Grace (The Shackleford Sisters Book 1)

by Beverley Watts

  Reverend Shackleford was too busy congratulating himself to observe the doubtful look on his curate’s face. They were in the vicarage study waiting for the rest of the Shackleford household to ready themselves for the first reception to be held at Blackmore since Nicholas Sinclair had inherited the the title.

  Pouring them both a generous measure of brandy, the Reverend went on, “Indeed, I’m of the opinion that the whole undertaking would actually be described as heroic should it become common knowledge.” Handing Percy a glass, the Reverend frowned slightly and adopted a thoughtful tone. “Perhaps I should try my hand at a novel.”

  The curate spat out his brandy, staring at his superior in horror. “Of course, your contribution would not be forgotten in the narrative Percy,” the Reverend continued obliviously before pausing slightly. “Or mayhap it would be better turned into a play such as William Shakespeare was wont to do. What do you think?”

  Percy opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out aside from a small “err...” In the end, he simply helped himself to another brandy.

  “Steady on Percy,” the Reverend admonished, “It won’t do for you to be foxed before attending your first reception, and we’ve both experienced first-hand the consequences of an uncontrolled manner.

  “Indeed, it has to be said you’ve revealed a disturbing proclivity for unrestrained behaviour in recent weeks Percy which should have a man in your position mindful of the slippery slope downstairs.”

  The Reverend nodded his head sagely after imparting this piece of advice, pointing downwards to emphasise his point.

  Percy, who had absolutely no clue as to the meaning of ‘a disturbing proclivity’, simply adopted an air of thoughtful piety and took another sip of his brandy.

  The silence lengthened as it became evident the Reverend was still awaiting the curate’s opinion of his literary aspirations.

  “But what about the rest of ‘em,” Percy eventually questioned, clearly grasping at straws.

  Reverend Shackleford frowned, pondering for a second. Percy had unquestionably raised a valid concern. There was indeed a long way to go before he could be certain his son would be accepted in the finest drawing rooms in England.

  “Tare an’ hounds Percy,” he finally stated decisively, “You’re absolutely right. No good will come of resting on our laurels and being deuced frivolous. I still have another seven daughters to marry off.

  “Mayhap I’ll save such an inspiring exposition for my memoirs…”

  THE END

  The Reverend will undoubtedly throw a rub in the way of true love when he returns in Temperance: Book Two of the Shackleford Sisters…

  Turn the page for more…

  Author's Note

  The Battle of Trafalgar in context

  The Napoleonic Wars (1800–15) were a continuation of the French Revolutionary Wars (1792–99), and together they represented 23 years of nearly uninterrupted conflict in Europe.

  By 1801 Napoleon Bonaparte had achieved unchallenged supremacy all over mainland Europe. In 1803 the Peace of Amiens - a temporary armed truce between Britain and France - broke down, and for nearly two years British strategy rested on the defensive, waiting for the French navy to make the first move. Late in 1804 however, Spain joined the war as an ally of France, giving Napoleon the ships he needed to challenge and potentially invade Britain.

  This was the context of Trafalgar. Napoleon was looking for an opportunity to strike at Britain without having to fight Admiral Nelson and the Royal Navy, while all his attempts to attack British Interests were thwarted by expert seamen who countered his every move.

  The Battle of Trafalgar took place on October 21st 1805, and although the Napoleonic Wars continued for another ten years (only concluding with the Battle of Waterloo in 1815), Britain’s success at Trafalgar was of huge strategic importance.

  In winning the Battle, the Royal Navy annihilated the greatest threat to British security for two hundred years. It guaranteed Britain’s control of the oceans, the basis of her global power for over a century.

  And lastly, the Battle of Trafalgar witnessed both the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte’s plans to invade Britain, and the death of the country's national hero, Admiral Lord Nelson. It was never going to be any ordinary battle, and quickly acquired a heightened almost magical reality that lasts to this day.

