_copy.jpg "CHARACTER INTERVIEW WITH LORD AND LADY HACKWELL OF BELLA'S BAND 1")
My guest today was supposed to be author Alina K. Field talking about her new release, Bella’s Band. Since she could not make it in person today, she has promised to answer all comments and to give away one copy of Bella’s Band and one copy of her Regency novella, Rosalyn’s Ring, a 2014 Book Buyer’s Best finalist.
Even better, she has sent along the Earl of Hackwell and his new wife, Lady Hackwell, the former Annabelle Harris, the hero and heroine of Bella’s Band to speak with me today.
I have the privilege to be reading Bella’s Band right now. Trust me, dear readers, you are in for a treat!
Congratulations on your recent nuptials. How did the two of you meet?
Lady Hackwell: Ah well, it’s not a conventional story, exactly. We spotted each other on a London street one day, but of course neither of us was very impressed with the other.
Lord Hackwell: I was impressed, my dear. You looked lovely and I knew you were only wearing that dreadful black for the Princess Charlotte. I’m afraid though, Miss Cameron, my disheveled state made Bella want to run. I’d been out all night, you see, playing cards and whatnot.
Lady Hackwell: Very true, though I did notice you were quite handsome.
Yes well, when you finally had a chance to speak, was it love at first sight?
Lady Hackwell: Oh my. I’m afraid we’ll shock your readers terribly. We met in a, well, in the house that used to be my sister’s but had been converted by the next tenant into a, mmm, a home for gentlemen’s entertainment.
Lord Hackwell: A bawdy house. But my Bella was only visiting, not working. And actually, the first time I tried to speak with her, she gave me the cut direct.
No! She didn’t!
Lady Hackwell: Well he deserved it. He was calling me by my sister’s name, trying to smoke me out, as it were. And of course, I had to make him understand I was not one of the ladies there.
Lord Hackwell: She was impossible to trip up. Though I knew right away she was a respectable woman. It was love at first sight for me, but Bella wasn’t convinced until the second time we spoke, when I visited her home, and I got her to kiss me.
Did you know then that it was her sister who had murdered your brother?
Lord Hackwell: Ah no, I didn’t. In any case, her sister was not the murderer, and I am not giving away a—how do you call it?—a spoiler?
So who was the murderer?
Lord Hackwell: You will have to read the book to find out.
No hints?
Lord Hackwell: None. We are very firm on that.
Oh all right. Will you at least tell me what is “Bella’s Band?”
Lady Hackwell: The missing Hackwell signet ring. I had it.
Lord Hackwell: Well it might be the ring, certainly, but I think there’s more to it. You see, when I married Bella, she wasn’t living alone. She had a practice of taking in “strays”—children, servants—she had a whole band of people she cared for.
Lady Hackwell: No, no. My friend Rosalyn, of Rosalyn’s Ring, had a signet ring, and so did I. That’s one of the reasons Miss Field told my story too. Steven found the ring the afternoon he visited and reclaimed it. And it’s a long story how it came to me. Best to read the book to find out.
Lord Hackwell: Yes, Miss Cameron. Best to read the book. In fact, we’ll share an excerpt with you.
That will be very nice and let’s get to it. First though, thank you for visiting Blue Rose Romance today. I understand your story is available from Amazon?
Lady Hackwell: Yes, that’s correct. Oh, and I promised Miss Field to mention that my friend Rosalyn’s story is a Goodreads Giveaway this month. Please do go and check it out. Will you include the links below, Miss Cameron?
Of course. Ladies and gentlemen, here is the blurb and a snippet from Lord and Lady Hackwell’s story.
BELLA’S BAND
Bullets, blades, and incendiary bombs—Major Steven Beauverde, the latest Earl of Hackwell, belongs in that world, and is determined to get back to it. His brother’s murder has forced Steven out of the army and into the title, but he has no interest in being the Earl, and worse, no idea how to salvage the depleted estate. A rumor that his brother had a son by a woman who may be a) the murderer, and b) his brother’s wife, sets Steven on a mission to find her, the boy, and—Steven ardently hopes—proof of a secret marriage that will set Steven free.
