Becca St. John: An Independent Miss

Depravity of the Novel, Oh My!

Becca St. John

What is so wrong with the 18^th century circulating library to provoke Jane Austen to pen, “Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but, on beholding it (for everything announced it to be from a circulating library), he started back, and begging pardon, protested that he never read novels.” (Pride and Prejudice)

Ye Gads! It’s not the Lending Library at fault, but The Novel! Worse, novels read by women and, dare I say (fist to mouth) romance novels! Moral panic descends.

“Women, of every age, of every condition, contract and retain a taste for novels […T]he depravity is universal. … the mistress of a family losing hours over a novel in the parlour.” (Sylph no. 5, October 6, 1796: 36-37)

How many hours have we all lost in the parlor on the sofa? Too many, in my case, and delightfully so. But is it really a feminine preoccupation? According to an article in The Huffington Post , women still read more novels than men. Which, my dear reader, makes sense if you look to the babe in swaddling.

Studies reaffirm what every mother, who has held a squirming baby boy, knows. Boys twist and stretch to see everything, fascinated by thingamabobs and motion. While their baby sisters focus on faces, captivated by each flitter of expression, intricate nuance of mood. Defined differences before anyone has a chance to teach them they’re different.

And thus, the male of the species are expected to understand the workings of the world, leaving the mystery of emotion to their counterparts. Sexist you say? Most certainly was back in 1760, when George Colman wrote about the notorious effects of reading novels:

” … a man might as well turn his Daughter loose in Covent-garden, as trust the cultivation of her mind to a CIRCULATING LIBRARY.” (Polly Honeycombe by George Colman)

We’ve come a long way baby, or have we?

Do you think women are, by nature, more prone to romance? Or are men just wary of being seen as fools? Leave your opinion in the comments below and be eligible to have a book and a character, in my next novel, dedicated to you. Warning ~ you never know which character that might be, lord, lady or villain.

Below are two characters, a romantic woman and a not-so-romantic man, from my latest novel, An Independent Miss.

About An Independent Miss

What’s love to do with anything?

Immersed in her herbal laboratory, Lady Felicity secretly yearns for a dashing, romantic love straight from a gothic novel. So when her brother’s houseguest, Lord Andover, presses her hands to his chest, and proposes, she is too stunned to take in his words of undying love. Words he surely spoke. Didn’t he? Oh, drat, she should have listened…

Victims of misguided and inept medical men, Lord Andover’s father and brothers are in their graves, his mother lost to the apothecary’s opium. Desperate to save his mother, give her a will to live, he sets three goals: marry a sweet, soothing young lady, produce an heir and free his homes of herbalists and quacks. In return, he offers all that he is, all that he owns, except his beleaguered heart.

Title, wealth, and good name are all a man need offer.

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Excerpt

Felicity picked at her dress, wide enough to accommodate hips decidedly wider than her waist. “These current styles don’t suit me.”

Caro threw up her hands. “That’s because you have a figure. Mother has always said some women look better undressed.”

“Undressed?”

Caro snickered, wickedly.

Felicity gave her a shove and moaned. “That doesn’t help. It only makes me more nervous.”

“Delicious. Felicity as a mortal, and a wet-behind-the-ears fledgling mortal at that.” Caro chuckled.

Too distracted to listen, Felicity merely agreed “Perhaps,” frowning as she realized what she had just said.

They stood quietly in the hallway.

“Is he proposing?”

Felicity’s head snapped up as she tamped down girlish notions. “No.” It was impossible, a foolish dream. “Of course not. He is committed to Lady Jane.” She shook her head as if words weren’t enough. “I’m sure of it.” She shook her head again, feeling a bit woozy. “No,” she repeated.

She’d assumed he sought her company because she was the only quiet one in a boisterous family and on this, his first step out of mourning, he would need peace. The Redmond household was not a gentle first step.

Caro was right, she just had to go in there and see what he wanted. It didn’t matter what she wore. No one would call her an incomparable, nor did he expect to see her as one. Hesitating in a doorway would not change that.

With a deep breath she stepped off a veritable cliff, into the room, her stomach roiling as self-assurance plummeted, her confident self swept away in the fall, revealing an unfamiliar shy, vulnerable girl she never thought to be.

“Lord Andover?”

He turned to her, fit and handsome in buff trousers and a superfine jacket a rich shade of cobalt. His neatly knotted cravat, secured with a sapphire pin, complemented the coat. A glint of sun highlighted the ebony dark of his hair, perfect foil to cerulean eyes. Not that she could see those eyes with the sun at his back. But she knew them.

“Lady Felicity.” He reached out both hands, naked of gloves, as were hers.

Did he mean for her to take them? To touch, flesh to flesh? So casually? Heat blossomed in her cheeks as she crossed the room, hands clutched at her waist, uncertain of his intention in reaching for her like that. Jarred by that uncertainty.

“Allow me this liberty.” He took her hands, eased them open, pressed them against his chest as he spoke in that deep, comforting voice of his. It poured over her, a warm waterfall of sound, as she stared, enthralled by the sight of her hands caught between the warmth of his body and the hardness of his palms.

A thrilling, foreign intimacy, the steady thump of his heart, the vibration of his baritone. A language of the senses.

Earthy heat radiated through his shirt, carried the scent of his cologne. She inhaled the spicy exotic fragrance and swallowed, afraid she might melt, right there, into a puddle at his feet. Grappling for security, she reminded herself she was a pragmatic, intelligent young lady, vastly more mature than most women her age and far beyond being carried away by bare skin. She knew the feel of flesh in a clinical, detached sort of way.

But not like this. Nothing like this.

Silence.

Startled, she looked up. He finished whatever he was saying, watched her with a small smile.

Oh Lord, she should have paid attention.

“Will you?” He finally asked again, for she was certain he had already asked her once. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

She blinked, stunned. “Me?”

His chuckle washed over her, as he freed one hand to brush a finger across her cheek. “Yes, you.”

She swallowed again, just to be certain she could, as she tried to reign in the tumult of thoughts his words provoked.

“Is this a prank?” She looked about for her brothers. Thomas for certain, possibly Edward, even Annabel, though a bit young, would be up to this sort of game. No one popped out from behind a settee. No suspicious lumps or toes peeked from where the curtains were gathered.

“A prank?” He bent enough to look in her eyes. “This is no jest. Your father and I have been discussing the details all week.”

And no one told her? As if she were some silly schoolgirl?

“You are not here to visit Thomas?”

Still clasped, Andover let their hands fall down between them, his thumb absently caressing her knuckles. It rippled through her into dark private places.

“I arrived for a small house party with no particular aim other than friendly amusement.” He looked out toward the window before returning to her gaze. “Then I found you. Did you not notice my attention?”

“You’ve been kind and polite.” And attentive.

She never dared presume it meant anything to him, other than friendly camaraderie. He was to marry Lady Jane Townsend. Lady Jane herself had assured the whole of Easton Academy for Young Women that one day she would be Lady Andover. With Caro still at Easton, surely they would have heard the high drama if those expectations failed to reach fruition.

Then again, there had been no mention of Lady Jane in the whole of Andover’s visit. Not even from Lord Upton, Andover’s closest friend and Lady Jane’s brother. He was visiting, as well, and one would expect him to say something if a betrothal was on the boards.

“Would you like time to think about it?” he offered, his smile replaced with a knotted brow.

No, she didn’t need time, not that she would tell him that. “You have taken me by surprise.”

Marriage. To Lord Andover.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord.

She fought for a serene smile while her insides rioted. He proposed to her, Felicity, not some vivacious other girl. Not to some terribly regal miss. He saw beyond her reticence, accepted her unfashionably educated mind, and chose her rather than a social bully like Lady Jane.

The flurry of excitement stalled. Lady Jane’s infamous temper was a very real obstacle. Felicity had been the brunt of it far too often to dismiss it easily.

