If you have been poking around my site, or my social media, you probably know this already, but… yes, I finally have a new book out!
With some snafus behind me (which is why I haven’t posted it here until now), I wanted to introduce you to a new member of the book family. Ready?
Yes, it’s true. I finally have a new book for you! A new historical romance, loosely based on a fairy tale! May I introduce to you…
A Waltz Before Midnight:
First in a new series! (As of February 13)
In ebook and paperback at Amazon and in paperback from Barnes and Noble.
Genre: Victorian romance, fairy tale influenced, enemies to lovers romance.
Synopsis:
When Cindaria and Mr. Spencer Moreland collide, the collision destroys a precious gift for her ailing sister. Her nasty stepmother won’t purchase another, so Cindaria has no choice. She must agree when Spencer offers to procure it for her, even if it means traveling outside London with him to meet the creator. All Spencer wants is to clear his debt to the infuriating Cindaria, and forget the horrid, no good day he had less grace than an earl’s son should have. Then maybe he can put this girl behind him and find the charming beauty who stole his heart at a recent masked society ball.
If only he had a glass slipper to prove what his heart tells him is true…
I had fun with this book–especially with Cindaria’s little sister (Dorothea) so I hope you will enjoy their story.
Here’s a snippet of the novel:
June tugged at the ribbon on her bodice. “This dress is a disaster!” Her skirt swished across the wooden floor as she paced her bedroom before her mother. “Mother, I need a new one. Send Cindaria to the dressmaker and demand our money back!”
“There’s no time, my sweet.” Her mother snapped her fingers. “Cindaria, get June her blue ruffled dress.”
In the candlelight and the last hint of dusk, Cindaria Hethrope stood back like one of the maids, and studied the dress. I don’t see what is wrong with it. “It’s out with the laundresses, Stepmother.”
Her stepmother narrowed her eyes so much her fat face scrunched. Her new-forming wrinkles deepened into higher relief. “Did I ask you for such information?”
“Mummy, I must have something to wear! Lord Romalo must’ve seen me in every gown I own, by now.”
Cindaria doubted it. June owned three times more dresses than Cindaria and Dorothea kept in their little wardrobe upstairs. Steps—which was what Cindaria called her stepmother in secret—spent a fortune on her daughters’ wardrobe.
“I know, sweet.”
Sweet isn’t what Cindaria would call her sisters. June had amber eyes, chubby arms with no sleek muscle on them, and Astra shared her eye and dark blonde hair color, but was thinner, and used too much wax pomade in her hair. But it was their demeanors that spoke to their spoiled nature.
Pity only I see it.
Steps waved her hands. “Cindaria, go to the dressmakers. Get your sister another dress! There isn’t time to waste.”
“Yes, Stepmother.” At this late hour? She knew the dressmaker was already closed for the evening. How absurd can she be? There wasn’t a dressmaker in London who would accommodate them now. They weren’t the princesses, after all.
She hurried out of the room, only to turn left toward the attic instead of right, to the mansion’s foyer. Up the winding steps, she paused before the rickety door and tapped on the wooden surface. “Dorothea?” No answer sounded from within.
Cindaria entered without another word. Her sister sat on the window seat where she’d left her before June demanded her time. “Doro?” Either her sister slept or she was playing. Cindaria looked down on the little girl, her round face slack, but she’d scrunched up her eyes. She was twelve, but small for her age.
“I see you’ve been playing at Sleeping Beauty’s spinning wheel again. Oh, dear. At least you won’t mind if I take this cloak.” She removed the blanket from the girl’s lap.
Dorothea giggled. “That’s mine.”
“Is it, now?” Cindaria kissed her sister’s head. “You need it to help with your studies?”
The girl squirmed. “Why are you pestering me?”
“I’m not. I’m looking for a dress for June.”
“She owns dozens.”
“I thought so too.” Folding the blanket, Cindaria set it to the side, and approached an old trunk. “But June thinks otherwise. Help me pick out another.” She opened the trunk and removed a white linen party dress. “Will this do?”
