Thank you for your review. I appreciate your comments. Robin
Novel Treatments / Untitled Historical Romance - Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Lacey had a hard time waking, finding the down mattress much to her liking. Even though the feather tick poked her multiple times throughout the night, it was much cozier than her Sealy Posturpedic. The room was frigid since no maid had come to light her fire; she missed its welcoming warmth. She jumped from the bed, and found the requested items; a freshly laundered shirt and knickers were folded on the chair—they were roomy given Lacey’s small frame, but worked. Shoes presented a problem she hadn’t foreseen.
Rummaging through her closet, she located a pair of soft kid leather slippers. ‘This will just have to do,” she thought, missing the running shoes she was accustomed to wearing. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, and patted her breasts to insure the sports bra held securely.
Lacey wound her way through the house and out into the crisp morning air. It was barely dusk, and a light moisture could be seen across the landscape. She took a few moments to stretch, relishing in the feel from the small muscle stimulation. Zebby sat patiently to the side, waiting for the morning routine he’d grown accustomed to.
When Lacey took off at a jog, Zebediah was on her heels, yipping the air—he enjoyed the game they always played. He nipped her ankles, darted ahead and tried tripping her from the gait she would ultimately adopt. Once Lacey found her stride, she followed dusk-lit pathways to the maze; Zebediah trailed her, matching his short stride to her longer step. Exercise had always been part of Lacey’s routine; it felt good to do something familiar, even if she did have to make adaptions to the current era.
After five laps through the bush-lined walkways -- her approximation of two miles -- she slowed the pace to a fast walk, stopping at the fountain. Cupping hands, she let Zebediah have a drink, and splashed the remaining cool liquid across her face. They walked through the already familiar pattern and into the garden. She never saw the gentleman standing in one of the secreted arbors, smoking a cigar, watching her with piqued interest.
**
The Duke of Yarlborough yawned from his sleepless night in his neighbor’s home. He was more accustomed to the late nights of London, capping most evenings at Whites, the favored men’s club of fashionable gentleman. The country schedule had never been to his liking, but the new guest of Edward’s home certainly was. Conversation with the other men, regarding Napolean’s latest efforts, filled his mind; new dilemmas to current concerns kept him up all night.
Finally giving up the idea of a good night’s rest, he dressed casually to have a smoke. But, moment’s after his impetuous decision, he heard growling from a neighboring section of the garden. Quietly stepping from one path to another, he found the origin of the morning’s disruption. Lovely Lacey, with some fur bound pup, littered the clearing -- the latter speaking to her as if she actually understood. Amidst the rascal’s barrage, she stretched for the sky -- leaning down with slim, graceful arms straightened, she tapped the ground. Each jab was enhanced with a tiny bounce, displaying an interesting view of her derriere clothed in men’s knickers. Long minutes of this routine continued, ending when she sat on the damp ground. She spread her legs and began another series of bending at the waist to touch her toes, repetitively bouncing to and fro.
When she rose, pants clung to slightly rounded hips from the morning dew. Damien Michael Sinclaire Yarlborough had never seen anything this interesting in his life. He stepped into the sheltering trees moments before she passed, enjoying the effect the simple motion had on effervescent breasts. He pondered her mysterious morning attire, and wondered what she was doing. Sleep could wait. Damien located an arbor close to the exit of the maze. After nearly an hour, his patience was rewarded. Lacey ran from the manicured bushes, her shirtfront unbuttoned with small hands fanning the flaps back and forth in an apparent attempt to cool an overheated body. A short, skin forming corset crowned lightly muscled stomach, all peeping from the man’s shirt. Damien was no stranger to a woman’s naked body, but this display was more seductive than anything he’d witnessed.
He took a long draw from the cigar he’d nearly run through, and exhaled the flavored smoke. Here was a woman he intended to discover. He stamped the burning ember, and followed her in the house, keeping his presence unknown.
**
Margaret, Amy and Lacey returned to town for Lacey’s first fitting with Mimi. When they entered the shop, Mimi ran from the backroom, snatching Zebediah from the floor.
“Ah, my little King. You are making me a very popular woman,” she laughed, twirling Zebby about.
