Caroline Warfield: The Renegade Wife

Love is worth the risk…

New cover, new release, new series! Coming in October

The heroes and heroines of Caroline Warfield’s Dangerous series overcame challenges even after their happy ending. Their children seek their own happiness in distant lands in Warfield’s new Children of the Empire series. In The Renegade Wife, first of the new series, reclusive Rand Wheatly finds contentment in his remote cabin in Upper Canada, intent on making his fortune in timber, until his precious solitude is disrupted by a woman running from an ugly past. He quickly realizes she wasn’t what she claims, but now she’s on the run again and time is running out for him to save her.

Caroline is celebrating with a GIVEAWAY on her website.

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Gina Danna: The Wicked North (Book 1 – Hearts Touched by Fire)

Jul28

May I Introduce….

By the time of the American Civil War, Victorian America followed many of Great Britain’s rules of society. Ladies looked forward to their next copy of Godey’s for the latest fashion for instance. What Queen Victoria did in London set the tide for manners and etiquette both in England and “across the pond” here in the United States. It is these actions that dictated society and guarded the sexes that give us a taste of life back then. Let us take a look at the foundation of society as set back in the mid-19th century.

Introductions: When people met back then, introductions were made based on the rules of etiquette. No man would consider simply walking up to a lady he didn’t know and say “hi”. That was considered rude and crass. If there was a lady he wished to meet, he needed to find someone who knew them both to make introductions. “Miss Smith, may I introduce Mr. Silvers of Charleston…” Now, if Mr. Silvers was of low account and totally unsuitable for the lady, this friend could deny introducing him or if it was made and she didn’t care for Silvers, she could snub him off. Really raise her nose as it were and ignore the man. This, of course, would be held against him as unworthy and the news passed quickly to avoid him.

While we are here, let us discuss names. Gentlemen and the workingman were always called Mr. Lastname while in public. Ladies were Miss if they were single or Mrs. if they were married (there was no such creature as “Ms.”). Mrs. John Smith was Mary Smith’s public name as ladies took their husband’s surname at marriage and protocol stated the first in public. If Mary was single and her father’s name was Charles Silvers, her name on invitations to her coming out ball were “Miss Charles Silvers invites…”

At societal gatherings, like a ball, a couple was announced as Mr. Charles Silvers and lady – not even Mrs. Charles Silvers if she is his wife!

It was a gentleman’s role to protect the fairer sex. For instance, if he was with her on the boardwalk in the city, he’d place himself between the street and her to keep her away from harm if a wagon or horse got out of control and barreled into the curb or to give her another type of barrier from mud or horse dung from slinging off the road onto the curb. If she were on an outing with a servant, the maid or male servant would serve the same purpose.

If a man was courting a lady, first the man had to ask her father for permission (or her male guardian if her father was deceased). Courting had its own rules. Ladies of the lower classes could marry at age 14 – an age we writers shy from, considering today’s way of thinking. Middle to upper class ladies usually had a “coming out” at about 18 or 19 years of age. Many times this was a ball where they were introduced and they dressed in bright pastels like pink, yellow or light green, often with flowers in their hair – even if it was winter. They wore the light colors because in candle or oil light, darker color dresses blended with the walls but the light stood out.

As they made the marriage circuit, it should be easy to find a husband in America at this time as the number of men out numbered the women prior to the War. Granted, some men headed west where land was cheap but that is another discussion. If a man wanted to court a lady, he needed to be 5 to 10 years older than her (if she was 18, he needed to be 23-28) and show he had the way and means to support her and their future children – in other words, he needed to have a job and a house, not living at home off of mom and dad.

Courting rules were simple – the couple was never allowed alone. A trusted servant or family member accompanied them – trusted by the parents, not the daughter. If she liked him enough, she might allow him to call her by her first name but it was her decision, not his. Otherwise, she was Miss Silvers.

Also, fashion had women wearing gloves whenever they were out or in formal situations. These gloves were generally white or ivory though they could match the color of her dress. Made of kid leather for the upper classes and cloth for the lower, these gloves protected her hands from the sun and other elements and from chafing. If she started to have feelings for her gentleman friend, not only would she allow him to call her by her first name, but also grant him the privilege of holding her bare hand (prior to this, only her father, brothers and lady friends could do so). And gentlemen of all classes wore gloves as well and one reason was, it was an honor and a privilege to help a lady in distress (i.e.: she fell or needed help in a carriage). If he ruined her gloves with callus on his hands, he was obligated to replace her gloves. For the workingman, kid gloves equaled more than he made in a month!

Back to courting, there were two ways a couple could be “alone.” One was on the front porch – basically they were on display for the whole street. No hanky-panky there. The other was the front parlor. Usually the front parlor had a couple of doors to it and/or a parlor mirror. These mirrors were convex in shape and reflected EVERYTHING in the room that anyone could see as they passed the doorway. Quite a hampering device.

Rule of thumb was if they were alone anywhere else for more than fifteen minutes, she was ruined, a “soiled dove”, and no man would want her therefore the young man with her would be forced to marry her to save her reputation. The “shotgun” marriage so to speak though there no doubt was a time or two daddy stood with a loaded gun and cocked it if the man almost backed out from saying “I do.” If he was shot after the ceremony, she was a widow and in good standing. Not saying that happened but…

Divorce – unacceptable in the Victorian age. Only one ground allowed it to happen and that was infidelity, mostly by the wife. No, if you didn’t like your spouse, you might live on different floors of the house and never meet or in different houses but if invited to an event, you went together as husband and wife and put a front on for society.

If she made it to age 23 without getting a proposal (a forward lady, speaking her own thoughts or opinions and not being the demur delicate flower could steer men away), the lady was now a spinster, “put on the shelf” as it were. If she attended balls, she had to wear the darker colors of navy, dark green, etc. with no flowers in her hair and sit against the wall, resigned.

Society wasn’t designed to have ladies be “independent”. Women were under male guardianship their entire lives – first their father than husband. If a wallflower, they still were under dad and could be the mistress to their father’s home if mother was dead, the nanny to their sibling’s kids or work in a hat boutique – those were about the only options available. If they taught, they had to go out to the wild west (at this time, Kansas City represented the wild west) for lady teachers were not the norm in the 19th century and very few allowed to teach in a classroom. The west was desperate for teachers so they’d take anyone willing to travel to the sparsely settled wilderness. If in KC teaching, she meets the man of her dreams and they marry, it is expected of her to quit teaching.

Which brings us to another issue –

Work. Ladies didn’t work. The lower classes did but middle to upper were not suppose to. Even if her husband lost his job, it was unacceptable for her to work, as it’s his job to make the money to feed and support the family and hers to raise the kids and run the house (the “Spheres of Domesticity” firmly in place). Therefore, some took in mending or laundry, under the table, and kept it hidden. If discovered, it could be a problem. And as to domestic abuse, the rule was what happened behind marriage doors was no one’s business. Quite disturbing.

This is a taste of society in Victorian America. There are plenty of etiquette books made at that time – these were for the middle and lower class and mostly for men so they’d know how to carry themselves. Upper classes were taught this as they grew up.

What time do you want to live in? Back then, it’s very polite and structured but for ladies of an independent nature, it was hell!

About The Wicked North

Bound by duty and honor to wear the Union blue, a Southern-born West Point officer fights his own desires and the need to protect the woman he abandoned, he disobeys his orders to find her, as the Army of the Potomac marches toward her family’s home near Richmond.

She has the guts and willpower to protect her home from the hated Yankee aggressors, but when that traitor to the South appears at her door, she’s torn between wanting to shoot him and to be held in his arms again. Can she forgive him for their past indiscretion or does she turn him in to be executed, a traitor to both sides?