“Have I surprised you in a bad way?”

“No, not at all. I’m just beyond words.”

“I see.”

Did he? This was no surprise to him, or to her father or to, well, how many others? Did everybody know, and if so, how could that be without her the least bit aware?

Yet here he stood, near enough she felt the starch of his shirt, smelled the intoxicating hint of cologne. As close as in her dreams.

Baldly, she burst out, “Are you quite certain?”

Relief billowed on his laugh, reigniting her excitement. “Yes, Lady Felicity. I am certain. What about you? Could you see to marrying this poor soul?”

Pour soul indeed. Lord Richard Henry Albert Carmichael, Marquis of Andover, Earl of Sutton, Viscount St. John. Good God—he was a Marquis, and a comfortably placed one at that.

Not that such things mattered. She would marry him if he were a poor parson’s son.

“Will you marry me?”

What mattered was the warmth in his eyes, the tilt of his chin when they chatted after dinner. The furrow of his brow during games of chess. The way he chuckled at her younger siblings, rather than rebuking them for their rudeness.

The way he guided her, however unknowingly, into normality. She was not a source for what ailed him, but a woman. A flesh and blood woman whose heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. Whose breath sighed at the touch of his hand.

She never dreamt this day possible. Collected the memories instead, little vignettes of his visit, their quiet talks, silent walks. Secret reminiscences to hold dear after he married Lady Jane.

“Lady Felicity?”

But it was possible, unless this moment was the dream.

Too dazed to utter a single word, she nodded and sighed, as he raised her hands to his lips.

“You will not be sorry, Lady Felicity, I promise you I will be a good husband.” His words whispered across her fingers, clear through to her toes, and then his lips pressed against the bare skin of her wrist.

You will not be sorry, but she would be, if his proposal lacked words of love. If that beat of his heart had not been for her. She did not want a marriage of convenience. She did not want to wed because they ‘suited one another.’ There were alternatives to marriage for her, alternatives that were not fashionable, but would please her, nonetheless.

She had her studies, after all. Could spend her life immersed in them. Make a living from them.

If she were to marry, she wanted a love to match the novels hidden under her bed. Novels her mother forbade. Wonderful, sensational stories of dramatic emotions, wrenching passion and love. Most important of all, love.

Andover could have promised all those things while she dumbly stared at their hands. She desperately needed to know if he had.

Oh Lord, she should have listened…

About the Author

Becca St. John ~ An Accidental Writer ~

Writing was a tool, not a toy, until a stay in a haunted hotel and creaking floors sent Becca to a bookcase full of dog-eared romances. The Candlelight Regency, Lord Stephen’s Lady, by Janette Radcliffe her first taste of the genre, Becca was hooked. She read old romances, new romances, both sexy and sweet, until her own tales begged to be written.

Living in Florida, Becca divides her time between dreaming up stories, diving deep into history, kayaking, and swimming. Her husband gives her the space she needs by fishing mangroves and waterways, or watching football (the English sort) with his British buddies. Becca and her hubby break the routine with adventure travel; though, at heart, Becca is a homebody believing there is no greater playground than inside the mind.

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Mariana Gabrielle: La Déesse Noire (Giveaway)

Jun3

A Hearty Welcome to Fellow Bluestocking Belle

Mariana Gabrielle

Susana: How long have you been writing?

Mariana: I’ve been a professional writer almost twenty-five years, writing fiction since 2009.

Susana: What advice would you give to writers just starting out?

Mariana: Write. Write some more. Keep writing.

Susana: Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?

Mariana: I tend not to get writer’s block, because I am well-used to switching among projects and formats and genres. On the rare occasions when I do, I typically switch to marketing work for a while.

Susana: What comes first: the plot or the characters?

Mariana: Characters, with plot not far behind. The first draft is almost always the characters filling me in on the story, before I fictionalize [what they think are] their nonfiction accounts.

Susana: Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Mariana: Panster. Full stop. Even in nonfiction, I almost never start with a plan, and if I do, it gets tossed out the window very early. The work evolves.

Susana: Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

Mariana: There are two heroes, three villains, and two sidekicks in this short novel. I am told I managed to pull it off.

Susana: Are you working on something at present that you would like to tell us about?

Mariana: I am working on a series of three prequel novellas connected to my first novel, Royal Regard, the first of which will appear in the Bluestocking Belles’ holiday box set. In ‘Tis Her Season, Charlotte and Alexander start their life together; in Shipmate, readers will learn how Bella ended up with her first husband; and in the unnamed third book, Bella’s brother, John, meets his wife, Rose.

Susana: What did you want to be when you grew up?

Mariana: I wanted to be a musical theatre star.

Susana: What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?

Mariana: I am not—in the least—a romantic (not even a little bit).

Susana: What would we find under your bed?

Mariana: Dust. (Cats, if there are other people in the house.)

Susana: Do you write in multiple genres or just one? If just one, would you consider straying outside your genre?

Mariana: Thus far, I have only published Regency romance, but next year, I will release Blind Tribute, a mainstream historical about a Civil War newspaper reporter with divided loyalties. I am currently working in non-fiction on a marketing book, and I have already released a book-length epic poem about the Mayan underworld. As far as fiction, though, I don’t foresee straying from some form of historical.

Susana: What is something you’d like to accomplish in your writing career next year?

Mariana: I’d like to release all three Royal Regard prequel novellas, and I would like Blind Tribute to be on the verge of publication by this time next year. I wouldn’t mind having a good start on Book One of my Regency family series.

Susana: When was the moment that you knew you had to be a writer

Mariana: During the same week, in my third year of college (the first time around), I was offered an internship at the Denver Post, and was also approached by the Music Department chair to try for an audition at the National Musical Theater Conservatory. I decided writing was a more stable career path. Largely, I was correct.

Susana: Describe the “perfect hero.” What about the “perfect hero” for you?

Mariana: I am the perfect hero (and heroine) for me.

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About La Déesse Noire

Sired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.

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Excerpt

Mayuri had done her no favors, preparing her for the worst. Fitz had no reason to be gentle, she had been warned, no cause to concern himself with her wishes, desires, or fears. No matter how handsome, how charming, how solicitous in the drawing room, Mayuri had said, there was every possibility he would be driven entirely by his own lust, disregarding even the most basic courtesies. And no matter what he did, Kali was to pretend she had never been more excited by anything in her life.

She turned away to stare into the corner of the garish red-and-gold room, wishing it felt less like a cheap brothel, fingers tripping over the buttons of her dress, trying to speed things up to be finished that much faster.

She couldn’t help glancing at the bed, with a frame as large as a farm wagon. Piles of pillows in shades of rose, bed curtains of garish silk velvet, and a red satin eiderdown quilt nearly as thick as the feather-filled mattress. As comfortable as it all must be, she glared like it concealed a hungry crocodile.

He tugged the shirttail from his waistband and unbuttoned it over his broad chest, then came to her and held her hands motionless, kissing her fingertips.

“I will not hurt you, my sweet, I promise. No more than a pinprick, as with any woman’s first time. Mayuri explained?”

She nodded again, trying to bring her voice back under her own control. “Yes, my lord.” She’d known exactly what to expect for at least ten years.

“My name is Fitz,” he said, recalling her attention to his face, “not ‘my lord.’ I cannot bear such formality from you, Kali. Can you indulge me?”

“Yes, Si—Fitz.”

“Much better,” he said, kissing her cheek, then her earlobe, murmuring, “Now then, I prefer a woman who would invite me to her bed for the enjoyment, so I plan to ensure it. May I bring you pleasure, sweeting? Will you allow it?”

She had no right to deny him anything he wanted in bed, nor anywhere else, truth be told, and she probably knew more than he—theoretically—about the pleasures of the flesh. That he was asking her agreement and treating her as an innocent predisposed her to look past her fear.

