And now here’s our host Beaaauuu Brummell!
“Hello, London!” The very dashing Beau glides across stage to greet a couple waiting with arms linked. “Let’s meet our contestants, shall we? A month ago Lord Andrew Forest was more likely to be found in the gaming hells than London ballrooms. He claimed he wasn’t made for love, not from the heart anyway, yet here he is on the brink of becoming leg-shackled to feisty heiress and tree-climbing aficionado, Miss Lana Hillary. The couple has travelled all the way from Northumberland to join us today. Miss Hillary. My lord. I pray your journey was pleasant.”
“Quite pleasurable, thank you,” Lord Andrew says.
Miss Hillary fusses with her skirts, avoiding eye contact. “I haven’t any complaints.”
Lord Andrew flashes a dimpled grin. “They never do.”
“Perhaps we could discuss this later. In private.” She smiles politely at Beau. “Pardon my curiosity, sir, but what is the purpose of this call?”
“I will pose a question to you, Miss Hillary, and you must predict Lord Andrew’s answer. Then at the end of our show, we will open the floor to readers so they may ask anything they wish. Shall we begin? My lord, if you will please retire to the green room.”
Miss Hillary brushes a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Any questions readers wish? Why, that sounds…delightful.”
“I hope the green parlor is stocked with brandy,” Lord Andrew grumbles as he walks away.
Beau’s gaze follows Lord Andrew off stage. “Not that door. That’s my dressing room.”
“Aha, wine! That will do.”
“I must insist you halt, sir. Lord Andrew? Damnation!” Beau dashes off stage while Miss Hillary giggles. “Lord Andrew, bring that back at once!”
WE’RE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES AT THIS TIME. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.
Lord Andrew has rejoined Miss Hillary and Beau on stage when we return.
Beau glares at Lord Andrew. “Shall we hear what the lady had to say about you, my lord?”
“This should be interesting. One never knows what delightful thoughts are bouncing around in that charming head. Although one often finds out quick enough.”
“It’s rumored you’re an expert on horseflesh,” Beau says.
“Among other things," Lord Andrew says and winks at Miss Hillary.
Beau clears his throat. “There are those rumors as well, but perhaps we should stick to the question.”
“It’s your soiree, chap. Ask away.”
“Twas my bottle of wine, too,” Beau grumbles before consulting a piece of foolscap. “If you were a horse, what breed would you be?”
Lord Andrew whispers to Miss Hillary. “You didn’t say a gelding, did you?”
“Heavens, no! Even I know a gelding isn’t a breed.”
The worry-line between his brows disappears. “A Thoroughbred then. And Miss Hillary is an Arabian. She’s graceful, intelligent, uncharacteristically brave, and the best of companions.”
“What a lovely sentiment, Drew.” She blushes and holds up the card with her answer.
Lord Andrew bursts into laughter. “A unicorn?”
“What’s wrong with a unicorn? They’re unique.”
Beau frowns. “I’m afraid the judges don’t allow for fictional creatures.”
Lord Andrew puts his arm around Miss Hillary and ignores their host. “You know, the green parlor boasts very comfortable furnishings.”
“Oh? I would like to see it.”
“Then you may retire to the parlor now, Miss Hillary,” Beau says. “It’s time to ask Lord Andrew—”
The couple wanders toward the stage exit.
“Wait! I didn’t ask Lord Andrew about the last devious thing he did.”
“He enlisted his younger sister’s help to get close to me,” Miss Hillary calls over her shoulder.
“Most recently I diverted the attentions of your unwanted suitor, my sweet.”
“You did? How did you accomplish that feat?”
“It was easy. Allow me to share the details over a glass of wine.”
Their voices fade as they leave the stage.
Beau extracts a handkerchief from his jacket and blots his forehead. “It appears our guests have pressing matters requiring attention. Perhaps they’ll return later. Anyone leaving a comment or question for our couple will be entered into the drawings for Ms. Grace’s book, as well the grand prize drawing for a...”
Looks at foolscap again.
“What is a blasted Kindle? Could someone please summon the couple back? Wait a minute! That’s my wine.” Drops the foolscap and storms off stage.
Announcer: Beau? Is anyone there? [loud sigh] My apologies ladies and gentlemen. It appears Lord Andrew and Miss Hillary prefer to avoid inquiries, but if you would like to pose a question anyway, we’ll try to urge them back onstage.
One lucky commenter will win a copy of MISS HILLARY SCHOOLS A SCOUNDREL. And all U.S. commenters will be eligible to win a free Kindle! YOU DON'T HAVE TO ASK A QUESTION TO ENTER, BUT WE NEED YOUR NAME.
Leave comments on all six blogs for more chances to win. The contest ends at midnight CST Sunday, February 5th. Winners will be announced Monday evening.
You can learn more about Samantha's bachelors at www.samanthagraceauthor.com.