Category Archives: #8Sunday

#8Sunday Number the Three

Welcome back! I’m really enjoying this new challenge – 8 to 10 lines each Sunday. I just discovered I can put them out as early as Saturday. How did I miss this?

Anyway. This week I bring you 9 lines that have been cut from With This Kiss. I enjoyed writing this scene, and it might sneak it’s way back in, but for now it is out. Which means I can safely share it with you!

As always, I invite you to visit my co-bloggers via the Weekend Warriors blog.

Sarah Grace Patterson angled her favorite winged chair to face the bank of windows looking over Berkeley Square. Once the chair was positioned correctly, she tucked long legs underneath her skirts, settling deep into the leather cushions of the winged chair situated in the front corner of the library. A bite of cold seeped through the bank of windows directly to her right.

Come spring, she would be able to curl up, and watch the flittering hummingbirds sip at the nectar of Mama’s petunias. Today, however, felt like the coldest day of her short life, and she could only watch from inside as snow fell to blanket the slumbering grass.

She turned the page of her newest purchase slowly, savoring the build-up of spine-tingling terror, and putting off the romantic save which would end The Right Hand of Darkness. M. Rakoczy was a new author, but the thick gothic romance had yet to disappoint. The stooped clerk at Hatchards had promised a read similar to The Romance of the Forest or The Castle of Otranto. He had been correct.

#8Sunday Number the Two

I am so sorry. It’s been forever since I was able to participate. I actually feel really bad. No, not really because I was dealing with the death of my father after all. So… I would like to introduce you to the first 8 lines of a new project that will be featured at soon. This is the only bit you’ll get to read here, by the way.

More lovely participants can be found at, by the way. Check them out!

“A Miss Fleming to see you, my lady. She sends this card, and begs your pardon for the intrusion.” Reckless presented a lone card on the salver.

“Fleming, you say? Is that not the newest opera sensation over at Kings Theatre?” She studied the card.

“Yes, my lady.” The butler sniffed disapprovingly. “She waits in the hall for your answer. Shall I escort her out?”

“Don’t be such a scold, Recks,” she said. “It simply isn’t becoming in one as distinguished as yourself.”

The only response she received was an almost imperceptible stiffening of the spine, and a subtle pull at the arms of his very exact uniform jacket. Estelle’s butler, she had long since realized, was perhaps more insistent upon his appearance than Mr. Beau Brummel.

Estelle sipped her chocolate, popping another lemon tart into her mouth as she read the short note once again. It could not be denied – the words contained an air of urgency she could hardly ignore. “I suppose I must see the girl”