Rainbow Snippets: Twelve Letters

I’m still in my Twelve Letters series mode for this weekend’s Rainbow Snippets! The first story in the series, Twelve Letters is reduced to 99p throughout June in the Pride Sale! $2.99 and Under Bookfunnel promo, together with some fabulous bargains from over 50 authors.

https://books.bookfunnel.com/Pride_Sale_2_99-and-Under/b921oz8z6f

Authors who take part in Rainbow Snippets each weekend are encouraged to post a few lines from one of their stories on their blog and then link back to the group post on Facebook. I always enjoy joining in with Rainbow Snippets, especially to read and comment on everyone else’s choice of snippet.

Twelve Letters is an under 15k-word story, set in Regency London with an ensemble cast revolving around some missent letters, romantic confusion and a possible duel. This snippet, taken from early on in the story is from the point of view of MC Jolyon Everett as he tries his best to dissuade his best friend Ben Harding from fighting that ill-advised duel with young Edward Stephens.

~~~

Jolyon arrived at the Piccadilly quarters of one of his closest friends, Captain Ben Harding. Despite the early hour, he was unsurprised to see that gentleman ready for the day, his long trousers and gleaming Hessians hiding his missing foot, the result of an injury at Badajoz, and wearing a ferocious expression. With his smouldering dark eyes and wayward curls, he could be compared to the notorious poet, Lord Byron, but Jolyon knew better than to voice that opinion to avoid being skewered by the poker within reach on the hearth. 

“I know why you’re here, Jo,” Ben said to him, waving him into the other armchair at the side of the fireplace while he poured coffee for them both, “and you won’t coax me to soften my resolve.”

“I think this has all been a misunderstanding,” Jo replied patiently, as though he hadn’t spent hours of the previous evening, or rather early morning, trying to persuade an irascible Ben to pardon the unfortunate young man who had caused him such dire offence.

“That damned stripling belittled me,” Ben said, with a glare as hot and black as the scalding coffee.

“On the contrary, I don’t think that was his intention,” Jo corrected him gently. “The lad is quite new to town ways and was deeply in his cups. We’ve all been there,” he shrugged forgivingly.

Ben merely snorted his disagreement, and Jo wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam emanating from his nose. He had the mental image of Ben as a bull, a ring through his nose, pawing the ground in rage, raising a cloud of dust.