The Gentle Wind's Caress released

My historical novel, The Gentle Wind's Caress, has been released in paperback and in digital formats. Yay!

The Blurb:Halifax, 1876. On the death of her mother and sister, Isabelle Gibson is left to fend for herself and her brother in a privately-run workhouse. After the matron's son attempts to rape her, Isabelle decides to escape him and a life of drudgery by agreeing to marry a moorland farmer she has never met. But this man, Farrell, is a drunkard and a bully in constant feud with his landlord, Ethan Harrington. When Farrell bungles a robbery and deserts her, Isabelle and Ethan are thrown together as she struggles to save the farm. Both are married and must hide their growing love. But despite the secrecy, Isabelle draws strength from Ethan as faces from the past return to haunt her and a tragedy is set to strike that will change all of their lives forever.

The except:‘He’ll be here soon.’ Hughie sat by the fire darning a sock. ‘The snow has likely held him up.’
‘What keeps him out night after night?’ She stamped her foot in frustration. ‘He drinks more than a sailor does on his first day back at port!’
 Hughie grinned.The sound of scratching made Isabelle frown. The snowstorm grew in intensity. She could no longer see the outbuildings. The scratching sounded again. ‘What is that?’
Hughie shrugged. ‘The trees on the window upstairs?’
Isabelle stepped away from the window, nibbling her fingertips. There would be no market day today. She went to walk into the scullery when a thump hit the back door. She opened it and cried out as Farrell landed at her feet.
Hughie dashed to her side and together they stared at her husband’s bloody form.‘Heaven’s above!’ Isabelle bent to touch him. He stirred and moaned. ‘Help me bring him inside, Hughie.’
They grabbed him under the arms and dragged him down the step and onto the kitchen floor. His coat was missing and his wet woollen vest cloaked him like another skin.
Farrell opened and closed his eyes. ‘Isabelle…’
‘What happened to you?’ She took a dishcloth from the table and knelt to wipe the blood oozing from a cut in his forehead. She gestured to Hughie. ‘Get me some blankets off the bed and a pillow too. He’s too heavy to lift, so I’ll have to make a bed in here for him.
’As Hughie ran to do as she bid, Isabelle quickly made him a cup of sweet tea and held his head up to pour a little into his mouth. Next, she rubbed Farrell’s cold hands between her own. Hughie ran into the room with the items she asked for, and Isabelle placed the pillow under Farrell’s head. ‘Heat a warming pan, Hughie.’
Farrell’s eyes fluttered, he moaned between blue lips.
Isabelle ran into the scullery and found an old pair of gloves. She returned and tugged them onto his icy hands. ‘Lord, what have you done to yourself?’
He murmured and opened his eyes. She tucked the blanket around him more securely. ‘Lie still.’
‘No…’She put the cup to his lips again. ‘Drink this now. You need to get warm.’
He slowly eased himself up onto one elbow. ‘Got to hide.’ He wheezed and then coughed. His split lip began to bleed freely again.
‘Hide?’ She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘They’ll find me here!’ He tried to get up, but she pushed him back down. 
‘Who?’
‘Had to run…’
Hughie knelt down beside them. ‘Has he lost his mind?’
‘Heaven knows, silly man. It’d be hardly surprising if he has, being out in this weather all night.’ She made Farrell drink again. ‘Take his boots off, Hughie.’
‘No!’ Farrell reared up. ‘I must hide.’ He gripped Isabelle’s arms until they hurt. His eyes were wide and frightened. ‘I can’t hide here. They’ll find me.’
In a panic, Isabelle glanced up at the door as though the riders from Hell would burst through it any moment. She flung away his hands, alarmed. ‘What have you done?’ Her voice sounded high to her ears.
‘They nearly caught me. Had to run.’ Farrell panted, throwing off the blanket, struggling to sit up. ‘They saw my face. I must go!’
Isabelle stood and hugged herself, fighting rising terror. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.

To Purchase:
Amazon USA
http://www.amazon.com/Gentle-Winds-Caress-Anne-Brear/dp/1908483326/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338918193&sr=1-5
Amazon UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00705A120

Not Quite Regency

This is probably a good time to tell you about my new book Reluctance, released on 6th April. It is my first release for MuseItUp, and I'm really proud of this book. Writing it was a good experience, not least because I got to describe the countryside around my home!

There’s a National Trust property called Gibside http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/gibside/

not far from me, where George Bowes made immense wealth from the coal trade. We often walk by his house and the orangery, which are roofless shells now, but the stables and the Palladian chapel are probably just as they were in his day. He had no sons to follow him, so his daughter inherited everything and was reputed to be the richest heiress in the country. She made a most unfortunate marriage which scandalised society at the time. So much is true.

 I thought I could use the basic thread, and the setting, and make a very good story out of it. The reasons people married then, as now, are many and varied, and I wanted to explore why a woman might give up her wealth, independence and property to a scoundrel.

 My heroine, Frances, was the character who initially formed in my mind. Well educated, and with an aversion to marital duties after her first marriage, she had absolutely no incentive to marry again. Yet she would do so. What was it that changed her mind? That’s the question that intrigued me.

 I think the best thing about the hero/heroine is that they are first and foremost friends. From that, comes everything else. He, for different reasons, is also against marriage, but to say more would give away the plot. There's a villain, and he is very keen on marriage - but for all the wrong reasons! 1803 is an important year in my heroine's life and nothing will be the same once it is over.

