Jillian Chantal

It’s time for Tuesday Tales.  This week, the authors of TT are writing to a photo. I’m still in my Regency Christmas story.

Check out the other Tales here. We’re limited to 300 words this week (mine is 301- oops!).

Horrified and in a panic, he looked over at George. “What have I done or said to make you think this was a place I’d want to visit?” Even with the warmth of the fire, Charles could feel his own heat rise. He needed to get out of here. Before someone noticed him.

George’s face probably reflected his own. The man appeared terrified and a flush rose up his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I was mistaken. I beg your forgiveness and hope you’ll not discuss this with anyone. I know it’s a crime and I plead with you not to report me to the magistrate.”

“Even if I were inclined to do so, how would I explain my own presence here?” Charles pulled at his neck cloth. Is it getting hotter in here? “Be assured. Your secret is safe with me.”

Still curious why George would invite him here, Charles decided to slake his curiosity at a later time. Right now it was vital he make his escape. Immediately.

With one last longing look at the cozy fire before heading toward the door and the frigid streets, Charles said, “Please call round my home tomorrow to discuss this in detail.”

George paled. “So you’re going to report me after all?”

“No. I can’t afford to be seen here. Charles pulled on his overcoat. “Frankly, I’m shocked you’d take the risk yourself.”

Before George could say anything further, Charles moved as quickly as he dare toward the exit. Head down, he made it just as it opened, admitting several other men. They weren’t as well-dressed as Charles and he briefly wondered if they were there to cause trouble. He couldn’t afford to stay and find out.

Brushing past them, he kept his face averted and made it to the street.

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the prompt .  I am still working on my Regency Christmas story.

Check out the other tales here.

Once inside, Charles glanced around as he took off his overcoat. Little sprinkles of sleet hit the floor. He ran a hand through his hair and more of them fell. He was still chilled to the bone and grateful George found a table near the fire.

I wonder why he wanted to come here. I don’t see anything unusual about the place. George led him to where he’d placed his own coat.

As soon as they were both seated, a young man with an apron on approached. “What may I get for you gentlemen?”

Once they’d ordered—pints of ale for each—and the waiter left, Charles asked, “What’s so special about this place?” He peered around. It was hard to see as the alehouse seemed to be short some candles.

“Haven’t you noticed there are no women here?”

A bug crossed the scarred wooden tabletop.  Charles almost reached out and swatted it, but thought better of it. No use getting the grime on his hands. I certainly won’t choose to eat anything here.

“Most places like this don’t have woman patrons. I did notice there were no doxies outside waiting on men to come out and that the person who took our order is a man, but I cannot say I took particular note of it.” Charles cocked his head at George and frowned. “Is this somehow important?”

George’s face seemed flushed, but Charles couldn’t really tell in the dim light. It also could be because it was certainly warm near the fire.

Their ales arrived at that moment and George heaved a sigh.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Charles asked.

Taking a big gulp of his ale, George shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I made a mistake. Forgive me.”

Puzzled, Charles didn’t know what to say. What does George mean? Dragging me all the way across town and then telling me it doesn’t matter? “What game is this, my friend?”

“I apologize. I’ll pay for your hackney home.”

Still wondering why he’d been required to come all this way in the freezing cold, Charles sipped his tepid ale and let his gaze run around the room.

When he noticed two men at a table near the back door locked in an embrace, he looked over at George with his eyebrows raised in shocked understanding.

This week’s word for the authors of Tuesday Tales is bite.  I am still working on my Christmas Regency era story.

Check out the other tales here. 

The next morning dawned cold and sleety. Charles walked near the river to meet George for breakfast in a café near the waterfront. The bite of the wind off the Thames cut through his overcoat making him shiver. Rubbing his hands up and down on his sleeves, he wondered anew what was so important that George wanted to discuss at such a remote place. It wasn’t near anywhere their crowd usually went. Such a mystery.

As he hurried toward his destination, Charles muttered under his breath. “It was warm and cozy at home. Why did I agree to this?”

Shivering, he increased his pace, hoping they had a liter of hot beverages on tap ready to be served. Chilled to the bone, he wasn’t sure he could take much more of the cutting wind.

Finally he turned the corner and spotted George standing outside.

Charles dashed toward his friend, ready to take him to task over arranging this rendezvous so far from home and insisting he not bring his carriage. His friend had obviously lost his sanity. The temperature was too low for this nonsense.

George came toward him. “Come inside and warm up. I have a table near the fire.”

“I can’t understand why the secrecy, friend. You could’ve come to my home and we could have dined quietly and warmly without this trek across the cold city streets.”

“You’ll see why when we go in.”

Charles shrugged. He was here now. Might as well go inside. But he was most definitely calling for a hack to take him home from this escapade.

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to a picture prompt. Each post is limited to 300 words.  I’s still working on my Regency Christmas story.

Be sure to check out the other tales here. 

When he was on the street after the awkward meeting with Cavanaugh and his wife, Charles waved off his driver and carriage. He needed to walk. Even though it was cold, he wiped perspiration from his brow. The ballroom had been warm with all the bodies and the fires in the hearths, but his sweat came from the encounter.