In the summer of 1862, her family’s plantation becomes the personal battle ground between them as deceit, betrayal and passion ignite the flames of love and hate that burn brighter than the roar of the guns and rivers of blood surrounding them.

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Excerpt

Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can, and strike him as hard as you can. And keep moving on!

General U.S. Grant, Virginia, June 1862

Emma Silvers was not afraid to shoot Yankees.

She leveled the .57 caliber Enfield rifle at the line of blue coats standing before her porch at Rose Hill that evening. She counted ten men, fully armed and wielding torches. They reeked of wet wool, sweat and gun powder–a noxious mixture combined with the scent of pink roses surrounding the house. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard.

The officer took a step forward. In the dim light, she couldn’t discern his face, though she saw him flinch as she pointed the muzzle at him.

“I want you off my land, now,” she demanded, her voice remarkably even despite her pounding heart. At twenty-two years and virtually alone, she knew one able-bodied man could easily overwhelm her. With no able men and few slaves remaining, she only had bravado left.

“Now, ma’am,” the Union officer began. He spoke like a gentleman, but, dressed in blue, he was an imposter as far as she was concerned.

Jeremiah, just behind her right shoulder, cocked the hammer on his rifle—a welcome sound to her ears. Good boy, Emma thought. If the Yankees didn’t believe she was a threat, she hoped the armed slave boy next to her got the message across. She wasn’t allowing any soldiers on her property again.

The rifle felt heavier by the minute, making her muscles ache, and she feared she’d drop it. The weapon was foreign to her hands, but as the war raged closer to her home, she learned to use it. She wasn’t very good at it, but, as close as the Yankees were, she was bound to hit one of them. She didn’t want to pull the trigger. The gun’s recoil would knock her off her feet, throwing her aim off. With so few bullets left, she’d hate to lose the shot.

The light streamed through the open front door across the officer as he stepped onto the porch. She saw his face and the nose of the gun slipped. Jack Fontaine, that good-for-nothing traitor! How dare he come here, especially after what had happened last summer? Rage took control and gave her the added strength to pull the muzzle up to his chest as she cocked the trigger.

“Emma, please,” he said softly. He looked at her the same way he had that night months ago, his green eyes glowing like emeralds in the light. She remembered those eyes, those mesmerizing emerald eyes. They were all hers the night she had lost her heart to him. The night he had betrayed her. Her anger flared. No. Not this time. Not again, she vowed. Gritting her teeth, Emma narrowed her gaze.

“Get away from me, Jack, or I swear to God, I’ll blow a hole through you and send you straight to hell!”

Inside the house, a babe wailed. Emma instinctively turned. Jack reached for her and she panicked, squeezing the trigger. The rifle exploded, throwing her backwards, pain shooting into her shoulder. But instead of falling, she found herself in Jack’s arms as they wrapped around her, shielding her back from the impact of the wooden floor.

The patrol stormed onto the porch and into the house. Lying in his embrace, his body shielding hers as his troops marched past them, Emma couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were wide open. She felt the heat of him around her. The scent of him invaded her senses. Warm, masculine, and spicy rolled into one. She fought the heat in her belly, but it was hard as his eyes locked onto hers, his lips only inches away.

She closed her eyes. Behind her, the wailing continued, and she heard the thud of soldiers’ boots inside. Her jaw tightened as she glared at him. “Get off me, Jack.”

About the Author

A USA Today Bestselling author, Gina Danna was born in St. Louis, Missouri, and has spent the better part of her life reading. History has always been her love and she spent numerous hours devouring historical romance stories, always dreaming of writing one of her own. After years of writing historical academic papers to achieve her undergraduate and graduate degrees in History, and then for museum programs and exhibits, she found the time to write her own historical romantic fiction novels.

Now, living in Texas,under the supervision of her three dogs, she writes amid a library of research books, with her only true break away is to spend time with her other life long dream – her Arabian horse – with him, her muse can play.

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Sherry Ewing: To Follow My Heart (The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time) + Giveaway

Jul21

I’d like to thank Susana for allowing me the opportunity to showcase my latest medieval/time travel release: To Follow My Heart: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novel (Book Three). If you’ve never read one of my novels, I’m Sherry Ewing and write historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m a huge fan of any book that throws a knight and a modern day woman together. I never had any intention of writing time travels. Somehow they just came about and I now have a whole series going on with secondary characters from my free medieval romance If My Heart Could See You. Who knew?

To Follow My Heart follows the story of Jenna Sinclair, a modern day woman living in San Francisco who is heartbroken over the breakup with her fiancé. Fletcher Monroe, a 12th century knight and captain of the guard of Berwyck’s garrison knights, has his own issues of attempting to get over a woman who would never be his. Image how surprised both my characters are when Jenna mysteriously slips through time and falls at his feet on an ocean beach.

The second Cliff House, circa 1900

This book, in particular, is near and dear to my heart because I have showcased some of my favorite places around the city by the bay. The Cliff House, along Ocean Beach, has a long history in San Francisco and is managed by the National Park Service; specifically, Golden Gate National Recreation Area, one of the largest urban parks in the NPS system.

I’ve spent a lot of years walking this beach contemplating my own life, much like Jenna, and felt the need to have her falling through time beneath the rock face under the Cliff House. I was wonderfully surprised when one day, right before the release of To Follow My Heart, my daughter and I took advantage of a beautiful summer day and I was actually able to walk all the way around the cliff from Ocean Beach to the Sutro Baths side. In all the years I’ve walked there, the tides were never right since the water is usually right up against the cliff. It gave me a whole new perspective of how my characters felt doing the very same thing. If you’d like to learn more about the Cliff House, check out this NPS website at https://www.nps.gov/goga/learn/historyculture/cliff-house.htm. The NPS is celebrating their 100-year centennial so it’s a great time to Find Your Park and enjoy what these special places can offer you and your family!

In case you’re wondering, all my books can be read as stand-alones but if you read them in order, you’ll see characters as they’re introduced. I just love when I read a series and see returning characters that I’ve come to love, don’t you?

Haven’t read my books? Then start with a free download of the start of my series with If My Heart Could See You. It’s up on all major online retailers. Here’s the Amazon link: http://amzn.to/1LV1qnk. Need the next two books in the series? I’ve got a special deal on a box set called Hearts Across Time for $0.99. It includes For All of Ever and Only For You. Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1BV0DM4

Giveaway!

I’ll give one random comment an e-copy of my medieval romance A Knight To Call My Own so just answer me this:

Do you visit a national park where you live? If not, then tell me one of your favorite places you like to visit.

Thanks again to Susana for allowing me to spend some time with her readers. Keep reading to learn more about To Follow My Heart, along with finding the buy links!

About To Follow My Heart: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novel (Book Three)

Love is a leap. Sometimes you need to jump…

After a gut wrenching break up with her fiancé, Jenna Sinclair heads to the coast to do a little soul searching. To say everything is subject to change is putting it mildly. Her world is not only turned upside down, but pretty much torn asunder when she is pulled through a time gate on the beach beneath the Cliff House and transported more than eight hundred years into the past.

Fletcher Monroe, captain of the garrison knights at Berwyck Castle, has wasted too much time pining for a woman who will never be his. When he finally decides to move on with his life and focus on his duties, he is suddenly confronted with a woman who magically appears at his feet. This could either be the best thing that has ever happened to him or another cursed event in a string of many. He soon finds he is wildly attracted to her, but she’s scared to death of him – not a very encouraging beginning.

From the shores of California to twelfth century England and back again, Jenna and Fletcher must find a way to reconcile their two different worlds before Time forever tears them apart.

