Title: Farewell to
Kindness
Author: Jude
Knight
Genre: Historical
Romance
Farewell to Kindness (On
prerelease 2 March 2015, on sale from 1 April 2015)
Price: US99c from 2 March 2015 to 8 April 2015;
USD3.49 from 9 April 2015
The man who hunts. Rede believes he has turned his back on
compassion and mercy. But he is distracted from the hunt for those who killed
his family by his growing attraction for Anne. His feelings for her are a
weakness. Or could they instead be a source of strength?
The woman who hides. Anne protected her family from scandal and
worse by changing their identity. She must keep Rede from discovering who they
are. She cannot give him her heart without trusting him, yet how she trust him
when he has closed himself off to love?
And the danger that threatens
them both. When their enemies link forces, Rede and Anne
must face the past in order to claim the future.
Price: free ebook in
multiple formats at all eretailers; USD12.99 in print on Amazon
Cover art created for and owned by Jude Knight
Cover art created for and owned by Jude Knight
Published: 1 April 2015, publisher: Jude Knight
Page length: 420
pages
ISBN ebook: 978-0-473-31354-8 ASIN: Not yet assigned ISBN print book: 978-0-473-31353-1
Heat: PG13 edging
towards R in places
Author
Bio
Jude Knight started writing fiction when she was still at
school, but went on to spend many years as a commercial writer. In late
December 2012, she came home from her mother’s funeral determined to finally
achieve the dream her mother had always supported.
After more than a year collecting ideas, doing research, and
creating plots and character sketches, she stopped procrastinating and started
writing. Her first novella was published just before Christmas in 2014, and –
to Jude’s awed surprise – hit several Amazon bestseller lists in both the US
and the UK, at one point reaching the top 2 in the US and the very top in the
UK. 2015 is the year of the novel, with one in April, one in September, and one
in December. Jude is also part of a collaborative group of writers, the
Bluestocking Belles, so watch for their boxed set just before Christmas 2015.
Jude has chosen 1 April as the launch date for Farewell to
Kindness in honour of all the people who told her that she’d never achieve
anything if she didn’t get her head out of a book.
In Jude’s books, you’ll find strong determined heroines,
heroes who can appreciate a clever capable woman, and villains you’ll love to
loathe. The novel plots tend towards the gothic, with a leavening of humour,
and some insights into the similarities and differences between now and way
back then.
Jude thinks her Mum would have liked them.
Links
Subscribe to Jude’s newsletter: http://judeknightauthor.com/newsletter/
Book
Excerpts
George was drunk. But
not nearly drunk enough. He still saw his young friend’s dying eyes everywhere.
In half-caught glimpses of strangers reflected in windows along Bond Street,
under the hats of coachmen that passed him along the silent streets to Bedford
Square, in the flickering lamps that shone pallidly against the cold London
dawn as he stumbled up the steps to his front door.
They followed his every waking hour:
hot, angry, hate-filled eyes that had once been warm with admiration.
He drank to forget, but all he could
do was remember.
One more flight of stairs, then through
the half open door to his private sitting room, already reaching for the
waiting decanter of brandy as he crossed the floor.
He had a glass of oblivion halfway
to his lips before he noticed the painting.
It stood on an easel, lit by a
carefully arranged tree of candles. George’s own face was illuminated—the
golden shades of his hair, his intensely blue eyes. The artist had captured his
high cheekbones and sculpted jaw. “One of London’s most beautiful men,” he’d
been called.
He stalked to the easel, moving with
great care to avoid spilling his drink.
Yes. The artist had talent. Who
could have given him such a thing?
As he bent forward to look at it
more closely, something whipped past his face. With a solid thunk, an arrow
struck the painting, to stand quivering between the painted eyes.
******
Rede stayed for a while, shaking hands with those who came for
an introduction, catching up with those he’d met during the week, and generally
making himself pleasant.
Several times, he met eyes as blue as his own, fringed like his
with dark lashes. His predecessors had certainly left a mark on the population.
Many of the poorer members of the community bore the certain sign that a female
ancestor had caught a Redepenning’s fickle attention.
Mrs Forsythe, the rent-free tenant, wasn’t introduced. He had
been hearing her name all week. His tenants spoke of her warmly, and with
respect, listing her good deeds, and praising her kindness. From what they
said, she was a lynch pin of village life. Listening to their stories, he’d
formed a picture of a mature widow; a gentlewoman of private—if straitened—means;
a bustling matron with a finger in all the charitable activity of the parish.
The trio of young ladies on the path broke up, two coming over
to be introduced as the daughters of the Rector and the Squire. The third young
lady collected a child and another young woman from the Rectory garden.
The child was a little older than his Rita would have been;
perhaps the age Joseph would have been, had he lived. She studied him curiously
as she passed; meeting his blue gaze with her own. Indeed, he could have been
looking at one of his own childhood portraits, cast in a more feminine mould.
She didn’t take her colouring from the two young ladies with
her. And a quick glance after her showed that bonnets masked the faces of the
two ladies they joined.
