Cut From the Same Cloth
Book 3 My Notorious Aunt
Kathleen Baldwin
Contents
Praise for Cut From the Same Cloth
1. Weaving Dark and Light
2. I’d Rather Be Dyed
3. Crawling Through the Eye of the Needle
4. All Is Not As It Seams
5. Knot in the Dark
6. Pattern Card of Perfection
7. Flying Shuttles
8. Tis Better to Weave Than to Rip
9. Stick a Pin in It
10. Green Sleeves
11. Smashed Strawberries and Buttercup Silk
12. Looming Considerations
13. Making a Silk Officer Out of A Fop’s Purse
14. Kitten Tangled in Yarn
15. The Flimsy Fabric of Prevarication
16. Ribbons and Garlic Balls, Tied Up With Lace
17. Unraveling a Tightly Knit Paradox
18. Whatsoever Ye Sew, So Shall Ye Wear
19. Silver Threads of Moonlight Muddles
20. The Phantasmagorical Embroidery of Time
21. Darning
22. A Torn Tapestry of Foolish Dreams
23. To Hem or Not to Hem
24. Cutting to the Heart of the Matter
A Note From The Author
Other Books By Kathleen Baldwin
A School for Unusual Girls
Copyright © 2017 by Kathleen Baldwin
Praise for Cut From the Same Cloth
“…believable characters with realistic traits, humor, and a bit of danger to create a wondrous painting that will linger in your mind's eye long after you finish the story. Terrific!”
– Huntress Reviews, 5 stars
“I love these “Aunt Honore” books … wonderful characters.”
– Clean Romance Reviews
“…a humorous and enchanting tale with intrigue and danger”
– Romantic Times, 4 Stars
“…a charming book, with the lightness and freshness of a sunny day in the park.”
– Rakehell Reviews
1
Weaving Dark and Light
Valen, Lord St. Evert, stood at the foot of his father’s bed, clutching one of the massive posts. The candle on the bed table illuminated only one side of his father’s face as he lay on his pillow, eyes closed, his skin pale as unbaked bread.
His aunt’s gown rustled as she rose from a chair and came to stand beside him. “He’s not well today, I’m afraid.”
“Well enough.” His father blinked against the candlelight and squinted up at Valen. “So, my errant son finally paid a visit, eh? That is you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Valen shifted uncomfortably.
“Come here, boy. I want another look at you before I leave this vale of tears.”
Valen moved hesitantly into the orb of flickering candlelight.
“Not up there. It’s like peering up at Goliath.” He coughed. “Sit down here, where I can see your face.”
Valen hesitantly complied.
His father nodded almost imperceptibly, smiled, as if satisfied in some deep part of his soul, and sighed. “You’ve the look of her. Fiery hair. Golden one minute. Red as embers the next.” He rested for a moment and then pursed his dry lips as he tugged at the coarse linen of Valen’s shirt. “But what’s this? Wandering about the country in your undress again?” Even in his sick bed, Valen’s punctilious parent wore a blue silk coat with a lace shirt underneath.
Valen glanced down at the cambric shirt with untied laces at the throat and flicked one of the dangling strings. “I’ve been riding. And hardly naked, my lord.”
“Ha.” His father snorted and settled back to study Valen through narrowed eyes. A moment later, he closed them but resumed speaking as if the combined labor was too much. “I’ve somewhat to say to you. Ought to have said it long ago. Didn’t. Then, you went haring off to that confounded war.” His eyes flew open. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Hardly. It would take a great deal more than Napoleon to do me in.”
“Reckless,” he snapped. “A foolish risk.”
Valen didn’t answer. This wasn’t the time for old petty arguments.
“Title. Land. All lost if you had died.”
“You’ve other heirs.”
“Brothers, nephews.” He balled a feeble fist and struck the bed beside Valen’s leg. “The land is ours, boy. I see through this care-for-naught gambit of yours. Doesn’t fool me a bit. I know you love every gully, every stalk of grain...” He gestured weakly at the drawn curtains. “Every flea-bitten sheep out there.”
There was nothing to say. It was the plain truth.
His father nodded and relaxed. “I’m glad you’re back. It fares better in your hands than ever it did in mine.”
“You’re still lord of Ransley Keep.”
His father closed his eyes and made a soundless chuckle, as if Valen had jested. The effort made him cough—a violent spasm racked his frail body so hard that Valen leapt up to help raise him from the pillow. The old fellow held a white silk handkerchief over his mouth. Impossible to miss the blood staining it after the coughing spell subsided. His father, fighting to regain his composure, fastidiously straightened the sleeves of his bed jacket.
Valen judged the interview had gone on too long. “You summoned me. I pray you, do not leave me quaking with curiosity any longer. I am your servant, my lord.” He inclined his head.
“Very prettily said. One might almost think you were not mocking me.”
For a tenuous moment, they sat in silence, gauging one another. His father inhaled deeply. “I’m about to stick my spoon in the wall. You—” He jabbed a finger in the air at Valen. “—will be alone. This time, I’m leaving. No one will be left for you to bedevil. If you run off on some foolhardy escapade, you won’t be punishing anyone but yourself.”
Valen didn’t like the direction the conversation appeared to be taking. “Now there’s a quandary. Perhaps, I shall be forced to take up bedeviling Aunt Honore.”
Honore thumped him on the shoulder. “Oh, do be serious.”
“I am always serious.”
“Ha. Hardly.” She arched her brow. “Impetuous, I would say, and obstinate. Rather like your grandfather.” His aunt knew how to fly straight down a man’s throat and claw out his liver.
Valen flexed his jaw before composing his answer. “If I knew precisely which pint of blood I owed to that pompous old goat, I would gladly open a vein and drain it out.”
“He was not an old goat.” She glared at Valen. “You never knew him.”
“I never wished to.”
“Stop!” His father wheezed.
Valen and Honore abandoned their quarrel.
Lord Ransley propped himself up