 I’ve always lived within forty miles of where I am now in the Tyne Valley, Northumberland. The only continent I haven’t visited is South America – and I’ve no plans to do so! With a degree in English/History and recently retired from library management, I write almost every day – usually historical adventures. I’m currently writing about a male protagonist in sixteenth century France, and have at last got him back to Scotland where both he and I feel more at home.

I aim to write my blog three times a week and you can visit it here: http://jenblackauthor.blogspot.com

I send the odd missive to Facebook and Twitter (@speckledbirds) and that’s about it.

Read Reluctance and let me know what you think of Frances and Jack. Here are the links:

http://museituppublishing.com

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Reluctance-ebook/dp/B007ROL46Q

Happy reading!

Jen Black

Free novel: The House of Women

Free historical novel: The House of Women is available for free on Amazon Kindle USA and UK from Friday 27 until Sunday 29th April.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-House-of-Women-ebook/dp/B00557VUN4/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_5

A Sprig of Broom

A Sprig of Broom was the first novel I had published - way back in l978. I re-published the novel just before Christmas. Why did I write this book in the first place? Well funnily enough I was inspired by a day trip my late husband, John and I took in l977.

It was a lovely sunny day in midsummer. We decided to go to the Yorkshire Dales, and tootled here and there, rested by beautiful rivers and by some odd quirk ended up in Middleham. When you arrive at Middleham you think you are in a village but actually it is a town, albeit very small. It has wonderful, lovely Georgian cottages, a smattering of welcoming pubs and all dominated by this romantic castle.

I discovered that the castle was once the home of King Richard the Third; I didn't know much about him but I was tremendously moved by a potent atmosphere in his castle. It was so quiet and peaceful, open to the skies but there was not even the sound of birds. It's a lot more commercial now but then there was just this lovely lady at the office. John and I fell in love with Middleham and the castle. I went onto research King Richard and found much to admire. Here was a man very far removed from Shakespeare's version.

John and I often went back to Middleham. We would rent a cottage and I would spend a good deal of time wandering the castle. Wenslydale itself is gorgeous, there were lots of lovely walks that we enjoyed.

I did write my book A Sprig of Broom, oddly set not in Middleham but in Wales (another favourite place but more of that at some other time) however, I did manage to, in my opinion, put the matter straight regarding the kind of man Richard was.

Just one other amusing anecdote that illustrates horses for courses (excuse the pun folks). When we arrived home I phoned my parents. I was talking to my Dad and he asked where we had been. "A little place called Middleham," I said, expecting to have to explain exactly where that was.

"Oh," says dad, an avid horse racing follower. "Mark Johnson trains there."

So I discovered two things about Middleham - Richard the Third and horse racing stables - both came to fascinate John and I on our visits. There was something so medieval about seeing those horses thunder across Middleham Moor. I have so many happy memories of Middleham and what a stroke of luck ending up there one lovely sunny Saturday afternoon.

The Reluctant Marquess ~ A Georgian romance new release!

Buy Link: http://www.knoxrobinsonpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=112

Amazon Kindle:  http://www.amazon.com/The-Reluctant-Marquess-ebook/dp/B007I8N2W0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1332407549&sr=8-1

Amazon Print:http://www.amazon.com/The-Reluctant-Marquess-Maggi-Andersen/dp/1908483091/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1332407549&sr=8-2 

 

"Readers will love the delightful tale of love in an arranged marriage. As troubles buffet the new couple and their love is tested, readers will be rooting for them to make it through."
                                                                                               ---Romantic Times Book Reviews, May 2011
Charity Barlow wished to marry for love. The rakish Lord Robert wishes only to tuck her away in the country once an heir is produced.
A country-bred girl, Charity Barlow suddenly finds herself married to a marquess, an aloof stranger determined to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. She and Lord Robert have been forced by circumstances to marry, and she feels sure she is not the woman he would have selected given a choice.
The Marquess of St. Malin makes it plain to her that their marriage is merely for the procreation of an heir, and once that is achieved, he intends to continue living the life he enjoyed before he met her.
While he takes up his life in London once more, Charity is left to wander the echoing corridors of St. Malin House, when she isn’t thrown into the midst of the mocking Haute Ton.
Charity is not at all sure she likes her new social equals, as they live by their own rules, which seem rather shocking. She’s not at all sure she likes her new husband either, except for his striking appearance and the dark desire in his eyes when he looks at her, which sends her pulses racing.
Lord Robert is a rake and does not deserve her love, but neither does she wish to live alone.
Might he be suffering from a sad past? Seeking to uncover it, Charity attempts to heal the wound to his heart, only to make things worse between them.
Will he ever love her?

 

 

Excerpt:

In the corridor outside her chamber, he barely touched her gloved hand with his lips as he bid her goodnight.

“Robert?”

He turned back to her, his brows raised, looking every inch a marquess. “Yes?”

She put her hand to the emeralds at her throat. “Shouldn’t you return these to the safe?”

“That might be wise.”

“Come in and help me take them off.”

He followed her into her boudoir, as she removed her gloves. The room was empty for she’d told her maid not to wait up.

His touch on her neck felt cool and impersonal. He slipped the necklace into his pocket and turned to go. Charity touched his arm. “Won’t you kiss me goodnight?”

He bent his head and touched his lips briefly with hers. She put a hand on his chest, feeling tension there. He was always annoyed with her and she struggled with the unfairness of it.

“Stay a while?”

“I thought you didn’t wish me to make love to you.”