“Once my cousins arrive, we’ll invite the local gentry to
dinner,” he told Mrs Ashbrook. “I’ve met some of them. Could you perhaps
introduce me to others?”
As he’d hoped, she launched into a list of all the gentlemen and
ladies in the neighbourhood, starting with those present. He listened
impatiently as the objects of his interest moved further and further towards
the gate.
At last, just as they passed under the arch, Mrs Ashbrook said, “and
Mrs Forsythe and her sisters, the Miss Haverstocks. They were standing right
there by the church… oh dear, you’ve missed them. They’ve just left.”
The slender figure hurrying away down the road with her sisters
and daughter did not fit the picture he’d formed of the busy Mrs Forsythe. Not
at all.
He continued listening to Mrs Ashbrook, commenting when
appropriate, murmuring pleasantries to the people she took him to around the
churchyard. And with another part of his mind he planned a change in the order
of his tenant visits.
Meeting Mrs Forsythe, owner of the trimmest pair of ankles he
had ever noticed and mother of a Redepenning by-blow, was suddenly a priority.
******************
What was it about this woman that made Rede want to spend time
with her? She was, of course, delectable. But many women had faces and forms as
lovely.
Since Marie-Josèphe died,
he’d felt the stirrings of lust from time to time—and more than stirrings.
Acting on those stirrings always felt like too much trouble, though.
In his private desires, as in all the rest of his life, he saw
the world as if through a thick blanket that numbed feeling. He went through
the motions of looking after his business interests and the Earldom, of acting
appropriately in social occasions, of charming his tenants and his
neighbours—but all the time, he was acting a part, as if he had been buried
with his wife and children, and was reaching from the grave to operate his own
body like a puppet.
Except when he woke each morning with his grief still raw.
Except when he was planning how to make his enemies pay. Except when he read
the reports David sent him every week.
And now, something beyond his vengeance was reaching through the
blanket of unfeeling and bringing him back to life. Or, rather, someone.
He studied her for a moment, as he stood apart from the group.
He couldn’t put his finger on what made her different. Perhaps it was that she
talked to him, and not to his title or his wealth. He enjoyed her wit, her
humour. He liked how she treated him with no more and no less deference than
she did Will or the Squire or the innkeeper’s wife.
Today, she was dressed far more like a lady than a cottager, in
a light-coloured dress in the modern style, modestly covering but shaping to
her bosom, and dropping from there to a flounced hem. Yesterday’s apron had
defined her slender waist, but the dress beneath it had hidden her shape
entirely. Today’s dress left her waist a mystery, but clung to her hips and
legs as she walked...
It would give the villagers confidence to see their lord working
side by side with the other local leaders. Rede had run large teams of
trappers, invested the money into multiple enterprises and made a not
inconsiderable fortune by finding managers he could trust and inspiring them to
give their all to serve him. He knew the value of showing his tenants and neighbours
that he counted himself one of them.
His decision to help was for the village at large, not to
impress the lovely Mrs Forsythe.
“And,” he admonished himself as he rode away, “if you believe
that, I have a village built of pure gold in Upper Canada that I’d like to sell
you.”
********
Rede leaned closer to Anne.
“Have I told you yet how lovely you look this evening?”
“Susan’s maid, Markham, is a wonder. She chose the gown, and
altered it.” Anne preened a little, twisting from side to side in display.
“Lovely,” Rede agreed. “I always think you lovely, but I’m
delighted to see you in clothes that are fit for you. And you managed to match
the ribbon I gave you!”
Anne blushed. Rede was quick to notice and guess the reason. “That
is the ribbon I gave you!”
“I happened to have it in my pocket,” Anne murmured.
Rede looked so smug at the thought that she wanted to rein him
in.
“Rede, your nephew saw us last night, and he has told Baroness
Carrington.”
He was instantly serious. “How...? Oh no. I forgot the lookout
in his bedroom. Anne, I do apologise. I should not have... you were so lovely
that I lost myself. But that is not an excuse. I should have been more careful.
I will be more careful.”
“It cannot happen again, Rede.”
“What are you two looking so serious about,” Kitty asked. “Anne,
did you know that in Russia, there is a water spirit that seeks out men and
drowns them? And witches live in cottages with chicken legs, so they can turn
the cottages around! If you go into the forest, they may catch you!”
“Really,” Rede said, “and you saw these yourself, Alex?”
Major Redepenning just laughed.
“In Canada,” Rede told Kitty, “the Rugaru live in the forest.
They are part human and part wolf, and they eat ice. In the river live the
Memaquasesak. They are little people, who love sweet things and are always to
blame when baking goes missing.”
“And you saw these yourself, Rede?” the Major mocked.
“I certainly had many sweet things go missing. But that could
have been John. Or perhaps it was Ti Jean.”
Then Rede told them the tale of Ti Jean and the Rugaru, and Major
Redepenning topped it with a story of Baba Yaga and foolish Ivan, and the
supper passed merrily.
No comments:
Post a Comment