Excerpt

Jenna came back from her musing, only to blink in shock at the distortion directly in front of her. The disturbance in the air was almost akin to the ripples one found in a lake or pond after a stone had been cast into its smooth waters. She reached out to touch it, but before she knew what was happening, some unseen force pushed her forward, even while at the same time she became surrounded by an icy fog. The wind in her face screeched at a high pitch in her ears in the same tone as a ghoulish banshee on Halloween. Her body seemed as if it were being pulled, stretched, and sucked through a tight tube, much like a dust mote stuck within a vacuum cleaner. She was tossed and turned around and around as her own screams echoed all about her.

Unsure what was happening, she cried out, hoping for someone to come and help her. No one answered her call, yet she continued to yell, all the same. Had she somehow fallen into the ocean, and was she being pulled out with the tide? No…that couldn’t be right, since she didn’t have the feeling of water filling her lungs. Time seemed to have no meaning, and she had no idea how long she had been in this state of…falling into nothingness and unbeing.

And then, everything stopped its frantic pace, abruptly, as though she were in a car that had come to a sudden halt at a red light causing her to lurch forward in her seat. Jenna was thrust headfirst to face-plant into the beach while her purse flew through the air when she hit the ground. She coughed, spitting out copious granules of sand. Wiping her mouth, she tasted a bit of blood from her cut lip and raised her hand to shield her face from the glaring brightness around her. Sunlight? She closed her eyes and reopened them, not believing what she was seeing, for the sun was as bright as in the height of a new day. But how could that be, she wondered? It was almost evening, with darkness about to settle down to caress the earth.

As if she hadn’t been mistreated enough, nature decided to continue its torment of her when a rogue wave came up from behind, knocking her into the frigid water. She came up sputtering, completely drenched, and began crawling her way up the beach to catch her breath.

When she was at last able to manage it, Jenna stood, but she did so on wavering legs. She attempted to get her bearings. Her hands shook uncontrollably. Some things hadn’t changed. Her heels were still held by the straps in her fingers. She was still on the beach…the ocean was on her left. Her purse was lying on the ground, and she bent to pick it up to place it on her shoulder. She began to wonder if she had somehow passed out when she lifted her head in the direction of the Cliff House.

What the hell? Where is it, and why is a friggin’ castle sitting in its place? Dammit! This isn’t even San Francisco. She felt herself begin to panic, because the terrain was nowhere close to what she was used to. Her pulse quickened, and she swore her heart was about to burst from her chest.

“My lady, keep calm.”

The sudden vibration of sound caused her to let out a shriek. Her lips quivered in fright. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle yet another scream that automatically burst from her mouth. She was so disoriented it took several moments of trying to adjust her vision before the deep baritone of a man’s voice actually began to register in her head.

Then, she saw him, leaning casually up against a bolder of considerable size with his arms folded against his chest. A horse stood behind him with no tether of any kind to keep him from returning to a barn. The steed just waited for the stranger to come and fetch it, that is, if that was what you did with a horse besides go for a ride. The beast shook its black mane, nostrils flaring as though it were angry.

Jenna’s hand moved down to her throat, her eyes wide, as she gaped at the man. Everything about his appearance screamed dark, mysterious, and even a little dangerous. She should be wary of him. Thick black hair hung in soft waves down to broad shoulders. A muscular chest narrowed down to lean hips, and his dark shirt only accented the ruggedness of his body as it clung to him in the blowing wind. She swore she saw a sword hanging from the belt at his waist and could only imagine what kind of a man would keep a weapon of that kind on his person. He was clothed completely in black with the exception of the dark red cloak billowing out behind him, whipped by the ocean breeze. Was it her imagination, or did its color remind her of the same shade as blood?

Good God Almighty! How far could she run before he would catch her? Surely, from the look of him, he had something sinister in mind. Panic set in, and she dug inside her purse to pull out a container of mace. Trying her best to appear in control of the situation, she extended her arm. “Stay away from me,” she yelled. “I’m not afraid to use this and call the cops.”

He pushed off the rock with a smirk upon his face, as if he knew some inside joke of which she wouldn’t be allowed to know the punch line. The closer he came, the farther she backed up until the waves of the ocean splashed up to her thighs. The coldness of the water gave her another shock, as if she hadn’t already had enough in the last few minutes to last her a life time.

“Come out of the water, mademoiselle, for surely one dunking is enough for one day.” He held out his hand. “You shall catch a chill, and we are not in need of another ghostly apparition giving us advice, no matter how he may feel ’tis needed to guide us.”

“Sweet Jesus, I’m dead,” Jenna whispered in fright. Trying to determine which direction she should run so she could get away from this lunatic, her gaze darted back and forth.

“You are most certainly not dead, my lady. And, I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

Again, he extended his hand for her to take, but she had no plans to go anywhere with this handsome stranger towering over her. Handsome? Where did that thought come from?

About the Author

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical & time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. Always wanting to write a novel but busy raising her children, she finally took the plunge in 2008 and wrote her first Regency. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, The Beau Monde & The Bluestocking Belles. Sherry is currently working on her next novel and when not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist.

Sherry enjoys interacting with her readers. You can email her on her website or find her on these social media outlets:

Website/Blog • Bluestocking Belles • Facebook • Twitter

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Newsletter & Street Team

Alicia Quigley: Lady, Lover, Smuggler Spy (Giveaway)

Jul14

It’s exciting to be guest blogging here at Susana’s Parlor on Bastille Day! The storming of the Bastille radically changed the path of French and European history in ways that are integral to the period in which most of my stories are set, the English Regency. One minor (but fun) example is the way in which the heavy full-skirted gowns and immense coiffures and hats of 1788 had completely given way to the simple, slim, “classical” silhouette by 1795.

In revolutionary France, this mode of dress was associated with democratic societies such as ancient Greece and the Roman republic.

More important in the long term, the political instability that resulted from the overthrow of the French monarchy also opened the door to the Napoleonic era, and wars that not only extended throughout Europe and into the Middle East, but into North and South America. These military campaigns, and the fear of democratic radicalism crossing the Channel from France, hugely impacted English society at the time, hardening the conservative views of many English aristocrats about the importance of birth and breeding even as the industrial revolution and trade with India created a rapidly growing class of nouveau riche.

Only six years after Bastille Day, Napoleon, who was then just 26, and had joined the French Army to promote Republican ideals, had undertaken his first campaign against Austria and Italy after saving the French Directory, the successor to the first revolutionary government. He conquered Italy and became a national hero, and then embarked on an invasion of Egypt that was his launch pad to becoming the ruler of the entire country in 1799 as First Consul.

Napoleon successfully replaced the unstable revolutionary government with a more sustainable populist regime, albeit one that was rather authoritarian. Napoleon is remembered most today for his wars, ill-fated campaign in Russia and eventual defeat, and his government reforms are often ignored. In spite of the Declaration of the Rights of Man by the first revolutionaries, Napoleon was in many ways far more the basis for the modern state that recognizes the rights of the individual than the Revolution itself. The revolutionaries were disorganized, philosophically polarized and devolved into the violence, irrationality and bloodshed of the Terror.

Napoleon however, had a positive mania for organization and codification and introduced secular education, replacement of feudalism with modern property law, and the Napoleonic Code that set forth clear civil and criminal law that specified and codified the rules of due process that protect people living in functional states today (as well as numerous other reforms).

Napoleon’s mania for organization was pervasive; he not only set up vast and detailed bureaucracies for military and civil administration, he personally took a hand in facilitating the meetings. One weird manifestation of this was his largely successful effort to control the smuggling trade between England and France for his own benefit. His success was remarkable when one considers the strenuous efforts the English had made for centuries to bring smuggling under control with minimal results.

