tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189552392024-03-19T08:25:46.816+00:00Historical and Regency Romance UKA blog for lovers of historical and Regency romance, written by a group of authors, namely Elizabeth Bailey, Lynne Connolly, Nicola Cornick, Amanda Grange, Elizabeth Hawksley, Melinda Hammond, Fenella Jane Miller, and Monica Fairview.
Find out what's happening in the UK world of historical romance.
Find out about hardbacks, paperbacks, large print, audio books and ebooks.
Enjoy!Louise Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09895724319451189592noreply@blogger.comBlogger1788125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-24823047835709227592021-03-15T17:30:00.017+00:002021-09-19T18:18:01.177+01:00Release Day: Dangerous Magic: A Pride and Prejudice Fantasy Variation<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dangerous-Magic-Monica-Fairview/dp/B08XZGQ981/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1615758965&sr=8-1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1283" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2mqiPO6-1HPTE4JasufcwbIjZQBbpRnFBuzvAEAITXLAswcic3ryNCy14svpW1epoyEJ0tvezdw-bnHvf3gx4sD-Uc4imPGE7pKz0_APiiJleXUuRslhyFFhnjyhS0zB_Ola_/w248-h396/Copy+of+Dangerous+Magic+butterfly.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>While I love Regency Romance, I also enjoy writing fantasy. I've wanted to write a Jane Austen Regency fantasy for a long time, and this year, I was finally able to make it happen. With all the lockdowns, turmoil, and anxiety, it seemed a good time for me to retreat into a magical world where I could suspend reality for a little while and hide from the constant bombardment of bad news coming from all directions. <p></p><p>Writing a fantasy seemed one way I could have a little bit of control over my own world, and working with on that 'narrow bit of ivory' -- as Jane Austen called it-- provided a calm space for me to write. I'm pleased to say I was able -- finally -- to accomplish my goal. </p><p>I'm delighted to announce that my novel, Dangerous Magic, is now out, and is available for free on Kindle Unlimited on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dangerous-Magic-Pride-Prejudice-Fantasy-ebook/dp/B08W4CFT4Y/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Dangerous+magic&qid=1613746621&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a> as well as on paperback for those who prefer real books. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-US">A sparkling tale of Regency England, a forced marriage, and two
mages who must work together to save the Kingdom.</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Elizabeth
Bennet is stunned when the Royal Mages come to her peaceful country home of
Longbourn to take her away. She is even more bewildered when she is commanded
to marry a powerful mage by the name of Fitzwilliam Darcy. She has always
dreamed of marrying for love, and an arranged marriage with an arrogant
stranger was never part of her plans.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">But
Darcy and Elizabeth have no choice in the matter. Uniting their two forms of
magic is essential for the Kingdom to defeat Napoleon’s mages. Darcy and
Elizabeth may dislike each other on sight, but they must overcome their
differences and find common ground before it is too late. Fortunately, it is
not long before the sparks begin to fly between them.</span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-US">Join the author of ‘Fortune and Felicity’ in this enchanting story
of determination, love, and hope against all odds. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dangerous-Magic-Pride-Prejudice-Fantasy-ebook/dp/B08W4CFT4Y/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Dangerous+magic&qid=1613746621&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Now available on Amazon for pre-order.</a></p><p>If you'd like to find out more about the novel from my blog tour, as well as having a chance to win an e-book copy, you can see my schedule below. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1CiPqslX6Ev0o5aaEyblZ6ouKH2h3b09Qr0z3i7sAcfaOOuVEvjVjnBVrlUj8nb9Qw6KHssTJj2Xfi8yzr07iBUJAzMVI5TKkDMk9uD6aPtGJFCjr3NM619f8tt5yFK8MOa-/s1350/Dangerous+Magic+Blog+Tour.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="1350" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1CiPqslX6Ev0o5aaEyblZ6ouKH2h3b09Qr0z3i7sAcfaOOuVEvjVjnBVrlUj8nb9Qw6KHssTJj2Xfi8yzr07iBUJAzMVI5TKkDMk9uD6aPtGJFCjr3NM619f8tt5yFK8MOa-/w640-h309/Dangerous+Magic+Blog+Tour.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Monica Fairviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07859188231849000840noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-68929879737149390822020-04-18T11:58:00.000+01:002020-04-18T21:06:45.664+01:00Fortune and Felicity: A Pride and Prejudice Variation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Fortune-Felicity-Pride-Prejudice-Variation-ebook/dp/B086MJ4LRR/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=fortune+and+felicity&qid=1587201503&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlvtw1bGhhLKW4IW7BsASpF9D0KsXuMXujah_7zUUl3QFLatmv0WwGcrWyS7UiA0oscnRLuumJIdl87yw1wMmV0qEBrzFDAMU6qxwiuh7c2K4lXE_lOuN_FckrsD3cJKxunOQ/s320/Fortune+and+Felicity+Cover+LARGE+EBOOK.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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I hope you are all surviving during this difficult period of isolation and anxiety for the future. While we may not be able to embrace our social friends, at least we have the internet to keep us going. To be honest, I'd be completely devastated without it. For those of us who write historical fiction, at least it enables us to imagine more realistically the feelings of those who lived in small isolated communities in the past.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">When we're talking about isolation measures, we're not talking about something new. Successive generations went through the same thing. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "stixgeneral" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.9991px;">Quarantine procedures were established in England during the 1660s as a defence against the plague. Like the cruise ships now, people on ships with outbreaks were stopped from coming ashore. Eventually, people who were infected were allowed to leave their ships, but they had to be quarantined. During the plague, as the case today, people in London stayed off the streets and shops closed. Movement out of London was allowed initially, then severely restricted. Those who wanted to leave the city had to have a document proving they weren't ill -- our equivalent of having a test showing that we have the antibodies. </span></span></span><br />
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With vaccinations and the arrival of antibiotics, we have been living with a sense of complacency here in the West. Scientists' warnings that the overuse of antibiotics will trigger antibiotic-resistant strains of bacteria have been around for years, and dystopian novels and films about viruses wiping out the whole of humanity have been on the rise. So why have we been taken so much by surprise by coronavirus? Part of it, I think, may be a result of rather smug belief that, with our high life expectancy, we no longer need to learn any lessons from the past. But antibiotics don't provide protection against viruses, and we don't have any special immunity to the ravages of natural disease. We now know what it is like to be those people in history, who had to stand by and see their communities decimated, unable to do anything about it. Perhaps we can even begin to understand the reasons for the Victorian obsession with <i>momento mori. </i>At the very least, it enables us to empathise more with past generations in their struggle against uncontrollable destructive forces. <br />
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We, too, will be in the history books. The idea is very little consolation when you're going through something like this. Someone in the future will be writing a blog on a Historical blog site like this one. They'll be talking about the impact of coronavirus on the early 21st century. I wonder what they'll say about us? I really hope our brush with disease will be nothing more than a small blip, worthy of only a few sentences.<br />
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Meanwhile, with thoughts like this running through my head, it's been difficult to concentrate on writing. Even reading has been more scattered than usual. Thankfully, I'd already finished a rough draft of my latest novel before the storm hit, otherwise I would have been struggling.<br />
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I haven't published a new Jane Austen variation for a while, but here it is, finally.<br />
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<i>Fortune & Felicity</i></h2>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<i>Excerpt:</i> </h3>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<i>Prologue</i></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">April 1812<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As he crossed the lane and strode through one
of the gates into Rosings Park, Fitzwilliam Darcy realized he was still holding
his hat in his hand. He pushed it onto his head impatiently, adjusting the rim
to shade his eyes from the setting sun. It galled him that Elizabeth Bennet
might have seen him from the window, leaving the Parsonage with his head bare,
looking like a laborer. It seemed like the last straw in a catalogue of
humiliations the evening had to offer. He supposed it was a fitting image of
what she had done to him, stripping away his pride bit by bit until he had
become nothing, leaving him raw and exposed and feeling like an utter fool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Rosings came into view and he checked his pace,
seeking to compose himself in case he encountered anyone upon entering. Lady
Catherine called out to him as he came in, asking him where he had been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You have missed tea, Darcy,” she said,
peevishly. “The refreshment tray has been cleared.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He threw her a quick greeting —some nonsense or
the other— and bounded up the stairs before she had the chance to waylay him.
It was an undignified retreat, but it was nothing compared to what had happened
at the Parsonage. In his room, he shut and locked the door, then threw himself
on his bed, his mind full of his disastrous encounter with Elizabeth Bennet.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A burning sense of injustice gripped him at the
accusations Elizabeth had flung at him. He had stood there staring stupidly as
she accused him of treating George Wickham abominably, too shocked at her rejection
to make any effort at all to defend himself. And to think she believed George
Wickham more worthy of her affections than himself! It boggled the mind. It
filled him with a sense of intense outrage. He could not possibly let it go. He
had to tell her the truth, to stand up for himself against any slander that the
rogue had used to turn her against him, but it was too late to say anything. He
had lost the opportunity. He could not very well intrude upon her again at the
Parsonage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There must be a way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">His gaze fell on the escritoire at the corner
of the room. Of course! He would write to her. It was completely improper to
write to an unmarried young lady, but he had no choice. Besides, he expressed
himself better on paper. Not that he held out any hope that she would change
her mind about him. It was obvious she would not. Nevertheless, Darcy could not
allow Wickham’s falsehoods to go unchallenged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He opened the escritoire, spread out a sheet of
paper, and dipped the quill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">Dearest Elizabeth, </span></em><b><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He stared down at the words for a few minutes,
overcome. He had been certain, not too long ago, that by the end of the day,
those were the words he would use to address her for the rest of his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was all over now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He took up the paper and crushed it. He had no
right to call her by that phrase. In any case, it was a bad idea to address her
by name in the letter, in case it fell into the wrong hands. If it did, she
would be compromised, and would be compelled to marry him. His heart lurched as
he considered this solution to his misery, but he dismissed it. No matter how
appealing the idea may be, he did not want an unwilling bride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Taking up a new sheet of paper, he set it down
and stared at it for several minutes. He dipped the quill in the ink and began
to write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter.</span></em><b><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It took him some time to grind out a few
sentences. Everything he wrote seemed so inadequate to communicate what he
wanted to say. He started letter after letter, crumpling the pages and tossing
them to the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was almost impossible to keep his mind on
the task at hand. His mind kept drifting to their bitter exchange. How could he
have misjudged the situation so completely? He had been so arrogant, so
self-absorbed, that he had not even considered whether she would be open to his
proposal. He had believed it would be a matter of a few minutes before his
future was resolved. Before they even noticed he was absent from Rosings – what
a to-do there would be if Lady Catherine discovered that he was not in his room
resting, but out of the house – he would be back, engaged to be married. Then
he would wait for the appropriate moment to announce the engagement. He had
imagined the expressions of disbelief, Lady Catherine’s insistence that he
marry Anne, the cries of betrayal. He was prepared for every outcome. He had
considered so many situations, and grimly planned for them like a commander
going into battle – as Cousin Fitzwilliam liked to say. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ironically, he had missed the most crucial
element in the situation. He had made the most fundamental and self-destructive
mistake any commander could make, the one thing that he should have considered
the most: Elizabeth’s consent. He had made no plans to deal with refusal, nor had
he shielded himself against possible attack. Consequently, he had been taken by
complete surprise. Fortunately – very fortunately – the reserve that had been
bred into him through the generations of powerful Darcy ancestors prevented him
from completely falling apart in front of her. Somehow – he was not quite sure
how – he had managed to be polite, to hold himself together and walk out of the
Parsonage with some semblance of composure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How could he not have harbored a single doubt
that she would marry him? Even worse, how could he have burst into the room in
that uncivil manner, blurt out all the things he had been thinking – all the
reasons, in short, why he ought not to marry her – without any concern for her
feelings? What must she think of him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A bitter laugh escaped his lips. He knew
exactly what she thought of him. She had told him what she thought, without
mincing her words. When she first began to speak, it had taken him some time to
make sense of what she was saying. The truth of the matter was, he had not
really been paying attention. He had been thinking about when it would be
appropriate to take her into his arms and kiss her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">This, then, is the answer I am to receive….</span></em><b><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He groaned and leaned forward on the
escritoire, resting his forehead on the hard wood, riding the wave of anguish
that gripped him. </span><em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">Had you
behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner</span></em><em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">.</span></em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> That she could have said such a
thing of him – when he had always prided himself on his impeccable conduct! He
banged his head on the table. The ink pot jumped and splashed ink on the last
letter he had written. It was the longest one – two sheets of frantically
scribbled words, the handwriting uneven, nothing like his usual neat writing.
The blot of ink had landed in the middle of the second sheet, and his sister’s
name leapt up from the page.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He stared at the letter. What was he trying to
do? Did he really mean to reveal Georgiana’s secret in some misguided attempt
to make Elizabeth think better of him? Did he really think that revealing
Wickham’s true nature would make Elizabeth love him? Did he really want to risk
being seen accosting and giving a letter to a single woman for some futile
attempt to make himself look better in her eyes? By giving her this letter, he
would be risking the reputation of the two women he – heavens help him – loved
the most in the world. And for what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If anyone found his missive, Georgiana’s
elopement would be made public. The scandal would utterly ruin his poor
delicate sister. After all the trouble he had gone through to cover up the
traces and to make sure no one could suspect that Georgiana had been on the
verge of running away with Wickham, was he really prepared to jeopardize
everything?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Thinking about Georgiana and everything she had
been through brought him some sanity, enough to hold off the terrible churning
feeling inside him and allow some coherence to return. What right did he have
to use his sister to plead his own case? Revealing Georgiana’s scandal would
not make Elizabeth Bennet love him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was a terrible realisation. It was like the
stab of a sword in the belly, agonizing and indisputable. There was absolutely nothing
he could say to make her love him. Nothing at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He rose to his feet and began to pace, ruffling
his curls until they became wild. He stopped as he caught sight of himself in
the mirror. He barely recognised himself. His disheveled appearance shocked him
to the core. So this is what he was reduced to by love! Had he really stooped
so low?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He was going about this all wrong. He was
refusing to face the truth, which was that her dislike of him was too strong.
He could not delude himself any longer. It was time to cut his losses. Perhaps
it was just as well she had rejected him so cruelly. Perhaps he ought to
consider it, not as a tragedy, but as a fortunate escape. Elizabeth Bennet’s
harsh rejection might well be the best thing that could have ever happened. She
had freed him from the terrible weight of his obsession by removing any
possibility of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He wanted desperately to believe that there was
something he could do that might change her mind. Every fiber of his being
refused to accept that it was all over, that it had ended before it had even
begun, that the dream of a life with Elizabeth was gone. He refused to believe
that it was just that – a dream, an illusion he had created from nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He had to face reality. He had to take up his
responsibilities to his family and his position in society. He had to become
what he had been trained to be. He owed it to a long line of noble ancestors
who were no doubt turning in their graves as they witnessed his foolhardiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He spent the night battling his demons, urging
them to come under his control. Using her rejection as a weapon, he set about
exorcising the feelings that had led him into such excruciating,
uncharacteristic folly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">By the time the grey light of dawn appeared on
the horizon, Fitzwilliam Darcy had won. The unruly impulses were vanquished. He
rose from the hard chair of the escritoire and stretched his body, easing out
the muscles that seemed to have gone numb. Surveying the results of the battle
around him – crunched pieces of paper tossed all around, balled up like
fists—he felt a grim sense of satisfaction. At least the words he had written
–written in blood and tears – had acted like a purge, removing the fever from
his veins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now he had to purge the words themselves. They
were the ramblings of a madman, ranting of desire and despair. No one must ever
know of this terrible moment of weakness. He went to the cold fireplace and
started it up, waiting patiently until the coals began to burn. He then picked
up the papers and threw them into the fireplace, one by one, watching the edges
curl and blacken as the fire consumed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The battle had taken its toll, draining him of
all strength, leaving him empty inside, and he wanted nothing more than to go
to sleep. With steel will, he resisted that temptation, worried it would bring
him dreams of </span><em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">her</span></em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> and cause him to weaken. He rang for his valet instead, peering out of
the window and trying not to wonder if Elizabeth Bennet was out there, taking
her customary walk. He would never walk with her again. So be it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He had never been one to enjoy walking, in any
case. Walking had been something he had done with </span><em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast;">her</span></em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> in mind. It would be easy enough to
break that newly acquired habit and return to old familiar ones. Riding was his
preferred exercise. A good hard gallop would clear the cobwebs from his brain
and the bracing morning air would jolt him awake from the threads of a
nightmare that had all but consumed him for the last few months.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He would need all his wits about him to execute
what he planned to do next.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Monica Fairviewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07859188231849000840noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-36256206980673631592019-01-05T10:41:00.000+00:002019-01-05T10:41:19.023+00:00Georgette Heyer's Book Covers<br />
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My mother introduced me to Georgette Heyer when I was about thirteen.