Dorothea screwed up her baby face as she considered. “Do you think she can squeeze her girth into that one?”
“No, you’re right.” Besides, it was her mother’s. I don’t want June in it. She set it back in the trunk.
Dorothea hobbled over and pawed through the dresses. “This one will suit her.” She drew out an olive green dress. “It’s big enough.”
Her father once said that the linen gown was one her mother wore before Cindaria’s birth. “This is a maternity dress.”
“Oh.” Dorothea touched the skirt. “Let her wear it, I say.”
“But didn’t you hear me, Doro? It’s for a woman who’s expecting a child.”
Her sister shrugged. “And so what? June’s expecting someone will dance with her, isn’t she?”
Dorothea had a point. It may be the only thing that would fit her. “If we tie the sash lower, and tightly, you might be right.” Still, she set the dress aside. “We have others.” She removed a pink dress with blue bows along the skirt hem that Astra had handed down to her. “This might do.”
“You can try.” Dorothea eyed it critically. “But we know her. She’ll say no.”
“I’ve no other choice.”
“Do you think it’ll fit her?” Dorothea patted her stomach.
Cindaria scoffed in disdain. “Imp!” She opened her own trunks and removed scissors and gave a second pair to Dorothea. “Help me and we’ll make a few alterations. She won’t notice it’s the same dress.”
Together they removed the bows from the skirt.
“Cindaria, where are you with my dress?” June screeched from the corridor.
“Oh, dear.” Cindaria lowered the scissors. “We’re not finished.” Two bows still clung to the hem.
“Yes we are.” Dorothea yanked and tugged.
Rrrriiiiiiiipppppp!
The hem tore.
Cindaria gasped. “Doro! What did you do?”
Dorothea’s light skin colored. “Ooh! I didn’t mean to do that.”
Cindaria sighed in frustration and spread the skirt out.
“Are you going to cut the bottom off?”
“I thought to mend the tear.”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to lop it off?”
Cindaria eyed the hem and exchanged scissors for needle. “She’ll notice.”
“June? Doubtful.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Cindaria! Where’s June’s dress?”
She looked to the scissors in her sister’s hand. “Coming, Astra!” Hoping her two stepsisters wouldn’t barge into the attic, she turned her glare back on her little sister. “Dorothea, I don’t think this is the way to fix things.”
Dorothea took the needle from her hand and thrust the scissors at her. “Prove me wrong.”
Cindaria snipped.
“Cindaria!”
The door opened. Steps loomed in the attic doorway, face as red as her skirt.
Cindaria removed the ruffle and thrust it behind her back. “Yes?”
“Your sister is awaiting the dress you promised her. The hour is passing. I won’t arrive late to the ball because of you.”
“Yes, stepmother,” Dorothea said. “Cindaria’s found the perfect ensemble for her.”
Steps narrowed midnight blue eyes, but didn’t enter the room. “Hurry along. I won’t have my girls ridiculed for tardiness.”
“Yes, Stepmother.” Though she knew Steps wouldn’t abide it if she lingered longer, she must help Dorothea. “Come along, Doro.”
Her sister poked into the open trunk. “I’d like to play here a little longer.”
Cindaria scoffed. “Doro.”
Steps tapped her foot. Cindaria tried not to cringe but knew time was running out. “Please.”
“Go. I’ll call for you when I’m ready.” Dorothea waved her hands. “I promise.”
What was her sister up to? “Scamp.”
“Cinndaaariaaa,” June called her again.
Cindaria shook her head and heeded her stepsister’s summons. True to Dorothea’s prediction, neither June, nor Astra, noticed the gown’s jagged hem. But their final preparations took so much of Cindaria’s time she had only minutes for Dorothea.
When Cindaria returned to the attic, she found a maid watching over the girl, helping with whatever her project was. “Thank you, Mina.” Dorothea took a hoop skirt from the maid and thrust it and a wad of orange linen at Cindaria. “Here. Tie this over you.”
“What’s this?”
