Starling is the first story in my South Landers series, about a girl brought up in an orphanage who has dreams of starting her own business to employ other young women who have also had limited opportunities. The excerpt begins after she has been offered a large sum of money to pretend to be a rich man's wife for a week.
She stared at the maid’s retreating back while she combed her hair with her fingers. Mr. Do-As-I-Tell-You Seymour hadn’t let her get her belongings, among which was a new comb. She glanced around the room and spotted a silver-backed brush in front of the tallboy mirror. The rich provided every kind of luxury.
Luckily, her hair was easily managed. She brushed her locks through and fluffed her curls to dry, then she went back to the bed and sat cross- legged. She sank inches deep in the down-filled mattress.
Ellen arrived within moments bearing a heavy silver tray. Efficiently, she set the table, uncovering the food dishes with pride. “Cook’s been preparing most of the day.” She pulled out the velvet-covered chair for Starling. “We’re all that excited. She wanted to do something special for you. She hopes you like the food.”
Starling sat, her disappointment in Mr. Seymour making her chest ache. He’d prepared his obliging servants for his bride, and instead he’d presented them with a shopgirl, a former laundress. How used they would feel when the charade ended. Mr. Seymour wouldn’t have thought of that, nor would he have cared. He lacked respect for them and his sister, too. A man like him didn’t deserve a sister.
Ellen put a white linen napkin on Starling’s lap.
“Soup and pie. Lovely. And cream. My favorites. Thank you.”
The maid beamed. “Cook’ll be glad to hear that. Ring when you’ve
finished, and I’ll clear up. Then you can pop into bed.”
Starling doubted that she’d ever tasted a meal as good. The vegetable
soup slid smoothly down her throat. The meat in the pie hardly needed chewing. She also devoured a rich custard covered with cream and decorated with tiny sugared violets. Had everything tasted rancid, she still would have enjoyed the prettiest meal she’d seen.
After Ellen had cleaned up and said good night, Starling turned down the gas lamp and sank into the luxurious bed. She could have been dead and floating to heaven on a cloud. Her hands supporting her head, she gazed at the ornately decorated ceiling. Surely through the gloom she could see gold paint on some of the leaves. She sighed contentedly. Heaven.
This was her night, the best night of her life. She’d had hours of pampering and kindness. And the bed, the bed, the bed, she thought,turning over on her face and breathing the freshly laundered smell of the sheets. A girl would do anything for a bed like this, huge and unshared. She turned down the lamp and snuggled into a guiltless sleep.
You can buy a copy for a greatly reduced price here.
http://amzn.to/2jmlGbd
kobo http://bit.ly/2BSgthG
Nookhttp://bit.ly/2ADBdc9
iBooks http://apple.co/2C5RD1P
google http://bit.ly/2E8Ft5P
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31133
She stared at the maid’s retreating back while she combed her hair with her fingers. Mr. Do-As-I-Tell-You Seymour hadn’t let her get her belongings, among which was a new comb. She glanced around the room and spotted a silver-backed brush in front of the tallboy mirror. The rich provided every kind of luxury.
Luckily, her hair was easily managed. She brushed her locks through and fluffed her curls to dry, then she went back to the bed and sat cross- legged. She sank inches deep in the down-filled mattress.
Ellen arrived within moments bearing a heavy silver tray. Efficiently, she set the table, uncovering the food dishes with pride. “Cook’s been preparing most of the day.” She pulled out the velvet-covered chair for Starling. “We’re all that excited. She wanted to do something special for you. She hopes you like the food.”
Starling sat, her disappointment in Mr. Seymour making her chest ache. He’d prepared his obliging servants for his bride, and instead he’d presented them with a shopgirl, a former laundress. How used they would feel when the charade ended. Mr. Seymour wouldn’t have thought of that, nor would he have cared. He lacked respect for them and his sister, too. A man like him didn’t deserve a sister.
Ellen put a white linen napkin on Starling’s lap.
“Soup and pie. Lovely. And cream. My favorites. Thank you.”
The maid beamed. “Cook’ll be glad to hear that. Ring when you’ve
finished, and I’ll clear up. Then you can pop into bed.”
Starling doubted that she’d ever tasted a meal as good. The vegetable
soup slid smoothly down her throat. The meat in the pie hardly needed chewing. She also devoured a rich custard covered with cream and decorated with tiny sugared violets. Had everything tasted rancid, she still would have enjoyed the prettiest meal she’d seen.
After Ellen had cleaned up and said good night, Starling turned down the gas lamp and sank into the luxurious bed. She could have been dead and floating to heaven on a cloud. Her hands supporting her head, she gazed at the ornately decorated ceiling. Surely through the gloom she could see gold paint on some of the leaves. She sighed contentedly. Heaven.
This was her night, the best night of her life. She’d had hours of pampering and kindness. And the bed, the bed, the bed, she thought,turning over on her face and breathing the freshly laundered smell of the sheets. A girl would do anything for a bed like this, huge and unshared. She turned down the lamp and snuggled into a guiltless sleep.
You can buy a copy for a greatly reduced price here.
http://amzn.to/2jmlGbd
kobo http://bit.ly/2BSgthG
Nookhttp://bit.ly/2ADBdc9
iBooks http://apple.co/2C5RD1P
google http://bit.ly/2E8Ft5P
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31133
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