“Not in the salon. Here, in my chamber.”

His blue eyes blazed hot with anger. “Perhaps Lord Southmore can oblige. He knows where to find your chamber.”

Charity slapped his face. The noise seemed to reverberate around the room in the long silence which followed. They stared at each another, breathing heavily. “I did not deserve that. I find your behavior disappointing, my lord.”

Robert raked a hand through his hair. He gave a crooked grin. “That makes your true feelings clear then, my dear, doesn’t it?”

He turned on his heel and left her chamber, closing the door behind him. The room seemed too quiet with just the ticking of the mantel clock. Charity put her hands to her flaming cheeks.

His rebuff hurt as surely as if he’d thrust a knife in her heart.

 

Maggi Andersen

http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com

To Take Her Pride by Anne Brear

Writing under my new pen name of Anne Brear, my latest Victorian historical novel, To Take Her Pride, is set in 1898 Yorkshire.
 This is Aurora and Reid's story and will be available in paperback and ebook.

Back blurb:
Aurora Pettigrew has it all, a loving family, a nice home, a comfortable life. She’s waiting for the right man to offer her marriage, and the man for her is Reid Sinclair, heir to the Sinclair fortune and the love of her life.
But, Reid’s mother, Julia, is against the match and her ruthlessness unearths a family secret that will tear Aurora’s world apart.
Unwilling to bring shame on her family and needing answers to the allegations brought to light by Reid’s mother, Aurora begins a long journey away from home. She leaves behind all that is familiar and safe to enter a world of mean streets and poor working class.
Living in the tenements of York, surrounded by people of a class she’d never mixed with before, Aurora struggles to come to terms with the way her life has changed. By chance, she reconnects with a man from her past and before he leaves with the army to war in South Africa, he offers her security through marriage.
Aurora knows she should be happy, but the memory of her love for Reid threatens her future.
When tragedy strikes, can Aurora find the strength to accept her life and forget the past?

Excerpt:

Aurora walked along the streets of York, head down against the wind. The end of summer was proving difficult this year and warm days would be followed by squalls of rain and blustery winds such as today. Since Ethel Minton’s visit six days ago, Aurora had gone out looking for work and new accommodation. Each day she had come home despondent on both issues. Without a wage they couldn’t look at the better houses, and the poorer areas were the likes of Edinburgh Yard, which she and Sophia were adamant not to go back to. Noah and Lily had spoken as one offering their home to them, but Aurora was reluctant to agree as they’d be on top of each other, especially when the two babies came.

Aside from the anxiety of finding money and lodgings, she had become aware over the last few days of someone watching her. She couldn’t define what made her so sure someone was, but instinct told her she didn’t walk the streets alone. Then, last night, while closing the curtains a stranger lingered in the lane looking at her windows. As yet she hadn’t mentioned it to Sophia, who after the attack was nervous enough and jumped at any loud bangs or sudden shouts. Perhaps she should mention it to Noah, ask him to keep an eye out, and just hope that she was imagining it all.

Her feet throbbed as she turned into Coney Street. The baby kicked, a new sensation that Aurora marveled at in secret joy. She rubbed her stomach and hurried on. She needed to buy some buttons and thread, as Sophia was letting out all her skirts. She’d have liked to buy some linen material too, for a blouse, but every penny had suddenly become precious now neither of them was working.

She passed a tailor’s shop and was bumped into by two men coming out of the doorway. She apologized, even though it wasn’t her fault, at the same time the gentleman did too. Then she stopped and stared. Tom Sinclair stood gaping back at her, open-mouthed.

“Aurrie?” He frowned, puzzled.

She was the first to recover. “How are you, Tom?”

“My God!” Tom enveloped her in a tight embrace and for a moment she relished being held by him. It’d been a long time since a man had held her, and Tom was as close as she would get to Reid. He stared at her in amazement. “What are you doing in York?”

“Shopping.” She smiled brightly, acting as though them bumping into each other was an everyday occurrence. “And you?”

“Oh this and that.” His gaze roamed over her and his grin faltered as he took in her appearance. He’d never seen her in anything but beautiful clothes and neatly groomed. She put a hand to her hair escaping from her felt hat and blushed. He’d noticed her faded clothes beneath her coat, which also needed a sponge and brush. Her shoes hadn’t seen polish for weeks.

Tom turned to his companion. “Hal, my friend, I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Hal, a tall, healthy-looking young man winked, a devilish smile in his eyes. “As you wish, my good fellow, but remember we leave on the evening train tomorrow.”

Aurora’s blush deepened, imagining what Hal would think of her. “You should have introduced me, Tom. He thinks the worst judging by that remark.”

“That’s more exciting than the truth though, isn’t it?” Tom’s smile flashed, but the amusement in his eyes had vanished completely. “There’s a tearoom on the corner. Let’s go.” He took her elbow and so shocked was she to see this serious side of him that she let him escort her into a small tearoom and assist her onto a wooden chair in the corner. He sat on the other side of the square table and lifted his hand to the passing waitress. “Tea and a plate of-of cakes…er…food, sandwiches and the like.”

“Tom, I—” The words dried in her mouth as she saw the agony in his eyes. “What is it?”

“I cannot believe it.” He shook his head and looked as if he was going to cry.

Her heart leapt to her throat and she leaned forward. “Good God, Tom, what?”

“What happened to you?” His voice came out on a whisper.

She sat back in her chair, again conscious of her appearance. “You must be shocked.”