Today, he’d been dressed in a cape, lending a masculine air to the feminine version Lacey wore. Unlike his outfit of the previous day, the piece fastened about his neck had a bowtie. Mimi returned him to the ground, and Zebby barked, acknowledging her praise.
Lacey soon learned the price one paid for custom clothing; she felt like a pin cushion. Dress upon dress was produced, each individually pinned to adjust the gown to a skin-like layer. When her patience wore thin, Mimi said, “One more and we are done…for today,” she added as an afterthought.
She nodded to a woman standing silently in the corner; the aide left, returning moments later with a stunning evening dress held reverently in open arms. Lacey held her breathe and stepped into the solid white satin, as if she may damage the dreamy delight by sheer movement. Black ostrich plumes lined the bust, effectuating a stark contrast to the costume. A train fell from the top of her bottom, enhancing the already curvaceous figure; stacked layers billowed to the ground, effectuating perfect symmetry. Matching black feathers finished the desired effect at the hem, complimenting the outfit even further.
“Oh Mimi, I don’t know what to say. It’s simply the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.”
“You must promise to save this for the perfect occasion,” Mimi said, pleased with the look she conjured from mind. “And look at His Highnesses.”
In complete contrast to the gown, Mimi created a black version for Zebby. Unlike his capes, this fitted his body and hung to the floor, with white ostrich plumes lining the ground. It gave a regal air to the previous nickname she’d dubbed. Lacey clapped her hands, declaring Mimi a genius.
When the trio left the shop, Lacey asked if they could visit the cobbler. This visit was quick compared to Mimi’s, where they’d been closeted for close to two hours.
Lacey cornered the shoemaker, drew a picture for him, outlining specific requirements for the shoe she had in mind. He nodded frequently, never questioning her intent.
“When do you think you can finish these?” she asked, anxious to wear the much needed shoes.
He thought for a moment, “It should be easy. I can have a pair on the morrow—if that meets with your approval?”
“Perfect.”
The women made calls on varying neighbors; apparently, salon hours were open on specific days at each person’s home. Entering the elegant mansion of one neighboring estate, Lacey smiled at the ladies poor attempt to copy Zebediah’s fashion statement. A bloodhound was laced into a horrible mishmash of lace and trim—a sad attempt at a jaunty hat wrapped pitifully around his jaw, pinning floppy ears to an otherwise masculine head. He looked miserable and out of place, tongue lolling and dripping drool across the outfit he’d been forced to wear. When tea was served, he dove for the crumpet tray, scattering bakery items hither and yon. Zebediah sat like a perfect gentleman in Lacey’s lap, enjoying the comical scene from a safe distance.
Another home had a different problem altogether. The family had been graced with five daughters, each ready for marriage and on The Market multiple seasons. After the room was full, the daughters made grand entrances; Lacey swallowed her tea wrong, nearly spitting the tepid drink across her companions. The girls had outrageously stuffed their corsets to outlandish proportions. Rather than having soft, feminine curves, they looked as if they’d been performing onstage in a Dolly Parton look alike contest. Worse, it brought to mind a flamboyant Drag Queen intent on securing the masculine prize of the room.
When the ladies finally reached the security of Byington Estate, they took much needed naps, exhausted from their busy, but humorous, day. Lacey collapsed in the oversized bed and sleep soon followed.
Lacey awoke and knew something was wrong. It took only seconds to realize Zebediah wasn’t in the cavernous bed. “Zebby?” No barking response followed.
“Zebediah?” Lacey panicked, trying to remember the last time she’d seen her little guy. She knew he returned to the house, but was bumfuzzled and couldn’t remember. She jumped from the bed, ringing for Jane.
Jane arrived in short time. “I need help dressing. I don’t know where Zebby is…have you seen him?”
Jane hurried, feeling Lacey’s urgency. When she finished, Lacey ran from the room and darted down winding stairs. Her first thought was the garden. Perhaps one of the help let him out for a run.
Arriving outside, Lacey stopped to gather her bearings. “Zebediah?” Birds chirped a singsong response, but no husky bark from her little companion. She listened a moment, pealing a sharp unladylike whistle—shrill and out of place in the landscape of tranquility.