“It is my fondest desire to please you in all things, my lor…” She trailed off when she saw his frustration at the pat response. She struggled to salvage the moment, but had no untutored words. She tried to explain this inadequacy with her eyes as she offered, grasping his hands more tightly, “Perhaps I might dance? Or indulge your… more exotic pleasures.”

She had been trained to expect anything and to use every part of her body, her mind, her wardrobe, and myriad implements to enhance any sexual act he chose. She had been told of every possibility before she was fourteen, then experienced all but the final act of coition at the hands of another, older tawaif, or the castrati who staffed Mayuri’s house of male delights.

She had not been trained in how to explain she was frightened, that she couldn’t remember how to put either of them at ease, that she was afraid of what he might ask if he kept her, but petrified he would find her wanting and send her away. It would be much simpler if he threw her across the bed and took his pleasure like a rutting dog. If, in the morning, she could remain indifferent.

About the Author

Mariana Gabrielle is a pseudonym of Mari Christie, a professional writer, editor, and designer with almost twenty-five years’ experience. Published in dozens of nonfiction and poetry periodicals since 1989, she began writing mainstream historical fiction in 2009 and Regency romance in 2013. In all genres, she creates deeply scarred characters in uncommon circumstances who overcome self-imposed barriers to reach their full potential. She is a member of the Bluestocking Belles, the Writing Wenches, and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. Her first Regency romance, Royal Regard, was released in November 2014.

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Ella Quinn: A Kiss For Lady Mary

May27

About A Kiss For Lady Mary

Ella Quinn’s bachelors do as they like and take what they want. But when the objects of their desire are bold, beautiful women, the rules of the game always seem to change…

Handsome, charming, and heir to a powerful Viscount, Christopher “Kit” Featherton is everything a woman could want—except interested in marriage. So when he hears that someone on his estate near the Scottish border is claiming to be his wife, Kit sets off to investigate.

Since her parents’ death, Lady Mary Tolliver has been hounded by her cousin, a fortune-hunting fool after her inheritance. Refusing to settle for anything less than love, Mary escapes to the isolated estate of rakish bachelor, Kit Featherton. Knowing he prefers Court to the country, she believes she will be safe. But when Kit unexpectedly returns, her pretend marriage begins to feel seductively real…

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Excerpt

He strode north on St. James Street, then turned right onto Jermyn Street. His building was in the center of the block. Taking the stairs two at a time he bellowed, “Piggott, get packed, we’re leaving.”

Wiping his hands on a cloth, Piggott stepped from Kit’s bedchamber into the main room. “For how long, where are we going, and when do we depart?”

“About three weeks, if not more. Northumberland. It’s going to take a week to get there. You will leave as soon as you’ve packed my father’s traveling coach. I must stop by Dunwood House first. I’ll find you on the road. I’m taking the curricle.”

Piggott’s jaw dropped. “All that way, sir?”

“Damned if I’ll be cooped up in a coach for a week. No one would be able to bear me, not even myself.”

“May I inquire as to the rush?”

“I’ll tell you later. Right now I must cry off from all my engagements. Pack me a bag with what I’ll need if we get separated, including my buckskin breeches. No need to wear Town togs while traveling.”

Sitting at his writing table, Kit removed his gloves. Well, at least this got him out of Town and bride hunting. Guilt attempted to take hold, and he shook it off. Who the devil would have the unmitigated presumptuousness to pose as his wife? Despite supposedly being a lady, though one would have to be awfully talented to fool Lady Bellamny, the woman would have to be a bold piece. The sooner he got on his way, the faster he’d have the answers to his questions. Perhaps he’d run down Lady B and try to pry more information out of her. On second thought, that would involve her more than he wished. She was trying enough. He certainly did not want her meddling in his affairs, and he’d run the risk of meeting the young lady residing with her.

He wanted to punch something or someone. It was a shame he did not have the time to go to Jackson’s. He could not believe a lady was masquerading as his wife—only an experienced charlatan would be able to pull off a deception like that. Not to mention that no lady would demean herself so, and take such a risk with her reputation. Whoever she was, she wouldn’t be there for much longer.

About the Author

Bestselling author Ella Quinn’s studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She has just finished her first series, The Marriage Game, and her new series will start in April 2016.

She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and granddaughter, one cat and a dog. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat cruising the Caribbean and North America.

Ella is a member of the Romance Writers of America, The Beau Monde and Hearts Through History. She is represented by Elizabeth Pomada of Larsen-Pomada Literary Agency, and published by Kensington.

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Regan Walker: To Tame the Wind

May20

The Coaching Inn—Tonbridge

Around the end of the Georgian period (1714 to 1830), the population of Tonbridge in Kent in Southeast England numbered about two thousand. It was a main stop for stagecoaches travelling from London to Hastings and Rye and was used as a staging post for the mail coaches, where horses could be changed and passengers provided with food.

Stage coach

The coaches the travelers rode in during the early eighteenth century were heavy, lumbering vehicles devoid of springs. They were generally covered with dull black leather, studded with nails and the frames and wheels picked out with red. The windows were covered with boards or sometimes with leather curtains. Pastor Moritz, who came to England in 1782, found a coach of this description still upon the roads, and having a taste for fresh air and sunshine he complained of a fellow traveller, a farmer “who seemed anxious to shun the light and so shut up every window he could come at.” It was not the light to which the farmer objected—no one in England minded light—but they did object to the air that came through the window. This was considered prejudicial to health.

Mail coach, London to Birmingham, 18th century

Though the carriage or coach ride had to be jarring, the countryside in Essex would have been beautiful.

Countryside in Sussex

In To Tame the Wind, set in 1782, the hero and heroine flee London (and her French pirate father) for Rye via carriage, which is how the upper classes most frequently traveled (though some Englishmen might prefer to travel on horseback). It would take them two days from London with an overnight in Tonbridge.

The roads were very rough and they would be jostled around in what was essentially a padded box. In Sussex the roads were often impassable in winter. Fortunately, my hero and heroine traveled in summer.

Once they arrived in Tonbridge, they stayed at the Rose and Crown, a coaching inn open for business then and still serving travelers today. Located on High Street, it is just down from the Ivy Public House.

Rose & Crown, Tonbridge

The original Rose and Crown inn was a Tudor house built in the 16th century. The front and porch display alterations made some two centuries later. Thus, as my hero and heroine saw it, the inn was a fine timber-framed building with an impressive brick façade. According to its current owner, it still features “many oak beams and Jacobean panels” inside.

At the sign of the Rose and Crown, one could find a comfortable bed and a hot meal. It was known in the Stuart Court, to Roundheads and Cavaliers, to the diary writers John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys and to all the travellers who passed on their way to Rye, Hastings or “the Wells” in the wasteland to the south.

While a traveller had his choice of inns, he had to choose carefully. There were the grand establishments, the posting houses, such as the Rose and Crown, which entertained the quality who posted in their own carriages. Such inns might accommodate a riding gentleman if his servants accompanied him. Some of these inns accepted passengers from the mail-coach, some did not; but they would not to take in passengers from a common stage. Those people had to go to the inns that catered to them.

Even in good inns it was not unusual for strangers to share rooms or even beds, as my hero, Captain Powell tells the heroine. This was regarded in much the same way as the sharing of a ship’s cabin in later times.

On the whole, English coaching inns were good. Arthur Young, who had travelled through the length and breadth of England, described them as “neat inns, well-dressed and clean people keeping them, good furniture and refreshing civility.

About To Tame the Wind

Paris 1782…AN INNOCENT IS TAKEN

All Claire Donet knew was the world inside the convent walls in Saint-Denis. She had no idea her beloved papa was a pirate. But when he seized Simon Powell’s schooner, the English privateer decided to take the one thing his enemy held most dear… her.

