Martha could certainly understand the man’s reaction. The things she did with Hugo were unlike any card game she’d ever played.
Melissa’s smile had faded, and she’d given Martha a direct, unflinching look. “What you should remember is that when it comes to love, you were Hugo’s first and only. Nobody ever touched his heart until you.”
Her words had been a revelation. Hugo had said something similar, but she’d been unable to push aside her jealousy and listen.
Martha would probably always feel a twinge when she thought about all the people he’d shared his body with, but the thought no longer rode her like a demon. She was the only one to have his heart.
As she looked at him now—bespectacled, with a few strands of silver threading through his striking black hair—she experienced the same overwhelming love for him that she’d felt all those years ago on Stroma.
It made her shiver when she thought about all the things that could have happened to keep them from being together. If the sailors hadn’t mutinied and the journey had gone as planned. If the ship had struck the rocks at a different angle and trapped the men inside. If Cailean hadn’t found Hugo in the darkness and rescued him. If her father hadn’t coerced Hugo into taking a chance on a vicar’s daughter. If Martha had chosen the safe fork in the road and stayed with Robert Clark.
And a thousand other things that might have happened to keep her from spending her life with this most wonderful man.
As if feeling her eyes on him, Hugo looked up and smiled, his expression quizzical. “What is it, my love?”
Martha quickly swallowed back the tears that always made him anxious for her, even when she tried to convince him they were borne of joy.
Instead, she gave him the cheekiest smile she could muster. “I was just thinking how grateful I am to be married to you.”
He perked up at that and folded the paper without taking his eyes from her. “Is that so?” His wicked black eyebrows arched. “Er, how grateful, exactly?”
Martha laughed and smoothed a hand over her huge belly. “Not that grateful.” She cocked her head. “I’ve come to realize that you are almost the perfect man for me.”
He coughed. “Excuse me, darling? But … almost?”
“Well, I had always set my heart on a different last name.”
“You don’t like Buckingham? It’s a princely name,” he chided. “And a great deal nicer than Dinwiddy.”
She gave a dreamy sigh. “True, but I’d so fancied being able to call myself Martha Higgenbotham.”
Hugo’s delighted laughter woke up Fergus, who gave them both a disgusted look, jumped down from his lap, and stalked off in high dudgeon.
Hugo stood and held out his hands. Martha took them and he lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather.
“You’ll just have to settle for me, instead, darling.” He slid his arms around her and brought her close, until her round stomach pressed against his flat one. “Because I love you, Martha Jane Buckingham, and I am never, ever going to let you go.”
And then he kissed her.
Dear Reader:
I hope you enjoyed Hugo and Martha’s adventure and had a fun time in northern Scotland and London.
As I write this, it is 2021 and the entire globe has gone through a year that will likely get its own chapter in future history books. I must admit that it was a relief to escape modern troubles and live in the early nineteenth century this past year.
I had a lot of fun researching this book and became especially fascinated with the island of Stroma.
The island maintained a tiny population for centuries—there are stone structures in evidence that are thousands of years old—but the last residents finally abandoned Stroma in 1997. (see Wikipedia’s article on Stroma for lots of interesting tidbits) The island’s only inhabitants now are sheep, puffins, and other birds (and probably a few otters!).
Through the miracle of Google Maps you can look at the satellite view of the island and see that Stroma’s lighthouse, church, and houses—many still filled with possessions—are all that remain of the tiny, once-vibrant community. It is a ghost town floating in the North Sea.
As writers often do, I went down a research rabbit hole (several, actually) and had some interesting correspondence with a hard rock miner about the geology of Stroma. I learned a lot about cutting flagstone in the early nineteenth century and had a large section in the book about Hugo’s life as a flagstone cutter. Alas, it hit the cutting room floor.
I also had fun researching otters, which can indeed be very vicious, albeit cute, little animals. Otters have made their way onto lists of animals (including humans) which can behave violently for no apparent reason.
The Gloup (taken from the Old Norse word ‘gluppa’ meaning chasm) is an actual geological feature on Stroma. Although I’ve altered the caves to fit my purpose they really were used for distilling and storage of contraband and nicknamed “the malt barn”.
I like to keep my books steamy and sexy and a character like Hugo would have made free use of the sexual slang at the time. Phrases like “getting your corn ground,” and “horny,” “dick,” and “pussy” were all in use in the nineteenth century, although they have a contemporary flavor. One of my most precious research sources on the internet is Jonathan Green’s Oxford Dictionary of Slang. Not only can you find the earliest use of slang words, complete with timelines, but there are also links to sources.
Although I have a royal duke in the story, I deliberately left the character unnamed because he is a product of my imagination. Bevan Davies’s blackmail scheme would have been a serious threat at the time since homosexual behavior was still punishable by death under the Buggery Act of 1533. The last execution for sodomy wasn’t until 1835.
If