Napoleon’s job was perhaps easier, because he didn’t want to abolish or heavily tax the trade as the English did, but rather to centralize it and document the comings and goings of the smugglers, at least partially in order to facilitate the smuggling of gold guineas badly needed by his government to pay his troops and prosecute his wars.

This led Napoleon to establish a “ville des smoglers” or city of smugglers, initially located at Dunkirk and later at the more secure city of Gravelines nearby. French authorities received and documented the arriving English smugglers and their transactions with their French counterparts. They actively encouraged smuggling, even allowing the boats to be built there for British crews when the Inland Revenue Service and Royal Navy destroyed boats to prevent it.

I found the story of the City of Smugglers irresistible and a perfect backdrop for Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy the third book of my Arlingbys Regency romance and intrigue series. In this book, Valerie Carlton is the well born but impoverished widow of a soldier who lost his life in the Peninsular Wars, while Sir Tarquin Arlingby conceals his secret spying behind his wealthy gentleman of fashion persona. Their love story stretches from London across the English Channel to the City of Smugglers as they seek to uncover Napoleon’s secrets to support the English troops.

In the excerpt below, our daring duo is about to get their first glance at the fortress of Gravelines and the City of Smugglers.

About Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy

Mrs. Valerie Carlton is the widow of a soldier who died in the Peninsular Wars. Disowned by her family for “marrying down,” she survives working as a governess. When the elder son of the family makes unwelcome advances, Valerie leaves, seeking refuge with a close friend until she can find another position.

Sir Tarquin Arlingby, a wealthy, handsome bachelor on his way home, is staying at the same inn as Valerie and witnesses her being robbed before she can board the coach. He goes to Valerie’s aid and is instantly attracted to her. As her friend’s home is near his estate, he offers to drive her there.

An unfortunate accident forces the pair to spend a night in a village inn. Over dinner, Valerie talks about her experiences during the Spanish campaign against Napoleon and the sense of mission that she felt following the drum, which she misses in her current life. Sir Tarquin, who is secretly spying for the Crown by masquerading as a smuggler to pass information in and out of France, is intrigued by her bravery and his attraction increases. Valerie is also drawn to the handsome baronet.

Tarquin needs a French-speaking woman to pose as a smuggler during a mission to the “City of Smugglers” in Gravelines. When he discovers that Valerie speaks French like a native, he successfully recruits her for the job.

Will the pair survive their dangerous mission? Will they finally acknowledge the depth of their feelings for each other?

Find out in Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy, a Regency romance with intrigue, humor and just the right amount of moderately explicit sex for those readers who enjoy sensuality with their romances.

Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy

Excerpt

Much later, Valerie awoke to Tarquin shaking her shoulder. She looked around in surprise to note the sun just rising over the horizon.

“Madame Carleon, we are approaching the shoreline. You will wish to watch as we arrive,” he said.

“Bien sur, Jake,” she replied, gathering her wits. She looked across the water to see the coastline clearly delineated before them. The golden-pink rays of the rising sun imbued the sandy, rolling shoreline with a pearly glow, and wavelets sparkled in the emerging daylight. As the shore grew rapidly closer with the long oar strokes of the rowers, she could see the narrow mouth of a waterway cutting through the beach. They glided into the channel and moved inland as rich green farm fields, dotted with cows and distant villages, scrolled past on either side.

Within an hour they were approaching the fortress of Gravelines. The looming walls, built hundreds of years earlier, reminded Valerie of the fortresses her husband had helped to besiege in Spain, and she shivered a little at the violent memories they awoke in her.

To banish her unwelcome recollections, she looked over at Tarquin. In the daylight she could see he had been correct in saying that a change of clothing and some walnut juice to temporarily brown his skin did much to disguise him. His blonde hair was tousled, his face looked as though work in the sun and wind had tanned it, and a day or two of stubble on his cheeks gave him the appearance of a farmer or deckhand. His billowing cotton shirt was partially covered with a leather vest, and the open collar allowed her to see the strong column of his throat. She acknowledged ruefully that the disguise made him no less attractive. Many a woman would take an interest in Jake West.

But there was little time for daydreams. As they drew up to a pier, the crew sprang into action. Tarquin shipped his oar and stood in one lithe movement, while Valerie grabbed her reticule from its spot atop the tarpaulin covering the golden cargo destined to support Napoleon’s armies. Seconds later, she found herself on the pier with the members of the guinea boat’s crew and other passengers, facing what appeared to be a small army of customs inspectors, coast guards, and police officers.

Unfamiliar with the procedure and somewhat intimidated by the crowd of officials, Valerie stood as close to Tarquin as possible, taking reassurance from his height and strength, while attempting to maintain an outward calm. A hard faced customs official wearing close fitting white breeches and an elaborate green coat crisscrossed with bright white leather straps approached her.

He looked her over briefly. “Qui etes vous, madame?” he barked.

“Madame Carleon, une modiste,” she replied, handing over her papers. “I am here to select fabrics, trims and stock for my shop. Ces hommes ne peuvent pas selecter les mieux tissus.” For additional effect, she sniffed and cast a dismissive glance towards Tarquin.

“Bien sur, madame,” the inspector said, giving her a more interested look and a smile. He rifled through her papers, pausing a moment to squint at one of them, as Valerie held her breath. “Allez, you may go.” He leered at her, his eyes raking over her figure. “A pity you live in England. France could use a fine woman such as you.”

“You never know,” said Valerie saucily, “I may return. Particularly if there are more strapping men such as you.”

“Not too many like me, but I’m sure I could satisfy you.”

Valerie laughed and moved on, giving him a teasing glance over her shoulder. The inspector, clearly recognizing Tarquin, nodded at him briefly, and he followed in her wake.

When they were out of earshot, Tarquin spoke in a low voice. “You did well there. That was a member of the Douane Imperiale, Napoleon’s elite customs unit. All of its members have served in the Army and they undertake armed missions when necessary.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that before I spoke with him,” Valerie laughed.

“I’m sure I did not encourage you to flirt with the officials,” observed Tarquin.

“It seemed to be the easiest way to convince him I’m harmless.” She glanced up at him. “Are you jealous?”

“Jake West has no right to be jealous of Madame Carleon’s doings,” responded Tarquin, and she had to be content with that.

She turned away and watched the crowd bustling around them with interest. “What do we do now?”

“Let us go find some bread and coffee first,” he suggested. “Then I will take you to the fabric merchants. We will spend one night here; it takes them some time to count the gold and be sure that all is accounted for, and that the manifest is accurate. There is an inn for the smugglers that is quite decent. Everything here is very well organized.”

Valerie looked about her. Although the walls ran close around it, and the primary language to be heard was French, she thought she could have been in a market town almost anywhere. There were counting houses, and a great many shops, inns, taverns, and other businesses.

“It seems to be,” she agreed. “I’m afraid I had another picture in my head, with dark, narrow streets and people skulking about in the shadows. Instead it is almost disappointingly ordinary.”

Tarquin smiled. “Everything required for the smugglers to conduct their business has been thought of. There is even a shipyard, for in some regions the tidesmen have taken to destroying the guinea boats, so they make them here, and then row them to England to pick up the cargoes.”

“That’s rather shocking,” Valerie replied.

Tarquin shrugged. “I suppose it is. I am doing all I can to improve matters, but that is the reality of the treachery we are contending with.”

Giveaway: Two lucky commenters will receive free copies of Lady, Lover, Smuggler, Spy. The winners will be randomly chosen one week after this post is published.