“Shocked?” he squeaked and then clearing his throat, he held his hands out as if in question. “I thought you were travelling with your father’s aunt? That’s what your mother is telling everyone. Is this aunt without funds? Doesn’t your father know—’

“Please, Tom, stop.” She rubbed her forehead, wondering how to tell him, whether she should tell him. “I’m not with my father’s aunt.”

“I don’t understand.” He scratched his chin. “Aurrie, dearest, you look like hell. You’re so thin and…and shabby.”

She wanted to laugh at being called thin, especially when the front fastening corset she’d bought only two weeks ago no longer fitter her. The top button of her blue skirt was left undone and her white blouse strained across her breast, which she hid with her coat, but his expression of horror wiped the laughter from her instantly. Apart from the parts of her body concern with the child, the rest of her was thin, her hands and arms especially. “It’s a long story.”

“And I’ve got all day.”

“But I haven’t.” She stood. “I must go. It was nice seeing you again.”

“No.” He grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit down, causing the other customers to glance in their direction. “Don’t go, not yet.” He let go of her as she sat and the waitress brought over a tea tray, which she set out on the table. Tom watched Aurora the entire time and she knew he was full of questions. “I want to hear it all, Aurrie.”  

“Do you?” She pulled off her gloves, revealing her red and work-chapped hands and ignored his gasp of surprise at the sight of them. Dropping a cube of sugar into her cup, she then stirred it slowly with a teaspoon. “I don’t think you want to know, Tom, not really.” She gave him a sad smile, knowing his personality as one of fun and laughter, never taking anything seriously.

“I thought we were friends?”

“We were. When life was simple.”

“Aurrie, please. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

“This?” She waved at her worn clothes. “Good lord, Tom, this is a good day.” Her chuckle was brittle. “We had enough water last night for a bath so I washed my hair…’

“We?” He leaned forward over the table, cradling his teacup in one hand and took her hand in his other.

“My mother, Sophia. We live together.”

“Your mother Sophia?” His eyes widened. “Dearest, are you ill?”

“Mad you mean?” This time she did laugh. “I wish I was, but alas I’m quite sane.” She bent over the table until their faces were nearly touching. “Can you cope with knowing the truth, Tom Sinclair? The man who has never had a moment of responsibly in his life?”

Review:
If you're looking for a fairy tale with a twist, then look no further than To Take Her Pride. The characters may not fill out all the classic roles precisely, and you'll get to meet the entire townspeople around the "castle", but they are beyond a doubt entertaining and very adeptly written. It's a great read that reminds the little girls in us that sometimes the princess has to become Cinderella in order to be a good queen one day.
Books N Beans

 To Take Her Pride is available in paperback and ebook from Amazon.com and Amazon UK

Also from the Book Depository which has free world wide delivery.

Inspired by fairy tales

I’ve always loved fairy tales: African fairy stories, Old Peter’s Russian tales, Grimm’s fairy tales and the western classics – Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, The Goose Girl, The Frog Prince. The themes of love, sacrifice, keeping promises (the theme of the Frog prince) transformation (in The Goose Girl and Cinderella) justice (again in Cinderella) are epic to me and timeless, worthy of exploration in romances and modern stories.

Cinderella, the story of selfless devotion rewarded, is a popular theme for many romance stories, with the ‘prince’ often an Italian or Arab billionaire who sweeps in to transform the heroine’s drab, oppressed life. I’m sure there are romances to be written about the ugly sisters, too – positive stories where they grow from their petty spitefulness and obsession over balls and dances into generous, complete women, who also find love. That element of the happily ever after and the unexpected is strong in both fairy tales and in romance and both appeal to me greatly.

Fairy tales can also be epic, dealing with issues of life and death. Look at Gerda and her determination to win her brother out of enchantment in The Snow Queen. Look at Sleeping Beauty, where the prince rescues the princess from the ‘death’ of endless sleep.

Recently I did my own ‘take’ on Sleeping Beauty in my ‘A Christmas Sleeping Beauty’. I made it a story of transformation for both my heroine, Rosie, and the prince Orlando, who starts as a very arrogant and selfish young man who needs to learn to love and cherish. I didn’t want my Rosie to be passive, simply waiting to be woken, so she is active in the story both through her dreams and through her speaking directly to the hero in a letter. I also added more urgency by making it a ticking clock story – Orlando must wake Rosie in three days or he loses his chance forever.

The story of Beauty and the Beast has thrilled me since I was a child, with its dark and menacing beginning, the terrifying beast and Beauty’s courage and love for her father and ultimately for the beast. I was inspired by these basic tenets to write my own medieval version of Beauty and the Beast in my ‘The Snow Bride’. Magnus, the hero, has been hideously scarred by war and looks like a beast. He considers himself unworthy of love. Elfrida, my heroine, is also an outsider since she is a white witch, but she willingly sacrifices herself (as Beauty does in the fairy story) because of love, in her case her love for her younger sister, Christina, for whom she feels responsible. When she and Magnus encounter each other, I made it that they could not understand each other at first, to add to the mystery and dread – is Magnus as ugly in soul as in body? They must learn to trust each other, despite appearances, and come to love (just as in the original fairy tale).

I also added other fairy tale elements to ‘The Snow Bride’: magic, darkness, the idea of three (a common motif in fairy tales) spirits in the forest and more. Perhaps in the darker elements of my forest I was inspired by that other old fairy story – Red Riding Hood.

How about you? What inspires you in your reading or writing?