She always bought the latest Georgette Heyer the moment it came out and, apart
from enjoying the stories, I also admired the covers. I quickly realized that
they were a pastiche of Regency prints – we had a number of prints by
Rowlandson at home, and my mother had a copy of Batsford’s plates from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gallery of Fashion 1790-1822,</i> which is
now mine, so I recognized the sort of clothes Heyer’s characters would have
worn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfyekiOGfYxUIN1r4dm5Mr8gaVt2EkxJZPZqZwathnYlAWFJYBDtsf8A9kXNS5WmwylejNkePfWO1AD-suGVp0ohHdCIVB8faYUNp7HM2y5Dy_9JlglkE395xCwyWAdBr-r2S/s1600/Gallery+of+Fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1276" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfyekiOGfYxUIN1r4dm5Mr8gaVt2EkxJZPZqZwathnYlAWFJYBDtsf8A9kXNS5WmwylejNkePfWO1AD-suGVp0ohHdCIVB8faYUNp7HM2y5Dy_9JlglkE395xCwyWAdBr-r2S/s400/Gallery+of+Fashion.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Illustration from the</i> ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gallery
of Fashion’</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know what happened to all my mother’s first
editions of Georgette Heyers, unfortunately. I bought my own paperback copies, some with awful covers,
like this 1962 cover of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Corinthian</i>.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotwpS3cGKtuQa68dCP1R2ychhyphenhyphenDrJoPIUAEiluE26GvfYYV2XlcPtmYQqlp9HqfreIpi7ckB6LYVDr593iGVLhER-p9COMkaHsTVvasQV1vALEwlWzjfJR94_puh5MYnwpsHZ/s1600/Corinthian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="943" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotwpS3cGKtuQa68dCP1R2ychhyphenhyphenDrJoPIUAEiluE26GvfYYV2XlcPtmYQqlp9HqfreIpi7ckB6LYVDr593iGVLhER-p9COMkaHsTVvasQV1vALEwlWzjfJR94_puh5MYnwpsHZ/s400/Corinthian.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Pan Books 1962 cover of ‘The Corinthian’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Fortunately, some, like the 1963 Peacock cover by Victor
Ambrus, a well-respected book illustrator, are rather good. (Peacock was a
Penguin Books imprint which, age-wise, came between Puffin Books for children,
and Penguin Books for adults.) The Ambrus pictures have energy and movement which captures the restlessness and impetuosity of the young hero, Dominic, and the excitement of the story, perfectly. And, big plus, he'd obviously actually read the book.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2mO8oDqUsj2WXzliLtJU9STk-FdI7A3ZkrwU3xkXa5VtPmACf-vgZzOcfuq8G033-VM4nSV2gKEyclNDCyvWqOxDi22ZFlMC3Vee9NCs4y-2uxFmCf9Q6G_AlrJ5Jg8PYGy2/s1600/Devil%2527s+Cub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2mO8oDqUsj2WXzliLtJU9STk-FdI7A3ZkrwU3xkXa5VtPmACf-vgZzOcfuq8G033-VM4nSV2gKEyclNDCyvWqOxDi22ZFlMC3Vee9NCs4y-2uxFmCf9Q6G_AlrJ5Jg8PYGy2/s400/Devil%2527s+Cub.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
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<i> Devil's Cub front cover by Victor Ambrus</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidyqm_W9Ap68QZ_jQQDRrmGuHAMnVNTMd0hA5PSu00-8U0Qw5U-84QMn52dOe6RGiZGpVp8Vxv4yr9FFi8y_mVWtWLlzOFhur5gs6HN8uISTTCL_baihpJlYH77_Pwo99tEPcD/s1600/Devil%2527s+Cub+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1411" data-original-width="830" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidyqm_W9Ap68QZ_jQQDRrmGuHAMnVNTMd0hA5PSu00-8U0Qw5U-84QMn52dOe6RGiZGpVp8Vxv4yr9FFi8y_mVWtWLlzOFhur5gs6HN8uISTTCL_baihpJlYH77_Pwo99tEPcD/s400/Devil%2527s+Cub+back.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
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<o:p><i>Victor Ambrus's back cover for Devil's Cub</i></o:p><br />
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I did manage to buy some hardback Heyers in second hand
bookshops, a number of which were first editions – but, as one of her early
books, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">These Old Shades, </i>sold over
190,000 copies in hardback when it came out in 1926, first editions are not
particularly rare. Her books were automatic bestsellers, after all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpdSITuR3MG9xojvZs5J71SvzohiXnlUC__xIM8eEVakgvlz3dWfZO4KLm6IFSNrzli8LZak2WX57GJhKw2Pfh05WHBYRNVQosRV4ctwNctVNwQ3xyaQ9X179Nxez9_qsLauE/s1600/Fridays+Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1030" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpdSITuR3MG9xojvZs5J71SvzohiXnlUC__xIM8eEVakgvlz3dWfZO4KLm6IFSNrzli8LZak2WX57GJhKw2Pfh05WHBYRNVQosRV4ctwNctVNwQ3xyaQ9X179Nxez9_qsLauE/s400/Fridays+Child.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Georgette Heyer’s ‘Friday’s Child’, 1944, cover by Philip Gough <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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A number of Heyer’s early novels had books covers by Philip
Gough, and I particularly like his cover for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Friday’s Child’ </i>with the heroine gazing out of the window. We cannot
see her face and do not know what she’s looking at so intently, but it draws us
in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I already had a paperback copy of the book, but I happily upgraded
it for this nice edition with the original cover. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxhd7nxs5Bnm-trD_bL3c_fw2CQneGDeG3hj4qy7VjkzTa06LP5AbWYT3Ids-8iStSsSGzNMoybMX1XGMw914rGaYVLU5SoMwbRhvvXTKXmxpOAOpGbHQRQNNkWNwfL-tqUVU/s1600/Sprig+Muslin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1490" data-original-width="1028" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxhd7nxs5Bnm-trD_bL3c_fw2CQneGDeG3hj4qy7VjkzTa06LP5AbWYT3Ids-8iStSsSGzNMoybMX1XGMw914rGaYVLU5SoMwbRhvvXTKXmxpOAOpGbHQRQNNkWNwfL-tqUVU/s400/Sprig+Muslin.jpg" width="275" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sprig Muslin by Georgette Heyer, cover design by Arthur Barbosa<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I value my Georgette Heyers – they have given me a lot of
pleasure over the years. I have been known to buy a second hand hardback copy
of a Georgette Heyer simply for its cover, for example, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sprig Muslin. </i>My own copy was a first edition hardback but it was coverless.
I bought this copy for £4.99 – not expensive, put the new cover on it, and
donated the book I’d just bought, now coverless, back to the Charity Shop. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNXNyl1LbbsrVTGd4thY89b7ZiTwRFoImdPbmj90E_YcYBkmIShiAmD7KaWVaWFHldOmsNGv8bimnWh2bujDLRiMQCBiriU3z8THrrU1wTelGS0d5_lSzWHHpd6EZrcF_TUqq0/s1600/Sylvester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1594" data-original-width="1177" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNXNyl1LbbsrVTGd4thY89b7ZiTwRFoImdPbmj90E_YcYBkmIShiAmD7KaWVaWFHldOmsNGv8bimnWh2bujDLRiMQCBiriU3z8THrrU1wTelGS0d5_lSzWHHpd6EZrcF_TUqq0/s400/Sylvester.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
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<i>'Sylvester' by Georgette Heyer, book cover by Arthur Barbosa</i></div>
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I did the same thing with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sylvester</i>, which has another Barbosa cover. I was particularly
pleased with this purchase because I didn’t know what the original cover looked
like, so I was thrilled to find it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d be very surprised to find that I’m the only Heyer fan to
do such a thing! It just goes to show that a classy cover really can sell a
book. And the continuing<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i> </i>popularity of Heyer's novels.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i> </i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nyDWopanYT8SRHI39I3Rc3n9m47V1UpfqMtPpehVGyP6dZVpfkzA_UZtULKIpJlmVT7XcpiYBfECS4nTEBwDVZJlpL-l85g7uNS0Acb3hqv8irBxyXzQYgfFwuKHKAi-WE2e/s1600/Georgette+Heyer+Howard+Coster+1939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nyDWopanYT8SRHI39I3Rc3n9m47V1UpfqMtPpehVGyP6dZVpfkzA_UZtULKIpJlmVT7XcpiYBfECS4nTEBwDVZJlpL-l85g7uNS0Acb3hqv8irBxyXzQYgfFwuKHKAi-WE2e/s400/Georgette+Heyer+Howard+Coster+1939.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<o:p><i>Georgette Heyer, photo by Howard Coster, 1939</i></o:p></div>
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<u>A closing note<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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This is my last post for the Historical Romance UK Blogspot
and I’d like to thank all of you who have followed me. I hope you have enjoyed
the posts – I certainly enjoyed writing them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I shall continue to blog every Sunday on my
Elizabeth Hawksley website and I hope that you will visit me there. <a href="http://elizabethhawksley.com/blog/">http://elizabethhawksley.com/blog/</a> I also Tweet whenever I put up a new post. @Hawksley_E<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have recently expanded my list of Categories which has a number of areas of interest to readers of Historical Romance, for example: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Castles</i> (including Stately Homes); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Exhibitions</i> (King Charles II and Power Dressing; or historical royal
toys at Buckingham Palace); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Exploring
London </i>(Behind the scenes at the Royal Mews); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fashion</i> (History of Underwear exhibition at the V & A); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jane Austen and her World</i> (posts about
Georgette Heyer are listed here); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Royal
Connections</i> (from sexy John of Gaunt to a Medieval Queen’s bathroom at
Leeds Castle); <i>Notable</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> People</i> (Lord
Byron, Georgette Heyer) There are eighteen categories in all and posts appear
in more than one category.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
You are welcome to browse. Click on Blog, then on Categories.</div>
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There is a Comments box, if you wish to share your thoughts. You will need to give me your email address but no-one else will see it, and you don't have to give your full name. I have a friend who comments as 'Eleanor' - a name she wishes she had! If you'd like me to notify you by email of a new post, please tick the follower box.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wish you all a happy and prosperous 2019.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Elizabeth Hawksley <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com111tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-66588201775443487872018-12-30T11:37:00.000+00:002018-12-30T11:37:16.562+00:00Culling my research library<br />
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While we are all thinking about New Year resolutions, I am reminded of the horror with which I contemplated the hideous prospect of getting rid of my books. Moving house became imminent at the beginning of the year and there was no way I was going to be able to take them all with me. But oh, my research books!</div>
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I used to have a huge seven foot high bookcase
full of material covering all aspects of life, mostly from the 18th Century
with a smattering of books on other periods along with my crime library
concerning investigations and murder. The move, when it came, was to a really tiny flat, and that bookcase was not going to fit in.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had to make some crucial decisions. I had room only for one largish bookcase. I managed to create space for a couple of small ones and most of the books that fell by the wayside were novels, I'm afraid. Culling my research books proved well-nigh impossible, but I did get rid of those I decided I was never going to have time to use. I absolutely had to keep the main ones relating to the Georgian and Regency periods, many of which I cannot do without.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqv3xA7vKteZrl1SZEkeKvMTamNW2HuATYOOWdcm5I58vhAKt-H9rfdMESAEHsSafo6XU1-fy_RQttuGjWZ7ZXnaAUZiTRWWYGNZ9nWkDzlJNx30H_oHBliUX2QIcgbF5WhE66bQ/s1600/cunnington.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqv3xA7vKteZrl1SZEkeKvMTamNW2HuATYOOWdcm5I58vhAKt-H9rfdMESAEHsSafo6XU1-fy_RQttuGjWZ7ZXnaAUZiTRWWYGNZ9nWkDzlJNx30H_oHBliUX2QIcgbF5WhE66bQ/s320/cunnington.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The most used is Cunnington’s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Handbook of English Costume in the Eighteenth Century</i>, without which
I couldn’t function, although I usually leave these descriptions to the editing
stage. The great thing about Cunnington is the detail, from fabrics to
accessories, with year on year changes for both men and women.</div>
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She details everything, from bonnets and hairstyles, to materials used and when they were fashionable, whether women wore ruffles, what colours were worn when to such intimate little gems as false bosoms and using mouse skin artificial eyebrows. What about this little aid to beauty?</div>
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"Cork Plumpers were occasionally worn to restore roundness to the hollow cheek."</div>
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Invaluable material.</div>
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One book on antiques has a useful set of images depicting
the way rooms actually looked, as well as individual items of furniture - for
which I’ve also got Chippendale’s workbook. Ackermann helps with scenes of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>, such as Brooks’s,
Astley’s Amphitheatre, <st1:place w:st="on">Covent Garden</st1:place> and the
Pantheon. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Romance of the Road</i>
gives two whole journeys from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>
to Bath and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>
to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Portsmouth</st1:place></st1:city>
in drawings, so you get distances, inns and the likely traffic. I had to hang on to my books on Georgian cookery, and all those books with satirical drawings are
wonderfully evocative of the period.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Setting is vital and I’m in love with my book of maps from
the late 18<sup>th</sup> century covering the entire country. I’ve also got London
and greater London A-Z style maps, and a whole raft of detailed Victorian books
about London and surrounding districts with interesting snippets, like who
lived where, what’s there and the history behind it, plus sketches.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course there is the internet, and I will dive into Google for little facts and figures. For example, an expression so common to us now like "mad as a hatter" might not have been current in the period. Google is excellent for little things like that. And for details about old inns, towns and distances from place to place.</div>
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Pinterest is a mine of useful images. You can pretty much find out what anything looked like, from a copper foot warmer to how a lady manages the exigencies of ordinary life wearing all those petticoats. I add to my boards all the time, though whether I shall ever be able to find the exact image I need at any given moment is a moot point.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJUq4fdSj4k2uO-_9pVRF6FarTtzU7YDTgP7o40uf_6un1wzNXRrbBZwBMVN3JI5ciVVK8AM3aRuu9gX46aiS0HonO5yRzLEMP-xp9luQ7D2YyoNHNevQdArEDuqsPFQ84Cix8g/s1600/bordaloo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJUq4fdSj4k2uO-_9pVRF6FarTtzU7YDTgP7o40uf_6un1wzNXRrbBZwBMVN3JI5ciVVK8AM3aRuu9gX46aiS0HonO5yRzLEMP-xp9luQ7D2YyoNHNevQdArEDuqsPFQ84Cix8g/s320/bordaloo.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
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I like images best because they help me picture the scene,
and I can garner textual stuff to furnish detail. It’s amazing how it puts me
into the period in my head, which in turn enables me to write it for the reader
to imagine.</div>
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This is what I love about books, and why research is vital.
