Bess and the Highwayman Launch and Giveaway (and Nicole asks for story advice)

I’ve been threatening this story for over two years now. Well, guess what? It finally launches today!

Bess and the Highwayman is–you guessed it–a story loosely based on that haunting poem by Alfred Noyes. Oh, I could sing Loreena McKennitt’s version right now! Show of hands? Yes?

But I always thought there was something wrong with it. Why write something that incredible and then have a sad ending? I know it wouldn’t be half as memorable with a happily-ever-after, but I couldn’t just leave it alone. So, here we are, two years (and yes, some gray hairs) later, and Bess is finally all dressed up for the ball. This girl is a handful! You think Elizabeth Bennet has spunk? Personally, I think it’s fitting that their names resemble each other.

Today, I’m here to share a snippet from the story, and I’m giving away three copies to lucky drawing winners! But first and foremost, this is still a blog about Jane Austen-inspired stories. And I need some help deciding which plots to tackle next! Naturally, I can’t spill all the beans from my goodie bag, but I’ll try to give vague hints that are just revealing enough for you to vote on.

1: Friends to lovers trope, only it’s a fake… until it’s not.
2: Madcap Bennet family throws Darcy’s world into a tailspin
3: Friends to… friends… will they ever get there?
4: Oops, that was you? Thought it was your brother.
5: Missed connections and mistaken identity

Well? I’d love to hear which one you like best. And yes, these really are all in my bag of ideas. I actually have about six more that I didn’t even list. I’d sure love to hear your thoughts so I can narrow the next one down!

And now, back to Bess and the Highwayman. Here’s the official cover and blurb! Then I will share a scene from Chapter 11.

A soldier in disguise, a woman daring enough to discover his secret, and a love worth fighting for.

Bess Reynolds, the daughter of a local innkeeper, is used to dodging unwanted attention from men like Captain Chesterfield, a militia officer determined to catch the mysterious highwayman. But when she meets Captain Nicholas Hunt, a soldier with a heart of gold, she finds herself drawn to his kindness. Little does she know, Hunt is on a dangerous mission to intercept Napoleon’s spy network and stop the French from gaining the upper hand.

Captain Hunt is a soldier with a moral dilemma – to carry out his mission, he must disguise himself as the notorious highwayman and rob travelers for information. But as he and Bess work together, their relationship deepens and the stakes get higher. With Captain Chesterfield hot on the trail of the highwayman, the mystery of Hunt’s true identity remains a guarded secret. Will Hunt be able to complete his mission, protect the woman he loves, and stop Napoleon’s spy network in time? Find out in this thrilling tale of love, adventure, and espionage set against the backdrop of Georgian England.

Bess did not usually have trouble sleeping. Typically, she fell into her bed late, in a dead stupor, and caught just enough of the sweet abyss to stumble forth again in the morning. But tonight, she was a hopeless case.

She paced to the casement and stood watch there, communing with a waning moon. She lit her candle again to work on her mending, but her eyes were too bleary to focus on it. Eventually, she bundled back in her bed and tried blocking out the creak of the old inn, the distant song of the owls, and the clamor of her thoughts.

What was it about Mr. Cumberland that her father disapproved? It had to be that he was a gentleman. Was that not her own whispered caution? Gentlemen did not let their feelings carry them into inconvenient alliances. Even if Mr. Cumberland did admire her, he would never make someone like her an honorable offer.

But why would she expect him to make an offer of any kind? He had been friendly. Chivalrous. But nothing he had said or done seemed to indicate that he was looking for either a short diversion or a long-term mistress. So why did he alarm her father so?

Bess twisted and fretted until more of her blankets were covering the floor than her body. She was making herself wearier in bed than she would out of it. It was well before her usual waking time, but there was no help for it. Shivering in the darkness, she pulled on her wool stockings, her chemise and stays, her dress and her shawl. It would be too early to light the fires, but perhaps she could slip out beyond the garden gate for a brisk walk before her day started.

The sky was a watery silver when she stepped out, with the moon’s parting glare still sulking above the tree line, and the early promise of the sun just beginning to claw its way over the rooftops of the inn. Bess tightened her shawl around her and watched puffs of her breath condense and rise. Even the stable was quiet this early in the morning, and no one was about to trouble her. She was free to do whatever she wished.

A mischievous thought tickled her mind. How long had it been since she plucked any of the roses from her mother’s hedge? Perhaps her father would be cheered out of his recent melancholy by one of those velvet blooms with his morning egg. She wove into the skirting of the hickory wood until she reached the bush and crouched down before it. Black were the heavy rose heads in the dim light, and she put out her hand to stroke the nearest one. How her mother had loved coming here to prune and care for this old thing!

Bess had never known why it was planted in the shade of the wood, rather than adorning the gates of the inn in the sunshine, but this place must have held some special meaning. So many times in her childhood, she would search for her mother and would find her here, knelt in the mossy earth by her roses. Sometimes it seemed that Mama had been weeping, but she always smiled and welcomed her daughter with a tender kiss when she was discovered.

She caressed a few of the fuller blossoms before choosing one for her father. Her sewing scissors were still in her pocket, and she drew them out and angled them for her cut. The waxen petals fell into her hand, and she buried her nose in the rose’s perfume. How she missed her mother!