A BATTLE IS JOINED

The waters between France and England roil with the clashes of Claire’s father and her captor as the last year of the American Revolution rages on the sea, spies lurk in Paris and Claire’s passion for the English captain rises.

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About the Author

Bestselling author Regan Walker loved to write stories as a child, particularly those about adventure-loving girls, but by the time she got to college more serious pursuits were encouraged. One of her professors suggested a career in law, and she took that path. Years of serving clients in private practice and several stints in high levels of government gave her a love of international travel and a feel for the demands of the “Crown.” Hence her romance novels often involve a demanding sovereign who taps his subjects for “special assignments.” Each of her novels features real history and real historic figures. And, of course, adventure and love.

Regan lives in San Diego with her golden retriever, Link, who she says inspires her every day to relax and smell the roses.

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Alicia Quigley: Lady Morgan’s Revenge: Letitia’s Naughty Novella

May13

Experimenting With Books: How Do We Get It “Just Right?”

by Alicia Quigley

Thank you for giving me a chance to be a guest blogger at Susana’s Parlour again!

Today I want to talk a bit about experimenting with our work, and how that is a big part of where I am in my writing. I started writing Regency romances almost twenty years ago, but it was just so hard in those days to get published that although I had a few houses take a second look, I never got a book contracted. So, when I decided that the indie author route was interesting, I had quite a few manuscripts to work with. But, they were kind of dated. They needed some rework, and one of the questions I had was whether I wanted to do sweet traditionals, or handle sex in the more modern “pull up a chair next to the bed and get some popcorn” kind of way. In the end, the answer was “both” as I mentioned in my previous guest post.

What I’ve learned from that experiment so far is that the plot and the characters seem to dictate which stories will sell best in which format. So, in the Bluestocking series, which begins with The Secret Bluestocking (Traditional) and A Lady of Passion (After Dark), and continues with The Yuletide Countess (Traditional, no After Dark version) and most recently An Honest Deception (Traditional)/An Indecent Charade (After Dark) the sweet traditional version of the book has outsold the more modern one. These stories are all driven by the heroine, and her need for independence as well as love and the financial security that marriage was the only real provider of for women in the early 19^th century. However, A Collector’s Item (After Dark) far outsold That Infamous Pearl (Traditional) in the first book of the Arlingbys series, which will all include a little suspense or intrigue as well as romance. As a result, there will probably not be a Traditional version of the second book, The Contraband Courtship, which I expect to release in the first half of June. It seems that romantic intrigue/suspense is a lot more interesting to readers when the sexual tension is overt.

Right now, I’m interested in whether there is a “just right” length for a romance as well. In December, I released my first novella, The Yuletide Countess, which was the #1 Historical Fiction book on Amazon in the US and UK for about a week, and a top seller for most of December and January. I wonder if this was related to the length, or just enthusiasm for Christmas-themed books. It definitely seems that shorter format works are growing more and more popular, especially in e-books. This makes sense for a lot of reasons – costs to produce and publish aren’t affected by length in e-books, and readers may find novellas more user-friendly if they are taking their e-reader on a road trip or just want something quick and easy to read on the airplane. They can also be priced well, which gets them a lot of promotion on sites that feature low cost books.

We received some feedback that An Indecent Charade was too long and slow, and that the troubles the heroine’s deceased husband and living male relatives cause her in the story detracted from the love element with the hero. So, as an experiment, we decided to do a third treatment of this book, which is titled Lady Morgan’s Revenge and we are subtitling it Letitia’s Naughty Novella because who doesn’t love alliteration? and some sex scenes that were “left on the cutting room floor” as being perhaps a bit too spicy for Letty’s character, have been included in this one. It comes in at a slim 47,000 words instead of 82,000, like the original book, so it is also an experiment in the shorter format.

We made these decisions after considering what readers said, and thinking that a stronger, more independent, take-charge Letitia might have greater appeal for our After Dark audience. So, we focused entirely on the hero/heroine relationship, as well as putting the “extra spicy” back in the text. We want to make an offer, by the way to any readers of this post who have purchased An Honest Deception or An Indecent Charade, and don’t feel they should have to buy the novella as well in order to enjoy the limited new content: email us at aheyerlove@gmail.com and we will send you a free copy of Lady Morgan’s Revenge.

Traditional publishers are finding that their business model, which doesn’t always serve authors or readers that well, but does seem to serve highly paid editors and executives with lovely offices in expensive cities very nicely, is being disrupted. Indie and small press authors are inventing a new business model, and I am all in favor of using the speed and lack of friction in e-book platforms to understand better what readers enjoy, what suits the amount of time they have in their lives to devote to books and to experiment with providing them those things.

To that end, I invite your readers (and their friends) to take the following survey. Their answers will be very valuable in helping me plot out (no pun intended) the course of my books for this year and beyond. As a thank you for participating, I’ll be randomly selecting five (5) survey takers and sending them a free copy of The Contraband Courtship when it launches in June. Thank you in advance and have a lovely summer!

Click here for the survey!

About Lady Morgan’s Revenge: Letitia’s Naughty Novella

Author’s Note: This version of the story is a “modified” version of An Indecent Charade. You spoke, we listened: you said that An Indecent Charade was too long and that Letty’s interfering male relatives bogged down the story. We agree! We want to present you with Lady Morgan’s Revenge: Letitia’s Naughty Novella, in which the bumbling idiot relatives have been removed, the hot sex scenes kept (one even extended!) and the inclusion of a very hot scene that was left on the cutting-room floor.

If you want the Traditional, no sex version, please see An Honest Deception: Letitia’s Traditional Regency Romance.

Will passion purge her long-suffering heart of the sorrow from her previous marriage?

After the death of her wastrel husband, Alfred, Lady Letitia Morgan wants nothing more than to settle into the peaceful life of a widow. Her limited finances are enough to provide Letty and her two children that simple life.

Phillip Masham, Marquess of Eynsford and long-time friend of Francis, Lord Exencour, finds himself very much interested in Letty. Unfortunately for him, Letty’s opinion of men of the ton was quite soured by the late Baron Morgan. Not one to give up, the creative marquess becomes Mr. Phillip Markham, a solicitor in the Inner Temple, in hopes that Letty will get to know him for who his is, beyond his title. Letty and Phillip embark upon an affair that may deepen into love, but will it survive the truth?

More importantly, will Letty’s revenge for Phillip’s deception satisfy her and open her heart to happily ever after?

Find out in the latest by Alicia Quigley, chart-topping author of The Yuletide Countess and The Secret Bluestocking.

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Excerpt

Letty turned away, tears welling up in her eyes. “I have tried to tell you that I am too recently widowed, and that Alfred’s behavior and your deception make it impossible for me to know my true feelings toward you, but you will not listen to me!” she cried. “These past moments are the some of the first we have spent together since I became aware of the truth, and – and – and this what happened! I know no more about you than I did an hour ago, but I have learned I cannot trust myself near you. If you cannot wait for me, perhaps I am better off without you.”

“This happens” Phillip growled, “Because we love each other, even though you will not admit it.”

Letty gazed speculatively at Phillip. “So, you think I should simply forgive you for your deception,” she snapped.

He faced her squarely. “Yes, I do. I acknowledge my faults in pursuing your acquaintance before you were ready, and lying to you about my name and occupation, but I am in earnest when I say I love you and want your forgiveness.”

“What if I am not in the mood to just let bygones be bygones?” she asked, arching a brow at him enquiringly.

“Take some revenge on me then,” he exclaimed. “I hurt and disappointed you; what would make you in turn feel that the score is settled between us?”

Letitia pondered his words. Her body still felt a lingering arousal from the lovemaking they had shared, and a pulse beat in her breasts and between her legs, a drumbeat reminding her of the desire his caresses always provoked in her. There was no denying that she missed Phillip’s company in bed as much as his conversation, and that she wished for a permanent break from their relationship as little as he professed to. So what might effectively banish the specter of his betrayal?