You can’t detail everything you’ve read. Instead you draw the scene in brush
strokes of words, letting the reader fill in the gaps. I have to immerse myself
in the data, even if only about 10% ends up in the book.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To be honest, I’m far too apt to lose myself in the books
and forget what I’m actually looking for. One piece of research leads to
another, besides throwing up new plot points I hadn’t thought of. Research for
me is as much part of the process of writing as it is exploration of the period.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just as well I've managed to hang on to most of my precious books!</div>
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Happy New Year<br />
Elizabeth BaileyElizabeth Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407958362024218785noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-14503178778663981582018-12-16T15:48:00.001+00:002018-12-16T15:48:38.969+00:00Happy Birthday, Jane Austen!<br />
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<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Jane Austen born at Steventon Rectory, Hampshire on a freezing December 16th, in 1775, and today is her 243th birthday. She is many people's favourite author - including myself, so here is Rudyard Kipling's poem in her honour.</span></div>
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<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Jane went to Paradise: </span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">That was only fair.</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Good Sir Walter followed her,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">And armed her up the stair.</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Henry and Tobias,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">And Miguel of Spain,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Stood with Shakespeare at the top</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">To welcome Jane.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Then the Three Archangels</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Offered out of hand,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Anything in Heaven’s gift</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">That she might command.</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Azrael’s eyes upon her,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Raphael’s wings above,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Michael’s sword against her heart,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Jane said, ‘Love.’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Instantly the under-</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Standing Seraphim</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Laid their fingers to their lips</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">And went to look for him.</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Stole across the Zodiac,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Harnessed Charles’s Wain,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">And whispered round the Nebulæ</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">‘Who loved Jane?’</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">In a private limbo</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Where none had thought to look,</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Sat a Hampshire gentleman</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Reading of a book.</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">It was called </span><em><span style="background: #FFFFE5; color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Persuasion</span></em><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">And it told the plain</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Story of the love between</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Him and Jane.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">He heard the question</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Circle Heaven through –</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Closed the book and answered:</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">‘I did – and do!’</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Quietly but speedily</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">(as Captain Wentworth moved)</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">Entered into Paradise</span><br />
<span style="background: #FFFFE5;">The man Jane loved!</span><br />
<i><span style="background: #FFFFE5;"><br />
</span></i><em><span style="background: #FFFFE5; color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Jane lies in Winchester, blessed be her shade!</span></em><br />
<em><span style="background: #FFFFE5; color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Praise
the Lord for making her, and her for all she made.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="background: #FFFFE5; color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And,
while the stones of Winchester – or Milsom Street – remain,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="background: #FFFFE5; color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Glory,
Love, and Honour unto England’s Jane!</span></em><o:p></o:p></div>
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Happy Birthday, Jane!<br />
<br />
Elizabeth Hawksley<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-6813712182003181232018-12-05T11:06:00.000+00:002018-12-05T11:14:06.199+00:00The Romanovs: Every Jewel has a Story<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The new exhibition at the Queen’s Gallery, <i>Russia, Royalty & the Romanovs</i>, is,
as you might expect, a feast for the eyes, especially if you love Faberg<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">é</span> and late 19<sup>th</sup>
century Russian jewellery – and who doesn’t? I thought, on this chilly December
day, you might enjoy a peek at some of the treasures.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Faberg</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">é</span> Basket of Flowers Egg, 1901<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm starting with a love story which, alas, ended tragically: Princess Charlotte (1796-1817), only child
of the Prince Regent, later King George IV, and heir presumptive to the throne, and the handsome Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg who arrived in London in 1814, in the train of Tsar Alexander I who was there, as Britain's ally, for the premature Peace Celebrations to mark the defeat of Napoleon and his
exile to the island of Elba. I can find no
record of whether Charlotte actually met the Tsar, but she certainly met Prince Leopold, and they fell in love. She immediately met opposition from the Prince Regent, who wanted her to marry William of Orange, but Charlotte persisted and, eventually, she and Leopold were married on 2<sup>nd</sup>
May, 1816. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibiILmASgFQoYiD7uzbHkxtHCbXY5yMFz4ot6-lYUAlL1ttdh3fbQgqpuIeUdeQNUhyphenhyphenUJ2QiioO9DykkbK9LKQksIjfxPSLnxZMDyge8O84uj2sEQvjJqd49cB1oWe9EEdCQs_/s1600/Pr+Charlotte+after+George+Dawe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibiILmASgFQoYiD7uzbHkxtHCbXY5yMFz4ot6-lYUAlL1ttdh3fbQgqpuIeUdeQNUhyphenhyphenUJ2QiioO9DykkbK9LKQksIjfxPSLnxZMDyge8O84uj2sEQvjJqd49cB1oWe9EEdCQs_/s400/Pr+Charlotte+after+George+Dawe.jpg" width="325" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Princess Charlotte, portrait after George Dawe, 1817, wearing a sarafan
dress<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the George Dawe 1817 portrait of Princess Charlottte, she
is wearing a traditional Russian sarafan, or, more accurately, an English
version based loosely on the sarafan. She is also wearing the Star of the Order
of St Catherine, given to her by Tsar Alexander<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I, which suggests that she might have met him.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The actual sarafan dress<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The actual dress is also shown above. The sarafan is, in
fact, a pinafore dress and the Princess wore it over an embroidered linen
blouse. The blue silk pinafore has a drawstring under the bust which allows it
to be loosened as her pregnancy took its course. The gold lace braid incorporating
crimson silk was made in London. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tragically, Princess Charlotte died in childbirth in 1817. Two
years later, Princess Alexandrina Victoria (incidentally, Princess Charlotte's first cousin, and later to be Queen
Victoria) was born, Tsar Alexander became little Drina's godfather. The friendship between
the Russian and British royal families was firmly established, and, until the
Russian Revolution put a stop to it, gifts were constantly exchanged and a
number of Anglo-Russian royal marriages took place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjEJ_eIHplsVD-eI8PgBhwY1-zyYDQCDUMc6XZqQhzeBMsG-fne8NtKVSZyR0g-yNyUXQR7qI9-RPdqEapNbtMlUy0WZ3Mi3hfdJlz4OHHQqXt1MW_SVTzAsAtgo76rShyphenhyphenJBV/s1600/Maria+Feodorovna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1328" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjEJ_eIHplsVD-eI8PgBhwY1-zyYDQCDUMc6XZqQhzeBMsG-fne8NtKVSZyR0g-yNyUXQR7qI9-RPdqEapNbtMlUy0WZ3Mi3hfdJlz4OHHQqXt1MW_SVTzAsAtgo76rShyphenhyphenJBV/s400/Maria+Feodorovna.jpg" width="331" /></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Portrait miniature of Maria Feodorovna, n</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">é</span>e Princess
Dagmar of Denmark, in a Faberg</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">é</span> frame, about 1895<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">In
1862, Queen Victoria’s eldest son, Albert Edward, married the Danish Princess,
Alexandra. Four years later, in 1866, Alexandra’s sister, Dagmar, made a
spectacular marriage to Tsar Alexander III, changing her name to Maria
Feodorovna. The two countries’ ties became even closer.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Casket of nephrite jade, with gold, silver, rubies, emerald and pearl decoration by Pavel Ovchinnikiv (1830-88), 7 x 17 x 10 cms. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In 1874, Queen Victoria’s second son, Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, married the Grand
Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia, daughter of Tsar Alexander II and the couple were given the above casket. </span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jewel flowers: l to r </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fabergé philadelphus: rock crystal, gold, nephrite, quartzite and olivines, 1900; H.I. Wigstrom chrysanthemum: rock crystal, gold, nephrite, enamel, 1908; </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fabergé pansy rock crystal, gold, enamel, nephrite and brilliant diamond, 1900</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two
of Queen Victoria’s grand-daughters also married into the Romanov family; the
Princesses Elisabeth and Alix of Hesse, daughters of the Queen’s second
daughter, Princess Alice. Princess Elisabeth married the Grand Duke Sergei in 1884
and, most spectacular of all, Princess Alix, renamed Alexandra Feodorovna,
married Tsar Nicholas II in 1894.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fabergé </span></i><i style="font-family: garamond, serif;">Mosaic egg and surprise, 1914</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This egg is a technical masterpiece. It was commissioned by Tsar Nicholas II but never collected and it was subsequently confiscated by the Bolsheviks. Its construction is ingenious, it has an egg-shaped yellow gold and platinum lattice frame into which tiny brilliant diamonds, rose cut diamonds, emeralds, topazes, sapphires, garnets, half pearls, and moonstones have been inserted creating a <i>petit point</i> tapestry effect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The 'surprise' inside is a jewelled and enamelled miniature of the silhouettes of the Tsar and Tsarina's five children, l - r in order of birth: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia and Alexei. The designer was the Finnish Alma Theresia Pihi, who worked for <span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif";">Fabergé. </span></span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fabergé</span></i> silver, a<i>methyst and diamond brooch, c.1909</i></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><o:p>This brooch was given to Princess Mary, later Queen Mary, in 1909 by the Tsar Nicholas II and the Tsarina Alexandra during their visit to Cowes to enjoy the regatta. Their whole family was there; it was to be the last time that the two </o:p>Royal families met before the First World War broke out. They dined on each others' yachts. </span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Siberian amethysts are famed for their intense purple hue as you can see from the example above. It is a hexagon with a diamond framed border and a diamond bow at the top. It can be worn as a brooch or as a pendant. </span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fabergé c</span></i><i>igarette case, 1908</i></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> This vivid Art Nouveau royal </span><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p>blue </o:p></span><o:p style="font-size: x-large;">moir</o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">é </span><o:p style="font-size: x-large;">guilloch</o:p><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">é </span><o:p style="font-size: x-large;">enamel </o:p><span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif";">Fabergé </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">cigarette case with a sinuous two colour gold snake decorated with brilliant and ros</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: large; text-align: center;">é </span><span style="font-size: large;">cut diamonds grasping its tail in its mouth was given to King Edward VII by his mistress, Mrs Keppel in 1908. The snake holding it's own tail is a symbol of everlasting love. It is noticeably plainer than most </span><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif";"><i style="font-size: x-large;">Fabergé </i><span style="font-size: large;">objects we see associated with royalty - but it is supremely elegant. - as, indeed was Mrs Keppel.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Contrary to what one might expect, Queen Alexandra approved of Mrs Keppel who was kind, generous and tactful, and could always cheer up</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the King when he was moody. Alexandra </span><span style="font-size: medium;">even allowed Mrs Keppel to visit him to say good-bye when he was dying.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After his death, Queen Alexandra returned the cigarette case to Mrs Keppel, who remained on the Dowager Queen's guest list. That changed when Queen Alexandra died in 1925. Court life under Queen Mary and King George was much stricter (and possibly duller) and Mrs Keppel was firmly dropped. Then, in 1936, Mrs Keppel returned the cigarette case to Queen Mary so that it could always stay in the Royal Collection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">An interesting move and I can't help wondering why she did it. I don't altogether buy the 'official' reason. </span></div>
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<o:p><i>Vladimir tiara made by court jeweller Bolin for the Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna, wife of Grand Duke Vladimir, 3rd son of Tsar Alexander II, 1874</i></o:p><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-size: large;">This beautiful tiara is made of interlocking diamond circles set in gold and silver with pear-shaped pearl drops. It also has an extraordinary story. The Grand Duchess Maria, the first owner of the tiara, was living in the sumptuous Vladimir Palace in St Petersburg when the Russian Revolution broke out. </span></o:p><br />
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<o:p>In 1917, things got too hot and she fled, leaving her jewels hidden in her bedroom. But exile was expensive and she soon needed money. At the point, the story began to remind me of the Edwardian anti-hero, Raffles, creation of the novelist E. W. Hornung. Raffles, an ex-public school and gentleman burglar with bags of charm, is invited to various country houses, accompanied by his ex-fag, Bunny as his valet, where he steals the other guests'jewels.. Naturally he gets away with it. </o:p></span><br />
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<o:p>The Grand Duchess's son, Boris, accompanied by a British friend, Bertie Stopford, an art dealer with diplomatic ties (or, in some versions, a spy) came up with a highly dangerous plan. Disguised as workmen, they managed to gain access to the Vladimir Palace, get into the Grand Duchess's bedroom, retrieve the jewels and smuggle them out in the diplomatic bag. The jewels were taken to London but, en route, some of them were damaged. </o:p></span><br />
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<o:p>In 1920, Maria was the last Grand Duchess to escape from Russia; her journey, via Italy and France, was traumatic and she died a few years' later, leaving her jewellery to her daughter, Elena, Queen of Greece and Denmark - and, incidentally, Prince Philip's aunt.</o:p></span><br />
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<o:p>Queen Mary, who loved collecting objects once owned by her murdered Russian relations, bought a number of jewels from Elena, including the Vladimir tiara. It was in a bad state and needed restoring. Queen Mary wanted to make it more adaptable and it now has emerald drops as well as the original pear-shaped pearls. </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, dear reader, if you want an idea for a novel, you could do a lot worse than go for the story of the Vladimir tiara.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The exhibition,</span><i style="font-size: x-large;"> Russia: Royalty & the Romanovs, </i><span style="font-size: large;">is on at the Queen's Gallery until 28th April, 2019. It is well worth seeing and it certainly has the 'Wow!' factor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I did a companion blog on the exhibition itself on 18th November, 2018 on my http://elizabethhawksley.com website. I have listed it under 'Exhibitions', 'Royal Connections', 'Celebrating the Arts' and 'Victorian Age' categories.<i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Photographs: <em>courtesy of the Royal Collection Trust, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 2018 </em></span><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Elizabeth Hawksley </span></o:p></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-23901681630486927702018-11-30T19:49:00.002+00:002018-11-30T19:49:54.855+00:00The fascination and process of using the amnesia trope<br />
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A quick search on Amazon for “amnesia historical romance”
produces 221 results. If you cut out the historical and go for “amnesia
romance” you get 1000 results. I should say that makes it quite a popular theme
among authors.</div>
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Personally, I’ve used it twice. In A Trace of Memory, our
hero finds the heroine wandering in his woods, dishevelled and unable to
remember who she is or how she got there. Of his two sisters, who are with him,
one believes Elaine genuine, while the other suggests she is guilty of an
elaborate ploy to entrap the eligible earl. Nevertheless, they take her in and
look after her, although Charles is in two minds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My current book just launched features another earl who is
thrown from his curricle and injured. Widow Chloe takes him in but when he
wakes his memory is missing. In this scenario, his identity is known as he has
a groom with him, but Lance has no idea who he is and the story revolves around
his mistaking Chloe for his lost love, Clarissa.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The working out of an amnesia plot follows the same pattern
as any other Regency story. Boy meets girl. Attraction is followed by
complications which, when resolved, result in the happily ever after – or at
least a hope of it. The interesting bit comes in how much we can develop the
symptoms and progress of the condition and how much that influences the story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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An amnesiac, by definition, has an impaired memory. We are
not talking here of the distressing condition of the gradual onset of dementia
which we know is not going to go away. For the purposes of romance, that would
be impossible. But a knock on the head can produce a more immediately severe
condition that is, we hope, temporary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The trick lies in how much memory our amnesiac discovers
through the story. How much of the mystery do we choose to reveal, piece by
piece? What triggers can we use to build even a vague picture of this person’s
past, and indeed of their character? The opportunities are legion and the
development of the story depends upon those choices.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You can, for example, change a man’s whole character, as
demonstrated by Harrison Ford in the film “Regarding Henry” where the hero
survives a bullet and becomes a completely different individual, warmer and
loathing what he learns of the man he used to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With Widow in Mistletoe, a dream-induced memory of Clarissa
pitches Lance into the first and major complication since Chloe resembles her.
He also begins to discover an arrogant attitude he had as a lord that he now
deprecates. His confusions abound and he begins to fear for his reason. Chloe
becomes the only stable point in his new existence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I must say that as I was writing the story, I didn’t work
this out ahead. It grew in the writing. Logic dictated that in a person who
still has their faculties, the loss of memory must be distressing – unlike with
dementia where often the victim does not realise they even have the condition.
This presented scope for plenty of drama and the story became quite dark in
places. It’s hardly gothic, but the psychological disturbance creates that
darkness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wonder if this is the magnet that drives authors to the
trope? The fascination with the psychological aspects of the condition and how
that affects the victim and the people around them has so many possible
permutations that it’s unlikely any one story is repeated elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Nevertheless, I think it’s a risky trope. Easy to overplay
or underplay it. For example, what of the convenient second accident that
miraculously recovers the memory lock, stock and barrel? I suspect any amnesiac
will retain hidden pockets that prove elusive. Far more believable to allow
snippets to appear here and there and perhaps widen as familiar territory helps
to jog them into more coherent memories.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I left my hero incomplete, I’m afraid, but at least with
sufficient recognition to know who he was really in love with!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Elizabeth Bailey<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">An overturned curricle
creates a vanished memory. When Chloe takes in the injured lord, she puts her
heart in danger. Dare she hope Lance may realise she is not his dead betrothed
and learn to love her for herself?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://mybook.to/WIM" target="_blank">Available from Amazon</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://www.books2read.com/b/bxZDzd" target="_blank">Available from other stores</a></div>
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<br />Elizabeth Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407958362024218785noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-11435586540701802262018-11-25T09:00:00.000+00:002018-11-25T09:00:08.043+00:00BoundlessThe last book in the Shaws series is out next month, but instead of a straight "buy me," post, I'd prefer to talk about an aspect of the story.<br />
<br />
Orphanages. At the start of Boundless, Livia is attacked by some skinny children from the orphanage she has just visited.<br />
Georgian London had good ones and bad ones.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thomascoram.herts.sch.uk/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/foundling_hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.thomascoram.herts.sch.uk/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/foundling_hospital.jpg" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="400" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thomas Coram's Foundling Hospital</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The best was the famous Foundling Hospital which Thomas Coram helped to establish. A retired sea captain, he used his fortune to fund the school for children who needed a good upbringing. The children weren't strictly orphans, but they came from parents who could not afford to bring them up. In effect, the parents gave their babies away. They left little tokens so they could identify the child if they were ever in a position to reclaim them. The Hospital has a pathetic and terribly sad collection of them that you can go and see today. As far as is known, not one parent returned to claim their child, and if they had, since the tokens were removed it would have been almost impossible to recognise them.<br />
The children were brought up strictly to be good Christians and to have a trade. Eventually they'd be apprenticed out or sent as servants somewhere.<br />
And that was the good version.<br />
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<a href="https://proxy.duckduckgo.com/iur/?f=1&image_host=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F236x%2Fe7%2F5e%2F35%2Fe75e3520bab2b5f16c6ceb43ac167b78.jpg&u=https://i.pinimg.com/236x/e7/5e/35/e75e3520bab2b5f16c6ceb43ac167b78.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="236" src="https://proxy.duckduckgo.com/iur/?f=1&image_host=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F236x%2Fe7%2F5e%2F35%2Fe75e3520bab2b5f16c6ceb43ac167b78.jpg&u=https://i.pinimg.com/236x/e7/5e/35/e75e3520bab2b5f16c6ceb43ac167b78.jpg" /></a>In the bad one, like the one my heroine Livia visited, the orphanage was little better than a thieves' kitchen. they were taught a trade all right, but that might be pickpocketing or burglary. Remember Fagin in Oliver Twist? That was written when the rookeries were still swamps of filth and danger in the middle of London - turn the wrong way on The Strand and you could find yourself in an area the authorities left alone, and if you were wearing good clothes, you might not come out alive.<br />
Livia mistakenly visits the kind of orphanage where children were trained to steal, and my hero has to rescue her. Oliver is very attracted to Livia, and astonished to see her in this part of London, but from that moment their fate is set.<br />
And you'll have to read Boundless to find out what happens next!<br />
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*****</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0o2S4nD1y86o2645EIMPfjC4VTb-4LCwxda_IZrTyxq3yVEykrES6BRefrVVbCEz8LGsywkKHnLozfKZp7shZuH-3cBlxyckKH7NHPJLpQ1nE3PH_jYp-FD7VqHw6ByylBg4Xw/s1600/Boundless_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0o2S4nD1y86o2645EIMPfjC4VTb-4LCwxda_IZrTyxq3yVEykrES6BRefrVVbCEz8LGsywkKHnLozfKZp7shZuH-3cBlxyckKH7NHPJLpQ1nE3PH_jYp-FD7VqHw6ByylBg4Xw/s320/Boundless_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<b><i>She’s the unlikely wallflower of the extraordinary Shaw family. A
woman who will never marry, but not for the reasons you might think . .