  You can read more of the article about the battle by clicking on the following link:

  Battle of Trafalgar

  If you’re interested in finding out more about Admiral Lord Nelson - still considered Britain’s greatest naval hero, click on the following link:

  Horatio Nelson

  For still more information about the whole of the Napoleonic Wars, click on the link below:

  Conflict in Europe

  Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

  Grace is set in an era before Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was given a name.

  However, I have no doubt it was as real then as it is now, and given the events leading up to the beginning of the story, I wanted to convey the possibility that Nicholas Sinclair may very well have been suffering the effects of PTSD.

  While it is not only veterens who suffer such trauma, if you'd like more information about PTSD in the Military, click on the following link

  PTSD in Military Veterans.

  Keeping in Touch

  Thank you so much for reading Grace, I really hope you enjoyed it.

  For any of you who'd like to connect, I’d really love to hear from you. Feel free to contact me via my facebook page.

  If you’d like me to let you know as soon as Temperance is released, sign up to my newsletter and I'll keep you updated about that and all my latest releases.

  Join Newsletter

  And lastly, thanks a million for taking the time to read this story. If you’re unable to wait until Temperance is available, you might be interested to learn that the Reverend’s Great, Great, Great, Great Grandson appears in a series of Romantic Comedies currently available on Amazon. Book One: Claiming Victory is a funny contemporary romantic comedy that will appeal to every woman who still believes fairy tales can come true…

  Turn the page for a sneak peek...

  Claiming Victory

  ‘Victory Shackleford is a spinster, or at least well on the way to becoming one. She is thirty two years old, still lives with her father - an eccentric retired Admiral, and the love of her life is a dog.

  She thinks her father is reckless, irresponsible, and totally incapable of looking after himself. He thinks his daughter is a boring nagging harpy with no imagination or sense of adventure and what’s more, he’s determined to get her married off.

  Unfortunately there’s no one in the picturesque yachting town of Dartmouth that Tory is remotely interested in, despite her father’s best efforts.

  But all that is about to change when she discovers that her madcap father has rented out their house as a location shoot for the biggest blockbuster of the year. As cast and crew descend, Tory’s humdrum orderly existence is turned completely upside down, especially as the lead actor has just been voted the sexiest man on the planet…’

  Chapter One

  Retired Admiral, Charles Shackleford, entered the dimly lit interior of his favourite watering hole. Once inside, he waited a second for his eyes to adjust, and glanced around to check that his ageing Springer spaniel was already seated beside his stool at the bar. Pickles had disappeared into the undergrowth half a mile back, as they walked along the wooded trail high above the picturesque River Dart. The scent of some poor unfortunate rabbit had caught his still youthful nose. The Admiral was not unduly worried; this was a regular occurrence, and Pickles knew his way to the Ship Inn better than his master.

  Satisfied that all was as it should be for a Friday lunchtime, Admiral Shackleford waved to the other regulars, and made his way to his customary seat at the bar where his long standing, and long suffering friend, Jimmy Noon, was already halfway down his first pint.

/>   ‘You’re a bit late today Sir,’ observed Jimmy, after saluting his former commanding officer smartly.

  Charles Shackleford grunted as he heaved his ample bottom onto the bar stool. ‘Got bloody waylaid by that bossy daughter of mine.’ He sighed dramatically before taking a long draft of his pint of real ale, which was ready and waiting for him. ‘Damn bee in her bonnet since she found out about my relationship with Mabel Pomfrey. Of course, I told her to mind her own bloody business, but it has to be said that the cat’s out of the bag, and no mistake.’

  He stared gloomily down into his pint. ‘She said it cast aspersions on her poor mother’s memory. But what she doesn’t understand Jimmy, is that I’m still a man in my prime. I’ve got needs. I mean look at me – why can’t she see that I’m still a fine figure of a man, and any woman would be more than happy to shack up with me.’

  Abruptly, the Admiral turned towards his friend so the light shone directly onto his face and leaned forward. ‘Come on then man, tell me you agree.’

