A Rose in Winter. A ROSE IN WINTER KATHLEEN E. WOODIWISS Dedicated to those readers who have written letters of encouragement. Thank yo. A ROSE IN WINTER KATHLEEN E. WOODIWISS Dedicated to those readers who have written letters of encouragement. Thank yo. A Rose In Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss; 11 editions; First published in ; Subjects: Accessible book, Protected DAISY, OverDrive.

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Read A Rose In Winter by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss for free with a 30 day free trial. Read unlimited* books and audiobooks on the web, iPad, iPhone and Android. A rose in winter. by: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. Publication External-identifier: urn: acs6:roseinwinter00wood_0:pdf:dcda1-b3ea-. In A rose in winter, the fairest flower in Mawbry is Erienne Fleming, the daughter of the village or. She is beset on all sides by suitors, but.

Basically, it's a miracle I made it through the book. Brain Capacity of Heroine. I actually do not believe I have met a whinier, more vapid, uninteresting heroine.

Erienne is shallow as hell. She ranks every one of her suitors on looks - in fact, it is Christopher who enlightens her of their characters after she has dismissed them. She despises her husband, who has been nothing but kind to her, for about five hundred pages for no reason except that he's scarred.

Is it reasonable to be not-attracted to a scarred man?

Is it reasonable to treat him like a monster, call him the 'embodiment of [her] worst nightmares,' and act as if touching his sleeve is utterly disgusting, even when he a treats her like an equal b is considerate of all her feelings and c basically grants her every whim? She is also stupid not very smart; she rides through the street in broad daylight to "escape" from her father who can totally see her She is also completely powerless in the story and requires a big strong man to save her from everything.

In summary, Erienne is a faux-feisty gorgeous beauty think the face that launched a thousand ships, or at least, ten thousand pounds with the depth of a puddle and the brain of a poodle. It would be nice if the Beauty had something to recommend her other than her, you know, beauty. The Plot First: immensely predictable. Not that that's bad, necessarily - I know romances are generally guaranteed a HEA - but really, when the entire conflict because view spoiler [the thing with the Saxon family does not deserve the characterization of "conflict" hide spoiler ] hinges on the heroine being tempted between two men, it's minorly frustrating when you figure out the big secret within the first fifty pages.

Second: the hero's explanation for why he does what he does is stupid. That means his consent is not necessary. Which then means that Christopher could have said a few nice words instead of being all macho-insulting and eloped with her.

I get he thought she hated him, but seriously, you think she'd hate a man who tricked her into marrying him any less?

Why did he think pretending to be a crippled 'monster' would help his case? Before the auction happened, Erienne met Christopher Seton and fell for him, and she hoped that he would download her. This is where the story truly begins. Erienne is married to Lord Saxton, but Christopher still persists in her life and makes everything so much harder. She wants to be a good wife, although her husband whose disfigured face, hidden behind a mask, she has never seen, scares her; but Christopher already has her heart and so, Erienne is divided between following her duty or her heart.

I really liked the protagonists of the novel. Erienne is an independent woman in spirit, smart and fierce, but she is just a woman, so even she must follow the rules of men. She evolves during the course of the novel, but in her essence she remains the same. Christopher Seton is actually one of my favourite male literary characters.

He is very handsome, adventurous, confident, arrogant and passionate, which adds to his sensual nature. But he harbours guilt and deep resentment, and he has a very interesting idea about how to deal with those emotions. He is very mysterious, temperamental and a bit dark. By then, Avery was well infatuated and cared naught that she had loved such a hated foe, but pressed her into marriage with him.

Woodiwiss was fair, then two years later a son of the same mouse-brown hair and ruddy complexion as his father. A year after the boy arrived, Avery Fleming was elevated in position again.

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This one carried responsibilities far beyond his level of competence, but it introduced Avery to the private clubs of the London elite and to the high-stakes games of chance that flourished within the velvet walls. An awestruck Fleming took to the latter like a duck is gorged for the roasting platter, oblivious of the end that awaited him.

Despite the worried warnings of his wife, he wagered heavily and even invested in a horse that seemed addicted to the sight of many other horses clearing the way well ahead of him. His debauchery at play and ineptitude at work caused so much embarrassment for Rothsman that the baron soon refused to accept his calls.

