Hot off the presses, we have a character interview for you today from the one and only Sofie Darling in celebration of her new novel, Wager with a Siren!

 

Mr. George Tuttle takes the seat he is offered—an overstuffed leather armchair in the room The Archangel calls the study. He glances around, pencil poised above an open journal, ready for the recently minted Seventh Duke of Acaster to take his seat in the matching armchair opposite and begin the interview.

Instead, a woman eccentrically dressed in the skirts of a lady and the cravat, shirt, and waistcoat of a man lowers into the chair and regards him with cool, direct gaze, silver-blue eyes. At last, she says, “You have five minutes.”

Tuttle offers a well-practiced smile that’s just vague enough to suit most occasions. “Until the duke joins us?”

The woman doesn’t reflect a smile back at him. “The duke won’t be joining us.”

Tuttle’s eyebrows crinkle together. “But I’m to speak with the owner of The Archangel.”

A corner of the woman’s mouth lifts, and now that the overwhelming nature of her presence has somewhat receded, Tuttle notices something. The woman has a lovely mouth. In truth, the woman is lovely in her entirety.

An observation Tuttle keeps to himself.

“The Archangel has two owners,” she says. “I’m the other one.”

“But you’re a—”

“Woman?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m reminded of that fact every day when I cinch my corset stays.”

If one can feel the color drain from one’s face, Tuttle feels precisely that. “You must be the infamous—” He catches himself. “Erm, you must be the Lady Tessa.”

“The very one. Now,” she continues, “you arranged this interview before my brother became a duke a week ago. As you’ll likely understand, he is off attending dukely duties, but I’ll answer your questions. A few of them, anyway.” She untucks her pocket watch from her waistcoat. “You’re down to three minutes. Best you start asking questions.”

Tuttle clears his throat in a manner that he hopes imbues him with a semblance of authority. “How did your brother and, erm, you come to own The Archangel? Not much is known about your origins.”

“My brother attended Eton, as you’ll know.”

“Indeed.”

“Then you’ll also know he attended on scholarship.”

“That doesn’t actually answer my—”

“The sons of lords attend Eton.” Her tone is patient—too patient. So patient as to be condescending. “Those lords don’t only pass down titles and lands to their sons, but also proclivities. All a scholarship boy need do is look around Eton’s hallowed halls and see a highly profitable future in assisting those sons satisfy their generational proclivities.”

“Erm, interesting.”

“Is that all?”

Lady Tessa glances impatiently at her pocket watch, and Tuttle feels a bead of sweat trickle down his spine. The woman is… unnerving.

He clears his throat. “And you’re co-owner with your brother?”

“A fact established.”

“And you’re a lady.”

“Another fact also established.”

Tuttle feels his perfectly crafted script slipping from him. “Not simply a lady, but a Lady.”

“Ah, yes, there is that.”

A servant appears and sets a tea tray on the table between them. Lady Tessa pours a cup and offers it to Tuttle. “Tea,” she says. “My one indulgence.”

Unable to balance tea, pencil, and journal, Tuttle sets the tea down and says, his tone polite, but decidedly uninterested, “Enlightening.” An angle that might be of some interest has occurred to him, and he’s keen to get to it… “Now that you’re Lady Tessa, I suppose there will be some major changes in your life.”

Tea suspended halfway to her mouth, she cants her head. “Why would you suppose that?”

The enlivening spark of provocation fires through Tuttle. He’s on the verge of a revelation. He can feel it… “You’re the sister of a duke. You’ll be intending to enter the marriage mart, of course.”

Again, the side of her mouth tips up. Tuttle suspects this is what passes for a smile with Lady Tessa. “I have no such intention,” she says. “I may be a lady, but I’ll lead the life I choose.”

“Why would you operate a gaming hell when you could be a wife and mother?”

Lady Tessa shifts forward, intense silver-blue eyes pinning Tuttle into his chair. “Can I ask you a question?”

Tuttle weighs his options and sees he has no choice but to say… “Of course.”

He braces himself.

“Were you intending to ask my brother when he is planning on becoming a husband and father?”

“The question wasn’t on my list.” Tuttle doesn’t care for the defensiveness of his tone.

Lady Tessa nods contemplatively. “Because his sex affords him the latitude to assume a variety of roles at once, no?”

At last, Tuttle’s feet find purchase on solid ground. He spreads his hands wide when he says, “I cannot help how the universe is ordered, my lady.”

The side curl of her mouth that passes for a smile doesn’t slip. A sliver of disappointment needles through Tuttle—at himself. He’d only said what she’d thought he would say.

She tucks her watch back into its waistcoat pocket. “I’ll answer one more question. But only if it’s about The Archangel.”

Tuttle skips down to the final question on his list. “What’s your favorite game?”

Lady Tessa doesn’t hesitate. “Hazard.”

Now, this is a surprise. Tuttle’s smile returns. “Enjoy a toss of the dice, do you?”

“Not in the least.”

Tuttle’s smile freezes and becomes an echo of itself. “Then what makes Hazard your favorite?”

“Simple. It’s the highest earning game for the club.” Now, it’s Lady Tessa lifting her hands, as if helpless to the order of the universe. “Gentlemen simply cannot resist throwing good money after bad.”

Tuttle exhales a deep sigh and closes his journal. “The readers of my publication are exclusively gentlemen. You must know I can’t publish that.”

“At last, you and I agree on something Mr. Tuttle. Honestly, I don’t think your readers would enjoy a single word of this interview.” Lady Tessa rises from her seat, leaving Tuttle no choice but to stand, as well. “I believe you know where the front door is. Unless, of course, you fancy a go at the Hazard table. You never know your luck on any given day.”

Two seconds later, all that’s left of Lady Tessa’s presence is the swishing sound of bombazine skirts receding into the next room and, perhaps, the echo of a dry laugh, too.

Luck, Tuttle thinks glumly. Best he give the gaming tables a miss on his way out of The Archangel. Luck isn’t with him today.

His mind races over the luckless interview and keeps catching on one exchange in particular. What mania had overcome him that he’d asked that woman about becoming a wife and mother?

He nearly groans aloud.

As his feet lead him out of Mayfair and toward Fleet Street, Tuttle is left with two certainties.

Indeed, he cannot publish the interview.

And heaven help the man intrepid or foolish enough to attempt to tame Lady Tessa Calthorp and take her to wife.

 

Sofie Darling is an award-winning author of historical romance. The third book in her Shadows and Silk series, Her Midnight Sin, won the 2020 RONE award for Best Historical Regency.

She spent much of her twenties raising two boys and reading every romance she could get her hands on. Once she realized she simply had to write the books she loved, she finished her English degree and embarked on her writing career. Mr. Darling and the boys gave her their wholehearted blessing.

When she’s not writing heroes who make her swoon, she runs a marathon in a different state every year, visits crumbling medieval castles whenever she gets a chance, and enjoys a slightly codependent relationship with her beagle, Bosco.