Posts Tagged ‘HDH’

Humpday Hook

Happy Wednesday and welcome to another session of Humpday Hooks!

Humpday Hook is a weekly blog hop where authors get together to post excerpts of their work. Just click on the picture to be taken to the Master List! You should find something there to enjoy.

Alternatively stay here for a bit and read my excerpt first.

It’s another bit of my untitled unfinished heterosexual Regency romance [though all bets are off if I ever resume it.] Aubrey has written to Sir Patrick, or maybe it should be Lord Patrick, I don’t believe I ever consulted Debretts for the correct form of address, at Cicely’s dictation and the letter has arrived.


Is this your manip? If so you’re brill and I’d love to credit you

Aubrey’s letter was placed in Pat’s hands that evening as he sat in the lonely magnificence of his dining room. He pushed aside the scant remains of an excellent beef and oyster pie and read the single, uncrossed sheet with a wry smile, then glanced up as the door opened and Yacoub Khan entered.
“Congratulations are in order, Yacoub,” he said. “It appears that I am to take a wife.”
“Indeed, sahib, you deserve congratulations if all I have heard is the truth,” Yacoub agreed, his respectful tone at odds with his derisive smile. “I am sure that that is why your cousin Gerald is here. I have put him in the library.”
Pat eyed his henchman apprehensively. “What the devil does he want? He is alone isn’t he?”
Yacoub inclined his immaculately turbaned head gracefully in assent.
“That’s a relief. He’s not worth running down the back stairs for but Euphemia, now … Thank you, Yacoub.”


Cousin Gerald and someone called Euphemia. Cast of thousands!

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Hump Day Hook

 I lost the plot a bit last week and it was Wednesday morning before I remembered that I should have done HDH. Silly me. This week I’ve done it in plenty of time and plan to be a bit more efficient about getting round to register my presence. I read all the entries last week – lots of cool stuff – but was too dopey to comment.

Anyhow! This week I’m using the usual ancient bit of fiction, for which I don’t have a proper title, but if I did it would probably have been something like “The Rake and the Bluestocking” just so people knew what they were getting. Blame Mills and Boon. I read a couple and thought “Pffft, I could do that” so I tried  – and failed because I was far more interested in breeches than bodices. And THIS week that’s what you’re getting – the hero.

We left Aubrey and Cicely hatching plot to make Mad Pat uncomfortable. This is what Pat is doing:

Just as Aubrey was seating himself at Cicely’s desk, her betrothed was groaning his way to consciousness while his valet attempted to repair the wreck of his room.

“I can’t understand it myself,” the man was saying. “I just can’t see where the attraction lies in going out and getting puking drunk three nights out of four. Mark my words, lad, you’ll end up like your cousin Kevin – screaming your nights away in a madhouse. The first time you wake me up to tell me your feet have been eaten off by funny green things out of the wall, that’s it, I’m off home to Sligo.”

“Shut up, Phelim,” muttered a hummock amongst the tangled debris of a four-poster bed. “Faith, I need a drink.”

“No you don’t,” Phelim snapped. “You need to get up and clean and dressed. A pint of coffee, a cut of beef and a canter in the Park’s what you need.”

“If you don’t shut up you’ll be needing a doctor.”

“And another thing! How can you expect any decent woman to live in this Bedlam? Half your servants speak Gaelic, the other half speak Pushtu and the cook’s Chinese. Honest to God, it’s like the Tower of Babel in the servant’s hall.”

The hummock erupted with a roar. “Phelim, do you want my boots down your throat? My God, I’ve still got them on! Couldn’t you at least have undressed me, you lazy bastard?”

“Undressed you? The state you were in nobody wanted to touch you. We paid the crossing sweeper who brought you home to carry you up the stairs – well, more drag really, he was only a little feller.”

Ah full of sweetness and light. Tune in next week to learn more about our gracious hero.

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Humpday Hook

Archives are wonderful things.

Something very wrong with me in that my first thought on seeing this was “Where’s her other leg?” Fiddle with human anatomy at your peril

Back in March I was humping and hooking with an ancient piece of work that I wrote back in the 80s. It never had a title but if it did it would be called something like “The Rake and the Bluestocking” and there would be a dangerous looking man on a black stallion rearing over a shrinking blonde in white muslin on the cover. Get the picture? I couldn’t so have posted the one to the left, which I actually find deeply unsexy, which is probably why I write for the other team.

To recap: Sir Anthony Stanton-Rivers, 21 and v. v. pretty, has a grand night out with his friends. Next day his sister has a scrap with her maid over being such a bear [by which I mean she’s growly not butch and hairy, we are in M/F territory for a change] because her previous suitor, one Captain Rory MacLeod, turned out to be a fortune hunter. The last bit was here, I’ve skipped a bit that I thought was infodumpy – hey this is Regency romance, you could probably write this better yourself – now read on:


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Hump Day Hook #4

I have just realised that it’s Wednesday! And that means only one thing – Hump Day Hook!

By clicking on that link to read all the other snippets you will be excited, enthralled, entertained and maybe even a teensy bit aroused. Or you can stay here and read mine XD

My snippets come from a parody Regency Romance that I wrote when I ran out of Georgette Heyers and couldn’t find anything else approaching her good-humoured daffyness. So how far have we got? Aubrey has given Cholmondely [pronounced Chumley] his IOU and they have separated.


Aubrey made his way a trifle unsteadily to the supper room where he sat, wolfing ham and mustard and eyeing the Olympian gods and goddesses who could still be discerned on the smoke-stained ceiling.
“I say, Charles,” he called as he spotted a friend making his way towards him, “that Venus is a bit of an armful.”
Charles glanced upwards, grimaced, and jerked a thumb towards the main salon.
“Freddy sent me,” he grunted. “Best come, Chum’s in a pickle.” Then he set off again towards the ham.
Aubrey stretched and sighed. It was wonderful to be young and rich and have a good head for claret. He would extricate Chum from his ‘pickle’, he promised himself, and then – well, the night was young, anything might happen.


Regency meals were very meat heavy. No wonder they got gout. Have you ever had gout? Believe me, you don’t want it.

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