.</i></b><br /> <b><i> </i></b><br />Attacked on the streets of London,
Lady Livia Shaw is relieved when a gentleman comes to her aid—and
startled to discover her rescuer is Adrian, the Duke of Preston, a
notorious rogue. But their association—and instant attraction—does not
end there, much to the Shaws’ distress. For Livia was robbed of a
memento—one that is both her most precious possession and a reminder of a
shameful secret. It is a secret she knows will cause her to lose Adrian
forever, yet he is determined to track down the thief . . .<br /> <br />
Adrian never wanted to be anyone’s hero, but now he’s finding the
prospect as pleasing as he does Livia’s company, and her beauty.
Certainly he wants her in his bed, but what surprises him is how much
she comes to mean to him. Which is why the revelation of her scandalous
past is nearly his undoing. Arrogantly, he had assumed only he had the
power to shock. But it is too late to turn back, and now Adrian may have
to risk everything for Livia, even his heart . . .<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Boundless-Shaws-Book-Lynne-Connolly-ebook/dp/B07BD2S5C2/">You can preorder the book here! </a><br />
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<br />lynneconnollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687025766573756077noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-74041465003558216142018-11-10T03:30:00.000+00:002018-11-10T03:30:06.923+00:00The inspirational power of water<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfW1nWf_eCYLNvoB3dDsCr_xkNMYn3WvlbEX2FGy6eLQT2LOMw1j5gziKBk9Q4mUlqGZmJdGlmkdPZn9BXFT7bzwSppJsnqi5OwKEiYQlOo6URbZFc_9_W6F5jMC8ELg-Mmd9ig/s1600/HQ+eve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfW1nWf_eCYLNvoB3dDsCr_xkNMYn3WvlbEX2FGy6eLQT2LOMw1j5gziKBk9Q4mUlqGZmJdGlmkdPZn9BXFT7bzwSppJsnqi5OwKEiYQlOo6URbZFc_9_W6F5jMC8ELg-Mmd9ig/s320/HQ+eve.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As a writer, I need inspiration and I find water is one of
the most inspiring elements.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Whether it
is looking out over the Bristol Channel at the end of a long sunny day, or
watching the restless sea beating on the Devon coast, I just can't get enough
of the view.<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> It sets the creative juices flowing.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWHE9vHV-tU0p0fKpBea3RJ6FYVp15oP8gF6d9xyCpZ2_5Ryt10RktQAEXl7zMAEK9kQ4RjOq2Pvpb60y6CQ60Kk-bT9KNz-sjXk2FlTmqVp_yjHrFV-WVi3zc6cl7qvXD-URWQ/s1600/evening.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWHE9vHV-tU0p0fKpBea3RJ6FYVp15oP8gF6d9xyCpZ2_5Ryt10RktQAEXl7zMAEK9kQ4RjOq2Pvpb60y6CQ60Kk-bT9KNz-sjXk2FlTmqVp_yjHrFV-WVi3zc6cl7qvXD-URWQ/s320/evening.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Writers need contrast in their books, so I
need inspiration for the reflective scenes as much as for the exciting ones,
and water provides that. Perhaps it is because we live on an island, we are
never very far from water and for someone who writes about Georgian England,
water is important. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PPZazq7ECMHd4sw7myz73YkHNv6kNxP-HNBv4ihqwjHTn3ryIfcfQCyF1tEL7KfTxM3Um71MwEL_Yk1ZjtLLqZK47FU-QkXavQVX5YOG7T3XQe8HNakXiIknvC5wRdDRXvR_Ww/s1600/Trincolmalee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PPZazq7ECMHd4sw7myz73YkHNv6kNxP-HNBv4ihqwjHTn3ryIfcfQCyF1tEL7KfTxM3Um71MwEL_Yk1ZjtLLqZK47FU-QkXavQVX5YOG7T3XQe8HNakXiIknvC5wRdDRXvR_Ww/s320/Trincolmalee.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HMS Trincomalee, Hartlepool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Along with coal, it powered the industrial revolution, and provided
trade routes around the coast or via the rivers and canals for centuries before
the roads and railways took over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68Fkqmx5Q_CEQNIW488GfBtOCvdoEUq3ZvXsnVLvHoop6SwW-fx3iMcXQq907FqAqMFE_iViMOdGvWvs1luMnL_dsXF__bL3GDsUVZmayK94uqoSgPe1_O7dNCDAxgYPck0DpMw/s1600/diabaig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi68Fkqmx5Q_CEQNIW488GfBtOCvdoEUq3ZvXsnVLvHoop6SwW-fx3iMcXQq907FqAqMFE_iViMOdGvWvs1luMnL_dsXF__bL3GDsUVZmayK94uqoSgPe1_O7dNCDAxgYPck0DpMw/s320/diabaig.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently I have been travelling around Scotland, where they
have, er, an abundance of water. It's everywhere, in the rivers and lochs and
around the coast with its thousands of islands. (there is also plenty in the sky, too, but luckily not when we were there!) There was the excited anticipation
of setting out on a ferry to the remote island of Jura,</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UCq3FmD3LVkrHYNVrUcbsnaPc1sLD5Wr0wBL4t3SKz9TEytEtuNAhofFzTH3oVgNWY2vKlBre9BnmgGoOjEuPJEx246hWHpiwInWaG8pxnfa12znfPdHKEnMzq_ydA-1UtAdbA/s1600/jura+ferry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UCq3FmD3LVkrHYNVrUcbsnaPc1sLD5Wr0wBL4t3SKz9TEytEtuNAhofFzTH3oVgNWY2vKlBre9BnmgGoOjEuPJEx246hWHpiwInWaG8pxnfa12znfPdHKEnMzq_ydA-1UtAdbA/s320/jura+ferry.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>and the sheer pleasure of sitting in the sun,
watching the seals sunning themselves in the bay at Port Charlotte, on Islay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9j7K29balB_gdlSkaLIacFLD7SAgiCT710hvGXtTcY7BKsP3hu11VlVMdPyFyCt_1zPgjicENo68fgSR-XmYyR7FIwUMglEUZKnc9XmMrinqJjqgJ4toI00UnsY4_QFYwKd29w/s1600/seals+islay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9j7K29balB_gdlSkaLIacFLD7SAgiCT710hvGXtTcY7BKsP3hu11VlVMdPyFyCt_1zPgjicENo68fgSR-XmYyR7FIwUMglEUZKnc9XmMrinqJjqgJ4toI00UnsY4_QFYwKd29w/s320/seals+islay.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You might think this would only provide inspiration for seafaring
adventures, but not in my case. Although I do have some books set beside the
sea, and even on it, many of my books are set in Regency London, or in an
English country house, but travelling around and looking at waterfalls and
wonderful views over vast expanses of water seems to free the mind to wander where
it will, resolving knotty problems about plot providing a route to the necessary
happy ending.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHEccwsSEjQ3GpTozAggnKL_hxH4nuXVQzae4gKRw8zfH9BNkpPRF37lgzqlG4VtIt6HhxLnZOA0TIZQWLLju-pKzrFjsjS4zrjgW3MJiwvsJcpm4NEAtRfPioLv4TdQOBXPTO6g/s1600/Embleton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHEccwsSEjQ3GpTozAggnKL_hxH4nuXVQzae4gKRw8zfH9BNkpPRF37lgzqlG4VtIt6HhxLnZOA0TIZQWLLju-pKzrFjsjS4zrjgW3MJiwvsJcpm4NEAtRfPioLv4TdQOBXPTO6g/s320/Embleton.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But you don't have to travel that far to enjoy the benefits
of water, fountains and lakes in city parks can be just as enjoyable, or
walking along a canal. Even just soaking in a bath has been known to help when
I have been wrestling with a storyline!</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy reading (and writing).</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Melinda Hammond / Sarah Mallory</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1FaXQdYDyqHnq63WqTHVa5DqEilp3HDv0ypMAfZUxf4RZ_dI_SrcyDZsd-sp9MGXlL7toYQ4TQ5ExfOigrQ0gpnMh0M9nRExoGdmS498QViTQnx3fz2NusrBDigD0wozkmnr6w/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1011" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1FaXQdYDyqHnq63WqTHVa5DqEilp3HDv0ypMAfZUxf4RZ_dI_SrcyDZsd-sp9MGXlL7toYQ4TQ5ExfOigrQ0gpnMh0M9nRExoGdmS498QViTQnx3fz2NusrBDigD0wozkmnr6w/s320/cover.jpg" width="202" /></a></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Beauty & the Brooding Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out now!</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Melinda Hammond/Sarah Malloryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402460212860103804noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-64692531282684057752018-11-05T07:14:00.000+00:002018-11-05T07:35:49.391+00:00There's something about soldiers in scarlet coats.<br />
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">In Chapter
VIII of Jane Austen’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pride and Prejudice</i>,
a militia regiment arrives in Meryton, to the delight of Lydia and Kitty
Bennet. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘They could talk of nothing but
officers’</i> and every other topic of conversation <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an
ensign.’ </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their father calls them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘two of the silliest girls in the country’, </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but Mrs Bennet says wistfully, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I remember the time when I liked a red coat
myself very well – and, indeed, so I do still at my heart.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I was
reminded of this when I visited the Household Cavalry Museum recently and I have to admit that the sight of soldiers in uniform, wearing crested helmets and
scarlet jackets, sitting on gleaming black horses and being put through their
paces by an even smarter officer, gladdened <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i>
heart, too. I knew just what Mrs Bennet meant. And the hundreds of people watching
the Household Cavalry completing the Changing of the Guard in Horse Guards
Parade obviously agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Visitors
watch the Changing of the Guard ceremony in Horse Guards Parade. </span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I went
into the Household Cavalry Museum to find out more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt; text-indent: 0.75pt;">The
Household Cavalry is a union of the Life Guards (red jackets) formed by King
Charles II on the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660; The Royal Horse Guards,
known as ‘The Blues’ (blue jackets), raised in 1650 as part of Cromwell’s New
Model Army, and The Royal Dragoons, who were originally based in Tangiers. The
Blues and the Royals later amalgamated, hence ‘The Blues and Royals.’</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">These two
cavalry regiments form The Household Cavalry which has several functions; first
and foremost, they are soldiers, fighting wherever they are sent; they are
currently serving in Afghanistan. Their other important job is to protect the
Sovereign; and to undertake various ceremonial duties, such as the State
Opening of Parliament, escorting the Sovereign during State visits from foreign
heads of state, Royal Weddings and the like. Naturally, their equestrian skills
are superb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Farrier’s
axe and officer’s helmet, early 19<sup>th</sup> century. The axe was used
to kill a badly wounded horse and also to chop the hoof off a dead one which
enabled the farrier to prove that the horse was dead and that he could apply
for a replacement.</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I’ve
always been interested in early 19<sup>th</sup> century military history,
and I was delighted to find that the Household Cavalry Museum was full of
splendid uniforms, bloodthirsty weapons and anecdotes of astounding courage;
many of which centre on the battle of Waterloo, in June 1815. It was a battle
in which both the Life Guards and the Blues and Royals were heavily engaged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i>Contemporary ceremonial dress Life Guards and Blues and Royals</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Their
ceremonial dress is magnificent. The scarlet jacket belongs to the Life
Guards, and the dark blue belongs to the Blues and Royals. The basic design has
not changed very much over the centuries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Lieut.
Charles Lorraine’s officer’s full dress coat: The Blues (1795-1800)</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If Lieut.
Lorraine had been lucky enough to have been invited to the Duchess of Richmond's famous ball on the eve of the battle of Waterloo, this is what he
would have worn. It’s made of blue woollen broadcloth with scarlet collar and
lapels, gold lace loops and gilt buttons. But the weather that June was
notoriously wet and a soaked blue broadcloth jacket would have weighed him down
terribly, so perhaps it’s just as well he wasn’t on the guest list. We know
that many of the officers at the ball went straight from the ballroom to the
battlefield.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> Saddle
of an officer in The Blues used at the battle of Waterloo</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">When Major
Harry Smith set out for Brussels to join his regiment before the battle of
Waterloo, he took five horses, his wife Juana, himself, his brother Charles,
three servants and Juana’s pug-dog with him. And his regiment was only the
Rifle Brigade – not a smart cavalry regiment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Officers
had to provide their own saddles and equipment as well as their horses. They
also had to buy an officer’s commission, starting at the bottom as a subaltern.
To get into a top cavalry regiment, like the Life Guards, was very expensive.
It wasn’t until after the fiasco of the Crimean War in the 1850s that officers could
enlist without having to pay, and were promoted on merit rather than their
ability to buy their way up the career ladder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">John
Edwards’ bugle</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">But you
didn’t have to be rich to become well-known in your regiment. Take John
Edwards, 1799-1875. He joined the 1<sup>st</sup> Life Guards age 9, in
1808, and became a bugler. At Waterloo, he was Field Trumpeter under
Major-General Lord Edward Somerset and, aged only 16, he was the person who gave the signal for
the decisive charge of the 1<sup>st</sup> Life Guards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i>John Edwards' memorial card</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">His story
caught the public imagination and his long career became part of the story of
his regiment. The elaborate memorial card, crowned with angels holding
trumpets, printed after his death in 1875 indicates how well known his story
was. It ends with the sentence, <i>‘Now waiting the trumpet of salvation.’</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The eagle
of the 105<sup>th</sup> regiment</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The
capture of one of Napoleon’s eagles at Waterloo was cause for great
celebration. Napoleon had designed them himself – in emulation of Ancient Rome
– and presented them personally to his regiments, so losing one was felt as a
disgrace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">A replica of John
Shaw’s skull. Sir Walter Scott, who greatly admired Shaw, also had a replica made of
his skull</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">One of the
most flamboyant characters in the 2<sup>nd</sup> Life Guards was Corporal
John Shaw (1789-1815) who was famous for his size – he was over six foot – and
strength; he once carried two ponies down stairs, one under each arm (or so the
story goes). He took the King’s shilling, that is, he enlisted as a private in
1807 and soon caught the attention his officers by his strength and skill in
various regimental exercises. He became a renowned boxer and his entry in the
Dictionary of National Biography follows his career with gusto.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">John
Shaw’s sword and scabbard</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">On the
morning of June 18<sup>th</sup>, 1815, he took part in the first charge of the
battle. A French cuirassier charged straight at him and Shaw parried the thrust
with his sword and finished off the cuirassier by slicing straight through his
helmet and skull right down to the chin. He fought ferociously in several other
charges but eventually found himself outflanked and surrounded. He killed nine
Frenchmen with his sword before it broke, then he tore his helmet off and began
to use it as a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cestus</i> – that is, a
sort of knuckle-duster used by boxers in Ancient Rome. He was eventually killed
by a cuirassier sitting a little way off who unsportingly, one feels, shot him
with his carbine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The Earl
of Uxbridge’s cork leg</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Henry
William Paget, Earl of Uxbridge (1768-1854) was a soldier who had fought with
great distinction both in Europe and in the Peninsular. He was also a man with
a scandalous private life – he had eloped with the Duke of Wellington’s
sister-in-law.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The Earl’s
knee was shattered by one of the last cannon shots of the battle. He was near
Wellington when it happened and exclaimed, <i>‘By God, sir, I’ve lost my leg!’</i> To
which the Duke replied, coolly, ‘<i>’By God, sir, so you have!’</i> His
unemotional response was possibly caused by his resentment at Uxbridge’s
behaviour – though Wellington’s own reputation with regard to the ladies was
hardly spotless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The Earl’s
leg had to be amputated above the knee and he had a cork leg made. Dissatisfied
with it, he eventually had a fully-articulated prosthetic leg invented for him
which creaked loudly whenever it bent. However, it was successful enough to
become the standard prosthetic leg until 1914.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Mementos
from the battle of Waterloo</span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">After the battle,
the looters moved in, and those of an entrepreneurial turn of mind who were
quick to see the value in souvenirs. Above are a couple of examples of mementos
from the battlefield. The curl of horse hair comes from Napoleon’s horse,
Marengo; and the hoof snuff box comes from one of the horses killed in the
battle. It’s gruesome, yes, but peace, however welcome after twenty-five years
of war, left a lot of people, including soldiers, unemployed. We know that
there were a lot of scavengers in the years following who made a living selling
whatever they could find on the battlefield, from teeth to gilt buttons and
bits of armour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The
mounted guard looks both right and left to check for anything untoward. </span></i><span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The
Household Cavalry Museum at the Royal Horse Guards in Whitehall is well worth a
visit. You can even take a photo of yourself standing next to one of the guards,
just don’t expect him to smile; he’s trained not to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b472f; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Elizabeth
Hawksley<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-21875168966496076492018-10-30T11:52:00.000+00:002018-10-30T11:52:32.677+00:00Consulting the future: Napoleon’s Book of Fate and Oraculum<br />
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Our ancestors were no less given to ways of foretelling the
future than we are. Whether you regularly read your star sign in the newspaper,
consult a medium or have your hand read in the gypsy stall at a fair, you are
in good company.<o:p></o:p></div>
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According to a book I acquired long ago, Napoleon
is said to have consulted his oracle on every important occasion. The book is
supposed to be, it states, “a fac simile of the one used by NAPOLEON” (their
spelling of facsimile).</div>
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I am not sure how much good it did him, if we are to judge how much poor old Napoleon changed over the years.</div>
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Not only does this book contain a complicated oracle, it
goes into interpreting dreams, “weather omens, astrological miscellany and
important advice”. Also palmistry, observing moles, face reading, lucky days
and a whole lot more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The oraculum starts with rules. What you do is make five
rows of lines, making sure there’s at least a dozen on each line. You then
count the lines on each row, and if the number is odd, you assign it one dot,
and if it’s even, you assign it two dots.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That gives you a pattern, as you can see in the illustration.