She heard Zebby’s response deep within the maze, lifted her skirts, and ran. Darting left and right, brush scraping her arms as she cut close corners, she reached the first resting place and halted. Zebediah sat in front of her, tongue askew, with a grin pasted across his loveable features.
“Zebediah! You scared me to death—how did you get outside, you sneaky devil.” Lacey was winded, more from the scare than the mad dash through the bushes.
Zebby barked and jumped, landing in the lap of the man sitting quietly on the bench nestled in the arbor. “Traitor,” he said, ruffling the dog’s ears. “A fellow could expect more loyalty after bringing you outside. After all, your mistress locked you carelessly out of her room, you ungrateful cur.” He looked amused.
“Oh. I didn’t realize anyone else would be out…” she said, tripping on the hem of her skirts, landing gracefully in a heap at his feet.
The man graciously held laughter, but merriment danced in his eyes. “I believe the two of you were meant for one another. This hairy beast was in an equally embarrassing situation with a squirrel earlier, landing rather nastily on his back after jumping halfway up a tree in hot pursuit of his intended victim.”
Lacey blew loosened hair from her face, and jumped up before the stranger could assist her. She recognized him as the man from last night.
“Damien Michael Sinclaire Yarlborough, at your service, escort to dinner and random dog walker.” He purposefully left his title off. Taking Lacey by the elbow, he steered her toward the center of the maze.
“Um, Lacey Allane Byington McLeod,” she managed, erstwhile brushing grass from her skirts.
“And, do you always run about looking for stray pups with no shoes?” He asked, laughing for the first time.
Lacey lifted the skirt’s hem and her French manicured toenails peeped back. “Ha, perhaps I should be angry with you for teasing me, but I’m so grateful you found my dog. I can’t be too upset.”
Damien extended his elbow, an unspoken offer. She took it, and they strolled toward the fountain. “How is it I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before, Lacey Allane Byington McLeod?” He teased her for using her full name.
“Perhaps you just haven’t seen me before, Mr. Yarlborough,” she countered, enjoying the light flirtation.
Damien cocked one brow. “Since I’ve lived here all my life, and never seen a Lady with hair your color,” he lifted an escaping piece of long hair from the formerly neat coif, “I highly doubt it. Come, tell me, what brings you to our area.”
Lacey stepped away, a subtle gesture to release her hair. “I’ve joined my Aunt for The Season.” She kept her explanation simple.
“Ah, I see, on the marriage mart.” He took her hand and spun her toward the base of the trickling fountain.
Lacey eluded the unspoken invitation to sit, taking a path she’d previously never seen. “And, what do you do, Mr. Yarlborough?”
The question was odd, one Damien never heard. “What do I do?” he asked, a distinct English drawl stressing the last word.
“Yes, you know, what kind of work?”
Damien didn’t answer right away, instead reflective of his answer. One didn’t discuss governmental ties, or their assistance in the war effort against Napolean. Thus, he formulated a cautious answer. “I leave that to my man of business.” Changing the subject to a safer topic, he added, “Will you be joining the family in London once The Season begins?”
Lacey recognized his deliberate change of subject, and decided to readdress the subject on another occasion. “Yes, I believe I will.”
The two strolled in silence, stepping companionably through intricate turns. When they reached a side exit to the shaded path, Zebediah growled, bouncing into the direct sunlight. Alarmed, Lacey lifted her hem and followed, quickening her pace to keep up with the five pound ragamuffin. Rounding the corner to the side of the estate, she came upon a sight she’d not soon forget.
A soot covered child, approximately five years old, was held – angrily shaken by a filthy man, dressed shabbily. The boy’s tearstained face was enhanced by the black sooty dust covering his body. “Now git yer scrawny arse back up there and finish,” the man screamed, shoving the boy toward a chimney siding to the home’s kitchen.
Zebediah bounced around the two, crouching to grab the older man’s pant leg between exposed teeth. He stressed each growl with vigorous shakes of the torn and stained pant, intent on pulling the man away from the small boy.
“Whoa, whoa—whoaaa!” Lacey cried, joining the bedlam and pushing the boy behind her shaking body, mindless of the filthy black mess. “What is going on here?” She planted hands firmly on each hip.
The outspoken man pulled a worn hat from his head, clutching it to his chest. “This lazy bag-o-bones is tryin’ to get outta his werk,” the man explained, obviously feeling it was enough explanation.