Lindsay
http://www.lindsaytownsend.net
http://www.twitter.com/lindsayromantic

Chastleton House - A Jacobean Gem

I wanted to spread the word about this little known Jacobean gem I discovered near Moreton-in-the-Marsh. There is no café but the atmosphere is very much like having stepped back in time and the house is 'conserved' rather than preserved..

Chastleton House was completed in 1612, with typically Elizabethan and Jacobean gardens which have a ring of fascinating topiary at their heart. The house belongs to the National Trust, but to preserve the fabric of the building and its furnishings, admission is by timed ticket and advance booking is recommended. The maximum number of visitors admitted per day is 175.

The house was once owned by Robert Catesby, one of the Gunpowder Plot instigators. Catesby mortgaged the property to Walter Jones, and when Catesby fell on hard times and was unable to keep up payments, Jones took over the property, pulled down Catesby's house and built a new, grand mansion, which is the Chastleton House that exists today.

Anne Fettiplace , daughter of Sir Edmund  Fettiplace and Ann Alford, married Henry Jones in 1609 and lived at Chastleton House. As the house was still under construction at the time of the wedding, the Fettiplace Coat of Arms were incorporated in the overmantle.           

Little altered from its original design, the approach to the house is by way of a winding path down a moderate hill, with views to an attractive dovecote of similar age to the house. Which is a nice way of saying the car park is miles away! The 12th century parish church is next door and a small entry gateway gives onto an outer courtyard, with stables to the left and the house itself to the right. Visitors are shown through some beautiful, and authentically furnished and restored Jacobean and Tudor rooms.

Here, the floors bend and buckle with the wrinkles of aged timber, and the bedrooms are authentically furnished with period pieces. The long gallery on the upper floor occupies the entire length of the house. With a barrel vaulted roof, and superbly executed plasterwork ceiling the room is magnificent. Unfortunately there is also evidence of death watch beetle that has occupied the house for several centuries!

I especially liked the butler's chamber on upper floor gives an excellent view of the roof beams and the skeleton of the house frame. The kitchens were in use until the 1950s, where the blackened grime of centuries remains on the ceiling.  Legend says a former resident declared it was bad luck to clean kitchen ceilings, so it was never touched!

A large section of gardens behind the house form two large croquet lawns – it was here at Chastleton in 1865 that the rules of lawn croquet were first codified.

Rhapsody Creek

 Rhapsody Creek, originally published by Mills & Boon as Hester, is now available as an ebook. The idea for it came on a visit to the South Carolina and Georgia and viewed the ante-bellum mansions with their Spanish moss, exterior kitchens and slave shacks.What if something dreadful were to happen in one of those out houses, I thought. Who would hear your call for help?

With American independence won, her brother George dead, and the shame of bankruptcy threatening her beloved aunt, Hester Mackay accepts Benjamin Blake’s proposal of marriage, despite him being an English gunrunner. But her happiness at the Georgia plantation house is short-lived as Hester learns that her new husband has already killed two wives. Can this be true, and is he now trying to kill her?

Here is a short extract:

Later than evening, after Aunt Kizzy had retired for the night, Benjamin stayed on the porch with Hester, as had become their habit. Hester had noticed, to her amusement, that Aunt Kizzy had taken to retiring earlier and earlier as if she had no wish to intrude upon them. On this particular evening she’d gone to bed almost as soon as supper was over declaring she was exhausted having spent an hour closeted with her man of business. Now, in the softness of the Southern darkness, Benjamin began at last to talk.
   ‘There’s been something on my mind for some time, Hester, that should be said, perhaps before it is too late.’
   Hester’s hands stilled and she set aside her sewing. It was too dark now in any case, but she regretted the loss of the occupation. ‘That sounds dreadfully serious,’ she said with an attempt at a smile, but Benjamin was not smiling. He was not even looking at her. His eyes were fixed somewhere out in the middle distance, or perhaps way back into his life.
   ‘Perhaps it is. Or perhaps I am worrying unduly.’ He drew in a deep breath. `If this hurts you then I apologize in advance, for it is the last thing I intended.’
   ‘I understand.’ Did she? She rather thought not. What was it that troubled him so, that made him look so grim?
   ‘There was once someone in my life. We’d grown up together and so were good friends, at least I thought that was the case. I was used to her being around. Her name was Sarah. But I didn’t think of her as a woman, as my woman, if you take my meaning.’
   ‘I think so.’
   ‘That was not the case with Sarah.’ Benjamin got up from the rocker to stroll restlessly down the garden path and Hester was obliged to follow him. ‘Her fondness for me grew to a level beyond friendship.’ Hester held her breath. What was he trying to tell her? ‘It became almost obsessive. I could go nowhere without Sarah tagging on behind. Whatever I did, she watched me. Wherever I walked, she followed. She tried to pre-empt my every need, handing me things I had never asked for, buying me gifts I did not want. She would even stand outside the door of my home for hour upon hour, waiting for me to come out. It was unnerving.’
   Hester felt herself grow tense. ‘It must have been difficult.’
   Benjamin turned to face her and even in the half-light the grim, almost angry expression upon the planes of his handsome face was only too clear. ‘Never could I allow that to happen again. She should have married Stefan, who loved her, but she was obsessed by me, with catastrophic results. Stefan took it very badly and has borne me a grudge ever since. I could never risk a recurrence of such uncompromising devotion for it very nearly destroyed my life, do you see? A person must be allowed to live his or her own life without let or hindrance, make his own decisions and mistakes, and not be pushed into a corner simply out of pity.’
   She saw only too clearly. He was telling her not to grow too fond, not to fall in love with him. But it was too late. He was telling her that he ran from England to escape this Sarah, and would run from her if she too was foolish enough to try to capture his love. And he was telling her that on no account must she attempt to follow him to England when the time came for him to leave. That was the invisible line she had crossed earlier as they had talked down by the harbour, and he had seen the dawning love for him written in her face. But, much as she might wish it otherwise, whatever damage had been done to him in the past, he was making it abundantly clear that he wanted none of Hester’s help now to mend it. She was trembling so much he must be aware of it. Her palms felt clammy and a pain was beating at her temples. She must not let him see how she felt. Only the residue of her pride could save her now.
   Hester managed a sympathetic smile. ‘Poor girl. If you did not love her in return it must have made her most miserable. That is partly the reason I am constantly trying to disengage myself from Carter Lois, for I have no wish to hurt him, but it is so difficult for he is a very determined gentleman.’ She was gabbling now, attempting to prove herself unaffected so that her true feelings would not be laid bare, exposed to his censure.
   ‘You are right to keep your distance from Carter Lois. Oh, you are shivering, Hester. Are you cold? How thoughtless of me to keep you talking out here simply to get an old worry off my chest.’
   He slipped his coat about her shoulders and the pain of nestling into a garment which still carried the residual warmth and male scent of his body was almost the undoing of her. But she managed to hold herself together as he led her back through the knot of box-edged paths, past the old kitchen where Susie prepared most of the meals safely away from any danger of setting fire to the house, and back up the steps of the piazza. He placed his hands gently upon her shoulders and his touch almost scorched her through the thick cloth of his jacket. ‘Forgive me if I said it all too clumsily. But you are young, and vulnerable to the presence of a newcomer in your home. We are still friends, I hope, Hester, but you must not read into that more than there is, nor hope for more than there can be.’
   He could not have been plainer. Hester snatched the jacket from her shoulders and, thrusting it into his hands, gazed at him unseeing through tear-blurred eyes. ‘You need have no fear on that score. I can do nothing about my youth but my vulnerability, as you call it, is quite another matter. For your information Mr Blake, I am well able to take care of myself and would not dream of inconveniencing or embarrassing you in any way. Goodnight to you.’
   Whereupon, she fled into the house, to her bed, where she poured out all her misery and despair into a balled-up kerchief and a yielding pillow which would tell no tales on the morrow. And at breakfast she was able to serve Benjamin his eggs and biscuits without a tremor.

You can find out more from Amazon:

Best wishes,
Freda

Charle's d'Orleans - The Romantic Duke

One of the earliest Valentine's ever wrote for which we still have a record of was by the Duke of Orléans, Charles Valois.

Charles was born in Paris in November 1394 and became the Duke when his father, Louis, was murdered on the orders of John, Duke of Burgundy, a rival nobleman. His childhood was full of culture and wealth, and he spent his early years in the beautiful Loire region of France. Both his parents, Louis, and Valentina Visconti, supported his education.

Charles is best remembered as a poet, writing over 500 poems. Most of these were written when he was a prisoner of war.

Charles was 14 when his father passed and he became the Duke. He was young and impressionable, and fell under his father-in-law's influence, the Count of Armagnac.

Charles's first wife was Isabella of Valois (a daughter of French King Charles VI) He loved her dearly, but she died in childbirth. In 1410, he married Bonnie d'Armagnac, Count d'Armagnac's daughter.

In 1415, Charles was taken a prisoner of war in the Battle of Agincourt. He was 21. Henry V of England took him to the Tower of London were Charles composed most of his poetry. Charles was in captivity for over 24 years (he was in the line for the French throne and England didn't want to give him up.) With nothing better to do, Charles wrote.

Most of his poetry was for his wife, Bonnie, but she died before he was released. He was let out in 1440 at the age of 46 and married a third time. His son from his third marriage, became Louis XII. His poems are mostly French Rondeaus, a two line rhythm and are usually about love and the spring time.

Upon returning to his life in France, Charles showed himself to be an able administrator and a good politician.

Charles's Valentine in the original French:

Je suis desja d'amour tanné,
Ma tres doulce Valentinée

Rondeau VI, lines 1-2.

Here's another of Charle's poem in English:



(To his Mistress, to succor his heart that is beleaguered by jealousy)

Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart,
And with some store of pleasure give me aid,
For Jealousy, with all them of his part,
Strong siege about the weary tower has laid.

Nay, if to break his bands thou art afraid,
Too weak to make his cruel force depart,
Strengthen at least this castle of my heart,
And with some store of pleasure give me aid.

Nay, let not Jealousy, for all his art
Be master, and the tower in ruin laid,
That still, ah Love! Thy gracious rule obeyed.

Advance, and give me succor of they part;
Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart.

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Release Day! AN INHERITANCE FOR THE BIRDS, Regency Comedy

My latest Regency comedy novella, An Inheritance for the Birds, the next entry in The Wild Rose Press's Love Letters series, is now available. All the stories start with a letter that changes the hero's and heroine's lives. Mine is a letter about an inheritance, but there's a catch...

Available at The Wild Rose Press.

BLURB:

Make the ducks happy and win an estate!

Mr. Christopher "Kit" Winnington can't believe the letter from his late great-aunt's solicitor. In order to inherit her estate, he must win a contest against her companion, Miss Angela Stratton. Whoever makes his great-aunt's pet ducks happy wins.