About the Author

Alicia Quigley is a lifelong lover of romance novels, who fell in love with Jane Austen in grade school, and Georgette Heyer in junior high. She made up games with playing cards using the face cards for Heyer characters, and sewed regency gowns (walking dresses, riding habits and bonnets that even Lydia Bennett wouldn’t have touched) for her Barbie. In spite of her terrible science and engineering addiction, she remains a devotee of the romance, and enjoys turning her hand to their production as well as their consumption.

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Sheri Cobb South: Waiting Game (John Pickett #5)

Jun30

Last Wednesday marked the release of Too Hot to Handel, the fifth novel in the John Pickett series of mysteries set in Regency England. I’ve so looked forward to this one, for a couple of reasons: it’s my personal favorite and, not coincidentally, it’s the one that finally resolves the romance between Bow Street Runner John Pickett and the widowed Julia, Lady Fieldhurst, whom he first met, quite literally over her husband’s dead body, in the first book of the series, In Milady’s Chamber.

But before there was Too Hot to Handel, there was Waiting Game—a novella that was never intended as part of the series at all, and yet sold more than 1,500 copies in the last month alone.

How did it happen? It’s a long story—no pun intended. Too Hot to Handel was originally scheduled for March 2016, but just before Christmas my publisher, Five Star/Cengage, announced that due to unforeseen circumstances, the entire 2016 publishing schedule was being delayed three months, pushing my March release date back to June. Now, a three-month postponement may not seem like much, but when marketing plans are measured in months, not weeks, every one of those months is crucial. My bookmarks had already been printed with “March 2016” as the release date—and I didn’t even want to think about what the interruption meant as far as ARCs, which would probably go out much too late for the major reviewers such as Publishers Weekly and Library Journal.

But the people I felt the worst for were my readers. I’d left them a romantic cliffhanger at the end of the previous book, Dinner Most Deadly, which concludes with [spoiler alert!] John Pickett recklessly declaring himself to Julia, who is too stunned—and too moved—to respond. I had assured readers they wouldn’t have long to wait for resolution on this, since the next book would be out in only six months, rather than the more typical ten to twelve, and now I discovered that I was wrong. Granted, it wasn’t my fault, but I still felt like I’d lied to them.

I felt like I owed fans of the series something to make it up to them. I’d had some success with a prequel novella called Pickpocket’s Apprentice, so I decided to write a short piece to self-publish in March, something that would fill in the gap in the timeline between the end of Dinner Most Deadly and the beginning of Too Hot to Handel. Ironically, that gap was also three months, from November 1808 to February 1809.

It was a good idea in theory, but I soon realized I’d written myself into a corner. The book’s setting made it practically imperative that the Christmas season be addressed in some way, but I didn’t want it to turn into a Christmas story, given that it would be released in March. Furthermore, since the text of Too Hot to Handel makes it very clear that there has been no interaction between Pickett and Julia during those three months, I somehow had to advance the romance without ever putting the potential lovebirds together.

One of the women in my writers’ group suggested that I let Pickett be actively trying to avoid being seen by Lady Fieldhurst, and it seemed to me that this situation would lend itself well to comedy. Since Pickett had extracted a reluctant promise from his magistrate not to send him on cases involving the aristocracy, where he might encounter Julia, I decided to create a scenario involving the merchant middle class. Of course there would be a marriageable young woman whose advances he would have to rebuff. (There’s always some girl after poor John Pickett; it’s a running gag throughout the series.) Throw in a big dog named Brutus who manages to steal almost every scene in which he appears, and the story practically began to write itself. And hey, since this story involved a linen-draper’s shop, wouldn’t it be fun to include a cameo appearance by a youthful Ethan Brundy, titular hero of The Weaver Takes a Wife, the most popular book I’ve ever written? (After writing three books about the man, I should have known him better than that. He refused to remain a mere bit player, and insisted on assuming a significantly larger role than I’d intended.)

It’s not strictly necessary to read Waiting Game to enjoy Too Hot to Handel, but I do strongly recommend reading at least one of the John Pickett mysteries before reading the romantic denouement. While the mystery will stand alone, the love story will be more satisfying if you’re at least somewhat familiar with the characters’ history up to this point. Besides, romantic resolution, much like book publication, is all the sweeter for having been delayed.

Waiting Game

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Too Hot to Handel

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Commenters

Win a copy of both John Pickett novellas (Waiting Game and the prequel novella, Pickpocket’s Apprentice) by leaving a comment.

Check out this great offer from Sheri!

Sheri is concerned that the three month delay might have a deleterious effect on sales of Too Hot to Handel to libraries. So… anyone who requests that their library purchase Too Hot to Handel can email a screen shot of their filled-out request form to her at Cobbsouth@aol.com along with their mailing address, and she’ll send them a handy-dandy jar opener and an 8-page coloring book featuring scenes from her novels. See photo below of both prizes. No drawing on this one; anyone who requests that their library purchase the book, and sends me a screenshot as proof, automatically wins.

About the Author

Sheri Cobb South is the author of more than twenty novels, including the John Pickett mystery series and the critically acclaimed Regency romance, The Weaver Takes a Wife. A native of Alabama, she now lives in Loveland, Colorado.

Jessica Cale: How Royal Copenhagen Conquered Europe

Jun23

Eighteenth Century Porcelain: How Royal Copenhagen Conquered Europe

The Royal Porcelain Factory (Den Kongelige Porcelænsfabrik), better known as Royal Copenhagen, was founded in a converted post office in Copenhagen on May 1st, 1775 under the protection of Queen Juliane Marie. Although porcelain had been made in Germany since 1710, it was not produced in Denmark until chemist Frantz Heinrich Müller developed a method for its manufacture in 1774. Juliane Marie had an interest in mineralogy and porcelain was a family passion: both her brother, Charles I of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, and sister, who was married to Frederik II of Prussia, had founded porcelain factories in Germany.

The factory’s first pieces were dining sets for the royal family. Juliane Marie insisted each piece be stamped with the factory’s mark, three wavy lines that symbolized Denmark’s three straights–the Øresund, the Great Belt and the Little Belt–as well as the royal crown stamp to highlight the firm’s royal connections. Each piece is marked this way to this day.

Blue and white china became popular across Europe as early as the seventeenth century with the import of goods from the far east. The fine porcelain of China’s Ming and Qing dynasties sparked an enduring love for floral patterns in blue and white and Royal Copenhagen quickly developed their own. Blue Fluted Plain (Danish: Musselmalet) was their first pattern and at more than two hundred fifty years old, it is the world’s oldest china pattern still in production.

Blue Fluted Plain was inspired by Chinese floral patterns and updated to include flowers native to Denmark. Cinquefoils were added to the stylized chrysanthemums to give the pattern a more Nordic appearance. The ultramarine blue pigment in the paint was originally purchased from the Blaafarveværket (“blue colour factory”) in Norway, a company that provided up to eighty percent of the world’s cobalt during the nineteenth century. Each piece was and continues to be hand-painted by blue painters who spend at least four years in training for the position.

Since its development in 1775, Blue Fluted Plain has appeared on more than two thousand different pieces and has inspired countless imitations. It reached the height of its popularity in the early nineteenth century and appeared on everything from tea cups to washbasins and chamber pots.

Lord Nelson brought Royal Copenhagen porcelain back for his mistress, Lady Hamilton, following the Danish defeat at the Battle of Copenhagen in 1801. While Denmark lost that particular battle, Royal Copenhagen’s invasion of Britain was a success. It qualified for London’s World Expo in 1851 and gained international fame by winning the grand prize at Paris’ World Expo in 1889.