“Your costume.” Dorothea dropped the hoop skirt into her hands.
Cindaria stepped into it and shimmied it up to her waist.
“No! Like this.” Dorothea took the hoop skirt back, and turned it over. With the maid’s help, she slipped the waistband over Cindaria’s head, upside down. “Hold this. Bend down, so I can reach.”
Cindaria grasped the hoop skirt. Dorothea squished it in around her, and tied it. “There.”
“There, what? I can’t see a thing.”
She wiggled the hoop skirt down to clear her view.
“Stop it. Do as I say. Pick me up.”
Cindaria hoisted Dorothea into her arms. Her sister brought a pair of scissors with her.
“What are you doing?”
“Close your eyes.”
Snip, snip, snip. Cindaria winced with every cut.
“There.”
Dorothea tugged and tweaked until Cindaria’s view cleared. “You cut eyeholes?”
More tugging ensued. The linen was thin enough that she didn’t need eyeholes.
Cindaria put her sister down. Shoving here and there, Dorothea and the maid finished all the adjusting and pinning. Cindaria found the skirt extended forward, with two poufs to the left and right. “I look like a squash. Is this your idea?”
“Not a squash.”
“An orange ghost?”
Dorothea huffed in exasperation. “No, silly girl.”
“What, then?”
“You’ll see.” Dorothea held out her hands. “Help me get dressed.” Dorothea had chosen a silver-gray dress with a wide skirt, and blue bows on her sleeves.
Cindaria peered through tulle at her sister. “You’re lovely. Aren’t we to wear matching costumes?”
“No. Pick me up.”
She bent and scooped Dorothea up. Dorothea pointed to the mirror and squirmed in her arms. “Careful, Doro! I don’t want to drop you.”
“Stop.” She pointed to the mirror. “See us? Now, what do you think?”
Cindaria blinked. Her sister in silver cradled in her orange arms. “We clash.”
“No we don’t. And shush. Carriages don’t speak.”
“Oh! Is that what I am, a carriage?”
“A pumpkin carriage. Like Cinderella’s. Now you’ll have to go to the costume ball, as I can’t go without you.”
They made their way downstairs, where Steps stared. “What are you doing? Who is under that fabric?”
“My assistant, of course.”
“You mean your sister.” Steps pulled down the sheet and tulle. “This is your way of trying to attend? Absolutely not. I forbid you to go, Cindaria.”
Dorothea had the audacity to object. “Why?”
“I’m attending this party for my daughters’ benefit. You will honor my wishes.”
“We are your daughters!” Dorothea squirmed in her arms.
“No. You are your father’s daughters.”
Cindaria sighed. “I suspected you’d forbid it.”
“Will you not let me go?” Dorothea coughed into her hand.
She’ll get nowhere with this tactic. “Doro–”
“When I might never get another chance before I die? Father wouldn’t have liked that.”
Steps’ frown deepened. “No.”
“Think. Should I live to my eighteenth birthday, we might find a match for me tonight.” Another cough. “A rich one. You’ll never have to worry about me again, that way. Or perhaps we will find a governess willing to rear me to her profession.”
Please let Doro live to eighteen and beyond, Lord.
Steps looked them over. “What are you wearing?”
“What do you think?” Dorothea wiggled in her arms. “Our costume for the ball.”
“You won’t be going, that’s final. You’ve work enough around here for the night.”
While Dorothea drooped, Cindaria tensed up. “The hostess invited your family.”
“She invited me and my daughters. You are my stepdaughters.” Steps waved a fat hand at June. “Come along, girls. We’ll be late.”
“But Mother!”
Steps glared at Dorothea. “You need rest, do you not? You can’t dance, after all, and need your sister to watch over you. Do as I say and go upstairs now.”
Their stepsisters giggled as they rushed past them and outside to their carriage. Why should we stay? Cindaria followed them.
Steps put herself between them. “Cindaria?” She pointed to the stairs.
Cindaria opened her mouth, shut it. “Come on, Doro. We’ll make our own fun.”