“What punishment would fit your crime?” she wondered aloud. Phillip eyed her from under his lashes. How daring might his delightful Letitia be, he wondered. As memories of her enthusiasm during their trysts ran through his thoughts, it occurred to him that she might be quite inventive, if given enough encouragement.

“I have gravely insulted you, Lady Morgan,” he responded. “You may need to discipline me rather, ah, severely.”

Letty looked somewhat surprised as he answered her, but she noted a bit of smirk on his handsome face, and a sudden recollection of her cousin’s complaints about discipline at his boarding school arose in her mind. “Indeed I may,” she answered coolly, allowing herself to look him slowly up and down, with a considering gaze.

Her insolent inspection sent a frisson of arousal through Phillip, and he felt himself begin to harden again as he waited, silent and impassive, for her to speak. Letty, who had noted his excitement, allowed her eyes to linger on his crotch just long enough to make him even more uncomfortable, before looking up at him.

“Very well,” she said imperiously. “You may present yourself at my house for your punishment in the afternoon, two days hence. Do not attempt to contact me before we meet.” She turned her back on him and walked out of the little passage, closing the door behind her. Phillip stood looking after her, astonished at the way their conversation had ended.

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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Lauren Smith: The Duelist’s Seduction

May6

The Duelist’s Seduction Playlist

Have you ever heard a song that just fills your mind with images? That’s how music is for me. I can be standing in a crowded mall and hear the faint strains of a song and it just captures me. I see things, scenes, characters, stories not yet told, as they unfurl like brightly colored flags in my mind.

Music is true inspiration. For every song you can dream up a thousand stories. Music enchants us, spellbinds us, weaves emotions and tones into a beautiful symphony that leaves us bewitched. Because this connection for me and music is so incredibly powerful, I make sure to create a playlist for every story I write. Some characters have their own theme music, some scenes have a particular song, or the hero and heroine together have a song or songs that help me channel the emotions and the plot points of the story. In other words, music is magic for a writer like me.

When I set out to write my Regency romance novella The Duelist’s Seduction, I knew I’d need a special blend of songs because the hero, Gareth is dark and brooding, and the heroine, Helen is young and innocent, but full of love and hope.

So dear readers, settle back in your favorite armchair, with a cup of hot chocolate, your e-reader and your mp3 player and settle in for a great playlist!

The List:

Bad Company by Bad Company
Don’t Deserve You by Plumb
Elements (Orchestral Version) by Lindsey Stirling
Dead in the Water by Ellie Goulding
You Can Go Your Own Way by Lissie
Feel Me by Mecca Kalani
New York by Snow Patrol
Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

Hope you all enjoyed the songs and get a chance to check out my novella, The Duelist’s Seduction, the first in the sexy Seduction series!

About The Duelist’s Seduction

Helen Banks is going to die. When her twin brother gambles away their fortune, she must save his life and take his place in a duel to satisfy the honor of a man her brother couldn’t pay. Disguised as her brother, Helen faces the one man she’s admired from afar, a widower with a dark past and eyes that scorch her very soul.

Since Gareth Fairfax lost his wife, the darkness in his heart continues to grow. Lashing out at anyone who opposes him, Gareth is stunned to face a lovely young woman opposite his dueling pistol. After discovering Helen’s deception, he offers her a choice: become his mistress or her brother dies.

Their devil’s bargain turns into a slow, sweet, intoxicating seduction. With each passing hour, Helen uncovers Gareth’s secret heartbreak and yet she can’t help but fall for the man who has ruined her. With Helen in his arms, Gareth wonders if he might yet be saved. All it takes is one passionate embrace, a kiss from the depths of his soul and a night of wild abandon.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

The predawn sky shone brightly with flickering stars as Helen Banks readied herself for the duel. Her hair was coiled and pinned tightly against her head, concealing its thick mass and giving her a boyish look—a disguise she prayed would last. Checking the black mask covering her face, she resumed walking. She took a deep, steadying breath as she adjusted her breeches and the black coat she’d pinched from her brother’s wardrobe.

The open field near the spa city of Bath was quiet. Two coaches waited in the distance along the roadside, and ahead of her, two men waited, watching her approach. Not even a breeze dared rustle the knee-high grass as Helen walked up to her enemy and his second. Both men also wore masks to conceal their identities should someone witness the illegal duel. The paling skies played with the retreating shadows of night, lending a melancholy air to the moment she stopped inches from the men.

“You are late, Mr. Banks,” the taller of the two men announced coldly.

With his broad shoulders and muscular body, Gareth Fairfax cut an imposing figure. He seemed perpetually tense, as though ready to strike out at anyone who might offend him. Dark hair framed his chiseled features, and the eyes that glowered from between the spaces of his mask were a fathomless blue. They were the sort of eyes a woman lost herself in, like gazing into a dark pool of water that seemed to sink endlessly, drawing her in until she can’t find her way back to the surface. She recognized the sensual, full lips, now thinned by anger, and the gleam of his eyes on her. She was never more thankful that the early morning’s pale light did not expose her as being a woman.

If he ever discovered she was a woman, he would be appalled and furious. Especially given that she was only dueling him to save her brother’s life.

She briefly studied her opponent’s second. He was just as tall, his features nearly as striking as Gareth’s.

Helen choked down a shaky breath. “I was waylaid.” She prayed her voice sounded gruff and masculine.

Gareth’s eyes were dark orbs, burning with thinly controlled anger. He shifted restlessly on his feet, his imposing form momentarily revealed by the dark blue coat that contoured to his shape.

“Is this your second?” His growl sent shivers down her spine as his glaze flicked to the squat man in his mid-thirties standing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, widening her eyes in silent encouragement for her second to come closer.

“I am,” Mr. Rodney Bennett replied and bowed.

“Mr. Banks, I am Mr. Ambrose Worthing,” Gareth’s second announced politely.

Well, finally someone was acting like a gentleman. “Mr. Worthing,” Helen said, making sure to keep her voice low. “Allow me to introduce my second, Mr. Rodney Bennett.”

Bennett passed by Helen, and he and Worthing shook hands. Bennett offered the pistols to Worthing for inspection. Since Gareth and Worthing had not brought the weapons, that duty fell to her as the challenged party. As the two men drew apart from her and Gareth, she tried not to stare at him. He was impossibly handsome, in that dark, mysterious sort of way that a woman simply couldn’t ignore. Like gazing upon a visage of an angry god, all fire and might, ready to burn her to ash with passion.

Her opponent glowered at her. “I suppose I should trust that you’ve not tampered with my pistol?”

His icy tone made her bristle with indignation. “You have my word it shoots fair,” Helen snapped. The nerve of the man to accuse her of cheating!

“Your word? We would not be here if I could trust your word. A man who does not honor his debts may not find it necessary to honor the rules of a duel,” Gareth retorted.

She wanted to scream. Her fists clenched at her sides. Her nails dug painfully into her palms as she struggled to calm down. She wanted to throttle her brother, whose rash and inconsiderate behavior had gotten her into this mess.

“Easy, Fairfax. Both pistols appear to be in working order,” Worthing announced as he and Bennett rejoined them.

Helen breathed a sigh of relief as Bennett resumed his position behind her. She’d paid him the last bit of money she’d had for him to appear as her second. She didn’t really know the man, having only met him briefly when she’d had to drag her brother away from the card tables a few nights ago. When she first approached Bennett with her plan, he had tried to talk her out of it, but when she offered money, he couldn’t refuse and had agreed to help her take her brother’s place in the duel. Even though he was a gentleman, the gambler inside him craved any bit of money he could get his hands on to return to the tables. She was lucky he hadn’t gambled away his pair of pistols, or else she would have been completely humiliated to turn up at a duel without weapons.