This pattern has also appeared in some well-researched historical films and television shows, so not only does the pattern “look right” for the period, but even newer pieces are historically accurate for any time after 1775. You can still find pieces in this pattern to this day, so if you would like to add a little eighteenth century elegance to your kitchen or a touch of the Regency to your cup of tea, look for Royal Copenhagen’s Blue Fluted Plain.

Note: For more images or shopping information, Replacements Ltd. has a spectacular assortment of pieces in this pattern here: http://www.replacements.com/webquote/rcoblfp.htm

About The Long Way Home

The Long Way Home, Book 3 in The Southwark Saga is a magical, adult fairy tale that will keep you entertained from start to finish. Find out what happens when a paranoid king, a poison plot, and hideous shoes prove… it’s not easy being Cinderella!

After saving the life of the glamorous Marquise de Harfleur, painfully shy barmaid Alice Henshawe is employed as the lady’s companion and whisked away to Versailles. There, she catches King Louis’ eye and quickly becomes a court favorite as the muse for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella. The palace appears to be heaven itself, but there is danger hidden beneath the façade and Alice soon finds herself thrust into a world of intrigue, murder, and Satanism at the heart of the French court.

Having left his apprenticeship to serve King Charles as a spy, Jack Sharpe is given a mission that may just kill him. In the midst of the Franco-Dutch war, he is to investigate rumors of a poison plot by posing as a courtier, but he has a mission of his own. His childhood friend Alice Henshawe is missing and he will stop at nothing to see her safe. When he finds her in the company of the very people he is meant to be investigating, Jack begins to wonder if the sweet girl he grew up with has a dark side.

When a careless lie finds them accidentally married, Alice and Jack must rely on one another to survive the intrigues of the court. As old affection gives way to new passion, suspicion lingers. Can they trust each other, or is the real danger closer than they suspect?

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About the Author

Jessica Cale is a historical romance author, a Bluestocking Belle, and a journalist based in North Carolina. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in a place where no one understands his accent. You can visit her at www.authorjessicacale.com.

Her series, The Southwark Saga, is available now. You can visit her at www.dirtysexyhistory.com.

Nicole Zoltack: Loving Outside of Your Class

Jun16

Back in the day, and even nowadays, people look down on certain relationships, especially if the people involved are from different classes. How can a duke or other titled person fall for someone outside of the ton? A movie star and a nobody? An actor and a musician? (Okay, I’m sour about the rumors of Tom Hiddleston and Taylor Swift, I’ll admit it.)

During the Regency era, aristocrats weren’t supposed to marry from other classes. Money, land, reputation, politics… they were what drove marriage for the upper crust. For the working class—the servants, maids, housekeepers, soldiers, etc—marriage was very important. Their parents had less of a say in whom they married, and they were a little more autonomous; however that was only within their own class, of course.

If a handmaid were to fall for a viscount… if a stablehand were to love a lady, most likely, it would not have played out well in real life, but what’s the fun in that?

My series, Beyond Boundaries, is specifically about couples who fall in love despite obstacles like class.

If you were a lady back in the Regency, do you think you would ever consider someone outside of your class despite what your parents wish for you, despite the opinions of your friends and peers? I like to think I would!

About Masked Love (Beyond Boundaries #1)

Isabelle will do anything for her lady, even accompany her to a masquerade ball. Lady Theodosia needs extra support for tomorrow she will meet the man her par-ents have pledged her to.

Meeting an enchanting young man during the course of the evening makes Isabelle wish for a life she can never have. Imagine her shock when he shows up the next morning, announcing his claim on Lady Thedosia.

Torn between duty and desire, Isabelle hopes for something more this Christmas.

Amazon

Starry Love (Beyond Boundaries #2)

With the Season rapidly approaching, Lady Elizabeth is ready to make her match until her father is stricken deathly ill. Her mother is desperate and hails for doctors, surgeons, even apothecaries. The upkeep of the house falls on Elizabeth, and she spend long hours beside her father, watching as he betters one day and fares worse on others. Long walks with the stable hand Callum on starry nights save Elizabeth’s sanity.

When the inevitable happens, Lady Elizabeth is forced to go to London. The gentlemen there, however, hold no candle to the kind and caring Scottish Callum.

Shortly before her father’s death, Callum returned to his homeland to try and find a cure for her father. As time passes with no word, no letters, Elizabeth must choose whether the love that blossomed between them is worth denying the man her mother wishes for her.

Amazon

About the Author

Nicole Zoltack loves to write in many genres, especially romance, whether fantasy, paranormal, or regency. She’s also an editor for MuseItUp Publishing and works as a freelance editor.

When she’s not writing about gentlemen and their ladies, knights, superheroes, or witches, she loves to spend time with her loving husband, three energetic young boys, and precious baby girl. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they’re unicorns, of course!) and going to the PA Renaissance Faire, dressed in garb. She’ll also read anything she can get her hands on. Her current favorite TV shows are The Walking Dead and Arrow.

To learn more about Nicole and her work, visit her blog at http://NicoleZoltack.blogspot.com. She can be found on most any social media site under Nicole Zoltack. Stalk away!

Jude Knight: A notorious woman visits the Parlour

Jun9

Rebecca, Lady Overton prefers to be out of the public eye. Before she consented to join her author for tea in Susana’s Parlour, she extracted a promise that this interview would not be published until more than 200 years in her future.

“I have had notoriety and notice enough for a lifetime, Jude,” she says. “You saw to that.”

Becky is right. As the Rose of Frampton, treasured mistress to the notorious Marquis of Aldridge, she was whispered about (but not acknowledged) the length and breadth of polite Society. It is no consolation to her that I was only doing my job, nor that I did not know anything about her history when I started. I thought to write a cheerful romp about a dissolute rake, not a story about how a woman with few choices nonetheless made the best ones she could, and eventually won her way to a happy marriage and a secure family.

She does not wait for an answer to her remark. “And you are still doing it,” she scolds. “This latest start of yours has spread my story to countries that did not even exist when I was alive. That smug look does not make me feel better, you know!”

I wipe the grin off my face. I have been posting A Baron for Becky on Wattpad for months, one chapter a week until it was completed. In the past month it has taken off, garnering hundreds of reads every day. I am particularly thrilled that 15% of my reads are from India, another 10% from the Philippines, and more than 50% overall from countries in Africa and Asia where I do not normally sell books.

“You have to admit,” Becky continues, “it is not at all a light, frothy read. Girlhood trauma? Years of suffering? Two heroes, Jude, and neither of them particularly heroic seen in a certain light.”

“It is a story of resilience, Becky. You survived, and eventually you thrived. And both your first hero and your second helped with that. More than they hindered, I am sure you will agree. Did you know that Susana, our hostess today, has a story on Wattpad that is actually called ‘Resilience’? You might enjoy meeting her heroine. You have some sad circumstances in common.”

“Ah,” Becky says. “Betrayed into a brothel, was she? Poor girl.”

“It comes right in the end,” I sooth. “After all, we write happy endings, Susana and I.”

Becky’s speaking look states her opinion as loudly as words. Perhaps that which does not kill you makes you stronger, but the memories and the scars remain, giving a dark underpinning the future happiness. I dream that people who have had their choices torn from them will find hope and the courage to find new choices by reading stories about heroines like Becky. But pain endured and overcome is still pain.

“We are about to start posting a new book, Mari Christie and I,” I tell Becky, hoping to change the direction of her thoughts.

It works. “Mari Christie? She writes as Mariana Gabrielle, does she not? She created my dear friend Kali. Is the book about her?”

