Jillian Chantal

This week’s word for the Tuesday Tale writers is howl. I am now working on a Regency romance for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and have set aside the story I was sharing (to return to after November).  My heroine is a wallflower and her sister is vivacious and always in demand. This is from a much longer scene occurring at a ball.

Enjoy the other tales here. 

“Ladies, ladies, remember where you are.” A woman about their mother’s age who Honora didn’t know, came to stand beside Charlotte. “I know sisters argue, but this type of behavior is better being kept at home. In private.” She took Charlotte by the arm. “Come along now and let’s go find you someone to dance with. I’m sure there’s a gentleman on your card who is pining away for a chance to escort you.”

As they walked away, Honora felt relieved that the confrontation was over, but a bit insulted as the woman appeared to believe Honora herself was somehow in the wrong for Charlotte’s behavior. As well, the old bat’s words of comfort to her sister showed she was like everyone else in the haut ton. Honora meant nothing and Charlotte meant everything.

Tears threatened for the third time that evening. Honora was desperate for the night to end and it wasn’t even time for the dinner service.

Determined to find her parents and plead illness, this time unfeigned, she stepped out of the retiring room.

The man Charlotte called James Cavanaugh leaned against a pillar near the entrance to what she knew was their hosts’ gallery.

Sure he was lying in wait for her, she searched for a way to escape.

Spying a hallway to her right, she scooted down that corridor, sure she would find a way back to the ballroom.

She turned a corner to find the Lockwood man exiting a room with a girl she didn’t know. The girl looked frightened and her eyes grew large as she took in Honora standing there.

Lockwood, sneer still in place, raked his glance up and down Honora’s body. “Well, look who we have here. The sister no one likes. You’re definitely not as pretty as your sister, but if you want to have the experience of a man for the first time in your life, I guess I can accommodate you.” He shoved the girl beside him. “Off you go, back to your mummy.”

The girl cried out, “But you said you love me.”

As he laughed—an ugly, nasty sound—Honora turned and ran back in the direction from whence she came.

And ran pell-mell into Mr. Cavanaugh.

She careened off his chest and ran blindly down the hallway, not stopping until she was outside in the grounds of the house.  All she wanted was a place to be alone and howl. To have a chance to sob out all the pain and humiliation that threatened to explode from her very being.