“Now,” Mr. Worthing said, “before we settle this, is it possible that you and Mr. Banks can reconcile the dispute?”

Helen started to nod, wanting desperately to find a way to settle the problem without bloodshed, but Gareth spoke up, stilling the bobbing of her head.

“Mr. Banks has run up a debt to me of over a thousand pounds. He has not been able to pay it back to me over the last three months. Furthermore, he created an additional liability of five hundred pounds last evening when he played with money he did not have.”

Helen swallowed hard, a painful lump in her throat choking her. Martin, you damned fool…

“Why did you accept his vouchers then?” Rodney spoke up. “I saw you agree to play with him. You didn’t have to.”

“Banks had money on him. I assumed he’d replenished his funds and would settle his debts to me.” Gareth shot a withering look in Helen’s direction. “Shooting him will be a bonus.”

A man who would now take her life as payment for a debt she didn’t owe. But what else could she do? She couldn’t let Martin die. A man had options to survive, a woman did not, at least not one that wouldn’t make her despise herself for the rest of her life.

Her memory of the previous night was tinged with fury and disappointment in Martin. Her heart had plummeted into the pit of her stomach when she’d retired for the evening and found his room empty. All of her hopes were dashed the moment she’d learned he’d gone back to the gambling tables.

She’d hidden in the shadows outside the gambling hell, trying not to be seen by anyone passing by. The smell of alcohol stung her nose, and the raucous laughter echoing from the entrance sent chills of trepidation down her spine. It would ruin her completely if she were witnessed outside such an establishment. Bennett had promised to bring Martin out to her, but when Martin emerged, he was being roughly hauled out by a dark-haired gentleman, a man she recognized, a man she’d admired for the last few months from afar.

About the Author

Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets—a feisty chinchilla, sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including being an Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.

Check her out at http://www.laurensmithbooks.com. You can sign up for her newsletter at her website, follow her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/LaurenDianaSmith and on Twitter at @LSmithAuthor. Her blog is http://theleagueofrogues.blogspot.com.

Collette Cameron: Wagers Gone Awry (Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper, Book 1)

Apr29

Interview with Heath, Earl of Ravensdale

Wagers Gone Awry

Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper, Book 1

Susana: Tell us about yourself, please.

Heath gives a brief bow. “Thank you for your kind invitation to visit with you at Susana’s Parlour. That’s a lovely blue gown you’re wearing. It reminds me of Brooke’s eyes.”

He settles into an armchair.

“Always a bit awkward, talking about oneself, especially when one has been born into a life of privilege but cannot boast ancestors one is proud of. I don’t suppose you’d be happy with I loathe kidney pie and flowers make me sneeze?”

“Hmph, I thought not.” He crosses his legs and drums his fingers on the chair’s arm.

“I’m the eighth Earl of Ravensdale and have had to leave the comforts of London to travel to a remote dairy farm I won in a wager. Well, at least I thought I won the blasted thing, but it seems I only won a portion of the place.”

He leans forward a bit.

“Have you any idea how smelly a dairy is? And the flies…hoards of the pesky things.” He flicks his hand toward the window. “And this farm is run by a troupe of sassy women. Beautiful women, I might add.”

Susana: So, what do you want to do about it?

Heath chuckles.

“Ah, that’s an age-old question. What do I want? To sell that farm, but if I do, I’ll render the Culpepper misses, not to mention their staff and pets, homeless. Makes me rather a cur, doesn’t it?”

His gaze drops to his lap.

“No, what I really want is Brooke Culpepper, but she cannot abide me, and I doubt an offer of marriage would tempt her. Besides, the Ravensdales up to now, haven’t exactly exemplified fidelity or marital bliss, so I plan on enjoying a few more years of freedom before buckling under the responsibilities of the earldom and acquiring a wife and producing an heir.”

Susana: Ah, so you have a bit of a conundrum yourself, don’t you?

“In a nutshell, yes. As I mentioned before, I need to sell that parcel of green hell so that I can return to London’s civilization.

Heath shakes his head then winces. “And, after Brooke’s over-zealous servant took it upon himself to crack me on my head, I’m under doctor’s orders not to travel until I’ve recovered fully.”

He winks. “He doesn’t know I’m here today. Trust me, having Brooke under the same roof is causing me much more discomfort than my aching head is.”

Susana: You’ve been born into a position of power and privilege. Still, are there any areas of self-doubt or areas you are skilled at?

“Do you know a man or woman alive that doesn’t have some degree of self-doubt?”

Heath gazes into space for a long moment. A small smile quirks his mouth before he shrugs.

“I can barely read, and it’s a secret I’ve kept close to my chest since my youth. I trust you’ll not bandy it about indiscreetly. I also have a terrible sweet tooth. The Culpeppers make the most delicious shortbread biscuits.”

He grins then and taps his temple with his forefinger.

“As for skills, I have quite a memory for numbers, and can recall every card dealt in a game.”

Susana: You’ve shared your self-doubts, but what it is you fear most?

“I fear I’ve lost Brooke because of the wager between us.”

He glances up, his expression troubled.

“She lost, you know, and she should have won. Would have won if outside forces hadn’t interfered.”

He uncrosses his legs and sighs.

“I’m also afraid I’m stuck with this farm, and I detest country life.”

Heath makes a small gesture with his hand. “It’s a childhood thing, the story much too long and boring to tell.”

Susana: Does your story have a happy ending?

Heath grins. “Oh, it has a happy ending, though my author manipulated me mightily. Authors seem to enjoy doing that, pushing us characters around and torturing us a bit.”

His grin slips.

“I did end up keeping the confounded dairy farm, and obtained guardianship of the younger Culpeppers. I’m going to have my hands full with that lot. Speaking of which, I need to discover what mischief they’ve gotten themselves into in my absence.”

Heath stands and bows. “I thank you for having me as your guest. I’d be honored to return anytime.”

About Wagers Gone Awry

Brooke Culpepper resigned herself to spinsterhood when she turned down the only marriage proposal she’d likely ever receive to care for her family. After her father dies, a distant cousin inherits the estate and becomes their guardian but permits Brooke to act in his stead.

Heath, Earl of Ravensdale is none-too-pleased to discover five young women call the dairy farm he won and intends to sell, their home. Desperate, pauper poor, and with nowhere to go, Brooke proposes a wager. His stakes? The farm. Hers? Her virtue. The land holds no interest for Heath, but Brooke does and he accepts her challenge.

Brooke loses, and her devastation is compounded when the cousin arrives, intending to haul the Culpepper misses off to London. Heath astounds himself and proposes in order to apply for guardianship of the other girls. Does Brooke dare marry the handsome stranger who’d been bent on compromising her? Will Heath regret his impulsive gesture, or will unexpected love flourish?

Win a $25.00 gift card or one of two autographed copies of Wagers Gone Awry.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ffec6dd36/

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Excerpt

“Here are my terms, my lord, and they are not negotiable.” She shut her eyes for a second before snapping them open. She launched her battle plan. “Should I lose, I will accompany you to London as your mistress, but you will allow everyone else to remain here, including the servants. You will bestow generous marriage settlements on the four girls, and arrange for sponsors for their come outs as well as permit Esherton to retain the proceeds from the dairy and farm.”

Heath folded his arms. Came up with that too damn quick for his liking. “Is that all?”

“No.” She scowled and pushed her wayward hair behind her ear again. “Mabry will carry on as overseer, and you will permit me to hire a respectable woman of quality to act as a companion to my sister and cousins, both here and when they are in London. An annual allowance to further the estate’s recovery wouldn’t be amiss either.”

She paused, appearing deep in thought, her brows drawn together. “Oh, and I shall be permitted at least two extended visits to Esherton Green annually.”