“No, indeed. This is something different. Never Kiss a Toad is about the romance between Aldridge’s daughter Sal and his friend Wellbridge’s son David. The first part goes up next Friday.”

About Never Kiss a Toad

David “Toad” Northope, heir to the Duke of Wellbridge and rogue in the mold of his infamous father, knows Lady Sarah “Sal” Grenford, daughter of the once-profligate Duke of Haverford, will always hold his heart. But when the two teens are caught in bed together by their horrified parents, he is sent away to finish school on the Continent, and she is thrown into the depths of her first London Season.

Can two reformed rakes keep their children from making the same mistakes they did? The dukes decide keeping them apart will do the trick, so as the children reach their majority, Toad is put to work at sea, learning to manage his mother’s shipping concern, and Sal is taken to the other side of the world, as far from him as possible.

How will Toad and Sal’s love withstand long years of separation, not to mention nasty lies, vicious rumors, attractive other suitors, and well-meaning parents who threaten to destroy their future before it has begun?

To be published in weekly instalments on Wattpad, alternating between Mariana Gabrielle’s page and Jude Knight’s.

Jude Knight

Mariana Gabrielle

(Mariana Gabrielle is also posting Royal Regard, in which you can read about the fraught and beleaguered courtship of Toad’s parents, and Jude is posting stories from her collection Hand-Turned Tales.)

About A Baron for Becky

Becky is the envy of the courtesans of the demi-monde – the indulged mistress of the wealthy and charismatic Marquis of Aldridge. But she dreams of a normal life; one in which her daughter can have a future that does not depend on beauty, sex, and the whims of a man.

Finding herself with child, she hesitates to tell Aldridge. Will he cast her off, send her away, or keep her and condemn another child to this uncertain shadow world?

The devil-may-care face Hugh shows to the world hides a desperate sorrow; a sorrow he tries to drown with drink and riotous living. His years at war haunt him, but even more, he doesn’t want to think about the illness that robbed him of the ability to father a son. When he dies, his barony will die with him. His title will fall into abeyance, and his estate will be scooped up by the Crown.

When Aldridge surprises them both with a daring proposition, they do not expect love to be part of the bargain.

Follow A Baron for Becky on Wattpad, or purchase while it is on sale for 99c

About the Author

Jude Knight has been telling stories all her life: making up serial tales to amuse her friends and children, imagining sequels to books that have moved her and left her wanting more, occasionally submitting short stories to magazines and the radio, starting more than a dozen novels set in different times and places.

She has devoted most of the last forty years to a career in commercial writing and raising a large family (most recently as grandmother-in-residence while a daughter was out of action for three years). She and her own personal romantic hero, with whom she has shared those forty+ years, now live with two cats and frequent visitors in a small town in rural New Zealand.

Judy wrote and published her first historical romance in 2014, and now has the wind in her sails and a head full of strong determined heroines, heroes with the sense to appreciate them, and villains you’ll love to loathe.

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Regan Walker: Rebel Warrior

Jun2

Edgar was the Rightful King

When Edward the Confessor, a gentle, pious king, who left no direct heirs, died on January 5, 1066, there were several candidates to become King of England in his place. One thing to keep in mind: under English law, no one, not even the king, could promise the crown to anyone. That was for the Witan, a council of nobles and spiritual leaders, to decide. What was the Witan to do?

Bayeux Tapestry: King Edward the Confessor Talks to Earl Harold

In England, Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex, wanted the job. But he was only Edward’s brother-in-law. Harold claimed Edward had given the throne to him on his deathbed. And so he might have done, even though he was thought to have murdered Edward’s brother.

Harald Hardrada King of Norway

In Norway, King Harald Hardrada had inherited land in England from King Canute who had once been King of England. Hardrada believed this meant he had a claim to be the King of England. Well, why not? After all, he was supported by Tostig, Harold of Wessex’s brother and Hardrada was already the powerful King of Norway. And he was planning to take England by force if he must.

King Sweyn of Denmark

There was another Scandinavian king who had a claim to the throne, too. King Sweyn of Denmark’s uncle had been Canute the Great, King of England, Denmark and Norway. Canute was ruling England when Edward took over. But Sweyn waited until Hardrada was defeated in his claim, then took his time to rally his hundreds of longships and fighting men. The Danes did not arrive in England until 1069, but more about that in my novel, Rogue Knight.

William the Conqueror Arriving in England

Meanwhile, across the English Channel lay Normandy and William, the bastard son of Robert, Duke of Normandy. William, now the duke, was Edward’s first cousin’s son. Seems a stretch to me, but this guy had ambition. And he had already demonstrated he was ruthless in battle. Besides all that, he told some tale about Edward having promised him the crown of England. But it seems Edward promised the crown to many, so what was that? William also claimed that Harold of Wessex had vowed to help him become king one day. Not sure about that and neither are the historians but then William’s folks wrote most of the history so there you have it.

As his father’s heir and now Duke of Normandy, William was used to ruling a large land. Why not more? So, William the Bastard planned to invade England just like Harald Hardrada. The plot thickens.

So what happened? The Witan named Harold of Wessex king. But we all know what happened to him…

Harald Hardrada invaded the north of England. King Harold fought him off. Weakened by the battle they’d just fought, Harold’s men trudged south to meet William the Bastard at Hastings where his men were storming ashore from Normandy. In a daylong battle, Harold was killed.

But one claimant to the throne of England remained… an heir of Edward’s. Indeed, Edgar Ætheling was the rightful heir to the throne. “Ætheling” is an Old English term used in Anglo-Saxon England to designate the princes of the royal dynasty eligible for the kingship. And so Edgar was. His father, Edmund Ironside, was King Edward’s half brother until he was killed, some say by poisoning. Unfortunately, when King Edward died, Edgar was only 14 or 15, a bit young to be leading soldiers and fighting off contenders for the crown.

Nevertheless, upon King Harold’s death, Edgar was named king, but he was never crowned because William the Bastard, earning his name as “the Conqueror”, moved in and took over.

Although Edgar had many supporters and, in 1069, joined with the Danes and the rebels in Yorkshire in a bid to reclaim England, through a series of fiascos, their fight was unsuccessful.

Edgar, his mother and two sisters fled to Scotland where King Malcolm welcomed them. And that is where Edgar enters my newest medieval romance, Rebel Warrior, set in Scotland in 1072.

Malcolm welcoming Edgar to Scotland

By then, Edgar was 21 and though the rightful king, he would be denied his legacy. But one day his family would regain the throne in a manner of speaking. Edgar’s niece, Edith, daughter of Edgar’s sister Margaret who married the King of Scots, would become Queen of England, marrying Henry I.

If you want to see Edgar and his beautiful sister Margaret in Scotland, you will have to read Rebel Warrior!

“Master storytelling transports you to medieval Scotland!”

— Paula Quinn, NY Times Bestselling Author

About Rebel Warrior

When your destiny lies far from where you began…

Scotland 1072

The Norman Conqueror robbed Steinar of Talisand of his noble father and his lands, forcing him to flee to Scotland while still recovering from a devastating wound. At the royal court, Steinar becomes scribe to the unlettered King of Scots while secretly regaining his skill with a sword.

The first time Steinar glimpses the flame-haired maiden, Catrìona of the Vale of Leven, he is drawn to her spirited beauty. She does not fit among the ladies who serve the devout queen. Not pious, not obedient and not given to stitchery, the firebrand flies a falcon! Though Catrìona captures Steinar’s attention, he is only a scribe and she is promised to another.

Catrìona has come to Malcolm’s court wounded in spirit from the vicious attack on her home by Northmen who slayed her parents and her people. But that is not all she will suffer. The man she thought to wed will soon betray her.