Lacey knelt; holding the boy at arm’s length. He was so tiny, she could wrap a hand around the top of each arm. In answer to the man’s displeasure, the boy extended hands—each covered in angry burns, blisters marking the top of upturned palms.
Lacey felt rage race through her body, landing in lungs ready to explode, “My God, you idiot, the boy is covered in second and third degree burns!” She stood, poking a finger in the man’s chest for emphasis. “What did you have this baby do?” She was at a loss.
The man pointed to the chimney, an assortment of dirty brushes propped on poles against the brick surface. The boy answered with a tiny squeak from an already distressed voice, “I clean the chimneys, mum.”
The horror Lacey felt quashed any response. She glanced about, stricken by the scene—questions immediately answered by history books she’d read in youth. “He’s not going back up there,” she answered, stressing each word with a pointed index toward the roofline. “Have you no compassion? He’s hurt.”
Without waiting for an answer, Lacey folded the child under an arm and led him safely back to the house. She forgot her companion, standing silently in the background.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
metaphoricalsimile reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100% of the Item
You write that the small dog was “matching his short stride to her longer step.” Since his legs are so much shorter, if he’s keeping up, it would not be a matched stride (think of soldiers marching) but instead his legs would be flailing along like a blender, or something else that moves really fast.
What adaptations (you should correct your spelling of “adaptions”) does Lacy have to make to her exercise routine to fit the era she’s found herself in? It seems like a person can jog in any era.
Effervescent may not be an adjective you want to apply to breasts, as it means bubbling (like champaign).
“Cordwainer” would be a more appropriate term for shoe-maker than cobbler.
It is unclear to me exactly why the protagonist is visiting other’s houses. You could probably add a line or two to explain why.
You write that Lacey recognized the man from the night before, but you had written previously that he’d followed her unnoticed during that scene.
When you describe the man who is shaking the boy, you should re-arrange the description to read ”... by a shabbily dressed, filthy man.”
I would stress that if you want to write convincing historical fiction, that you do more research, and make more of an effort to write the dialog with appropriate dialect and jargon. I never really felt pulled into the alternate reality you were trying to establish with this piece.
- add/view comments (1)
mikeyb91 reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100% of the Item
As you can see in my ranking, the writing was very amusing, I just found it very hard to follow, mostly because I am not accustomed to the type of language your people used. But it was indeed entertaining, and for that I congratulate you! I am the paula abdule of writing, but I do believe you have a gift, and this story showed off just how good you can write. I think the idea behind this story is not too original though, but it is still good.
Harold_P reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I have read the previous chapter, although I fear I am still missing detail. However, as a credit to your writing I did not feel in the dark with the story. You write in a manner that is accessibly witty and with an eye for what the reader will enjoy. You almost have the ability to step out of your writer’s shoes and write in your reader’s shoes if you get my meaning.
I think the details with the Zebediah are charming, although I suppose some would argue much of this is superfluous. As you know, deciding what is crucial to keep in your story is hair-pulling and purists would argue that everything that is not central to the plot has to go. Personally, I do not adhere to this way of thinking and would urge you to describe more of the interactions between the dogs and the other character, because in a funny kind of way, he is kind of the reader’s eyes.
Harold_P
gkm32 reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
It’s an interesting story. I read till the end. I listed some spelling and grammatical suggestions below.
“She took a few moments to stretch, relishing in the feel from the small muscle stimulation.” I think “relishing the feeling of” would have been better.
”...even if she did have to make adaptions to the current era.” You mean adaptations?
“They walked through the already familiar pattern and into the garden.” That sounds wrong. I would have written “In an already familiar patterm they walked through the garden.”
”...the favored men’s club of fashionable gentleman.” You mean “gentelmen”?
”...new dilemmas to current concerns kept him up all night.” “New dilemmas concerning current events” would have been less clumsy.
“But, moment’s after his impetuous decision…” It should have been “moments”.
”...with some fur bound pup…” This makes no sense. What was wrong with “furry pup”?
“leaning down with slim, graceful arms straightened, she tapped the ground.” “Leaning” should have started a new sentence.
By the way, the word “knickers” didn’t acquire its modern meaning until the middle of the 19th century, quite a bit after your novel is set.