Heath should have suspected Brooke wouldn’t acquiesce without a skirmish. He didn’t half mind her terms except keeping the blasted farm stipulation. But if he didn’t have to manage the place, he would concede the point.

“And if you win?” He braced himself for her demands.

Your ballocks fried to a crisp.

“If I win the wager, you sign over to me, free and clear, the lands you won from Sheridan.”

That’s all she wanted? No bulging purse, new wardrobe, household furnishings … or the hundred other things she and the others lacked?

She extended her hand. “Agreed?”

Heath clasped her roughened palm. It fit neatly within his grasp, as if it had been molded to nestle there. “Yes, the instant you win.”

He wouldn’t allow her the victory. They had yet to decide on what game to play, but it mattered not. He didn’t lose at the tables. He might not be able to read worth a damn, but he remembered every playing card dealt.

Across the expanse of deep green, three figures separated from the house and moved toward the barns. Leventhorpe and two of the other Culpepper misses. At this distance, which two he couldn’t discern. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Excuse me?” Her back to the house, Brooke squinted up at him from where she squatted beside the dog, now lying with is feet in the air, eyes closed, enjoying a tummy rub.

“My pleasure?” She almost choked on the words. “Awfully confident you’ll be the vanquisher, aren’t you? Pride goeth before a fall, my lord.”

He chuckled. Never short on pithy remarks, was she? “What game of cards do you prefer?”

Her chagrin transformed to cunningness. A shrewd smile bent her mouth. “I never agreed to a card game.”

About the Author

Bestselling, award-winning author, Collette Cameron, has a BS in Liberal Studies and a Master’s in Teaching. Author of the Castle Brides Series. Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series, and Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Series, Collette writes Regency and Scottish historicals and makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and five mini-dachshunds. Mother to three and a self-proclaimed Cadbury Chocolate chocoholic, Collette loves a good joke, inspirational quotes, flowers, trivia, and all things shabby chic and cobalt blue. You’ll always find dogs, birds, quirky—sometimes naughty—humor, and a dash of inspiration in her novels.

Her motto for life? You can’t have too much chocolate, too many hugs, or too many flowers or books. She’s thinking about adding shoes to that list.

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Angelina Jameson: A Lady’s Addiction

Apr22

Alcohol abuse in the Regency era

The heroine of my book A Lady’s Addiction has a problem with alcohol. Anna used it to self-medicate, to deal with the disgusting attentions from her husband. Now a widow, Anna struggles to rid herself of her nightly ritual of drinking a bottle of wine to dull her senses.

The term alcoholism wasn’t around in the Regency era and wasn’t coined until 1852. Reformers labeled those who often drank in excess as habitual drunkards. At the time habitual drunkenness wasn’t seen as a disease. I portrayed Anna as an alcohol abuser not an alcoholic. She uses alcohol to de-stress. If she continues on this path she would most likely become an alcoholic.

Anna’s drink of choice was wine. Wine was plentiful in upper class Regency households. Wine was a gentlemanly drink. It was imported and expensive, perfect as a posh drink for the upper classes. During the years of war between France and England it was harder to get French wine. The English turned to new favorite wines from Spain, and Portugal. These wines were Madeira, Malaga, port, or sherry. The hero in my book refers to Portuguese wine in the first chapter.

During the Gin Craze in 18^th century London binge drinking became a huge social problem. Gin was cheap and readily available to the lower classes. The heavy consumption of alcohol continued during the Regency. In the Reminisces of Captain Gronow, the author stated: “Drinking was the fashion of the day.”

It is well known that George IV drank heavily. Did George’s excessive drinking reflect current fashion or set it? I think both. Drinking played an extremely important social role in eighteenth century England. Anyone who reads Regency historical novels has heard of gout. The high consumption of port and fortified wines led to the upper class disease of gout.

What about women drinking in the Regency era? While there are many cartoons and articles from the Regency showing excess drinking by men, it was much harder to find information about those Regency women who may have abused alcohol. Lady Caroline Lamb was known to be addicted to alcohol and laudanum near the end of her life. It is taken for granted that women of society drank to relieve the boredom and monotony of their lives. Women drank wine with their meals and drank sherry in the drawing room after dinner. It is not hard to imagine women overindulging with all the alcohol surrounding them.

What do you think of a romance heroine dealing with alcohol abuse? Would you prefer the hero to be the one dealing with such a struggle? One reader who leaves a comment on this blog post will receive a $10 Amazon gift card.

About A Lady’s Addiction

Anna, a widow battling alcohol addiction is convinced she is worthless unless she bears a child. She hires a lover to prove she is not frigid and may marry again and have children.

Devlyn, sterile from an accident, has returned from an assignment for the Foreign Office and inadvertently becomes Anna’s lover.

Anna and Devlyn join forces to protect an innocent child from a blackmailer. Can they come to terms not only with their feelings for each other but whether they will allow society to dictate the true significance of life?

Excerpt

She couldn’t remember the question she’d asked. His nearness unsettled her. Her entire body had flared into wakefulness the moment he entered her room. Cecily could be right; this man might be able to help with her problem.

Tonight she would play a part. She would emulate the sophisticated façade her friend Cecily Pickerel displayed. The scandalous nightgown underneath her thin robe was in fact a gift from Cecily. She would never have had enough courage to buy such a shocking garment for herself.

“You are discreet?”

“What is your name?” Franco asked, ignoring her question.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered Cecily telling her she needn’t share personal information. She would never see this man again. He didn’t move in her circles. With the slightest of shrugs, she answered truthfully, “Anna.”

“Anna,” he said in a husky rasp. The way her name rolled off his tongue sent the lightest frisson along her skin. “It is a graceful, pretty name. It suits you.”

“There is no need to flatter me.” She felt heat on her cheeks. “It is a common enough name.”

“Despite our current situation, my dear, I do not believe you are at all common.”

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About the Author

I joined the US Air Force to see the world. My dreams of visiting the United Kingdom were fulfilled when I was stationed at RAF Lakenheath in the beautiful countryside of Suffolk, England. Five years later I returned to the states having acquired a wonderful husband and a love of all things British. I began writing as a hobby when my husband was remote to Honduras for a year. I found RWA and a local New Mexico chapter, LERA, and my hobby developed into a dream of sharing my stories with others. I currently live in the great state of Alaska with my wonderful husband and our two teenage boys.

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Amy Quinton: What the Duke Wants

Apr16

Amy Quinton will be awarding a heart shaped enamel, kiln fired copper charm on a leather corded necklace (US ONLY) to a randomly drawn commenter via Rafflecopter during the tour. Prize is designed and made by Keri Sereika at Pink Lemonade (http://www.pinklemonade.typepad.com/) Click here for the Rafflecopter. Click the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About What the Duke Wants

Upstanding duke desperately seeks accident-prone wife from trade…

England 1814: Miss Grace (ha!) Radclyffe is an oftentimes hilariously clumsy, 20-year-old orphan biding her time living with her uncle until she is old enough to come into her small inheritance. Much to her aunt’s chagrin, she isn’t: reserved (not with her shocking! tendency to befriend the servants), sophisticated (highly overrated), or graceful (she once flung her dinner into a duke’s face). But she is: practical and in love… maybe… perhaps… possibly…

The Duke of Stonebridge is an agent for the Crown with a tragic past. His father died mysteriously when he was 12 years old amid speculation that the old duke was ‘involved’ with another man. He must restore his family name, but on the eve of his engagement to the perfect debutante, he meets his betrothed’s cousin, and his world is turned inside out… No matter, he is always: logical (men who follow their hearts are foolish) and reserved (his private life is nobody’s business but his own). And he isn’t: impulsive or in love… maybe… perhaps… possibly…

Can he have what he wants and restore his name? Can she trust him to be the man she needs?