Annabelle Harris is a country heiress and a confirmed spinster resettled in London to find her sister, the mistress to the Earl of Hackwell. While she searches, she fills her home with orphans and street urchins. When the Earl is murdered, Annabelle’s sister thrusts the Earl’s illegitimate child into Annabelle’s care and disappears. Now, with suspicion pointing at her sister, Annabelle has begun a new quest—to find her sibling and clear her name.
When their paths converge, the reluctant Earl and the determined spinster find themselves rethinking their goals, and stepping up to fight back when the real murderer shows up.
ENJOY AN EXCERPT
Surprise pinned Annabelle to the cracked leather seat of the carriage and finally her heart restarted and picked up its pounding.
“Good evening, my lady.” Lord Hackwell flashed her a wide, easy smile that made his face glow like a boy who had pulled a very fast one.
The shock eased. She realized she felt not one whit of fear.
“Is this an abduction, Lord Hackwell? I have never been abducted before. Shall I scream with alarm? Do you mean to harm me?”
His smile disappeared and his face grew too serious. “I mean to protect you, Miss Harris. This is an escort. I mean to see that you return home unharmed.”
“I see. Unharmed, except for the besmirching of my reputation. Shall we appear in the scandal sheets tomorrow, do you suppose?”
“In this bourgeois neighborhood? I think not. Unless, the man who helped you into the hackney is someone of interest?”
“So he set her on you. And how did you maintain your secrets, Miss Harris?”
“We spoke of my home.”
“Which is?”
A ribbon of sensation uncurled in her secret places. The space between her and Lord Hackwell had shrunk, and his dark eyes showed more than an interest in her pedigree. Her nerves tingled with the anticipated pleasure of a repeat of the earlier kiss.
I must not.
“Yorkshire,” she said, as blandly as possible. “I grew up on a good-sized estate there.”
“Do you plan to take Robby there?”
Sudden tears pricked her eyes and she turned quickly to the window. Robby and Thomas would have loved Ryeland. With acres and acres of freedom and kind neighbors, they could have played for hours and had adventures that didn’t involve cutpurses and the Watch.
“Miss Harris?”
“No, Lord Hackwell. My family home was entailed. The cousin who inherited, I’ve only met once, at my father’s funeral.” And his invitation to linger had been merely perfunctory. Besides, staying in the district of her childhood would beg questions about Veronica.
“So you had no brothers. Is your mother living?”
He hadn’t asked about sisters. That was curious. Perhaps he suspected her relationship with Miss Miller was more than a friendship, and was coming to the question, inch by torturing inch.
“You are dancing again, Lord Hackwell. It is ever so tiresome. Let us get you to the facts. I am the eldest surviving child of Edward Harris, who died two years ago. I had a brother, who died many years before. I have a younger sister who has found a position and made a life with a distant cousin in Scotland. My mother has been gone since I was eighteen. I am twenty-seven years old now. I never had a coming out, because my father took ill, and needed me to manage the estate.”
His eyes widened and he went very still, examining her. The air around them seemed charged with a kind of explosive tension.
Oh heavens. He was finding fault with the country spinster. The gown was from her mourning two years previous, outdated of course, and she felt her hair slipping again, and she’d never been one to effect powders and pigments. “Yes. Well—”
“Youmanaged an estate?”
“Astonishing, isn’t it?” She waved a gloved hand in the air, and he captured it.
He dropped a kiss on her knuckle. “And you managed the household also?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you don’t care for dancing?”
“I enjoy dancing very much, though my experience is limited to our local assembly. I have not been to a ball in so many ages, and never a town ball.”
“No Almack’s.”
She could only laugh at that and shake her head. She receive a voucher for Almack’s?
Ridiculous.
“No waltzing, Miss Harris?” His manner remained intense.
“Sadly, no, Lord Hackwell, I have never waltzed.”
He straightened in his seat and his eyes looked ahead. “But you have counted ploughs,” he said thoughtfully.
Tears pricked again, suddenly and unexpectedly. What a dismal woman she was. Too plain, too proper, too practical. Alone in a closed hackney with a devastatingly handsome man, and they were talking about farm equipment.
