Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,116
“why must I sit here and play carols when you know I abhor it? Why don’t you do it?”
“Because,” an older female voice retorted with a laugh, “my mother never loved me enough to force me to learn the piano.”
The reply was accompanied by dramatic musical chords of a distinctly antagonistic interpretation of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
“Mama, I wish you loved me just a little … tiny … smidgeon … less!”
Dazed by the general uproar, Lord Westcliff closed the door of his study and handed Sebastian a brandy. “This is the only safe place in the house,” he said. “I’d barricade the door, but there are still a few unfortunate men fighting their way through. I would hate to deny them their last chance of survival.”
“It’s every man for himself,” Sebastian said, taking a sip of brandy and settling into a comfortable chair. “If our sons and sons-in-law didn’t have the good sense to avoid the main hall, they deserve to be trampled.”
“Such a loss,” Westcliff said regretfully, pouring a brandy for himself. “Ah, well … I have some news to share about MacRae and Merritt.”
“I already know,” Sebastian said smugly. “They’re going to arrive tonight instead of tomorrow morning.”
Westcliff, who loved knowing things other people didn’t, smiled even more smugly. “It appears you haven’t been told why, however.”
Sebastian’s brows lifted.
Ceremoniously Westcliff took a folded letter from his pocket. “Lillian shared this with me. After I read it, I told her I had to be the one to tell you. I begged, as a matter of fact. She refused, and then I had to promise … no, we won’t even go into what I had to promise. However, she said I could give you the news as long as we’re able to act surprised when they announce it.”
“Good God, Westcliff, you’re positively giddy. Give that to me.” Leaning forward, Sebastian took the letter. He scanned it quickly, and a grin broke out on his face. “Well, naturally. Keir is descended from my line. Our virility is unmatched.”
Westcliff tried to look severe. “You realize, Kingston, that my first grandchild has been sired by your illegitimate offspring.”
“Yes, yes, who cares about legitimacy. This child will be magnificent. With my looks and your brains …”
“It could have my looks and your brains,” Westcliff pointed out.
“Don’t be such a pessimist. Bring the brandy bottle over here, and we’ll start making plans.”
And the two old friends grinned at each other as they clinked their glasses.
Author’s Note
DEAR FRIENDS,
I must confide that my much-adored husband, Greg, will no longer accompany me to Costco. As he points out, no matter how short my shopping list is, I start to wander up and down the aisles in a daze, adding very large boxes and tubs of unnecessary things to the cart.
To my chagrin, this is also a pretty good description of my book-researching habits. While I was writing Devil in Disguise, there were so many fascinating subjects to learn about—Islay!—whisky distilling!—that hours would fly by with too much reading and not enough writing. Helpfully, Greg would occasionally stick his head into my office, perceive my lack of progress and shout “Stay out of Costco!” (Well, maybe he didn’t shout; it was more of a vigorous exclamation.)
But if I hadn’t let myself wander a little here and there, I wouldn’t have found out about Victorian Sippy Cups. I mean, mustache cups. The Victorian era was a time of elaborately styled and curled mustaches that required wax to keep their shape. And when that waxed facial hair came too close to a cup of tea or coffee, the wax would melt into the beverage. Euw. In the 1860s, however, this mortifying dilemma was solved by the British potter Harvey Adams, who invented a cup with a little ledge set inside the rim to shield a man’s upper lip from heat.
The expression “barm-leavened” refers to bread that’s been leavened by foam from ale. Some very old bread recipes call for barm as one of the ingredients. The meaning of the word “frothy” is why silly or not-quite-sane people were sometimes referred to as “barmy.”
In 1853, the Scottish physician Alexander Wood invented the hypodermic syringe with a hollow needle, using the sting of the bee as his model. It was a huge leap forward in pain relief and, of course, has been used in countless other applications, including vaccinations. Thank you, Dr. Wood. (And thank you, bees.)
The British Bulldog revolver, introduced by Philip Webley of Birmingham, England, in 1872, is a deceptively small handgun. It was designed to be carried in a coat pocket, with a barrel that’s only 2.5 inches long, but it has enough stopping power to knock someone off their feet. In 1881, a disgruntled lawyer assassinated President James Garfield with a Belgian-made British Bulldog revolver.
I based the MacRae distillery on Bruichladdich, a renowned distillery on Islay. After Greg and I watched a fascinating documentary titled Scotch: A Golden Dream (I think it’s still available on Amazon) I was instantly taken with the idea of creating a hero who made whisky. (Spelled “whiskey” in the US and Ireland, but “whisky” in Scotland and Canada.) There’s a romance and art to distilling whisky, and the flavor is influenced by the water that goes into making it, the kind of wood used for the cask, how long it’s been matured, and a thousand other factors.
Slàinte Mhath (slan-ge-var), my dears—that’s a toast to your health. I’ve relied on your friendship and support so much this past year, and I never take any of you for granted. Much love to all!
Lisa
Lady Merritt’s
Marmalade Cake
THIS IS A LOAF of sunshine, based on Victorian era loaf cake recipes. It’s perfect for breakfast, teatime, or dessert. (Lady Merritt suggests using actual marmalade instead of “fruit spread.”)
Ingredients:
3/4 C butter, softened
3/4 C sugar
3 eggs
4 tablespoons marmalade
juice of 1 orange (about 1/2 C)
zest of 1 orange
1 1/2 C flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
Glaze:
4 tablespoons marmalade
1 tablespoon butter
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9x5-inch loaf pan—put a little rectangle of parchment paper on the bottom if your loaf pan isn’t nonstick.
Whisk softened butter and sugar together. (If it’s your cookmaid’s day off, use an electric mixer.) Add eggs, marmalade, orange juice, and zest; mix until combined.
In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to the butter mixture and mix until just combined. Don’t overmix! Also don’t worry if it looks lumpy.
Bake for 55 minutes, or until a toothpick is inserted and comes out clean. If it starts to look too brown during the baking, lay a piece of foil over the top.
Cool for 15 minutes and ease the loaf out of the pan. Melt the other four tablespoons of marmalade with a tablespoon of butter and spread over the top of the warm cake, then let it cool completely before slicing. (If you have that much self-restraint, which, sadly, my family does not.)
A Word of Caution:
When serving this treat to a prospective suitor, remember to have a chaperone present.
We all know what scandal can lead to.
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