E-book

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Excerpt

A knowledgeable lady understands that, typically, the best way to make a good first impression is not to fall bottom first into a puddle of mud. Alas, Grace Radclyffe, with her inclination towards unfortunate mishaps, found this knowledge to be generally useless in the reality of her everyday life.

Therefore, despite the uncomfortable feeling of wetness seeping through her gown and the faint-though-nearby sound of dripping mud, she did what any sensible lady of good upbringing would do in less than ideal circumstances. She cursed. With conviction.

“Bloody hell. Not again.”

So maybe she didn’t say that. But it was something she occasionally thought in her mind, though only in her mind.

In actuality, she chuckled lightheartedly (because it’s always best to set yourself and any potential rescuers at ease in awkward situations) and graciously procured the proffered handkerchief dangling over her left shoulder. Then, after clearing the mud from her face so she could actually see and with cheeks tinged only slightly from embarrassment (because, really, that kerchief hadn’t been dangling over her shoulder on its own), she peered up to thank her would-be rescuer and

Gasped. Out loud.

For staring down at her with one eyebrow lifted in question, were a pair of eyes—emerald green eyes to be more precise. The most deeply penetrating emerald green eyes she had ever seen in all of her near twenty-one years.

About the Author

Amy Quinton is an author and full time mom living in Summerville, SC. She enjoys writing (and reading!) sexy, historical romances. She lives with her English husband, two boys, and two cats. In her spare time, she likes to go camping, hiking, and canoeing/kayaking… And did she mention reading? When she’s not reading, cleaning, or traveling, she likes to make jewelry, sew, knit, and crochet (Yay for Ravelry!).

Amy has lived in or around the Charleston, SC area her entire life. When she’s not home, at the beach (weather permitting), or camping in and around the Great Smoky Mountains (Check out Mile High Campground and Devils Fork State Park!), she loves to visit the United Kingdom. She loves the history, the culture, and the people—hence her love for Scottish and Regency Romances. She especially loves to visit the Isle of Skye—in the Highlands of Scotland—where the scenery is both rugged and breathtaking.

Amy graduated from the College of Charleston, a liberal arts college located in beautiful, historic Charleston, SC. She worked 10 years in the computer industry as a software designer before becoming a full time mom and now, a full time novelist.

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Jude Knight: Farewell to Kindness

Mar31

A Hearty Welcome to Fellow Bluestocking Belle

Jude Knight

A short history of invalid chairs

One of the many things I love about writing historical romance is the odd bits of knowledge I need to research.

In Farewell to Kindness, I needed a way for my hero’s cousin, an injured soldier, to get around the house under his own steam, which led me to invalid chairs, and ultimately to my little novella, Candle’s Christmas Chair.

Wheels on chairs for invalids go back a very long way. We have documentary evidence of them in a Chinese print reliably dated to AD 525, but human ingenuity quite possibly put chairs and wheels together long before that.

It’s likely, though, that only the rich had such chairs. Certainly, once wheeled chairs for invalids begin to regularly pop up in the documentary record, the posteriors seated in them belonged to the rich and the noble.

King Phillip’s chair

In 1595, King Philip II of Spain was sketched sitting in a reclining chair with wheels on each leg. It was clunky and heavy, and he needed to be pushed around by a servant, but – hey – king, right?

Self-propelling chairs arrived remarkably quickly after that, unsurprisingly developed by someone who was himself in need of a chair. In 1655, Stephen Farfler, a paraplegic watchmaker, moved himself around in a chair with three wheels. He moved around by turning handles that worked on the geared front wheel.

Most of the sites I looked at when researching wheelchairs jump from Farfler to John Dawson of Bath. But wheelchairs – both ordinary chairs with wheels and more advanced chairs designed specifically to have wheels – continued right through.

And, in any case, the Bath chair was invented around 1750 by James Heath. Bath was becoming popular as a spa town, but it was not designed to easily get around in a carriage, and ordinary wheelchairs really only worked well on a flat surface such as inside the house.

The Bath chair was designed to take invalids out and about; primarily down to the Roman Baths for the treatment, and then back home again. Until then, invalids used the sedan chair, which required two attendants to carry. The Bath chair just needed one person at the back pushing. Furthermore, the occupant of the chair had the steering stick and could therefore directly control the direction of travel. I can see that would be appealing to the average wealthy dowager!

You can see from the advertisement that Heath also sold wheelchairs. The example shown appears to have wheels at the front and stabilising legs at the rear, so no doubt the attendant lifted slightly when he pushed.

The Merlin chair

But the self-propelling chair had not gone away. John Joseph Merlin, a Belgian inventor and watchmaker (and, perhaps not incidentally the inventor of the in-line skate) created a successful chair that became the model for others. Keith Armstrong, in A very short history of the bicycle and wheelchair, says:

In the mid 1770’s he invented roller-skates and presented his new creation by arriving at a London party playing his violin whilst gliding around the room. Merlin received rapacious applause and an encore, the party-goers demanded that he repeated his act, during the second attempt, he quickly discovered that he didn’t known how to stop and he had a major accident. The next we read about him is of the invention of a new type of self-propelled wheelchair… His design was so successful that 120 years later, a London catalogue of medical equipment was able to boast nine different ‘Merlin’ wheelchairs available on their books. Merlin died in 1803.

As far as I can tell, the Merlin chair had small handles on its arms. But the name “Merlin chair” was retained for later chairs where the occupant was able to turn the large rear wheels to get around, and – by the late 19th century – the smaller propelling wheel had arrived, to help people keep their hands clean.

Meanwhile, back at the end of the 18th century, let’s not forget John Dawson. The most prominent Bath chair maker of his time, his chairs outsold everyone else’s. Since, by all accounts, they were not very comfortable, we must assume that the others were worse!

About Farewell to Kindness

For three years, Rede has been searching for those who ordered the murders of his wife and children. Now close to end of his quest, he travels to his country estate to be close to the investigation.

He is fascinated by the lovely widow who lives in one of the cottages he owns. A widow who pays no rent. A widow, moreover, with a small daughter whose distinctive eyes mark her as as the child of his predecessor as Earl.

Six years ago, Anne blackmailed Rede’s predecessor at arrow-point for an income and a place to livein hiding from her guardian’s sinister plans for her and her sisters. He no longer has legal rights over her, but the youngest sister is still only 18. He cannot be allowed to find her.

Rede is everything she has learned not to trust: a man, a peer, a Redepenning. If he discovers who she is, she may lose everything.

To build a future together, Rede and Anne must be prepared to face their pasts.

Regency noir

US99c to 8 April 2015; USD3.49 from 9 April 2015

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Excerpt

George was drunk. But not nearly drunk enough. He still saw his young friend’s dying eyes everywhere. In half-caught glimpses of strangers reflected in windows along Bond Street, under the hats of coachmen that passed him along the silent streets to Bedford Square, in the flickering lamps that shone pallidly against the cold London dawn as he stumbled up the steps to his front door.

They followed his every waking hour: hot, angry, hate-filled eyes that had once been warm with admiration.

He drank to forget, but all he could do was remember.

One more flight of stairs, then through the half open door to his private sitting room, already reaching for the waiting decanter of brandy as he crossed the floor.

He had a glass of oblivion halfway to his lips before he noticed the painting.

It stood on an easel, lit by a carefully arranged tree of candles. George’s own face was illuminated—the golden shades of his hair, his intensely blue eyes. The artist had captured his high cheekbones and sculpted jaw. “One of London’s most beautiful men,” he’d been called.

He stalked to the easel, moving with great care to avoid spilling his drink.

Yes. The artist had talent. Who could have given him such a thing?

As he bent forward to look at it more closely, something whipped past his face. With a solid thunk, an arrow struck the painting, to stand quivering between the painted eyes.

Read the first three chapters here.

About the Author

Jude Knight writes strong determined heroines, heroes who can appreciate a clever capable woman, villains you’ll love to loathe, and all with a leavening of humour.