  Jimmy took a deep breath as he dubiously regarded the watery eyes, thread veined cheeks, and larger than average nose no more than six inches in front of him

  However, before he could come up with a suitably acceptable reply that wouldn’t result in him standing to attention for the next four hours in front of the Admiral’s dishwasher, the Admiral turned away, either indicating it was purely a rhetorical question, or he genuinely couldn’t comprehend that anyone could possibly regard him as less than a prime catch.

  Jimmy sighed with relief. He really hadn’t got time this afternoon to do dishwasher duty as he’d agreed to take his wife shopping. Although to be fair, a four hour stint in front of an electrical appliance at the Admiral’s house, with Tory sneaking him tea and biscuits, was actually preferable to four hours trailing after his wife in Marks and Spencer’s. He didn’t think his wife would see it that way though. Emily Noon had enough trouble understanding her husband’s tolerance towards ‘that dinosaur’s’ eccentricities as it was.

  Of course, Emily wasn’t aware that only the quick thinking of the dinosaur in question had, early on in their naval career, saved her husband from a potentially horrible fate involving a Thai prostitute who’d actually turned out to be a man…

  As far as Jimmy was concerned, Admiral Shackleford was his Commanding Officer, and always would be, and if that involved such idiosyncrasies as presenting himself in front of a dishwasher with headphones on, saluting and saying, ‘Dishwasher manned and ready sir.’ Then four hours later, saluting again while saying, ‘Dishwasher secured,’ so be it.

  It was a small price to pay…

  He leaned towards his morose friend and patted him on the back, showing a little manly support (acceptable, even from subordinates), while murmuring, ‘Don’t worry about it too much Sir. Tory’s a sensible girl. She’ll come round eventually – you know she wants you to be happy.’ The Admiral’s only response was an inelegant snort, so Jimmy ceased his patting, and went back to his pint.

  Both men gazed into their drinks for a few minutes, as if all the answers would be found in the amber depths.

  ‘What she needs is a man.’ Jimmy’s abrupt observation drew another rude snort, this one even louder.

  ‘Who do you suggest? She’s not interested in anyone. Says there’s no one in Dartmouth she’d give house room to, and believe me I’ve tried. When she’s not giving me grief, she spends all her time in that bloody gallery with all those airy fairy types. Can’t imagine any one of them climbing her rigging. Not one set of balls between ‘em.’ Jimmy chuckled at the Admiral’s description of Tory’s testosterone challenged male friends.

  ‘She’s not ugly though,’ Charles Shackleford mused, still staring into his drink. ‘She might have an arse the size of an aircraft carrier, but she’s got her mother’s top half which balances it out nicely.’

  ‘Aye, she’s built a bit broad across the beam,’ Jimmy agreed nodding his head.

  ‘And then there’s this bloody film crew. I haven’t told her yet.’ Jimmy frowned at the abrupt change of subject and shot a puzzled glance over to the Admiral.

  ‘Film crew? What film crew?’

  Charles Shackleford looked back irritably. ‘Come on Jimmy, get a grip. I’m talking about that group of nancies coming to film at the house next month. I must have mentioned it.’

  Jimmy simply shook his head in bewilderment.

  Frowning at his friend’s obtuseness, the Admiral went on, ‘You know, what’s that bloody film they’re making at the moment – big blockbuster everyone’s talking about?’

  'What, you mean The Bridegroom?’

  ‘That’s the one. Seems like they were looking for a large house overlooking the River Dart. Think they were hoping for Greenway, you know, Agatha Christie’s place, but then they spied “the Admiralty” and said it was spot on. Paying me a packet they are. Coming next week.’

  Jimmy stared at his former commanding officer with something approaching pity. ‘And you’ve arranged all this without telling Tory?’

  ‘None of her bloody business,’ the Admiral blustered, banging his now empty pint glass on the bar, and waving at the barmaid for a refill. ‘She’s out most of the time anyway.’

  Jimmy shook his head in disbelief. ‘When are you going to tell her?’