Angela Fleming suffered in her own way. She had to watch her personal fortune dwindle until the only dowry she could give her daughter was one which could never be taken from her, an education and as much preparation as possible for life as a wife on whatever level the girl would seek. It was a chance to start over again with a clean slate and prove himself to be a man of high intelligence. Then Angela died, and he went through a brief period of mourning.

A lively game of cards seemed to help him over his loss, and shortly thereafter it became his habit to take weekend jaunts with Farrell to Wirkinton or meet with the cronies at the Mawbry Inn for a game or two during the week. A few tars might have suspected that his skill with cards was more through the dexterity of his fingers than with luck, but a common seaman dared not speak out against an official.

As it was, he had enlisted his talents only when the stakes were high or when he needed the purse. He was not so selfish that he was against sharing portions of the prize money by downloading a round or two of ale or rum, but seamen were generally poor losers, especially that brawling, treacherous breed of Yankees, and he suspected that more than a few complained to their captains.

He cursed himself for not being more cautious when Christopher Seton had asked to join his game, but sea captains were usually easy to spot, and Seton had not been of that ilk. Rather, he had given the appearance of being a gentleman of leisure or a nattily dressed dandy.

His speech had been as precise and refined as any lord at court and his manners impeccable.

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There had been little evidence to indicate the man owned the vessel in port and a whole bloody fleet of others. His blood had rushed with the excitement and the challenge of besting a moneyed gentleman. Whatever the outcome, it had promised to be an exciting game even for those who watched.

Sailors and their doxies had gathered close about the table. For a time Avery had played the cards straight, letting fate ply its erratic favor where it would, then as the stakes mounted he began to lay out his ploy, holding back the cards he needed.

Across the table from him those hooded eyes never flickered even once, nor had the bland smile wavered far from that bronze visage. Thus, when Seton had reached across the table to flick open his coat, spilling the carefully hoarded cards in front of everyone, Avery was taken completely by surprise. Trying to think of how best to deny the accusation, he had gawked and sputtered.

Woodiwiss younger Fleming had hotly issued a challenge to the stranger. His carelessness had been the direct cause of his son losing the use of his arm, but how could he admit that to anyone but himself?

He had hoped that Farrell would kill the fellow, thereby canceling the debt. Two thousand pounds he owed the blighter! Even if Seton owned a fleet of ships, no one in England would have mourned his loss. The man was a foreigner. A worthless Yankee!

Why, they had rejoiced so heartily over his victory, Avery was of the firm belief they would have been ready to start a brawl in his defense. Everything had gone well for the Yankee, but nothing was left for the Flemings to be proud of. Word had spread faster than the plague that he had been called out as a cheat, and with that, creditors had started to hound him for their money and to close his accounts.

A crippled son! An arrogantly selective daughter! How will we make ends meet? A rich merchant near Wirkinton had seemed eager to meet Erienne after hearing him boast of her beauty and many talents. Though quite ancient himself, Smedley Goodfield was deeply appreciative of the young ladies and was sure to find the girl to his liking. The one fault Avery saw in him was that he was extremely tight with a coin, only parting with a shilling when he was forced to. However, with a sweet young thing to warm his blood and his bed, Smedley might prove to be a lot more generous.

Avery held a vision of Erienne widowed and wealthy. He would do it! Come morning he would travel to Wirkinton and set the proposition to the aging merchant.

Avery was certain the old man would accept. Then he would announce the news to his daughter, and the pair of them would be off to see Smedley Goodfield. Of course, Avery knew Erienne would not be pleased with his selection, but she would have to bear up under her disappointment. After all, her mother had. His spirits much brightened by the prospect, Avery quaffed another brew to celebrate his decision, then he rose and settled his hat firmly on his broad brow.

A bunch of his friends were wagering on the droves of stock that would soon be coming to market at Mawbry, whether the first would be sheep, geese, or the like. With the anticipation of Smedley Goodfield being in the family, he could now afford to lay odds on his preference. Huge, rough-hewn wooden columns supported the upper floors of the establishment and provided a meager semblance of privacy for those who entered the lower room.