A contest: What a cork-brained idea. This Miss Stratton is probably a sly spinster who camouflaged her grasping nature from his good-natured relative. There is no way he will let the estate go to a usurper.

Angela never expected her former employer to name her in her will. Most likely, this Mr. Winnington is a trumped-up jackanapes who expects her to give up without a fight. Well, she is made of sterner stuff.

The ducks quack in avian bliss while Kit and Angela dance a duet of desire as they do their utmost to make the ducks--and themselves--happy.

EXCERPT:
Yawning, he shut the door behind him. Enough ducks and prickly ladies for one day. After dropping his satchel by the bed, he dragged off his clothes and draped them over the chair back. He dug a nightshirt from the valise and donned the garment before he blew out both candles.

Bates had already drawn back the bedclothes. The counterpane was soft under Kit's palm, and covered a featherbed. He grinned. By any chance, had they used the down from the pet ducks to stuff the mattress and pillows?

After tying the bed curtains back, he settled into the soft cocoon and laced his fingers behind his head. Tomorrow, he would have it out with Miss Stratton about the steward's residence, but that was tomorrow. He fluffed up his pillow and turned onto his side…

"QUACK!"

A bundle of flapping, squawking feathers exploded from the depths of the covers and attacked him. Throwing his arms over his head for protection, Kit fell out of bed. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door, the thrashing, quacking explosion battering him. A serrated knife edge scraped over his upper arm. "Ow!" Batting at the avian attacker with one hand, he groped for the latch with the other.

The door swung open. Miss Stratton, her candle flame flickering, dashed into the chamber. "Esmeralda, you stop that right now!"

The feathered windstorm quacked once more and, in a graceful arc, fluttered to the floor.

Kit lowered his arms and gave a mental groan. A duck. He should have known.

Thank you all,
Linda
Linda Banche
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com
http://lindabanche.blogspot.com

To Gain What's Lost out now.

Just before Christmas and while I was away on holidays visiting family, my Victorian historical novel, To Gain What's Lost, was released. I'm a bit behind telling everyone about it, so here's the blurb and cover for you all to have a look at!

To Gain What's Lost blurb.

She thinks her life has changed for the better, her dark secrets hidden, but little does she know…

The daughter of a wealthy landowner in Yorkshire, England in 1864, Anna Thornton leads a privileged life. But she is not content. She wants her life to mean something and longs to be accepted for the free-thinking, independent woman she is. When the dashing, adventurer Matt Cowan sweeps her off her feet, she thinks she has finally met her soul mate. However, he’s not the man he seems to be. After he sails for South America, leaving her behind in England, Anna discovers she’s pregnant. Heartbroken she flees her family home, determined to keep her child’s illegitimacy a secret. 

He has a few dark secrets of his own…
Brenton O’Mara is a strong, independent man who wants to make his own way without relying on his father’s wealth. He comes to Anna’s new home looking for work and convinces the reluctant woman to hire him. But Anna's wary of men, of love, and treats him as nothing more than the penniless laborer she believes him to be. Then, just when Anna seems to feel she is getting on with her new life, and Brenton believes he has a chance with her, the past rears up to confront them. Can Brenton and Anna learn to trust each other, or will they let yesterday destroy tomorrow?

To Gain What's Lost is available in Kindle format:

http://www.amazon.com/To-Gain-Whats-Lost-ebook/dp/B006LG23CU/ref=sr_1_9?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325997440&sr=1-9

and paperback:

http://www.amazon.com/Gain-Whats-Lost-Anne-Whitfield/dp/1937329194/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1325997440&sr=1-9

Rites of Winter - Medieval Christmas Revels

By Lindsay Townsend

Make we mery, both more and lasse,
For now ys the tyme of Chrystymas
(From a 15th century carol)

When Christianity developed in the ancient Roman world, the winter solstice was already marked at 25th December. Followers of Mithras believed in the ‘unconquered sun’ and also held a feast-day for the sun on December 25th.

The gospels did not give a date for the birth of Jesus, but ancient beliefs in the Roman Saturnalia, the solstice and sun-worship led to the church choosing December 25th as the time of his nativity.

‘Christmas’ means ‘Christ’s Mass.’ In England in the Middle Ages three masses were celebrated on December 25th - the Angel’s Mass at Midnight, the Shepherds’ Mass at dawn and the Mass of the Divine Word during the day.

Before the three masses of Christmas there was the forty days of Advent. Advent was similar to lent, a time of spiritual reflection and preparation for the coming of Christ. Feasting and certain foods such as meat and wine were meant for be abstained from during advent (something the evil Denzils ignore in my historical romance The Snow Bride, set at this time).

The feasting and revelling time of medieval Christmas began on Christmas Eve and lasted 12 days, ending on Twelfth Night. There was no work done during this time and everyone celebrated. Holly, ivy, mistletoe and other midwinter greens were cut and brought into cottages and castles, to decorate and to add cheer.

The most important element of the revels was the feast. Christmas feasts could be massive – Edward IV hosted one at Christmas in 1482 when he fed and entertained over two thousand people. For rich medieval people there was venison or the Yule boar, a real one, and for poorer folk a pie shaped like a boar, or a pie made from the kidney, liver, and other portions of the deer (the umbles) that the nobles did not want – to make a portion of ‘umble pie'. Carefully hoarded items were also brought out and eaten and other special Christmas foods made and devoured. Mince pies were made with shredded meat and many spices. ‘Frumenty,’ a kind of porridge with added eggs, spices and dried fruit, was served. A special strong Christmas beer was usually brewed to wash all this down, traditionally accompanied with a greeting of 'wes heil' ('be healthy'), to which the proper reply was 'drinc heil'.