It was time to be going back. The girls would be lighting the kitchen stove, and before long, the inn would come to life. Bess tucked her scissors back into her pocket, but the rose, she kept close to her face as she straightened and turned around.

Several seconds passed before she saw him. At first, she was not certain she had seen anything at all, for he was quite still. Little more than a shapely shadow he was, but a quiet wisp of steam rose from the fore.

Bess squinted. Was it a horseman? A phantom? With as little sleep as she had had, it could be a simple figment of her imagination.

Then, a hoof sliced the air, and an inhuman snort split the night. Bess’s rose fell from nerveless fingers, and slowly, numbly, she backed away. Was there a rider? She saw no face—only a billowing form and the dim silhouette of a cocked hat.

A chill raced down her spine, and every ghost story she had ever heard echoed hard upon her. Horsemen with no heads or souls, reapers who came to steal the hearts of the living. Masked savages who stole women right from their beds.

Had she a few seconds to collect herself, a bit more light to see better, or even some rest to put away the delusions of exhaustion, she might not have panicked. But just then, the demon horse let out a shrill whistle, a sound unlike any living creature she had ever known, followed by another feral snort. The rider lifted the brim of his hat… and she saw only blackness below it.

That was all Bess’s poor heart could withstand. Her legs wobbled, then a dread feeling of nausea and trembling washed over her. Then, the void was all she knew.

***

“Miss Bess!”

Nick caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek to test its warmth, but his confounded mask got in the way. “Oh, blast,” he swore under his breath, and stripped his gloves off. Her fingers were icy, but possibly just from being outdoors. He would never forgive himself if he had done her an injury. Why, oh why, did she have to turn around when she did, before he could slip back into the shadows without alarming her?

“Wake up, my girl. What are you doing out so early, hmm?” he muttered. “I might have known you would be the one to discover me. Here, what’s this?” He pressed the heel of his hand to her forehead and found it quite warm. She moaned softly, and her lashes fluttered.

He sighed in relief when her eyes groggily opened. She was blinking slowly and her gaze was unfocused like someone just rousing after a long sleep, but after a few seconds, her eyes sharpened and seemed to snap. Her mouth flew open, and her body jerked in fear, and it was then that Nick realized he had been cradling her limp form like a lover.

“I mean you no harm!” he cried, just as she was trying to scramble away. “You took a fall. I was only making sure—”

“Stay away from me!” She bolted to her feet; hands spread out in a warding gesture.

Nick put his own hands up to show his goodwill and took a step back. “I am sorry if I frightened you. I was only passing through. I did not know I might happen upon anyone.”

She remained frozen, only her eyes moving over him as she panted in terror. It was stupid of him, but he could not resist trying to inch closer again. It tore his soul to think she was afraid of him, but he could not exactly set her at ease the way he would have liked.

“Pray, madam,” he said, careful this time to avoid using her name, “be comforted. I shall not harm you. You only swooned.”

Her teeth bared in the dim light. “What do you take me for, some pampered lap dog? A parlor princess? I do not swoon!”

He opened his mouth, then closed it rapidly, unable to wholly prevent the smile from creeping into his face and voice. “I beg your pardon, but I believe you did. There is no shame in it, Miss—”

“Who do you think you are, flouncing about the woods dressed like a goblin? Wearing a scarf over your face and lurking in the shadows. How very ridiculous!”

His hands lowered, and he was smiling in earnest now. “Maybe I am a thief, come to steal your valuables.”

She crossed her arms and threw back her head with a sniff. “I’d like to know what you think I have.”

“The smile of a goddess, for a start.”

Her chin dipped fractionally, and her eyes narrowed. “If you mean to violate me, sir, I have but to scream.”

“I already told you. I mean you no harm. A thief may lay hold of whatever he pleases, and it pleases me very much to admire a bewitching woman without marring her beauty or giving her cause to despise me.”

One of her brows lifted. “You are a very peculiar kind of thief.”

Nick risked another step closer to her. “You may find it difficult to believe, but I do not take what I do not mean to replace, and my motive is honor, not avarice.”

“How very strange. Are you a sort of Robin Hood, then? I’m afraid you are wearing the wrong color.”

Nick glanced down at his red coat and grinned. “My tailor was fresh out of green. But to prove my goodwill, I shall leave you a gift, rather than taking one.”

He walked a few paces away and collected the rose she had dropped. When he returned to her, he paused. “It is very fitting, you know.”

“What is?”

He fingered the stem of the rose, then held it up. “This deep crimson. It is not the flower of a child, nor even a… what was it you said? A parlor princess? Such a creature could merit a dusky pink at best, but a woman of your vivid passion deserves the richest red.” Boldly, he tucked the rose behind her ear and stood back to admire the complete picture.

She had tilted her head, her eyes now slitted in suspicion. “Who are you?”

Nick grinned. “Just a thief, madam.” He caught the mare’s reins and stepped into the saddle. “One who knows better than to try to steal a real prize when he sees it. Adieu.”

Well, are you curious what has our hero skulking about the woods, dressed in a red cloak and mask? Better reserve your copy!

Or drop a comment to enter the drawing, and best of luck!

–Nicole