The acrid odor of strong ale and the appetizing aroma of the roasting meats pervaded even the darkest corner. Kegs of rum and ale lined one wall, and in front of these the innkeeper swabbed his well-worn planks with a damp cloth. He cast an occasional eye toward a souse who dozed in the shadows at the end of the bar, while a serving wench bustled about to slide trenchers of food and tankards of ale before a pair of men who bent their heads close together across a trestle table near the hearth.

Seated at a table in front of the window, Christopher Seton tossed several coins onto the pitted surface to pay for the fare he and Silas Chambers had shared, then leaned back in the chair to sip the remainder of his ale leisurely.

The barking of dogs on the street outside announced the hasty departure of Mr.


Chambers and his rather nondescript carriage. Christopher smiled in amusement as he watched through the glass panes. Woodiwiss disturbed by the argument that had ensued between the Flemings, and with another to download him a libation, he had readily confessed that he was somewhat hesitant about taking the maid to wife. It seemed the mayor had boasted of his daughter being as meek as she was comely, and though her beauty had certainly been proven, Mr.

Chambers confided that the quality of meekness was most heartily strained. The girl had displayed a bit more fire than he thought he could handle. He was a most peaceable man, painstakingly cautious, and rather set in his ways.

To be able to feast on such loveliness and to think of her as his own would no doubt be joy without peer, but her display of temper sorely worried him.

Indeed, he was most comfortable with it. It had not been necessary to issue dire warnings or morose insinuations in order to dissuade Silas from returning to the Fleming cottage.

All it had taken was a few understanding nods, noncommittal shrugs, and a sympathetic countenance to convince the man that he should approach this matter of marriage with a great deal of caution.

Silas had appeared almost eager to heed this sage advice. After all, he had rationalized aloud, he had his small fortune to protect, and one could not be too careful about choosing a wife. Christopher felt a presence beside his table, and raising his gaze, he found the short, straggly-haired sot anxiously eyeing the halffilled tankard that Silas had left.

It was not hard to guess what had lured the man, but Christopher was curious about Mawbry and its mayor and was not unwilling to listen to the babblings of a village alehound. Christopher gave an affirmative nod, and the man smiled broadly, showing badly rotted teeth, before his gaze darted to the cup again.

As soon as the man flumped down into the seat, he caught up the tankard and greedily drained off the contents. Purplish veins lined his face, and the left one of those dull blue eyes was slightly coated with a whitish film. He glanced nervously about, awaiting the fare. The woman slid the ale and a wooden trencher of meats before him, and leaning forward to take up the coins on the table, she smiled at Christopher, inviting him to view her voluptuous endowments as the blouse sagged away from her bosom.

In an unexpected movement Ben slapped a gnarled hand over hers, startling both his patron and the serving maid. Still, she carefully counted out the necessary coin and departed. Satisfied, Ben lent his attention to his meal and his ale. He took a long pull from the tankard, then sighed deeply. The man shrugged his shabby shoulders. At least for a while.

A Rose in Winter

Ben fixed a bleary eye on Christopher and leaning back, folded his hands over his paunch. Not her, mind ye! Some blame the Scots, some say not. She was all warmth and smiles for him, but when she glanced at the old tar, her lip curled sneeringly, and with a toss of her head, she pranced off to serve the men who sat near the hearth. Ben drank deeply from the new mug, then leaned back in his seat. Woodiwiss stomping the mud from his boots and brushing the raindrops off his coat.

Close behind him, almost trotting on his heels, was a fellow of seemingly like comportment, whose left ear appeared to twitch of its own will. Ben hunched his shoulders as if he desired to escape being noticed by the newcomers and anxiously gulped down the remainder of his drink before he sidled out of his chair.

He set the mugs upon the slick surface of the bar and with a practiced hand sent one sliding down toward the pair. The seedy, dark-haired man with the restless ear intercepted it and, gleefully licking his lips, brought it toward them, almost making contact before his arm was rudely seized by his companion.

Haggie watched with puckered mouth until the second mug passed, then eagerly caught it up and joined in a like refreshment. Sears laughed as he lowered his mug and slapped the flat of his hand down on the planks.

When he set her to her feet again, he searched inside his coat pocket for a moment, then leering, slowly withdrew a coin, which he flipped before her gleaming eyes.