They’d been polite enough but he knew she was fighting the urge to either slap his face or kick him in the shins. He didn’t exactly bolt away, but he didn’t linger either.  Just enough to not cause gossip. They’d merely exchanged pleasantries and he bowed to them and made good his escape.

Now outdoors, he strode along the dark street, unafraid. He was, after all, a former Army officer and could defend himself. Not that any cutthroats ever milled around this neighborhood of fine Georgian houses.

The farther away from the ball he got, the easier his breath came. He hadn’t realized he was holding in so much nervousness. It felt good to let it go. He took several big gulps of the winter air. It stung a bit going down, but he needed to cleanse away the angst of seeing the Cavanaughs.

Charles walked on, spying a set of benches he and his love used to sit on before the last time he went to the continent. His steps faltered and tears pooled in his eyes. He shoved them away brusquely with the sleeve of his coat. He couldn’t get sentimental. Lord knew he’d mourned more than most. He wanted to move on with his life but couldn’t seem to get past his loss.

Steps behind him pulled him from his reverie. Am I to meet my fate by cutthroat after all?

Time for Tuesday Tales again. This week we are writing to the word jar.  I’m still working on my Regency Christmas story and dragging out the torture for you all who want to know what’s up.  Bwahahaah.

Check out the other tales here

He didn’t take the time to stop and speak to Lord Ferguson as he’d told George. After all, it was a fabrication that he needed to in the first place. Beside, George wouldn’t be paying attention anyway.

Charles involuntarily glanced over his shoulder at the thought. Shocked to see George still watching him, he smiled sheepishly. George quirked his eyebrows. That’s wonderful now he thinks I was making up a reason to get away from him. He snorted. Of course I was. Not for the reason he thinks but because I can’t bear to have the first conversation with Cavanaugh since the incident.

A jar at his elbow startled him. He whirled around to see who ran into him.

Cavanaugh.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Lockwood.” The man he was avoiding stood beside him.

“I was afraid you’d be here. I’m on my way out. I promise to be gone before your wife finds us together. I almost stayed home but I knew our hostess would never forgive me if I did.”

“You cannot avoid us forever. London is a small town—especially with those of our station. Just make sure you do not ask my wife to dance or engage in conversation with her.”

“I have no intention of engaging in any exchange with her at all. Trust me.”

“We are both required to be courteous and I hope we can do so. I want to thank you for keeping quiet about what happened in the spring.” Cavanaugh shook his head. “Especially now that her sister has returned from Italy. One scandal per family is a lot. They were not gone long enough for the public one to die down. I’d appreciate no fuel be added to that gossip fire.”

“You know very well I am in no position to say a thing. You’d have me in prison if I did.”

“I would take no joy in that. I do still have fond memories of when we were in the regiment together.”

“As do I. I only wish I had not ruined our friendship.”

“That is definitely on you, my friend. It is all on you.” Cavanaugh turned to walk away.

“There you are, darling,” a woman’s voice.

Charles recognized it in the split second before she looked up at him. Her eyes got huge and she said, “Oh.”

This week’s word for the writers of Tuesday Tales is great. I’m still working on the Regency Christmas story.

check out the other tales here

Charles wished he could move away from George without it appearing as if he wanted to avoid James Cavanaugh. His mind raced as he tried to think of a reason to escape. 

“By the way, did you hear about Lady Cavanaugh’s sister?” George asked. 

Half-distracted, Charles shook his head, all as he scanned the room for someone else he needed to speak to so he could make his excuses and leave this place behind the plant. The place that turned into a trap for him as tight and effective as if he’d set it himself on his family property to catch a fox from the henhouse. 

“She and her mother have returned from Italy.”

“They went to Italy?” Charles did not really care but he supposed he needed to at least act interested. Where is Cavanaugh? Is he still coming this way?

“I thought everyone knew that. Remember when Lord Percy’s son pretended to want to elope with her and the whole thing blew up on the Serpentine?” George nudged him. “Surely you recall. It was the talk of the town. Her mother took her to Italy to wait for the scandal to die down.”

Charles nodded. Now that George reminded him, he remembered. It was nothing to do with him, thank goodness. 

“What about it?” Charles let his gaze dart back to where he’d last seen Cavanaugh but he was nowhere to be seen. A great, huge man, he shouldn’t be able to hide even in a ballroom full of people. His height would always give him away. Where is that blasted man?

“It seems she was taken ill with some disease over there. She won’t see anyone. She’s hiding in her house.”

“Why are we gossiping about some poor girl?”

George frowned. “I thought you might be concerned since her sister is married to your friend Cavanaugh.” He scratched his head. “Didn’t you also squire her about town at one time?”

“I may have amused myself with her for a little while, but I assure you, she is not someone I care to discuss.” Charles bowed slightly. “Now you must excuse me. I see Lord Ferguson across the room and I have a bit of business to discuss with the man.”

He turned on his heel and took large strides toward the back of the ballroom to make good his escape from the place.