She carried her sister to the parlor, and set her in her chair. Dorothea crossed her arms and pouted. Cindaria paced the parlor, agitated.
“TWO is a rat.” TWO is what Dorothea called her, when no one else was listening. “She certainly lives up to the name ‘The Wicked One’.”
“Doro, there will be other parties. We need not attend them all.” Disappointment filled her, more for Dorothea’s sake. She paced the parlor, wondering what to do.
An idea struck her and Cindaria urged her sister up. “Come with me.”
Dorothea protested. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”
“To visit Winifred Clankton.”
“But she has no sisters my age.”
“No, but she has a bigger carriage.”
Recognition lit in her sister’s eyes. Cindaria led Dorothea down the street to the omnibus stop. When they arrived at Winifred’s, they found the house alive with activity.
“Good evening, Miss Hethrope.” Winifred’s elder brother was nineteen, healthy, and handsome, and polite as he bowed to her.
Lady Miranda Clankton scolded her younger sons to “Now, listen to your nanny, while we’re gone” while adjusting a bejeweled comb in her dark hair. “Good evening, Cindaria. We didn’t expect you tonight. Did Winifred not tell you we had an invitation?”
Cindaria curtseyed. “She did, my lady. That’s why I’m here.”
“Aren’t your stepsisters going to the party too?”
“They are. May I speak with Winifred, my lady?”
Lady Clankton came forward and tugged on Dorothea’s pigtails. “Of course. Miss Dorothea, you may play with my boys.” She turned a stern look on the children. “If they promise not to be too rough.”
“I can’t, ma’am. I’m part of the costume.”
The corner of Lord Clankton’s mouth lifted in a momentary smile as he adjusted his cravat by the mirror in the foyer. “Are you?”
“She’s Cinderella. And I’m the coach. If we can get to the ball.”
Lord and Lady Clankton looked at each other. “I see.”
She didn’t think they did.
“Winifred!” her younger brother, at eleven years old, shouted up the stairs at her. “Miss Hethrope and her sister are here.”
“They are?”
“Why are you here?”
“To see your sister.”
“Stop pestering her, Jonah.” Winifred shouted down the stairs. “Come up, my friend.”
Cindaria thanked the family and carried Dorothea upstairs. “Don’t worry, Doro. We’ll get to that party yet.”
Winifred settled back at her vanity and the maid went back to work on a last braid in the girl’s hair. Jewels shined from Winifred’s frilly yellow gown. Winifred met her gaze in the mirror. “This is a surprise.”
“My word, you’re lovely.”
“Do you think so?” Winifred shook out her sleeve. “I hope Lord St. Vincent will believe me so.”
“I’m sure he will.” Cindaria set Dorothea in an empty chair and approached Winifred. “My friend, I’m in a bind.”
Concern lit her friend’s eyes. “What’s the trouble? You can’t wear the same gown you wore this morning, unless you think that orange cape will make a difference? Though it will go with your coloring, it looks … too big.”
Cindaria glanced at herself in the mirror and noted the high color in her olive cheeks.
“Of course it is,” Dorothea said. “It’s meant to be big.”
Winifred’s lips twitched and she picked up the edge of the sheet. “You’re supposed to be an orange ghost?”
“No, silly. She’s my pumpkin coach. If she’d put the costume on correctly.”
Cindaria took her arm. “If we had somewhere to show off her clever costume, I would. We seem to be without a conveyance to the ball.”
“What happened?” Winifred leaned closer to the mirror, and plucked a stray eyelash from her cheek. “Or do I need to guess?”
***
Will the girls get to the ball? What kind of “Prince Charming” might Cindaria meet there? You’ll have to read the book to find out. 🙂 I hope you like A Waltz Before Midnight as much as I enjoyed writing it. You see, even now, it makes me smile. And, while yes, Dorothea’s name was inspired by Dorothy Gale of The Wizard of Oz, the story is very much a Cinderella tale.
And you can add it to your Goodreads TBR here.
Thanks for reading. I hope you’ll enjoy it!