You can then ask one of 32 questions, and the following pages give you a key.
You locate your pattern, run down the column to your question, and find the
letter given. Then you go the page for that letter, again find your pattern,
and you get your answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Highly random, the whole thing. The questions are couched in
old-fashioned language, as are the answers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let’s do a test. Question 15 seems
appropriate to our present.<br />
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What is the aspect of the SEASONS, and what POLITICAL
CHANGES are to take place?</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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I’ve done my lines and come up with odd, even, even, odd,
odd. The key gives me the letter V. My answer is: “Expect a plentiful harvest.”
What to make of that, I really don’t know!</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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There’s a warning that it is improper to ask TWO questions
on the same day, so I can’t do another one. Instead, let’s have a look the
second Oraculum or Book of Fate, which has a slightly different system of four
rows of dots and only 16 questions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had a peculiar dream the other day, so let’s ask “What
does my dream signify?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh my sainted aunt! The answer is: “Signifies trouble and
sorrow.” Argghh!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enough of that already. What about moles? I have about 500
of them I think, so this should be good. I’m going for the biggest one on my
face. The closest is upper lip, which shows happiness in marriage. Well, that’s
better, though it’s a bit late for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without our amazing Met Office, I daresay the weather omens
would come in handy. Spiders seem to figure strongly, but how about these for
omens of foul and wet weather, which is pretty standard for the UK most of the
time?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If the crows make a great deal of noise, and fly round and
round.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If worms creep out of the ground in great numbers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If the owl screech.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If asses shake their ears, bray, and rub against walls or
trees.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah, here’s one most of us ought to be able to notice:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If cats lick their bodies, and wash their faces.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We won’t go into face reading, or you'll be off in the mirror checking out your eyes!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGy71PD3WOrWFMjawtoNR5vQUO5EsjjTHju0j-QJUQRzyJpaaCfQVm2JrHwZLocf5TKoZCaNCpDyUT44T4AhcZwvo-r61tVD2y9yRh9Zl9B9QuesrYzgVcSL1EmlWzdUUFZVdh-g/s1600/oracle+eyes0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="235" data-original-width="613" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGy71PD3WOrWFMjawtoNR5vQUO5EsjjTHju0j-QJUQRzyJpaaCfQVm2JrHwZLocf5TKoZCaNCpDyUT44T4AhcZwvo-r61tVD2y9yRh9Zl9B9QuesrYzgVcSL1EmlWzdUUFZVdh-g/s320/oracle+eyes0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To finish, I will wish
you fortunate dreams: of baking, of
catching birds, of camels, clocks or cheese, of apricots, milk, leaping or –
and what could be more dream inducing? - the moon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of which, I will leave you with this moon charm to
discover your future husband.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv81KB1jKwShVtE6nPbmFgcq8XYGlcYqfuUN-aTvAj9IibXLaXciKQMU9QYRjetLlWkYfMdLGasyHMW0noYsNgQQJ6oMoPuCZJCkgtvk24vSjKCAHqWOeS0Cbnwqz2r7ZiF9CJdw/s1600/oracle+future+husband0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="214" data-original-width="619" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv81KB1jKwShVtE6nPbmFgcq8XYGlcYqfuUN-aTvAj9IibXLaXciKQMU9QYRjetLlWkYfMdLGasyHMW0noYsNgQQJ6oMoPuCZJCkgtvk24vSjKCAHqWOeS0Cbnwqz2r7ZiF9CJdw/s320/oracle+future+husband0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Elizabeth Bailey<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Elizabeth Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407958362024218785noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-38022132415569055402018-10-15T06:29:00.002+01:002018-10-15T06:29:30.199+01:00Hybrid Publishing - is this the new way forward ?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eWy05eZ7KZ1-pZ5cEy6piy5likDXAx9TWYpi0UaVw9zElle1os0snghOH6tigNJ4FR7rx7RmLkgnj1mweMHvrKW-2VWu_rY8qxbcVobBceXYFwMXcTqADtH8kaPOGjfCBF8Hhg/s1600/9781788548397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1044" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eWy05eZ7KZ1-pZ5cEy6piy5likDXAx9TWYpi0UaVw9zElle1os0snghOH6tigNJ4FR7rx7RmLkgnj1mweMHvrKW-2VWu_rY8qxbcVobBceXYFwMXcTqADtH8kaPOGjfCBF8Hhg/s320/9781788548397.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mybook.to/TheSpitfireGirl">Click Here</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Here I go on a new adventure. I always wanted to work with a mainstream publisher and now I am. Aria - Head of Zeus bought this book and the two that follow. The Spitfire Girl comes out tomorrow and I don't quite know what I'm expecting. I have had my hair cut and gone an a diet as I thought I needed to be ready in case the press are beating down my door demanding an interview. :)</span></div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
The jury's still out on this hybrid publishing lark.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
I love having an enthusiastic and excellent team there to support me, but dislike not being in charge. After almost 60 books indie-published, where I'm fully in control of the process, having to wait a week for an answer to an email etc is frustrating.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
What I do like is that I'll no longer feel so personally offended if a reviewer gives me a 1*review. There's one on Goodreads that calls me retarded and refers to a character as 'airport boy'. Reviewer doesn't know the difference between an airfield and an airport. Now I can relax knowing if 'my team' love the book then the reviewer must be wrong. </div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
I'm also not thrilled with being in the dark about sales etc. Amazon is so good now with data that I know exactly what I'm earning and can plan my expenditure. I don't even know how much I'll get per sale let alone anything else. On the other hand I now have a big publisher as eager as I am to push the book and don't have to do it all myself.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
I love that they have organised a blog tour, put the title on NetGalley and I don't have to be involved. I did write five posts -but didn't have to.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
The blurb was written by someone else and I didn't see it until it went up. Some things needed changing and I wished I'd seen it before it was visible to the public..</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
I was fully involved with the cover and title choice but in the end it was my editor's decision. I have to accept that she knows the market better than I do.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
The difficulty is that I feel strangely divorced from this book, as if it is no longer anything to do with me. Like a son or daughter leaving home it now has to find its own way in the world.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
Here is an extract - hope you enjoy it.</div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Ch-header2" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Essex<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Ch-header3" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;">July
1939<span class="Bold"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="full-out" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-color-alt: windowtext;">‘Well,
Miss Simpson, what do you think?’ Joseph Cross asked as he pointed to the de
Havilland 60 Moth that stood proudly on the worn grass outside the barn that
served as a hanger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="indentCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
Ellen wanted to hug him but
thought he might not appreciate the gesture. ‘I love it. Is it dual control?’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘No, but it has the usual
two seats so can take a passenger.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Good – I’ve got more than
enough pupils to teach. Since the government subsidy last year every Tom, Dick
and Harry wants to learn to fly.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘I hope you don’t expect
me to pay you any extra, young lady. I reckon you owe me far more than your
wages would have been for all the lessons and hours you’ve spent flying my
aircraft over the past five years.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She put her hands on her
hips. ‘Giving my brothers and me lessons at your Flying Club couldn’t have been
as much as the rent you would have had to pay to use my father’s farms and
fields.’ He was about to interrupt but she continued. ‘Not forgetting the fact
that Dad bought the first aircraft and both Neil and George acted as
instructors until they joined the RAF.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
He scowled but she wasn’t
fooled for a minute. ‘The cost of one lesson is usually two pounds – the three
of you never paid a penny…’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Joe, I don’t want to
stand here arguing anymore. I want to take her up before it gets too hot. Are
you coming with me or can I go solo?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Circuits and bumps only,
my girl, no flying off into the wild blue yonder. There are three new enquiries
to be dealt with in the office – I want you to sort those out this morning.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
The other aircraft the
flying club owned were a Swallow and a Gypsy Moth. Both were fitted with dual
controls. Joe had several clients who liked to go up on their own and pootle
about until the fuel ran out. This de Havilland had been bought to satisfy
those clients.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Sidney, the ground
engineer, and the only other full-time employee, wandered out from the hanger.
‘Nice little machine, Ellie, sweet as a nut. You going to take it up for a
spin?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘If that’s all right with
you, I’d love to. I’ll not be long – I just want to get the feel of it for
myself.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘The bloke what brought it
said it flies like the Gypsy only a bit faster. You’ll have no problem – you’re
a natural. I remember your first solo flight when you were no more than a
nipper…’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Joe poked his head out of
the office. ‘No time for reminiscing, Sid, let her get on with it. Just had a
bell and we’ve got a new pupil coming in an hour.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Sorry, guv, I’ll not hold
her up.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She collected her helmet
and goggles and scrambled into the cockpit. Even though the weather was warm
she needed her flying jacket on over her dungarees. It got a bit nippy at a
thousand feet above the land. After doing her pre-flight checks she taxied into
position on the grass runway and took off. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
An uneventful forty-five
minutes later she landed smoothly and headed for the office to catch up with
the paperwork. The new pupil, a middle-aged bank manager, decided after a
couple of circuits of the field that he didn’t want to learn to fly after all.
As they’d only been in the air for a quarter of an hour there was no charge. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
By the time her last pupil
left the airfield it was almost six o’clock. Often they had to work until it
was too dark to fly, but tonight they’d finished early. Ellen left Sid to lock
up and jumped onto her bicycle. At least in the summer Dad didn’t come in for
his tea until late so she wouldn’t have missed her meal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She pedalled furiously
down the track, swerving instinctively around the dips and ruts, covering the
mile in record time. She skidded into the yard, sending half a dozen chickens
squawking into the air in protest, and tossed her bike against the wall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
With luck she’d have time
to wash before her parents sat down to eat. It had taken Mum months to get used
to seeing her only daughter dressed in slacks or dungarees. She might be a
farmer’s wife now, but she’d come from a grand family and had very high
standards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
The fact that Mum had been
disowned when she’d married a farmer should have softened her but instead,
according to Dad, it had made her even more determined to bring her children up
as though they were landed gentry and not the children of a farmer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
After a quick sluice in
the scullery Ellie headed to the kitchen – she was about to open the door when
she realised the voices she’d heard were coming from the seldom used front
parlour. Mum insisted on calling it the drawing room, but no one else did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
This must mean they had
guests. She looked down at her scruffy oil-stained dungarees and wondered if
she had time to nip upstairs and put on something more respectable.
Unfortunately, her mother must have heard her come in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Ellen, you are very late
this evening. Had you forgotten Neil has a twenty-four hour pass?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She was pretty sure this
was the first she’d heard of it but having her oldest brother home was a
wonderful surprise. She didn’t stop to think why this meant they were in the
parlour, and burst in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Hello, little sister,
I’ve brought a chum along. Let me introduce you to Gregory Dunlop.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Only then did she become
aware of the second RAF uniformed young man staring at her with open
admiration. He was a bit shorter than Neil, but broader in the shoulders, with
corn coloured hair and startlingly blue eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘I’m pleased to meet you,
Flying Officer Dunlop.’ She wasn’t sure if she should offer her hand as despite
her best efforts it was far from clean.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
He stepped closer and held
out his and she had no option but to take it. ‘I’ve heard so much about you,
Miss Simpson, and have been pestering your brother for an invitation in order
to meet you for myself.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
His grip was firm, his
hand smoother than hers – but what caught her attention was his upper crust
accent. ‘I’m sorry to appear in my work clothes. If you don’t mind waiting a
few more minutes I’ll pop upstairs and change into something more suitable for
the occasion.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Please, don’t worry on my
account. I think you look perfectly splendid just as you are.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
He seemed reluctant to
release her hand but she pulled it away firmly. He was a very attractive man
and was obviously interested in her, but she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Run along, Ellen, you’ve
got plenty of time to put on a frock as your father has only just come in
himself. We are having a cold collation so nothing will be spoiled by waiting
for another quarter of an hour.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She smiled at her brother
in resignation and he winked. They both knew there was no point in arguing once
their mother had made up her mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She met her father in the
passageway. ‘Have you got to change as well, Ellie? She told me at lunchtime
I’ve got to put on something smart.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘It must be because of
Neil’s friend. He certainly sounds very posh.’ She pushed open her bedroom door
and was about to go in when he replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Seems a lot of fuss for
nothing but easier to give in than put up with a week of black looks and sour
faces.’ He shook his head sadly and went into the room he no longer shared with
her mother. Ellie wished her parents had a happier relationship.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
If there was one thing
she’d learned, by watching the disintegration of what must once have been a
happy union, it was this: Don’t marry for love as it doesn’t last. If she ever
took the plunge it would be with a man she respected, liked and who shared her
outlook on life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Her mother had told her to
put on a frock but she rebelled. She didn’t wish to impress their visitor so
would come down in what she usually wore – slacks and blouse. The only time she
put on a frock was when she was forced to attend church. Most Sundays she had
the excuse that she had to work at the airfield.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She checked her face was
oil free and ran a brush through her hair. Satisfied she was presentable she
hurried downstairs eager to catch up on Neil’s news. George, her other brother,
hadn’t been home since January and she was desperate to hear how he was doing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Her mother pursed her lips
when Ellie came in. ‘Is your father coming, Ellen?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘I don’t know, Mum, but I
don’t think he’ll be long.’ She joined her brother by the open window, leaving
his friend to entertain her mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘I wish you wouldn’t
deliberately provoke her, Ellie. Why won’t you call her Mother? You know how
much she dislikes being called Mum, especially in front of strangers.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
She shrugged. ‘Whatever
she was in the past, now she’s just a farmer’s wife. Have you finished your
training?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
He grinned and pointed to
the wings on his uniform. ‘I have, didn’t you see these? George is still in
Scotland – seems he pranged a Moth and needs longer up there.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘He obviously didn’t hurt
himself or you wouldn’t be so jolly. Do you know where you’re going to be
stationed?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Their conversation was
interrupted by the arrival of her father looking uncomfortable in a collar and
tie. After he was introduced to the guest her mother clapped her hands as if
wishing to attract the attention of a crowd of children.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘We shall go in to dine
now that we are all here.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Ellie hid her smile at her
mother’s pretentiousness behind her hand. Ham and salad hardly deserved such an
introduction. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
When her father mentioned
the likelihood of there being a war her mother insisted that this was not a
suitable topic of conversation at the dinner table. No one was particularly
interested in discussing the weather and an uneasy silence fell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘We’ve got another
aircraft, Dad. I took her up and…’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Her mother glared at her.
