less than a dozen were in attendance, and of those more than half were Henry’s friends, not the intimates of his father. Henry was not bitter by the poor showing, for he well knew his father. A man who lacked substance and made much of being a man others wanted to look at and emulate, in fashion and style. He was in short, a Peacock. An attribute that led his parents to separate and his mother to precede his father in death by some years.

Henry looked at the ground on the path and then took a note book from his waist coat pocket as well as a small pencil. He began to take a few details of what he saw and what he desired fixed. He and his agent for the estate, Mr. Marks, would go over the lists later and see what priority they could assign to each task. One of the first was the replacement though of mattresses for the beds in the manor. Henry had not been a guest of the house, his house now, since he had left for Eton. Twenty years, or so and the mattresses were not fit. He had to have the mattress replaced in his room, his father’s old room with one that the servants used. Those at least had been maintained well enough that they were free of an infestation of bed bugs.

The mattress in his room had been totally filled with them, but then his father had not journeyed to the Falmont for at least five years. He kneeled to look closer at the road and see if this point revealed anything else of detail he wanted to note. The verge was cut rather indiscriminately as well. Henry straightened to his height of just over six feet. Still lean, though if any saw him in his naked form, they would see that two years after Waterloo and there was the slightest addition to his midriff. Henry would know of it, but would any other think he was not thin? He would know for he would lay a finger across his stomach and it was not as flat as it had been when he had been on campaign.

Yet his muscles still were developed and his calves still would be remarked on by the ladies. With the death of his father, his access to the ready had increased and a new set of Hessians had been ordered. His eyes were blue, the same colour as the water of the channel when the sun bounced off it a few hours short of sunset. Hair straight and long enough to be tied with a ribbon. Blonde with a healthy dose of red in it, his mother always said that was from her side of the family. They were of pure lineage from Kent and predated the conquest while the Evermond’s say with their own pride that they had come across with William.

Not that there had been a knight of Evermond in Normandy before the conquest, but their was the day after Hastings. Not even family legend had recorded how that came about. Henry felt that his ancestor was smart enough to turn riding against the Saxon shield wall led to a few men surviving the day and assuring William and others that they were knights that had joined his invasion. William looking for those to support him and strong enough to do so may not have questioned their lineage after his success.

The Duke of Normandy back at the conquest was probably assured of those who were in fealty to him, but those others who came to join his army, well he may not have thought to look closely at all their credentials. Now over 750 years later, it would be hard to know for certain, but the Evermond’s could not find any trace of their family before the conquest. Since then, they had done well enough. Henry the second granting an ancestor a barony, and then, Henry the Seventh further rewarding them. Knowing who to support at Bosworth had ensured the greater step to being a Marquess.

Henry mused as he remounted his horse, what was he going to say to that? If a king who overthrew another rewarded his ancestor for an act of support, or betrayal depending on your way of looking at things, it allowed the Evermond’s to move forward. Not that they had not paid England back many times with sacrifice for the honor of the title they carried. Nineteen members of the male line since Henry the Seventh had served in the countries armies. Six dying in that service. Henry himself had come close two times in Spain and in Flanders.

He rubbed his arm where the easy to reach reminder of that was. The other, was just above his right buttock and though rubbing his back was not embarrassing, he was on a horse and he did not need to rub both areas where he carried scars to remember that he had them. They were obtrusive enough in his ming that he seldom forgot they were there.

“Let’s back to the house, shall we girl. The Vicar and his wife are to come for tea and I must change, again.” His father would have thought him a fool for thinking that changing clothes so many times a day was a bother. But it was and it would be a fool to Henry’s mind that thought changing, even up to four times in one day was something that should be done. Aside from himself on the estate, no one else changed their clothes. The servants and tenants all donned one outfit a day, even his richest tenants, for there were a couple who had ambitions to make their way up the shelves of the social bookcase. No one else was required to get out of their morning clothes to put on riding clothes if they wished to ride about the park, or lands of Falmont. Henry was and now he would have to change into another outfit, and last, late that night, even though he planned to dine with just his sisters Fanny and Beth, he would have to change again.

Shortly after Michael had died, so had their mother, Lady Falmont. Her death brought his sisters home to live with father, for they had been under their mother’s care. The year before Fanny was set to have her season, and their father, not inclined to bring a young lady out into society, did not. He sent her here to Falmont with Beth to rot. If father had not denied him access to the estate, he would have visited them. As close as he came was through the good efforts of Mr. and Mrs. Grace, the Vicar and his wife. He had been able to stay in the village a few times under an assumed name and meet his sisters when they attended chapel and took tea at the vicarage later on a few Sundays.

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