“A short, skin forming corset…” Compound adjectives require hyphens. And I would have used something like “form-fitting” or “tight-fitting” instead.
“Lacey held her breathe and stepped into the solid white satin, as if she may damage the dreamy delight by sheer movement.” “Breathe” should be replaced by “breath” and “may” should be replaced by something in the past tense, like “could”.
“It gave a regal air to the previous nickname she’d dubbed.” I would have written “It fit the regal nickname she gave him.”
”...anxious to wear the much needed shoes.” There should be a hyphen between “much” and “needed”.
”...Lacey smiled at the ladies poor attempt to copy Zebediah’s fashion statement.” There should be an apostrophe after “ladies”.
“Um, Lacey Allane Byington McLeod,” she managed, erstwhile brushing grass from her skirts.” Erstwhile means former. I don’t think you meant that.
”...the war effort against Napolean.” It’s “Napoleon”.
Redrum reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This is a very well written and thought out story. I have not read the other chapters, but I have a sense of them. You have a knack for introducing characters to the point of mystery. Yarlborough, you introduced into the story with grace and a slight emotional tention. Great job on that one.
As I read this chapter, I could place myself within the story. I almost felt as if I was a cameraman on a movie set, watching the story unfold. Just the actions and discriptions of your characters was amazing. I loved reading about Zebby. He could surely steal the story if one wanted him to.
Your vocabulary is outsanding and verbage excellent. I only found one spelling mistake, but then I was not looking for any.
All in all, I think if the rest of this novel is finished and the rest of the chapters are as good as this one, you may want to stop looking for reviews and start summitting to publishers. YOU MAY BE READY!!!
Ladyauthor2b reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I’ve already went throught this chapter once, but went through it again by chance I missed something. Nope. Still reads very thorough and amazing. I’m tapping my feet, placing hands upon my hips, my eyes are blinking. Do you see me now? Ok, I’m asking: When do we get the next installment to this incredible story? :) LOL… couldn’t help but ask.
BlondieBlue reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I absolutely loved this story. I couldn’t find anything that I didn’t like. I forgot I was just reading a small part and I almost started crying when there was no more left to read. When this becomes a book I will totally buy it and read it over and over again. Incredible!
Don’t ever stop writing.
snopes reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
still going strong…shouldn’t lacey use more modern english, sorta have trouble adjusting to the time period, and i thought the background of the war of 1812 could be interesting…though i like the chimney sweep, the contrast of the sweetness of an innocent young boy with the dirt of the profession and also the symbol of the hardness and crudeness of life at the time…
lupi reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I enjoyed all of this chapter, but was most impressed with the end of the chapter. So rarely do we see anyone writing historical romance address the social problems of the time! And you do so masterfully, developing Lacey’s sympathetic nature more fully and in front of the love interest!
tarleisio reviewed Version 5 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I’ve worked my way through Chapter Three as well, so in a sense you could say that I’ve cheated a bit. I shall do my level best to review them as a whole.
All in all, I am not in the least disappointed. Romance novels are not included on my reading list, partly for reasons of raging intellectual snobbery ( my own, alas!), and partly because I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of where to begin. I suppose a temporary infatuation with the literary merits of Barbara Cartland and Georgette Heyer at age 12 doesn’t count…;-)
Having said that, I think your story is miles better than anything those ladies came up with. Your premise is original, your protagonist is intriguing, and you’ve provided plenty of period detail and color to your story to make it breathe and come alive. Given your overall theme of time travel, however, I, for one, would have liked perhaps a touch more exposition on the inevitable and very likely frequent clashes of mindset between the 21st and the early 19th century women.
The nineteenth century was, if you think about it, a terrible time to be a woman. At any level above the lowest strata in society, you were defined within constraints as limiting as any tight-laced corset, and had to make do as best you could – or couldn’t. Jane Austen’s heroines certainly strained at their leashes!
I can’t wait for your next installment, and keep my fingers crossed that your story gets the attention it deserves – in print, between covers!
Showing 1 - 10 of 37
Next →
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
17 Reviews 14 Comments
Version 5
Latest Activity: 9 months ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 79 Times
Skipped: 3 Times
Ratings & Rankings