‘I’m sure that Flying Officer Dunlop doesn’t want to hear about your highly
unsuitable employment. A young lady should be interested in more feminine
things, don’t you agree, Mr Dunlop?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
The young man nodded
solemnly. ‘I’m sure that most girls would prefer to talk about fashion or
flowers but your daughter is different. I’ve never met a female pilot before
and am most impressed. How many hours solo do you have now, Miss Simpson?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Please call me Ellie,
everyone else does.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘And you must call me
Greg.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Well, Greg, to answer
your question, I’ve been flying since I was twelve – six years now – and got my
A licence when I was fourteen and my instructor’s certificate when I was
sixteen. I’ve logged more than twelve hundred hours now.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Good God! That’s a damn
sight more than I have.’ He couldn’t fail to hear her mother’s horrified gasp.
Instead of being embarrassed he smiled at her. ‘I apologise for my appalling
language, Mrs Simpson, I do hope you will forgive me.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
‘Apology accepted. I’ll
say no more on the matter.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
He turned to Ellie. ‘I
want to hear how you manage in poor weather conditions and hope you will talk
to me before we leave tomorrow morning.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Before she could answer
she was instructed to clear the table and fetch the dessert. Obediently she
pushed her chair back and began to collect the plates. When Greg made a move to
stand up she shook her head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal;">
Clearing the table was a
woman’s job, as well all the other domestic duties that she did her best to
avoid. Pudding was a sherry trifle accompanied by a jug of thick, fresh cream
from their dairy herd. She placed the large glass bowl on the tray and put the
cream beside it. The ham salad, again all home-grown, had been excellent but
this would be even better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="indentCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="indentCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal;">
Fenella J Miller</div>
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<br />Fenella J Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13612724388603068664noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-19912541317700537922018-10-10T00:30:00.000+01:002018-10-10T00:30:05.260+01:00A Brand New Sarah Mallory....
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a new Sarah Mallory published in November – Beauty and
the Brooding Lord. And yes, it has a Beauty and the Beast theme! It features
Serena Russington, the spirited sister of Russ, my hero in The Ton's Most
Notorious Rake. She thinks a rake would make an interesting husband and goes searching
for one – with quite disastrous results!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here is a short excerpt. To set the scene: Serena has
slipped away into the garden for a secret assignation with Sir Timothy Forsbrook,
whom she knows to be a rake….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">***</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">… in the
moonlight the paths gleamed pale silver and the roses themselves ranged from
near black to pale blue-grey. But if the flowers had lost their colour, their
scent was enhanced and Serena breathed in the heady fragrance as she made her
way along the path, but when she reached the turn in the path she was aware of
something else besides rose scent in the night air. A faint hint of tobacco.</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">Ahead she
saw an arbour surrounded by climbing roses and her heart gave a little skip.
There, in the shadows, was the unmistakable figure of a man. His upper body was
hidden, but his crossed legs in their light-coloured knee breeches and white silk
stockings were plainly visible in the gloom. Serena had expected to find her
swain pacing up and down, impatient for her to arrive, but here he was, sitting
at his ease. She quashed the faint ripple of disappointment and hurried up to
him, smiling.</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘Forgive me,
I was delayed. I—’ She broke off with a gasp as she peered into the shadows. <span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="border-image: none; border: medium; margin: 0px;"><span style="border-image: none; border: medium; margin: 0px;"><i>‘You</i></span></span></span>
are not Sir Timothy.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘No, I am
not.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">The reply
was an irritable growl. The figure rose from the seat and Serena took a hasty
step backwards. She realised now that he was nothing like Sir Timothy
Forsbrook. This man was much larger, for a start, although his upper body was
so broad that he did not look overly tall. Where Sir Timothy’s glossy black
locks were carefully styled about his head, the stranger’s hair was lighter and
too long to be fashionable. And as he stepped out of the arbour she thought he
was not at all handsome. In the moonlight his craggy face appeared harsh, as if
he was scowling at her.</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">He towered
over her and she took another step away.</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘Excuse me—’
She would have walked on but his next words stopped her.</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘There was a
fellow here, but he has gone.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘Gone?’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘Aye. He had
the impudence to suggest I should vacate the seat, so I kicked him out.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">She
swallowed. ‘Literally?’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">His great
shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘No. Mere jostling. He retreated rather than have
my fist spoil his face.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">She sucked
in a long, indignant breath. ‘That is disgraceful behaviour. Quite boorish.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘I suppose
you would have preferred me to give way. But why should I? I came out here to
enjoy a cigarillo in peace. You two will have to find some other place for your
lovemaking.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">His voice
dripped scorn. Serena’s face burned with mortification.</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘How dare
you! It is nothing like that.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘No?’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">Knowing she
was in the wrong did nothing for Serena’s temper. She drew herself up and said
angrily, ‘You are odiously rude!’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘If it’s
soft words you want I suggest you go and find your lover.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">‘Oh, I shall
go,’ she told him in a shaking voice,’ and he is <span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="border-image: none; border: medium; margin: 0px;"><span style="border-image: none; border: medium; margin: 0px;"><i>not</i></span></span></span> my
lover.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">He grinned,
his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. ‘No need to be coy on my account,
madam.’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">Serena
gasped. ‘Oooh, you…you…’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">He folded
his arms and looked down at her. ‘Yes?’</span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;">For a moment
she glared at him, her hands closing into fists as she tried to control her
rage. It would be most undignified to rip up at him. Resisting the urge to
stamp her foot, she turned and swept off, muttering angrily under her breath
all the insults she would like to hurl at the odious creature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I must say, things go from bad to worse for Serena after that but she discovers that the ideal man for her is very different from what she imagined! Beauty and the Brooding Lord was great fun to write, so I hope you like it, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> And if you haven't yet read The Ton's Most Notorious Rake, it is currently 99p for
the Kindle version!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy reading.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sarah Mallory / Melinda Hammond</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Melinda Hammond/Sarah Malloryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402460212860103804noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-82377282292018389232018-10-05T10:48:00.001+01:002018-10-05T10:48:22.869+01:00High Living for Heroines<br />
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Last week I visited the magnificent Kenwood House, built in
the 1760s by Robert Adam for the Earl of Mansfield. Whilst there, it struck me that what
novelists need is not an in depth knowledge of a stately home’s architectural highlights
but a record of some of the everyday objects which a heroine might come across.
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kenwood House. The Orangery is on the left. In summer, the orange trees in tubs are moved outside.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Step forward Rosa Forbes, twenty-three, thin, badly-dressed
and a bit prim, but with hidden possibilities, given the chance. Rosa’s widowed
father thinks of nothing but hunting (in winter) and gambling (the rest of the
year), he scarcely notices Rosa. When he dies, the estate is sold to pay off
his debts and Rosa, in desperation, writes to her unknown great-aunt for help.
Two weeks later, Rosa finds herself at the magnificent Manderville Court with
only one shabby valise to her name.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ceiling plaster work in the entrance hall<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Rosa is entranced by the roundel and early the following
morning she sneaks down and lies on the floor to admire it better. To her
embarrassment, Lord Ludovic comes in unexpectedly and nearly trips over her. <o:p></o:p><br />
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'For Heaven's sake, Miss Forbes! What on earth are you doing down there?'<br />
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It is not a good start.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mercury, the messenger god. What message does he have for Rosa? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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As if being caught lying on the floor wasn't bad enough, she then catches sight of a plaster statue of a nude Greek god standing
in a nonchalant way in an alcove – he has <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing
on</i> except for a fig leaf – and, ludicrously, a hat. She doesn’t know where
to look. Lord L. is amused by her confusion, she can see. She flees.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<i>Jet combs</i></div>
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Two new guests arrive, the supremely poised - and wealthy - Honourable Constantia Pomeroy, and her alarming mother. Rosa learns from her great-aunt that an engagement between Lord Ludovic and Miss Pomeroy is imminent.<br />
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They deserve each other, thinks Rosa.<br />
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'Really, Miss Forbes,' sniffs Miss Pomeroy, the first evening after her arrival, 'why are you peering so closely at that mantelpiece? I thought for a moment that you were a housemaid dusting it!' She titters.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Library alcove<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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There's one room Rosa really loves - the Library. She forgets
to be shocked by the ceiling panel of Hercules choosing between Glory and the
Passions. All she can do is breathe, ‘Oh!’ Those colours! The pale blue and
pink set off the dark red and gold of the books so well. She walks around, entranced<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Library steps<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Nobody’s there, so, greatly daring, she climbs the library
steps and finds <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The History of Tom Jones</i>
by Henry Fielding<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i>Mama once told her that it<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>was very shocking - no lady should be seen reading it. Gingerly, she takes Volume I off the shelf and
tucks it under her arm; she would jolly well read it, she vowed, but nobody would see her doing so. A day or so later, she is back at the top of the ladder.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tom Jones </i>is terrific and she can’t
wait to read Volume II. The ladder is standing in shadow when she hears
laughter and footsteps. Lord Ludovic comes in with another house guest,
the asinine Sir Godfrey, he of the braying laugh. 'Who on earth is Miss Forbes, Manderville? Zounds! I took her for a scullery maid until Miss Pomeroy told me she is actually a <i>guest</i>!'</div>
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Rosa grabbed Volume II of <i>Tom Jones</i>, more than half-inclined to hurl it at him. Then, reluctantly, she lowered her hand. That way lay disgrace. They hadn’t noticed her so far but when
they turned round…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Library mantelpiece, looking glass and bust of Homer.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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She glances across at the gold framed looking-glass in the
alcove with the bust of Homer beside it, and, to her horror, sees Lord Ludovic
looking straight at her. As their eyes meet, he winks and a tiny jerk of his head indicates that she escapes. He touches Sir Godfrey on the arm and points to the deer in the park.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The staircase</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Lord Ludovic isn't all bad, thought Rosa, tip-toeing down the steps as fast as she could and fleeing back to her room, stumbling on the treads of
the elegant cantilevered staircase. She finds her great-aunt’s lady’s maid in
her bedroom with a couple of lengths of silk over her arm. ‘My Lady suggests
that these would make you a couple of evening gowns,’ she spreads them
over the bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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‘But I’m hopeless at sewing!’ exclaims Rosa, sliding <i>Tom Jones</i> stealthily under the pillow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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‘And I am good at it!’ The lady’s maid smiles. ‘It would be
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Then there’s the Drawing-room, where the ladies sit after
dinner and wait for the gentlemen to finish their port and salacious stories
before joining them. Rosa loves the way the chandelier's cut crystals sparkle in
the candlelight. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The chaise longue is obviously top of the range but it’s not
comfortable. Rosa keeps feeling she’ll either slide off, or spill her coffee. Worse,
the turquoise clashes with her new hyacinth blue silk evening gown. She
overhears Sir Godfrey whispering behind Miss Pomeroy’s fan, and they both look in her direction.<br />
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Rosa lifts her chin defiantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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There is a pianoforte in the corner. Rosa used to have piano and singing lessons every week. After her mother died,
when Rosa was fifteen, that stopped and her father refused to have the piano
re-tuned, so she could no longer even practice. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The next morning, Rosa sneaks into the Drawing-room and discovers some music inside the hinged piano stool. It doesn't look too difficult. She finds a couple of country songs she knows, takes a deep
breath, sits down, runs her fingers lightly over the keys and begins to sing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A voice behind her, a rich baritone, joins in ….<o:p></o:p></div>
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And that’s just Chapter I.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Elizabeth Hawksley<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-16190467948695906922018-09-30T11:18:00.000+01:002018-09-30T11:18:29.913+01:00What does a Regency hero look like?Some writers I know like to have an image of the hero they are writing about pinned above a desk. Personally I don't do this. My heroes tend to jump into my head fully formed and if I went looking for a picture of them I'm sure I wouldn't find one. Occasionally, a hero doesn't make an appearance except as a vague shadow in my mind until I set him loose upon the page when he starts to take form and his features clarify for me.<div>
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Now and then though, I get hooked into images on Pinterest and collect pictures of potential heroes. Or pictures of men who might fit a Heyer hero I'm particularly fond of. Fellow Heyer addicts tend to use modern actors or stars (often pictured dressed in Regency gear) when they are musing about which Heyer hero this could be.</div>
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What better, however, than images of real men from the era? Portraits of the time may be a touch romanticised by the painter to make them flattering to the buyer, but they do depict men looking as they did back in the day. These are the guys who might truly be a Regency hero.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVghwpM5sy_QnluYaF83xxcoYv4Y6GYjRG2DdF71yX9l62T1RAytJgw1Ckt0K-meDcSPSa8C69hTwC18YKfvlbgO8QFzXAYJWD7Wp7oGqRbh8uRP9ZDt-lu4ifPSmngtfpkuzZBQ/s1600/blonde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="534" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVghwpM5sy_QnluYaF83xxcoYv4Y6GYjRG2DdF71yX9l62T1RAytJgw1Ckt0K-meDcSPSa8C69hTwC18YKfvlbgO8QFzXAYJWD7Wp7oGqRbh8uRP9ZDt-lu4ifPSmngtfpkuzZBQ/s320/blonde.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
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How about this blonde specimen, guaranteed to set our heroine's heart a-beating? A tad arrogant, do you think?</div>
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"Do I know you, madam? I think not."</div>
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But of course he'll find her irresistible and that look of disdain will be wiped from his features with a charming smile.</div>