When all is lost, what hope is there for love? Can a broken heart be mended? Can a damaged soul be healed?

Rebel Warrior on Amazon:

US • UK

About the Author

Regan Walker is an award-winning, #1 bestselling, multi-published author of Regency, Georgian and Medieval romance. She has five times been featured on USA TODAY’s HEA blog and twice nominated for the prestigious RONE award (her novel, The Red Wolf’s Prize won Best Historical Novel for 2015 in the medieval category). Regan writes historically authentic novels with real history and real historic figures where her readers experience history, adventure and love.

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Pinterest storyboard for Rebel Warrior

Beverley Oakley: The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin, Book 3)

May26

The Cato Street Conspiracy and Queen Caroline’s Return to England—Two Important Events of 1820

Historical Romance Author, Beverley Oakley, recently brought one of her characters, Miss Araminta Partington, to tea. Miss Partington, who has an extremely high opinion of her attractions, and of her knowledge of most matters, elucidated on the background to the new book in which she features called The Mysterious Governess, part of the Daughters of Sin series, which touches on the events before and after the Cato Street Conspiracy of 1820.

Miss Partington: Hello Susana, and thank you so much for inviting me to take a dish of tea in your parlor. I must say, it’s very comforting to know I can sleep at night in the knowledge that those dreadful men—Arthur Thistlewood, Edward Spence and the others – who call themselves “The Society of Spencean Philanthropists”, have been either hanged or transported for life for their parts in the Cato Street Conspiracy.

Susana: A delight to have you here, too, Araminta. Yes, what a shock to the public! What do you suppose they were hoping to achieve?

Miss Partington: Why, utter madness, in my opinion! Mr. Thistlewood talked of desiring a “Government of the People of Great Britain,” which would take power out of the hands of Parliament and the landed elite and place it into the hands of the people.” In my opinion, that’s tantamount to stealing Papa’s estate and giving it to Jane, my useless maid, who only last week lost one of my silver hairpins.

Susana: Goodness, that does sound dire! I’m referring to the plot, of course. Was there violence?

Miss Partington: Fortunately, the only violence was after the Coldstream Guards and Bow Street runners ran into the loft where these miscreants were plotting that night’s intended rampage through the home of the Lord President of His Majesty’s Privy Council, Lord Harrowby. Indeed, they were intending to murder the entire King’s Cabinet before taking to the streets of London to storm the Bank of England and the Tower of London. They hoped to stir up revolution in our country, like in America and France only a few decades ago.

Susana: Good Lord! How was it possible that law enforcement was able to apprehend the plotters?

Miss Partington: Well, apparently, the Government knew what they were about and had planted spies in their organization. My Cousin, Stephen Cranbourne, works for the Foreign Office. I’m sure he’d have confided in me had I not been on rather… er… friendly terms with Lord Debenham who is rumored to be associated with the Spenceans. He’s not, of course. I made sure to burn the incriminating letter his cousin wrote before she drank poison. Aren’t the daffodils beautiful at this time of year? I’ve trimmed my bonnet with several bunches. Sir Aubrey does think them fetching. Yes, I’ve transferred my affections to Sir Aubrey as I think he’d be far easier to manage than dangerous Lord Debenham.

Susana: Yes, the daffodils are, indeed, beautiful. And I was so sorry to hear about Lord Debenham’s cousin. I believe she was Sir Aubrey’s late wife. But, back to politics, do tell me, when was the Spenceans’ plot brought to nought? My apologies for my ignorance, I’ve been in France for some time.

Miss Partington: On February 23, 1820, but of course, it’s not really news any more since the gossip sheets—and indeed, the newspapers—are having much more fun giving us all the thrilling details of George IV’s estranged wife Queen Caroline arriving from continental Europe, a few months afterwards, and attempting to take her place as Queen consort. Personally, I think someone with such atrocious dress sense doesn’t deserve to be queen, but, not everyone agrees with me—which I always find rather odd, really. Of course, the Prince Regent only agreed to marry Princess Caroline of Brunswick back at the end of the last century so his father would clear his debts. £630,000 pounds is rather a lot of money, though I imagine that if I owed such a sum, I might be induced to marry Lord Debenham above Sir Aubrey, despite his wicked reputation and the fact Lord Debenham would be so much more difficult to manage.

Susana: Yes, your half-sister, Miss Larissa Hazlett, has inferred the same.

Miss Partington: My half-sister? [Miss Partington rises.]Let me assure you, I do not have a half-sister. Any resemblance between that dreary governess and myself is entirely coincidental. Now, if you’ll excuse me… while it has been most pleasant, I must leave now for an appointment I’ve just remembered. Yes, it’s all part of a little plan I’m implementing to put that dreary governess right back in her box!

About The Mysterious Governess

Two beautiful sisters—one illegitimate, the other nobly born—compete for love amidst the scandal and intrigue of a Regency London Season.

Lissa Hazlett lives life in the shadows. The beautiful, illegitimate daughter of Viscount Partington earns her living as an overworked governess while her vain and spoiled half sister, Araminta, enjoys London’s social whirl as its most feted debutante.

When Lissa’s rare talent as a portraitist brings her unexpectedly into the bosom of society—and into the midst of a scandal involving Araminta and suspected English traitor Lord Debenham—she finds an unlikely ally: charming and besotted Ralph Tunley, Lord Debenham’s underpaid, enterprising secretary. Ralph can’t afford to leave the employ of the villainous viscount much less keep a wife but he can help Lissa cleverly navigate a perilous web of lies that will ensure everyone gets what they deserve.

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Excerpt

Although The Mysterious Governess is about Lissa, who is Araminta’s half-sister, the plot involves them equally. Lissa is hard-working and honourable, the antithesis of Araminta, as you will see below, in this short extract:

“Is everything all right, Miss? Were the fireworks grand? You’re back earlier than I’d ‘spected.” Jane, who was polishing the silver bottles on her mistress’s dressing table, looked up nervously as Araminta entered the room.

Without a word, Araminta brought one arm across the entire surface and sent powder bottles, perfume vials, hairbrushes and jewelry boxes crashing to the floor.

Then she threw herself onto her bed and burst into noisy tears.

“Oh, Miss, I take it things didn’t go to plan,” said Jane, going down on her knees to start to clean up the mess before changing her mind and putting a tentatively soothing hand upon Araminta’s back.

“No, they did not!” Araminta shrieked, beating her fists upon the counterpane.

“So, His Lordship didn’t ask you to marry him, then?”

“Yes he did!” Araminta rolled onto her back and glared at Jane. “He asked me to marry him and then said he had to go away on important business for two months! Two months! Where does that leave me? In an impossible situation, I don’t need to tell you. I might as well throw myself in the river, except the water’s far too cold and I’m hardly about to copy bacon-brained Edgar. There must be another way.”

“Poison?”

“I mean to get out of this mess, you stupid girl!” Araminta screamed. Feverishly, she began to bite her fingernails before realizing the damage she was doing to an important asset. “Oh, Jane, don’t look like you’re related to a mule. Come up with a plan, for dear Lord’s sake!”

About the Author

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. However, drowning her heroine on the last page was not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.

In 2009, Beverley published her first novel. Since then she has written more than thirteen sizzling historical romances, filled with mystery and intrigue, mostly set in England during the Georgian, Regency and Victoria eras.

Beverley lives near Melbourne opposite a picturesque nineteenth century insane asylum with the handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met in Botswana, their two beautiful daughters and a rambunctious Rhodesian Ridgeback the size of a pony.

Beverley also writes more psychological historicals, and Colonial-Africa- set romantic adventures, as Beverley Eikli.

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