She laughed with excited glee, and quickly grabbing the piece, she dropped it into her blouse. She danced away from him and, looking over her shoulder, smiled seductively. The promise was in her eyes, and she had no need to speak, for when she fled up the stairs, he came after her in eager haste. He came around with fire in his eye. Go have yerself another ale.

Christopher chuckled in his ale, then once again noted a shadow beside his table. His brow raised in mute question as he glanced up. The dark-haired man from the trestle table stood with a hand poised on the back of the chair Ben had vacated. He had the bearing of a military man, although his garb did not support that supposition.

Over a stocky, muscular build, he wore a sleeveless leather jerkin, a thick, soft shirt, and snug breeches tucked into tall black boots. The man opened his jerkin and twitched a pair of pistols to a more comfortable position in his belt, then leaned forward, his forearms braced on the back of the chair. Woodiwiss should have angered the intruder. Instead, the other gave a quick, disarming smile. Depending on the quality of whatever he drinks, he usually has a headful of ghosts, demons, and other hellish creatures.

He should not be taken too seriously.

Are you from around these parts? In fact, the way it looks, I might have to take up temporary residence here. As for the manor, most of it still exists.

Only the newer wing burned, as it was the only part built of wood. The stone of the old hall withstood the flames. Since the fire, the house has remained empty…unless, as some of the locals say, two ghosts roam the place, the old lord with a claymore spitting his breastbone, and the other one horribly burned and maimed.

Allan shrugged and complied. He does it more or less as a favor for the family until something else is done about the ownership of the lands. He rose to his feet and donned his long coat. He glanced around as a large carriage passed in front of the window, and quickly got to his feet. He knows more about Saxton Hall than anyone around here. Woodiwiss through the doorway and crossed the cobbled lane.

A large, ornate carriage had halted a short distance from the inn, and the coachmen climbed down to hastily place a small stool before the door, which bore a lavish coat of arms. The decorative elements formed the larger part of the arms, and the shield itself was smallish and confused, thus making the three bars sinister it contained less obvious.

The richness of the conveyance might have challenged those of royalty, and when Lord Talbot stepped out, his appearance proved to be just as overwhelming, for he was dressed in the brocades, laces, and silks of a bygone era. He was a man of middling years, yet well preserved. He faced the door and offered up his hand as a slim, dark-haired woman came into view.

Her dark eyes narrowed too quickly in the outer corners and lacked the heaviness of lashes that fringed the pools of amethyst. But then, it would be hard for any maid to equal or surpass the comeliness of the one he had already met.

Claudia Talbot paused beside her father, carefully pulling up the velvet hood of her cloak to protect her coiffure from the misting rain before slipping her gloved hand through the arm her father presented.

Her eyes measured Christopher in a slow, exacting way that gave him every assurance that she was carefully assessing his physical attributes. Christopher was well acquainted with the antics of forward women and recognized the bold gleam in the dark eyes. If he wanted feminine companionship, then here was an open invitation.

Lord Talbot looked at him curiously. That young whelp brews trouble wherever he goes. One must have wealth, however, to proceed.

Why, anyone around here can tell you the place has been plagued by disasters. Woodiwiss Christopher shrugged casually. His lordship turned a rueful smile on her. I promised the dressmaker that I would come by to select material for a new gown. Since you have business with the mayor, I shall have to find my own escort. With a self-satisfied nod, Claudia took it and strolled along beside him, holding her head high in triumph.

With this man as her escort, she would once again enjoy the envy of every woman in Mawbry. Claudia loathed the comparisons that were constantly made between the two of them and that left her the one wanting in regard to beauty.But then, it would be hard for any maid to equal or surpass the comeliness of the one he had already met. You told me a Silas Chambers was on his way here, and when a man arrived, I assumed it was he. The decorative elements formed the larger part of the arms, and the shield itself was smallish and confused, thus making the three bars sinister it contained less obvious.

What kind of man would he prove to be? She spoke with careful emphasis as she again tried to explain. Like a hawk, she has snatched them in full flight. She is also completely powerless in the story and requires a big strong man to save her from everything.

She was quickly losing the blissful fantasies of youth and beginning to look upon the state of wedlock as something less than pleasant.

He matched her vision of Christopher Seton exactly.