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What do you think of the hairstyle?</div>
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Or this for the brooding hero? More at home on the battlefield than in the ballroom perhaps. Disinclined to grant our heroine any favours. Naturally she will charm him into submission and brooding will be a thing of the past.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqa0NnKj4MfgSvBte6Vpbhg9eJz7vnV1uQCcbTin-Mome0LGiSAnUKd2esfALhh-Efyy9kbktgkIm9Hgrja1plqzlp99K0ZTiJBnmEefqHvMIwBXIPfyBFNylgw2Qb4frOzy3FiQ/s1600/brooding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqa0NnKj4MfgSvBte6Vpbhg9eJz7vnV1uQCcbTin-Mome0LGiSAnUKd2esfALhh-Efyy9kbktgkIm9Hgrja1plqzlp99K0ZTiJBnmEefqHvMIwBXIPfyBFNylgw2Qb4frOzy3FiQ/s320/brooding.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>
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What of the handsome hero here? He's interested, for sure. But I'll bet there are rivals a-plenty to prevent our heroine catching his attention. He's smart, and the hair is always in place, I should think.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvbLG08eafqK9DxBvoWY71EotNZpCjyKsFvnPow9oVZh9e1W3rYA8NVX39ddpELt6j4XEo66Y2SPv4o07l87R3TY3Ir7Lk7Hxk3YWh8z-vcnTS7Gk9rN9hHBp3iAtjKruZpN7VQ/s1600/dark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvbLG08eafqK9DxBvoWY71EotNZpCjyKsFvnPow9oVZh9e1W3rYA8NVX39ddpELt6j4XEo66Y2SPv4o07l87R3TY3Ir7Lk7Hxk3YWh8z-vcnTS7Gk9rN9hHBp3iAtjKruZpN7VQ/s320/dark.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
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Now here we have "the look" for sure. You know, the one he gives the heroine when he's royally infuriated with her. A blazing row is on the cards within minutes. But oh, that long hair tied in the back - gets me every time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89zvhH_zBrmz7Dzgv1LtUBq-Vys9PS1f6OOfUMItpOFca3hqYEQHz9YZ-6CLAYkLokw-LeLHC-IKmE37wtFvuKs_vKXOAMhfs6pbsfuTdA9alPPXMUNJRA397Z3Oln0grwIL4wQ/s1600/the+look.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89zvhH_zBrmz7Dzgv1LtUBq-Vys9PS1f6OOfUMItpOFca3hqYEQHz9YZ-6CLAYkLokw-LeLHC-IKmE37wtFvuKs_vKXOAMhfs6pbsfuTdA9alPPXMUNJRA397Z3Oln0grwIL4wQ/s1600/the+look.jpg" /></a></div>
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As for this guy, I wouldn't fancy the heroine's chances at all. He's clearly a wild, annoying creature who will drive her crazy in the first five minutes. If only he wasn't so devastatingly good-looking. And that loose lock over the brow - oh, be still my beating heart!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwU3PxcW4gTOxfvms1E2wJx502fpg1hI8iz3zwYk0i7tfTNtorDTPWPrHIwQoZpiEaZ8dSm7TeAU9wgOH6Q1_U-wOagp6Ie3f2JslFooGvpTxxA8gemFg4nHecCi97RCldY2VWVg/s1600/discontented.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwU3PxcW4gTOxfvms1E2wJx502fpg1hI8iz3zwYk0i7tfTNtorDTPWPrHIwQoZpiEaZ8dSm7TeAU9wgOH6Q1_U-wOagp6Ie3f2JslFooGvpTxxA8gemFg4nHecCi97RCldY2VWVg/s320/discontented.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
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Now what about this fellow? To me, he looks a dead ringer for Willoughby in the TV version of Sense and Sensibility. Though if he's going to be a hero, we can't have him that villainous. Besides, he's clearly in the navy, so he can't be all that bad. I think we'll have to give him the benefit of the doubt. He's got a sweet smile too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwux-DQ3zjQVTqzniHR1vBQXZBhfATctlRhalJCqS0ryxsOL9JDXN6qu1QempR3CEt7UMMLAVcCpg-u0VWGhjfcti7P1gfqixVEwuaheoEiYaVrfxd9lpc7GphxX7rw3JJbKaIQQ/s1600/willoughby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwux-DQ3zjQVTqzniHR1vBQXZBhfATctlRhalJCqS0ryxsOL9JDXN6qu1QempR3CEt7UMMLAVcCpg-u0VWGhjfcti7P1gfqixVEwuaheoEiYaVrfxd9lpc7GphxX7rw3JJbKaIQQ/s320/willoughby.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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This is the older hero. There's a touch of kindness in that face, and I'll bet our youthful heroine will be smitten in short order. He's another naval warrior, pretty high-powered by the look of that uniform. All neatness and precision. That will have to go. I think our heroine is going to have to do some softening here.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-YuMPlXI3eBpA3NG2-4SnkImjmtmyrcj8e0vchNxqmOr4Ps6wa1ZAQYaDGxSpp4O_18bKJ-AUhpWTmJnzDg2I_5YBBIr_KcoRNVTCNqZffQ3kMtXHUrZMyI0dj7udp9BAiQk6g/s1600/captain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-YuMPlXI3eBpA3NG2-4SnkImjmtmyrcj8e0vchNxqmOr4Ps6wa1ZAQYaDGxSpp4O_18bKJ-AUhpWTmJnzDg2I_5YBBIr_KcoRNVTCNqZffQ3kMtXHUrZMyI0dj7udp9BAiQk6g/s320/captain.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
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And finally, the unattainable. Every girl wants this one, but of course he's going to fall desperately in love with our heroine, who will be the most unlikely match for him. He looks a bit like a young George Brummell, but he's probably a poet or an artist. Oh, that wild hair!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyvCwdBi_8aifNtegNRmhr40ER8tCTExtx0bHMFiPxNwbdcapCCcLa_A_jhlE293iV3_xvqXNmhyOa1DB_NU-URMm7YOhSADWcL7p1Le9jrfD-verP5OU6hJdEdZGO6HmTcqPZg/s1600/unattainable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="535" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyvCwdBi_8aifNtegNRmhr40ER8tCTExtx0bHMFiPxNwbdcapCCcLa_A_jhlE293iV3_xvqXNmhyOa1DB_NU-URMm7YOhSADWcL7p1Le9jrfD-verP5OU6hJdEdZGO6HmTcqPZg/s320/unattainable.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
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Now, honestly, aren't these a great deal more like the heroes we read and write about than your modern film star (always excepting the delectable Colin Firth, of course)? Personally, I'd cosy up with any one of them, no questions asked.</div>
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Elizabeth Bailey</div>
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Elizabeth Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407958362024218785noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-55291329153838483632018-09-15T05:47:00.000+01:002018-09-15T05:47:11.741+01:00New Books for Old.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Earlier this year I signed a three book contract with Aria-Head of Zeus for my Ellen's War series. As I'd paid for the photo shoot with the the model I was able to give all the images to Aria. I love the new cover, but then I loved the old one too. Which do you prefer?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-oBr25LG91dGiU_iuapMyAeee9PAROLnEPXbM5N-ggSRlHdlOke_hY-cINsz1L1QAL_-dxs7b0dvi2RHqFCp7AY9CuVtsIORU8bBLcpUv-8ap6qJwviaCqyQPOWnckIJ1VEsfg/s1600/Ellen%2527s+War+Cover+A6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1151" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-oBr25LG91dGiU_iuapMyAeee9PAROLnEPXbM5N-ggSRlHdlOke_hY-cINsz1L1QAL_-dxs7b0dvi2RHqFCp7AY9CuVtsIORU8bBLcpUv-8ap6qJwviaCqyQPOWnckIJ1VEsfg/s320/Ellen%2527s+War+Cover+A6.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
They have changed the blurb and the title, the book was edited again and a few extra scenes put in - but essentially it's the same book. The series title is now <b>The Spitfire Girl </b>instead of Ellen's War. Books ending in 'War' are no longer popular and there must be 'Girl' in the title now.<br />
The fact that Ellie has no contact with any Spitfires in this book doesn't matter, it seems, as it is the series title as well as the book title.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqFJ4dKcMUVYkx6E5Fj60hO33dTSsdWsBhevgZz1NMNGUxSVpTjpOzfDxND7I45KzyxRTecRtb1UPXj8NWUbyu_3N1s96obVQ6l88z4XnlTgQRTnhU5IEMZgFrM-lO9CD74bUyw/s1600/9781788548397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1044" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqFJ4dKcMUVYkx6E5Fj60hO33dTSsdWsBhevgZz1NMNGUxSVpTjpOzfDxND7I45KzyxRTecRtb1UPXj8NWUbyu_3N1s96obVQ6l88z4XnlTgQRTnhU5IEMZgFrM-lO9CD74bUyw/s320/9781788548397.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mybook.to/TheSpitfireGirl">PreOrder</a></td></tr>
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The second book in the series is with them and I'm waiting for my editor to read it so I can start writing the third. If she wants changes to the second book they will impact on the third and I need to have these in mind when I'm writing. I've just bought two new research books -The Hurricane Girls, and another one I can't remember the title of. I already have a dozen books on the ATA, autobiographies mostly, as well as forty or so about WW2. I aim to start thinking about this final book in the series next week as it's due in at the end of the year.<br />
Fortunately, the book once entitled The ATA Girl, only sold around 40 copies before I removed it from Amazon. This means it can be put out as a brand new book. Blue Skies & Tiger Moths/ <b>The Spitfire Girl</b> sold thousands and had as many books read on KOL. Therefore it's essential to let my readers know that this isn't the much awaited second book in the Ellen 's War series, but the first book repackaged. I hope no one buys it in error. Aria are a brilliant mainstream publisher and I'm sure they know what they are doing.<br />
The publicity department has the book on NetGalley and is arranging a blog tour. I've written the first four blogs and have another four to do. I'm finding it hard not being in total control of everything but it's a good feeling having the enthusiasm and energy of such a vibrant team behind this book.<br />
It's out on the 16th October.<br />
Fenella J MillerFenella J Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13612724388603068664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-81099887121362773442018-09-14T12:24:00.001+01:002018-09-14T12:24:21.398+01:00Pride and Pyramids - new illustrationSome of you will remember <i>Pride and Pyramids</i>, which I wrote with Jacqueline Webb. It's set fifteen years after <i>Pride and Prejudice</i>, and it gives us a glimpse into a possible future for Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. They have six wonderful children and they all go off to Egypt on an educational holiday, which turns into an adventure.<div>
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Some time ago, I saw Elizabeth Monahan's wonderful illustrations for <i>Pride and Prejudice</i>. I loved them so much I commissioned her to do me an illustration of <i>Pride and Pyramids</i>. It's not in the book, it's something I wanted for my own pleasure and the pleasure of my fans. Here's a reminder!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3RPcV8kDbopDenYQrJLEmAPeho_bxsDYIlmkp-j1JVbmso7movoxwavTclsVBhgLMsPxWWWoOkZIEgqwtiSSi2brwfiqT-7uC5Iby_NHSLVKN9NqZ4_e36n335u-qH4lq_i4/s1600/Pride+%2526+Pyramids+artwork+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="750" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3RPcV8kDbopDenYQrJLEmAPeho_bxsDYIlmkp-j1JVbmso7movoxwavTclsVBhgLMsPxWWWoOkZIEgqwtiSSi2brwfiqT-7uC5Iby_NHSLVKN9NqZ4_e36n335u-qH4lq_i4/s320/Pride+%2526+Pyramids+artwork+small.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I recently decided to commission another illustration from Elizabeth. I was curious to see how she would depict the Darcys as they all set off on their adventure. You can see her finished artwork below. It shows the Darcy family, with Mrs Bennet in the background, emerging from below decks. Mrs Bennet was desperate to go to Egypt but of course Elizabeth and Mr Darcy wouldn't let her accompany them. So what did she do? Why, she stowed away!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy00Dsq0pl5chPgnSzUkhorO8IAy_hg7l2V1sycgtO3QPVrYvNCJUvnjzlLthsR1HaO3XXh0RHUZrypdNBgycryuQ0ahm1sKdpdOecKxYOre1ouJz1C7QbKUVMrt1zpfXlSd-k/s1600/High+Res+Pride+%2526+Pyramids+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1276" data-original-width="1600" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy00Dsq0pl5chPgnSzUkhorO8IAy_hg7l2V1sycgtO3QPVrYvNCJUvnjzlLthsR1HaO3XXh0RHUZrypdNBgycryuQ0ahm1sKdpdOecKxYOre1ouJz1C7QbKUVMrt1zpfXlSd-k/s320/High+Res+Pride+%2526+Pyramids+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I hope you love this illustration as much as I do!</div>
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Amanda Grange</div>
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Amanda Grangehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16525883869377796376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-80887299051674921382018-09-05T10:06:00.002+01:002018-09-05T10:06:55.066+01:00Six Must-have Accessories for a Regency Heroine<br />
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There are a number of objects which every self-respecting Regency
lady had to hand - each of them very useful for a novelist. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The most important was probably her writing
desk. It was the laptop/smart phone of the day and no lady would travel without
it. Catherine Morland in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Northanger Abbey</i>
has one. We know how much she valued it because, as she was setting off with the
Tilneys to Northanger Abbey, such was the General’s impatience that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘she had some difficulty in saving her own
new writing-desk from being thrown out into the street.’</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7gNmeWnVyQrrgPhd_Y-w6IrhviSZ5TyPhimMvL1NuKym_n4XAJFGEmG0N9XSlCBxa_jbGCpqkQa0okCi9Y-LoL4vrhgvMmvw-rt4FP7nwJRwCuO9BH9_UJF6wipBmB2EpPcc/s1600/Writing+desk+closed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7gNmeWnVyQrrgPhd_Y-w6IrhviSZ5TyPhimMvL1NuKym_n4XAJFGEmG0N9XSlCBxa_jbGCpqkQa0okCi9Y-LoL4vrhgvMmvw-rt4FP7nwJRwCuO9BH9_UJF6wipBmB2EpPcc/s640/Writing+desk+closed.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<em>Wooden portable writing desk with brass fittings</em></div>
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The writing desk shown here has neat brass bands for strength and brass corners
to save it from knocks; it also has a lock as well as two square
wooden holders for glass ink wells and a longer container for quill pens and a knife
to sharpen the nib. Catherine Morland would probably have kept her journal
safely locked inside. </div>
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The hero, Henry Tilney, teases her about it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Not keep a journal! How are your absent
cousins to understand the tenor of your life in Bath without one? How are the
civilities and compliments of every day to be related as they ought to be,
unless noted down every evening in a journal? How are your various dresses to
be remembered, and the particular state of your complexion and curl of your
hair to be described, in all their diversities without having constant recourse
to a journal?’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></i> </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I’m sure we can all think of a modern equivalent! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSaAP_4PZjHPXdPd2fx8ks2cHi6_QlUscoOS8dftS_YKMeY3kTKty3JYvJrIw8z9JW4EDlEf8X0g_4qXIIB26xFw0jFGQEU_1Q_Sq7N65UjqSLGdYxpUNgkJmgNLzKSovHRbE/s1600/Writing+desk+open.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1519" data-original-width="1600" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSaAP_4PZjHPXdPd2fx8ks2cHi6_QlUscoOS8dftS_YKMeY3kTKty3JYvJrIw8z9JW4EDlEf8X0g_4qXIIB26xFw0jFGQEU_1Q_Sq7N65UjqSLGdYxpUNgkJmgNLzKSovHRbE/s400/Writing+desk+open.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<em>Writing desk open with cut glass inkwell. Writing slope covered in green leather. Underneath are storage spaces and three very small drawers.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i></em></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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Writing desks are not just for heroines; a competent villainess
could make very good use of one, too. A writing desk could be quite big enough
to hold a pistol, for example, and there are some small, discreet drawers
inside which could hold <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">billets doux</i>,
stolen jewels, an important document, any number of secret things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGZBrFY8zs0vPm9MVp4qmFanUU5YaPR1BDXSkPVSZu114g5ygTvU-C-qWEGvcHn3Z5FGmCYzSo1CUNHoH03xM128iC7jRO4OrkqAUVIZ9A3rt9Rcd_Po5qJWyq6wLRupoqBEp/s1600/Reticule.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGZBrFY8zs0vPm9MVp4qmFanUU5YaPR1BDXSkPVSZu114g5ygTvU-C-qWEGvcHn3Z5FGmCYzSo1CUNHoH03xM128iC7jRO4OrkqAUVIZ9A3rt9Rcd_Po5qJWyq6wLRupoqBEp/s400/Reticule.jpg" width="377" /></a></div>
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<em>Beaded reticule with draw-string</em></div>
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Then, our heroine will also, of course, have a reticule. I
have chosen the larger of the two I possess to show you; it is U-shaped, 7 x
7 inches and has a draw-string. It was once lined in cream silk. I’m guessing
that a heroine would keep more in it than just her purse. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><br />
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<em>Brass etui with tassel, about 2 inches long. </em></div>
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So, what else might be inside it - a handkerchief, perhaps,
or a small notebook with a pencil? What about this pretty brass sewing etui?
Inside, it contains a thimble which sits on top of a very small china tube with
a brass cap. Various coloured cotton, or possibly silk lengths, are wound round
the outside and, if you take the cap off, there are a few needles inside.
However, the thought instantly struck me that you could put anything inside – smelling
salts, say, or even poison. </div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<em>Inside the etui: thimble, cotton/silk strands, needles</em></div>
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In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized
that most of the everyday objects a Regency lady owned could be used for other
things. A villainess could make very good use of an etui, or a writing desk, I
felt sure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<em>Glass powder bowl with silver rim</em></div>
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The next object is a powder bowl with a silver rim – for loose
face powder. It would have had an ostrich feather powder puff with a small ivory
stick to hold it with. So why might a Regency lady need it? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Suppose our heroine has enjoyed a few stolen minutes in the
conservatory with a delightful man. She knows that he’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">detrimental</i> but … he has other talents which she is only just
discovering. Horrified, she spots her mother coming across the room. Quickly
she nips behind the curtains, races upstairs to her bedroom and looks at
herself in the mirror. Her hair is a mess and her face is pink and glowing.