There were also other entertainments apart from eating and drinking – singing, playing the lute or harp, playing chess, cards or backgammon and carol dancing.

Presents and gift giving was originally not part of Christmas but of New Year. Romans gave gifts to each other at Kalends (New Year) as well as a week earlier at Saturnalia, and by the twelfth century it seems that children were already receiving gifts to celebrate the day of their protecting saint, St. Nicholas, and the practice soon began to extend to adults as well, initially as charity for the poor. As the Middle Ages wore on, the custom grew of workers on medieval estates giving gifts of produce to the estate owner during the twelve days of Christmas - and in return their lord would put on all those festivities.

Wes heil!

Lindsay Townsend
http://www.lindsaytownsend.net/

Mistletoe--A Plant For All Seasons

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without mistletoe. In the dark, cold days of a northern winter, the evergreen mistletoe, with its glossy green leaves and white berries, promises spring will return.

But mistletoe has other faces. In ancient Britain, the Druids considered mistletoe a sexual symbol. The white berries' juice resembles semen and the Druids deemed the plant itself an aphrodisiac. By extension, mistletoe became associated with love and marriage.

The tradition of kissing may come from the Nordic legend of the death of the sun god, Balder. Loki, the god of mischief, killed Balder with a sprig of mistletoe. The tears of Balder's mother, Frigga, returned Balder to life. In gratitude, Frigga kissed everyone under the mistletoe, transforming the plant's reputation from death to life. Or new life, as in fertility.

A lesser known aspect of mistletoe labels it the plant of peace. Enemies meeting under the mistletoe laid down their arms and declared a day of truce. This time provided them an opportunity to talk out their differences instead of resorting to violence. In Mistletoe Everywhere, my Regency Christmas comedy, I use mistletoe's role as the plant of peace to bring my two estranged lovers back together.

Promise of spring, fertility symbol and plant of peace--truly a plant for all seasons. Which face of mistletoe do you prefer?

Mistletoe Everywhere Available at The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other places ebooks are sold. See my website (http://www.lindabanche.com) for complete list of vendors.

Thank you all,
Linda
Linda Banche
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com

"Thrashing" with holly branches - a seasonal cure

The holly berry that shines so red,
Once was white as wheaten bread.

The holly and the ivy are common Christmas evergreens, still used in England for decorating houses at this time of year, and featured on many Christmas cards.

But until the 20th century holly was used medicinally in the winter to "thrash" chilblains - in other words the treatment was to give the feet a whipping with this spiny bush, an uncomfortable remedy that was supposed to work better if it drew beads of blood, like the berries the tree itself produces.
Margaret Poulter, the herbalist in The Lady's Slipper may well have tried this cure on one of her patients should they have been out in the snow too long. Whilst researching the novel I had to read many herbals and books on plant medicine. In my research I often read of this same strange treatment being used for what was probably arthritis too, and an ointment was made from the berries crushed into a salve to cure 'agues'. It is interesting that most of the conditions it was supposed to cure were 'winter ailments.'

In 1653 Culpeper suggested eating fresh holly berries as a purge, and instructions from a 1694 herbal say to boil the leaf-prickles in a posset which will "wonderfully ease the Cholick" (Pechey)

Many medicines in the 17th century were based on giving the patient a remedy with similar qualities to the complaint - so prickling pains in the stomach were likely to be treated with Holly, however uncomfortable that sounds! Nowadays however, modern medical herbalists use holly very little. And I think I will definitely leave my berries for the birds!
As well as its use in medicine, holly is a wonderful wood for crafts and in the past was used for knife handles
and fan-making, it being strong and light.The wood is very fine-grained, hard, and smooth, and almost ivory in color if it is not stained.

A book I would really recommend to anyone interested in English plant medicine would be Hatfield's Herbal by Gabrielle Hatfield.

 The name Holly derives from the Anglo-Saxon holegn and Old High German Hulis both of which mean "holy".


Thus throughout Europe holly was believed to have sacred or magical properties and bringing holly branches into one's house in winter was supposed to ward off evil and bring good luck.Holly wreaths were also given as gifts during the Roman festival of Saturnalia, which is believed by many to be the festival from which Christmas was originally adapted. It was long regarded as unlucky to leave holly wreaths up beyond Twelfth Night so they are disposed of on New Year's Eve.Although Holly is associated with winter fire it is considered unlucky to burn sprigs of holly. I guess the one on top of the Christmas pudding must be the exception!


You can find out more about Margaret Poulter the herbalist, known also as a 'cunning woman', and her search for a successor to her craft in The Lady's Slipper.
'Her characters are so real that they linger in the mind long after the book is back on the shelf. Highly recommended.'The Historical Novels Review
'Top Pick!' RT Book Reviews
'Women's Fiction at its best' History and Women
'Brilliant saga' Romance Reviews today
'Rich and haunting' Reading the Past
'Utterly captivating' Karen Maitland, author of The Owl Killers
'Riveting narrative' For the Love of Books

Thank you for reading and A Very Merry Christmas Everyone. 
Don't forget to come back tomorrow for Linda Banche's post about Mistletoe and the Regency Period.