Excerpt Monday!

Bria and Mel have a new challenge up to post an excerpt on Mondays, just cause. Well, ok.

I’ve been pounding away at redoing the opening to Beneath His Touch, a Regency-set Historical Romance that I’ve described before over on my Writing page. Anyway, the new opening scene is after the jump. Feel free to let me know what you like, what you hate or what confused you, but I’m hoping you enjoy it. 🙂

Dread knotted her stomach tighter as the hackney creaked to a halt before Wyndham House. Too soon, the carriage door opened.

“Shall I wait for you, Miss?”

Her scuffed leather boots touched down on Park Street, the London address of the Duke of Bolster, and the lie came easily, “No need. I am expected.”

The driver’s rough, calloused hand remained palm up after she released it. Her next to last shilling slipped between her gloved fingers and back into her purse three times before she managed to pay him. The man bit into the coin and shrugged as he turned to climb to his perch.

Somber draped windows overlooked the columned portico where marble steps spilled down reminding her of a down-turned mouth. Not a welcoming thought, but standing out in the street would not help her brother Reese.

She took a deep breath and gathered her courage around her, wishing her best clothing were a little warmer. A little newer. A little nicer. Each step, the soles of her boots slapping against the marble, echoed the clock in Ambrose Wyndham’s foyer ticking away the remaining twenty-four hours until he called in her brother’s gambling debt.

The knocker thudded only slightly louder than her heartbeat until the heavy oak door swung open to reveal a long-faced, starch-shirted butler. He sneered down at her from his lofty height and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Servants must apply to the side door, Miss. Good day.”

Her hands choked the neck of her reticule and her words tight and clipped. “Miss Tabitha Gifford to see His Grace.”
He half-turned, pulling the door closed and said, “He’s not at home.”

Pain pinched her foot where the butler leaned against the door in his attempt to close it. “It is imperative that I speak with the Duke of Bolster. A life may depend on it.” She hoped that was another lie, but wondered how many more she would be forced to tell before the day ended.

The butler’s eyebrow rose to a terrifying height. “Very well, Miss.” He peered up and down the street as he held the door just wide enough for her to slip through. “I will inquire into His Grace’s availability.”

She avoided the butler’s granite stare as he ducked into the first door on the left along the hallway leading deeper into the household.
Too anxious to stand still, she wandered the room’s perimeter. If daunting described the exterior of the house, being inside outright intimidated her. Every surface gleamed with a patina of elegance and sophistication beyond her existence. Gifford Park’s cozy but now threadbare atmosphere paled in comparison.

Black crêpe draped the windows, a tangible manifestation of the heavy pall hanging over the house. But somehow, despite the chill, the scent of spring caught her attention. An arrangement of daffodils graced the table tucked against the wall between the grand twin staircases. Her gaze followed the line of the stairs to the ceiling. The magnificent chandelier could probably sell for enough to pay Ambrose and sustain Gifford Park for several more years.

Providing Reese incurred no more debts.

Mother had only shared her tricks to stretch money, not any for keeping the men in your life from squandering it away on drink and games of chance in the first place. Given how her father’s profligate ways had lead to his death, her mother likely hadn’t been privy to such useful secrets.

The Dukes of Bolster obviously had no difficulty holding onto their funds or perhaps they merely had the Midas touch. No wonder the stuffy butler had few qualms about looking down his rather long nose at her as if she were beneath his touch.

A shriek of pure feminine frustration echoed though the halls, yanking her from her thoughts. A low, firm masculine voice rumbled in response, another unexpected warmth like the daffodils.

The butler emerged once more and shut the door to lean against it, rubbing his temples. He met her questioning look and muttered a quick, “He’s not to be disturbed, Miss,” and vanished into the deeper recesses of the house.

The words of the argument failed to reach the foyer but the tension in the voices seeped through the door. Unbidden, her feet moved closer to the source. She spared a glance after the butler, not wishing to be caught eavesdropping when so much relied on the outcome of this interview.

The discussion remained muffled behind the offending oak. She edged closer until she could distinguish two female voices in opposition to the Duke’s. He was outnumbered and barely holding his own, judging from the desperate edge to his words.
The cool oak caressed her cheek as she pressed her ear closer; the words finally clear.

“It just isn’t done, Henri.” The fight went out of the Duke’s voice.

She imagined his sagging shoulders, his shaking head, and the young ladies anticipation of his impending capitulation.

Tabitha straightened as an impulsive notion struck her. She would go to his aid. After all, she spoke the same language and surely had more in common with the ladies than the Duke. If she could win them over to his side, he would be indebted to her and thus more likely to lend her cause aid.

She lifted her hand to knock. It was now or never.

Not that I think anyone would intentionally take this text and try to pass it off as their own — but that’s © me, not the public domain. Besides, I’m sure this is going to change a lot before I ever get up the nerve to do anything with it.

If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy some of my other Excerpt Monday offerings.

Be sure to go read these other great excerpts too!

Bria’s: Secret Girlfriend
Mel’s: Fatal Visions
Louisa’s: Can’t Stand the Heat
Lauren’s: My Secret Valentine
Cynthia’s: Intrusion
Jamie’s: Strange Magic