The Spinster is now available! Join me for an excerpt and a giveaway!

The Spinster, Book 2 of the Rags to Richmonds regency romance series is available today! You don’t absolutely have to have read book 1 to enjoy book 2 but it does help! In any case leave a comment for me and you could win books 1 AND 2 and of course the entire series will be available in Kindle Unlimited.

How about a preview for the entire series? Click HERE to get a downloadable ebook which contains the first chapters of the entire Rags to Richmonds series.

Scarlett Margrave is the unmarried daughter of a country parson in Bedfordshire when she learns at a ball that a lady in London is her twin. She sets off on a journey of self discovery and finds love, a new family, and an exciting place in Society along the way!

Scarlett had never been the sort of girl to covet that which she did not have. She did not read the tattle sheets from London and imagine herself in silks and lace, gadding about to fancy parties every minute of the day. She did not even look at Bess—with her carefree ways and indulgent mother—with any degree of longing whatsoever. It was not merely a desire to live among the highborn which left her now feeling hollowed out.

Rather, it was the sense that she did not belong. She had a good life, but was it really hers? Yes, she had been cared for, but had she ever been cared about? Was anyone concerned with her hopes and dreams, her general happiness in life? It was a question that had nagged at her for many years, a sense that something was going on without her. She had always dismissed it as ennui, or the usual melancholy of adolescence, but what if it was more? What if she had, in some manner, known that she was not a Margrave?

But why should you think the people who left you had any thought for you? She left the breakfast room, not really knowing where she was going. They abandoned you, and would not likely wish to be reminded of you.

She paused at the bottom of the stair, hearing Mrs Hobson’s footsteps hurrying towards her. “Miss Scarlett?”

“Yes?”

Mrs Hobson’s face was creased into planes of worry. She peered anxiously at Scarlett’s countenance. “Are you well, dear?”

Scarlett nodded, then shook her head, and then reached up to cover her face with her hands, feeling dangerously close to crying for a moment. She regained control of herself quickly—she had that much in common with her mother and father, the ability to suppress any emotion. “I was surprised,” she said cautiously. “You have known, I suppose?”

“I only found out very recently myself,” Mrs Hobson said. “I had asked him a question about…some accounts I saw, and he showed me but told me to say nothing to anyone else.” Then with a little click of her tongue, she drew Scarlett into an embrace. When they separated, she added, “They ought to have told you. You are old enough to know.”

A fresh wave of sorrow went through her, but Scarlett held it at bay. “I daresay it does not truly signify,” she forced herself to say. “I have wanted for nothing, and the good Lord only knows what worse fates could have befallen me.”

“A very admirable view of things, my dear.” For the briefest moment, it seemed like Mrs Hobson might say more but she did not, instead only nodding and going about her business. Scarlett reckoned she ought to do the same.

There was always a great deal to be done for the parish. It fell to Scarlett to arrange teas for the ladies, to visit the needy, to make the reverend aware of potential problems or disputes. She took baskets of food to the elderly and sewed clothing for the poor. It was good work, and it was important work; she simply did not feel she ought to have it assigned to her for life, without some sort of choice on her part.

Her distress prevented her from embarking on her good works. Instead, her feet moved her to Bess’s house where she hoped she would find her friend in a state to hear of her troubles.

As it was, Bess was still in bed, a half-empty breakfast tray in front of her. “Forgive me for calling so early,” Scarlett said, her voice sounding benumbed and detached to even her own ears. “I could not wait to acquaint you with my news.”

“Lord Worthe came to you in the middle of the night and proposed?” Bess teased.

Scarlett smiled wanly as she sank onto her friend’s bed. Hardly knowing where to begin, she decided to start with the most salient points. “I am not a Margrave. I am not eighteen.”

“What?” Bess breathed the word in shock as the grin faded from her countenance. “You cannot be in earnest!”

“My father began to scold me this morning—oh, I hardly even know what he was about by now!—so to stop him, I told him about the lady in London who looked like me—”

“The one Lord Worthe mentioned to you?”

His name doused her with a fresh wave of agony, but she only nodded. “The reverend was…dismissive about it. He scolded me for believing myself a hidden heiress—which I assure you, I do not—and wished only to inform me that I was mistaken in my fancies. I got overset and began to demand answers—”

“Well done,” Bess said with a firm little nod.

“And it all came out. They were prevailed upon to take me in when the orphanage where I was—Princess Caroline’s Home for the Care of Unfortunate Waifs—burnt down. They did not really want a child but took me out of Christian duty.”

“Oh, I am sure that is not true.” Bess laid a consoling hand on Scarlett’s arm. “I would bet anything—”

“It is true,” Scarlett replied flatly. “He said so himself. No love, no real interest, just duty and the notion that I would take care of them when they were in their dotage.”

Bess frowned at that but said nothing more.

“So I am twenty, not eighteen, I have no idea who my people are, whether I have brothers or sisters or…anything. Who knows, perhaps this lady in London is my sister, or my cousin, or…some other sort of relation to me.”

“You should come to London, then! Meet this lady who looks like you and see what happens from there!” Bess’s eyes were lit with such eager hope it nearly made Scarlett groan.

“The reverend is even less likely to permit it now than he was before, and before my chances were almost non-existent.” Scarlett sighed, considering it. The thought that she might have a sister, a twin, was tantalising, but too incredible to take seriously. She dared not allow herself to consider it. “In any case, what if I went all that way to find the lady really looked nothing like me, or said ‘no, I am absolutely positive I have no relations to speak of’? Then where would I be?”

“No worse off than you are now.”

“It does not bear thinking about. He will not permit it, much less grant me the necessary funds to do it, and I can hardly defy him.” She sighed again, feeling an imaginary weight descend upon her, like a heavy mantle on her shoulders. “There is really nothing to do but go along as I have been and think of this no more. For whatever I might have been, for now I am a Margrave. No more and no less.”

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