  ‘Was going to do it this morning, but then this business with Mabel came up so I scarpered. Last I saw she was taking that bloody little mongrel of hers out for a walk. Hoping she’ll walk off her temper.’ His tone indicated he considered there was more likelihood of hell freezing over.

  ‘Is Noah Westbrook coming?’ said Jimmy, suddenly sensing a bit of gossip he could pass on to Emily.

  ‘Noah who?’ was the Admiral’s bewildered response.

  ‘Noah Westbrook. Come on Sir, you must know him. He’s the most famous actor in the world. Women go completely gaga over him. If nothing else, that should make Tory happy.’

  The Admiral stared at him thoughtfully. ‘What’s he look like, this Noah West... chappy?’

  The barmaid, who had been unashamedly listening to the whole conversation, couldn’t contain herself any longer and, thrusting a glossy magazine under the Admiral’s nose, said breathlessly, ‘Like this. He looks like this.’

  The full colour photograph was that of a naked man lounging on a sofa, with only a towel protecting his modesty, together with the caption “Noah Westbrook, officially voted the sexiest man on the planet.”

  Admiral Charles Shackleford stared pensively down at the picture in front of him. ‘So this Noah chap – he’s in this film is he?’

  ‘He’s got the lead role.’ The bar maid actually twittered causing the Admiral to look up in irritation – bloody woman must be fifty if she’s a day. Shooting her a withering look, he went back to the magazine, and read the beginning of the article inside.

  “Noah Westbrook is to be filming in the South West of England over the next month, causing a sudden flurry of bookings to hotels and guest houses in the South Devon area.”

  The Admiral continued to stare at the photo, the germination of an idea tiptoeing around the edges of his brain. Glancing up, he discovered he was the subject of scrutiny from not just the barmaid, but now the whole pub was waiting with bated breath to hear what he was going to say next.

  The Admiral’s eyes narrowed as the beginnings of a plan slowly began taking shape, but he needed to keep it under wraps. Looking around at his rapt audience, he feigned nonchalance. ‘Don’t think Noah Westbrook was mentioned at all in the correspondence. Think he must be filming somewhere else.’

  Then, without saying anything further, he downed the rest of his drink, and climbed laboriously off his stool.

  ‘Coming Jimmy, Pickles?’ His tone was deceptively casual which fooled Jimmy not at all, and, sensing something momentous afoot, the smaller man swiftly finished his pint. In his haste to follow the Admiral out of the door, he only narrowly avoided falling over Pickles who, completely unappreciative of the need for ur
gency, was sitting in the middle of the floor, scratching unconcernedly behind his ear.

  Once outside, the Admiral didn’t bother waiting for his dog, secure in the knowledge that someone would let the elderly spaniel out before he got too far down the road. Instead, he took hold of Jimmy’s arm, and dragged him out of earshot – just in case anyone was listening.

  In complete contrast to his mood on arrival, Charles Shackleford was now grinning from ear to ear. ‘That’s it. I’ve finally got a plan,’ he hissed to his bewildered friend. ‘I’m going to get her married off.’

  ‘Who to?’ asked Jimmy confused.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody slow Jimmy. To him of course. The actor chappy, Noah Westbrook. According to that magazine, women everywhere fall over themselves for him. Even Victory won’t be able to resist him.’

  Jimmy opened his mouth but nothing came out. He stared in complete disbelief as the Admiral went on. ‘Then she’ll move out, and Mabel can move in. Simple.’

  Pickles came ambling up as Jimmy finally found his voice. ‘So, let me get this straight Sir. Your plan is to somehow get Noah Westbrook, the most famous actor on the entire planet to fall in love with your daughter Victory, who we both love dearly, but - and please don’t take offence Sir - who you yourself admit is built generously across the aft, and whose face is unlikely to launch the Dartmouth ferry, let alone a thousand ships.’

  The Admiral frowned. ‘Well admittedly, I’ve not worked out the finer details, but that’s about the sum of it. What do you think…?’

  To download Claiming Victory, click on the link below:

  Amazon.com

  Amazon.co.uk

  Books available on Amazon