Winter Blackthorne

  (Return to  Part One ) Georgiana checked for the fifth time in a row to make sure her bonnet strings were tied correctly. It wasn’t that she was stalling. She never would have stalled going to see Frances before… The Kiss. She’d hardly spoken two words to Frances after that confused moment of passion, and she needed to set their friendship back to rights.  Frances hadn’t even sent a note when she returned to London, and that stung. Georgiana had found out through a stray bit of gossip that Frances was back, and that no one was going to see her. There were whispers that Frances’ husband was in fits over her behavior, and everyone wanted to be clear that they were taking his side.   None of the fallout had hit Georgiana, mostly because everyone seemed to have forgotten that Georgiana had gone along as well.  People typically forgot Georgiana. She was plain, soft spoken, and good at fading into the background. She was firmly on the shelf now, but even when she had been considered eligib

London, 1816 Lady Frances was exceptionally good at doing the correct thing. Not the right thing; the correct one. She had acted extremely correctly growing up, obeying first her nurse maid, then her governess, and finally her chaperone. She had correctly married the youngest son of a marquees instead of eloping to Gretna Green with the blacksmith’s apprentice. She’d been a perfectly correct wife even when her husband was absent, managing his affairs and keeping up appearances socially as she was expected to do. No one had ever said a bad word about Frances, and not a whisper of scandal had ever touched her name. That was, until she’d run away to the continent with a traveling companion, ignoring communication from her parents and husband for months. She’d thrown herself a Grand Tour and gone to see the sights with her friend Georgiana Torchia in tow. They’d gone to Portugal, Spain and even France, once the war had ended and things had settled out. They’d made it all the way to Rome,

  1820, London Simon got out of the carriage and wanted to kiss the door in front of him. He was finally home. He’d been gone for an entire month to visit his younger brother, Erwin, and the entire trip had been exhausting.  For one, the lack of routine had kept Simon constantly on edge. Two, being away from his husband for so long was a trial at the best of times, and three, it had not been the best of times.  Erwin, Simon reluctantly admitted to himself, was a bit of a bore. Erwin could be an amusing conversationalist on his own, but every time his wife, Madelyn, walked into the room, Erwin groaned dramatically. “She’s always wanting something,” Erwin had complained. It seemed to Simon that all Madelyn wanted was to exist in her own home, but Erwin groused about her constantly. Then, worst of all, Erwin would end every conversation with, “You’ll understand when you’re married.” Simon had smiled and pretended like he didn’t want to kick something.  Simon opened the door and put on wha