Never had she felt more desire to be younger, prettier, more daring. This must have been how Veronica had felt.
Her heart filled with compassion and grief. “Ye—yes. Ploughs. Very important they’re correctly deployed. Fate of the tenants’ crops and the estate’s income depends upon them.”
She sniffed.
“What’s this?” His large ungloved hand covered her smaller ones, enveloping her in his warmth. “I’ve distressed you?”
She shook her head and tried to compose herself.
“Of course I have, my dear. I’ve reminded you of your lost home.
”
“It is fine, sir. My current home is—is not the best, but it is mine, and I can afford to move to something better if the neighborhood deteriorates further. You needn’t worry about Robby. I will give him a good life. Not, perhaps, an aristocratic one, but—”
“Shall I tell you about myself, Miss Harris? Yes. I believe I must.” He cocked his leg on the seat so he sat sideways, and extended his hand to caress the back of her neck. The other remained squarely over her folded hands. “I am twenty-nine. The younger son of the Earl of Hackwell. The very, as it has turned out, needful spare. My mother was the second of two wives. She died not long after I was born. My father sent me off to be fostered, then off to Eton, and then to university for a very short while. I’m not much of a scholar. I landed in the army, where I found I could do something of worth.”
His mouth had grown taut and his hand had tightened over hers, so that she could feel his tension.
“Thomas, the late, great, Lord Hackwell, aside from one lengthy grand tour, was kept close under the paternal wing and learned the business of managing the earldom, standing in the House of Lords, and immersing himself in society. From the state of the accounts, it was the last activity that drew most of his interest.”
He let his fingers caress her neck, distractedly, as though the gesture comforted him, like petting a favorite hound.
Comforting to him; deliciously unsettling to her. Pleasure rippled through her at each touch. She held her breath, lest his fingers pause too long in his search for his next words.
“I can bow properly and make reasonably polite conversation, but I was never much good in a ballroom or drawing room, Miss Harris. Still, like every gentleman with a purse, I had my share of immersing myself in pleasure. Here, and on the continent.” He lapsed into a momentary dark silence. “Not so much since my return.”
“You fought at Waterloo?”
“Yes. And before, on the peninsula.”
And before that too, at every step of his motherless, fatherless life, she’d warrant. As in the children’s game she played with the boys, Annabelle drew out a hand from the pile and pressed his between hers.
And her heart skipped with a realization. Lord Hackwell had no family except Robby.
She felt his eyes fixed on her. He drew her head closer and she could smell his woodsy clean scent, so intensely male. The carriage passed by a street lamp and into a dark stretch, and she could no longer discern the outline of his face.
Her heart tingled and her breath came in short little huffs of anticipated pleasure.
“Annabelle,” he whispered. “What do they call you? Anna? Belle?”
She tensed remembering her chat with Lady Rosalyn.
“It isBelle. How very appropriate.” He kissed her hand.
“Bella,” she whispered. “And not appropriate at all. How did you learn my name?”
“Bella.” He breathed her name in a brandy-laced murmur. “The maid at the Harley Street house gave me your last name. And by the way, she worships you.”
Dear Trish. Annabelle pushed at the seat and squirmed, with no success. He still held her fast.
“I’ve found that servants know everything and talk prodigiously.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.
Annabelle bit back a disagreement and stilled. In a properly run household, gossip was squashed. The poor man had never lived in a properly run household.
His lips hovered over her and she waited. He’d kissed her nose. Perhaps he’d been aiming for her mouth and missed. She wanted one more kiss. She would be safe. In a carriage on a public street, he wouldn’t attempt to take more.
Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but she found her true passion in reading and writing romance. Though her roots are in the Midwest, after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband and a blue-eyed cat who conned his way in for dinner one day and decided the food was too good to leave.
Visit her at:
Website: http://alinakfield.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alinakfield
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AlinaKField
Buy Link:
And here it is as a hyperlink: Amazon
Alina’s running a Goodreads giveaway for Rosalyn’s Ring this month.
Here is that link:
and hyperlink: Goodreads Giveaway