This won’t do! She reaches for the powder puff, dips it in the bowl and
frantically pats her face to restore it to its fashionable pallor. Whew!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><em>China hairpin container</em> </o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p></o:p>But what about her hair? She has left several hairpins on
the conservatory floor. Fortunately, she has a small china knick-knack on her dressing-table which holds her hairpins, so she can easily repair the damage the handsome Mr Detrimental did to her coiffure. </div>
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Little does our heroine know that the gentleman in the conservatory
has picked up several of her dropped hairpins and is studying them
thoughtfully. Could he be contemplating blackmail? Or perhaps the villainess
finds one an hour or so later – it looks just the right size to pick a lock …. If the hairpin was distinguishable in some way, she might even use it to get the heroine into serious trouble, if it were discovered somewhere suspicious.</div>
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<o:p><em>Ebony and silver spangled fan</em></o:p></div>
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Lastly, her fan. This one, with carved ebony sticks and discreet silver spangled design, is a mourning fan. In an age which demanded physical restraint from ladies, a fan could be very useful. From a body language point of view, a fan can be used as a 'body extension' tool. A lady cannot touch a gentleman but a touch of her fan on his forearm, or a light tap on his hand, allows her to touch him by proxy. Not to mention holding her fan to hide her face, but allowing herself to peep at him from over the top of it. What gentleman could resist? </div>
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So there you are. Make sure that your heroine has the right
accoutrements for the period and you will have all the props you need for a
gripping story which will keep the readers turning over those pages. </div>
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Elizabeth Hawksley <o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-49976521828452012322018-08-30T20:39:00.000+01:002018-08-30T20:39:32.267+01:00You read trashy romances? What’s wrong with you?<br />
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As a romance writer, you rapidly get used to being put down
rather than praised by the general public. Romance readers, knowing this
tendency to be called out for their reading tastes, used to be known for hiding
their romance paperback inside another “literary” novel, or wrapped in brown
paper. If you talked about it, you said it was a guilty pleasure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thankfully, the rise of kindle changed all that. Nobody
knows what you’re reading in that electronic contraption. I’m convinced the
huge boost to romance since the advent of ebooks is down to that – at least to
some extent. You can read whatever you like and no one is going to diss you for
it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But the idea that romance is easy to write (and therefore
not worth anything) because it’s light entertainment and (often) trash,
persists to this day. Yet romantic films abound, love songs roll down the
years, and reality shows about love and marriage keep on coming. But pen a
romance and you’re for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It's nothing new. Romance has been under fire ever since the 18th century when such novels (including the gothic) were trashed as systematically as they are in our time, and were thought to be injurious to the feminine mind, filling it with false expectations and foolish dreams. What's wrong with dreaming, say I. And millions of women agree.</div>
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It is getting better these days, since so many romance
writers have become huge best-selling authors due to the ebook indie publisher revolution. But the stigma is still there
and a romance writer develops a thick skin. When I was writing for Mills &
Boon, my fellow writers and I could expect nothing but scorn and derision from
the literati, especially literary journalists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A diet of catcalls and rubbishing epithets has led the general public to
regard Mills & Boon as junk food for the sexually deprived.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A typical conversation would go something like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Interested party:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oh, you’re a writer. Are you published?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Me, bracing for it:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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More interested:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you write?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have I read any?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Me [thinks: How the heck should I know?] (politely through
false smile):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I write for Mills &
Boon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Party's expression changes to blank:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(pause while suppressing laughter)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mother used to read those.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Me (gritting teeth):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Party (no longer interested):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh,
yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to read one once, but it’s
not my thing really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that panting
and deep looks stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I write
historicals, actually.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Party (openly grinning):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
don’t!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What, those bodice ripper
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(laughing like a hyena)<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point, if the party is a man, he will say with a
leering look:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you do your own research?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(nudge, nudge, wink, wink)<o:p></o:p></div>
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And that’s about the level of respect. Thank you. Much
obliged. Is it any wonder romance writers are reticent about saying what they
do, except to other writers in the genre?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Actually, that’s not entirely true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are usually impressed you’ve had a
book published at all, and once you’ve got a longish backlist you can crush
even the most hardened critic with numbers. That usually shuts them up. There is also some evidence that not all journalists consider us a legitimate target for jeering brickbats. A few articles dealing more fairly with the genre have been seen these last few years, so there is hope for us yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Meanwhile, I am finding my shift into Regency mystery, even though laced with heavy doses of romance, is a step on the road to respectability. Apparently, if you write detective fiction, you are allowed to be considered a "proper" writer!</div>
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Elizabeth Bailey</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPE0tRHgq3DmYoB0QmKFR0qu3yGvnlGG-TcgAl2AQ39AiNNcoPk1yxiQQNSVBZlyoMkHdA5_kjnwzFm9gHbNzu9Y6q8jZGdOCA3fIDaj3L970HosyXG3a4mUIx8nJgOvp6j521A/s1600/The+Gilded+Shroud+300x200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPE0tRHgq3DmYoB0QmKFR0qu3yGvnlGG-TcgAl2AQ39AiNNcoPk1yxiQQNSVBZlyoMkHdA5_kjnwzFm9gHbNzu9Y6q8jZGdOCA3fIDaj3L970HosyXG3a4mUIx8nJgOvp6j521A/s1600/The+Gilded+Shroud+300x200.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">When Emily Fanshawe, Marchioness of Polbrook, is found </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">strangled in her bedchamber</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">, suspicion immediately falls on those residing in the grand house in Hanover Square. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Emily’s husband - Randal Fanshawe, Lord Polbrook - fled in the night and is chief suspect – much to the dismay of his family.</span></i></div>
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<i><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Ottilia Draycott</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> is brought in as the new lady’s companion to Sybilla, Dowager Marchioness and soon finds herself assisting younger son, Lord Francis Fanshawe in his investigations.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Can Ottilia help clear the family name? Does the killer still reside in the house? </b><b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Or could there be more to the mystery than meets the eye…?</b></i></div>
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<a href="http://getbook.at/GildedShroud" target="_blank">http://getbook.at/GildedShroud</a><br />Elizabeth Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407958362024218785noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-37288996672238056112018-08-25T01:25:00.000+01:002018-08-25T01:25:07.397+01:00Arranging the family albumToday we have hundreds of photographs in files on our computers, or shiny pieces of pasteboard shut away in a cupboard. We select and filter them when we choose the ones to put in our albums, digital or physical.<br />
Since Victorian times people have collected photographs of themselves and others. Now we have photo filters and Photoshop to alter the pictures, to make ourselves beautiful, or to look like a cat.<br />
Back then, they had portraits. During the early sixteenth century the Long Gallery became popular.<br />
A long room made for exercise or physical pursuits when the weather didn't allow it. At least, that's what they said. But it also displayed family portraits.<br />
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<a href="https://proxy.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fmedia-cdn.tripadvisor.com%2Fmedia%2Fphoto-s%2F0b%2F30%2Ff0%2F8e%2Fthe-long-gallery-little.jpg&f=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="550" height="218" src="https://proxy.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fmedia-cdn.tripadvisor.com%2Fmedia%2Fphoto-s%2F0b%2F30%2Ff0%2F8e%2Fthe-long-gallery-little.jpg&f=1" width="320" /></a></div>
My favourite isn't one of the magnificent examples in great houses like Hardwick, wonderful though they are, it's the one at Little Moreton Hall in Cheshire. That house was built for a wealthy farmer, a squire, not a member of the aristocracy, and as the family grew wealthier, they built on to the original structure. The Long Gallery was the last of these, plonked on to the top, made of green wood that warped and twisted, so walking along it is like walking on the deck of a ship at sea. It also made three rooms redundant, as only the top half was available. So they panelled it off and those rooms became "secret rooms."<br />
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<a href="https://i2.wp.com/lynneconnolly.com/wp-content/uploads/DangerWearsWhite.jpg?resize=300%2C450" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://i2.wp.com/lynneconnolly.com/wp-content/uploads/DangerWearsWhite.jpg?resize=300%2C450" width="213" /> </a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Danger-Wears-White-Emperors-London-ebook/dp/B00ONTR7Z0">You can buy Danger In White here.</a></div>
So they are the rooms where Isobel hides Nick in "Danger In White" when she thinks he's a Jacobite spy. I had the seeds of that plot on my computer for years before I found a book where I could use it. <br />
The portraits were as manipulated as our Photoshopped photos, and seen through the eyes of a painter. After Classical painting, portraits were considered high in the heirarchy of painting, higher than landscapes. They were also a painter's bread and butter.<br />
The great painters would often only do the vital parts of a work, usually the head and hands, but if the sitter was important, like Charles I to Van Dyck, then the painter would do everything. He would train students and some of his studio would have specialities they would use - the ability to paint trees or drapery. Van Dyck himself was a wonderful painter of fabric. In the eighteenth century Gainsborough and Reynolds led the pack, and during the Regency the glamorous paintings of Lawrence became all the rage.<br />
Most sitters wanted a likeness, but they wanted a flattering likeness. Some, like Oliver Cromwell, demanded they be shown "warts and all," but most wanted to be seen at their best. There were no happy snaps back then! Charles II had his mistresses painted by Sir Peter Lely, most of them half naked, or with silk and satin robes falling artfully from their shoulders.<br />
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<a href="https://proxy.duckduckgo.com/iur/?f=1&image_host=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.wga.hu%2Fart%2Fg%2Fgainsbor%2F10hallet.jpg&u=https://www.wga.hu/art/g/gainsbor/10hallet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="604" height="320" src="https://proxy.duckduckgo.com/iur/?f=1&image_host=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.wga.hu%2Fart%2Fg%2Fgainsbor%2F10hallet.jpg&u=https://www.wga.hu/art/g/gainsbor/10hallet.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
Reynolds and Gainsborough made the eighteenth century movers and shakers elegant and proud. Many were painted in fancy dress, so the portraits would be less likely to go out of date quickly. The clothes they wore were their best ones. Rarely are there portraits of people in everyday wear, so these are treasures. Genre paintings like the ones by Chardin show everyday wear, and cartoons, engravings and sketches give a better idea. But you had your portrait taken in your best, or if you didn't have a best, in a borrowed outfit, or one hired from the painter.<br />
The best artists showed people, so you feel that you could talk to them and hear their reply. You can sense their characters.<br />
Even though they are all staring down at you from the walls of the Long Gallery.<br />
<br />
Danger In White is on offer this month for 99 cents/99 pence. All the buy links are on <a href="https://lynneconnolly.com/the-emperors-of-london/">this page, with an excerpt link </a>lynneconnollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687025766573756077noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-73507129543953397752018-08-10T01:00:00.000+01:002018-08-10T01:00:13.782+01:00Singles or Doubles? Melinda Hammond Ponders Romance Covers...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjR7vSm1WUS2Z2TvzOQuMFHM7SpkjQYCjm8H1cNFUfMpqZj1LOoQiE2xRivFs4qoeS4CgjBo9ZzXF-hSsHXhI1wPByc7k42wEj2fqML6IM3qDDkNqFgcJJUQLtwxj5ZGemPtz0Q/s1600/Regency+Romantics+2018+Box+Set+Two+MEDIUM+WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjR7vSm1WUS2Z2TvzOQuMFHM7SpkjQYCjm8H1cNFUfMpqZj1LOoQiE2xRivFs4qoeS4CgjBo9ZzXF-hSsHXhI1wPByc7k42wEj2fqML6IM3qDDkNqFgcJJUQLtwxj5ZGemPtz0Q/s320/Regency+Romantics+2018+Box+Set+Two+MEDIUM+WEB.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the release of our latest Regency Romantics Box set, A
Summer of Dukes, I have been thinking about covers recently and wondering
just what readers – and authors – prefer. Perhaps a single gentleman on the
cover is favourite, our "Duke" certainly seems perfectly at home in the picture above, doesn't he? <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And the cover of The
Ton's Most Notorious Rake, my current Sarah Mallory Regency, has a very
handsome hunk gracing the cover.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk7fC__zHwjo0QJGuFT4aUMCSSlW7oGs0cW4Gkr6MbcvKmIPt_3aEQmZPaTE04K4yTc5jHMUg62Lk4i27Oj3Zs1vgN0_3gLoMzeOdCxkyaKP_gVm7-Y8V38lotvysuVwxmhY1q1g/s1600/cover+jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1325" data-original-width="838" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk7fC__zHwjo0QJGuFT4aUMCSSlW7oGs0cW4Gkr6MbcvKmIPt_3aEQmZPaTE04K4yTc5jHMUg62Lk4i27Oj3Zs1vgN0_3gLoMzeOdCxkyaKP_gVm7-Y8V38lotvysuVwxmhY1q1g/s320/cover+jpg.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet the
recent Italian version of the same book features a painting of an actual scene
from the book and I find I quite like that, too, or perhaps it is just the
author in me kicking in, because I like to think that someone has read the
book!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0kV6GuqvMsAXIYksjVmaKIMQH7Xbb7xb658coDIPbIajrMhYp06S84_ftAJAmJROAGzWnDpC04j8KPhU3ql3UEFDAB_rff7y4DjUluEcSzhB742YeknXafwaleplcbcOe3Dq7gA/s1600/Italian+cover+smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1449" data-original-width="883" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0kV6GuqvMsAXIYksjVmaKIMQH7Xbb7xb658coDIPbIajrMhYp06S84_ftAJAmJROAGzWnDpC04j8KPhU3ql3UEFDAB_rff7y4DjUluEcSzhB742YeknXafwaleplcbcOe3Dq7gA/s320/Italian+cover+smaller.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I have now received foreign copies of two of my Sarah
Mallory books from the Scandalous Arrandales Series – Lithuania, in fact! – plus
The Duke's Secret Heir in German, and they ALL have couples on the covers.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmRK2r7kaY6bs6ndujaKkQwDAgRM2odrGiylkB7r-OmAmXYFCcY_PG5hyfQ3QJlMTbdj27yYXOYVgtpzVvANGdB_F1ciSi3W0I11XzmiKazssEo45tR9HvsN3bm5KvXAfhTbKtQ/s1600/Lithuanian+3+and+4+scand+arrandales.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1065" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmRK2r7kaY6bs6ndujaKkQwDAgRM2odrGiylkB7r-OmAmXYFCcY_PG5hyfQ3QJlMTbdj27yYXOYVgtpzVvANGdB_F1ciSi3W0I11XzmiKazssEo45tR9HvsN3bm5KvXAfhTbKtQ/s320/Lithuanian+3+and+4+scand+arrandales.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisukVK6LUZmAWpFAIJ5D1Y8Uurcc19El64Xu3okGDMouZlTWOhQJ6zSoGC-ZgAUlP19fIwc9Q0c4fGZFX4retOrp4Shsui10ax_a2CR-yXAG_0hVCW1U-kCRq1kDmKmgvrqQmTqw/s1600/german+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1397" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisukVK6LUZmAWpFAIJ5D1Y8Uurcc19El64Xu3okGDMouZlTWOhQJ6zSoGC-ZgAUlP19fIwc9Q0c4fGZFX4retOrp4Shsui10ax_a2CR-yXAG_0hVCW1U-kCRq1kDmKmgvrqQmTqw/s320/german+cover.jpg" width="310" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To balance this, several of my own Georgian or Regency Romances have pictures of the heroine on the cover, including these two:-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, do you prefer to see a couple on a romance cover, or a single man or woman? Or perhaps
it depends on the title or the story? I confess that I don't think I
have a preference, but I am always
intrigued to know what my publishers will choose next!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do let me know what you think.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy reading</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Melinda Hammond /Sarah Mallory</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Melinda Hammond/Sarah Malloryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402460212860103804noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-70579707317861154122018-08-05T08:45:00.002+01:002018-08-05T08:45:34.949+01:00Jane Austen: Mr Bennet's Failure as a FatherIn every film or television adaptation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pride and Prejudice</i> I’ve seen (and I’ve
seen many) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr Bennet comes across as a sympathetic
character; a man we could like. We enjoy his irony with regard to the oleaginous
Mr Collins: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘It is happy for you that you
possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing
attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of
previous study?’ </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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He finds Mr Collins <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘as
absurd as he had hoped; and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment,
maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance…’ </i>And
we laugh with him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But there is a less admirable side to Mr Bennet, one which
leads to a great deal of unhappiness for his elder daughters, Jane and
Elizabeth, and near disaster for the flighty Lydia who runs off with the
caddish (though handsome) Wickham.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><br />
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<em>19th Century Reticule</em></div>
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At the end of Chapter 1, Jane Austen sums up Mr Bennet’s
character. He was an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘odd mixture of
quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve and caprice...’ </i>He enjoys winding
people up. He allows his wife to think that he has no intention of paying that
essential courtesy call on the newly-arrived Mr Bingley, a young, unmarried man
with £5000 a year, without which Mrs Bennet will not be able to introduce her attractive
daughters to him. He leaves her in ignorance until he’s extracted the maximum
enjoyment from her agitation before telling her that he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">has</i> paid the call. </div>
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He can be unkind, too. At the Netherfield ball, his middle
daughter Mary eagerly sits down at the piano and begins to sing. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Mary’s powers were by no means fitted for
such a display; her voice was weak and her manner affected.’ </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elizabeth is in agonies of embarrassment and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘looks at her father to entreat his
interference.’ </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><br />
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<em>Mr Bennet telling his wife and daughters that he has called on Mr Bingley by Charles E. Brock</em></div>
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He picks up her hint and says, after Mary’s second song,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘That will do extremely well, child. You
have delighted us long enough. Let other young ladies have time to exhibit.’</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elizabeth must have heard the irony in his
tone for she felt <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘sorry for </i>(Mary)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, and sorry for her father’s speech.’ </i>He
could have done it more kindly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But Mr Bennet is not a particularly kind man. When Mr Bingley suddenly leaves
Netherfield without having made the expected offer to Jane – and it’s
obvious to Elizabeth that Jane and Bingley are very much in love – Jane is
deeply upset, and Elizabeth and Mrs Bennet are full of sympathy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mr Bennet’s reaction is quite different. He says to
Elizabeth: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘So, Lizzy, your sister is
crossed in love, I find. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl
likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of
and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions.’</i> He suggests that
Elizabeth will not want to be outdone by Jane, and recommends Wickham for the
role: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘He is a pleasant fellow, and would
jilt you creditably.’</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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It is callous, inappropriate, and he completely ignores Jane’s
very real distress. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em>Regency man</em></div>
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The tone of Elizabeth’s response is interesting: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not
all expect Jane’s good fortune.’ </i>On the surface, it sounds as though she is
content to echo her father’s irony, but I wonder? She doesn’t call her father <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Papa’</i> she calls him <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘sir’</i>, as if distancing herself, a
reaction further emphasized by her use of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘We’
</i>rather than ‘I’. The reader suspects that Elizabeth is hurt by her father’s
reaction and that this conversation will not be passed on to Jane. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<em>Mr Bennet in his Library about to be harangued by Mrs Bennet on Elizabeth's obstinate refusal to accept Mr Collins' proposal, by Charles E. Brock</em></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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Then there’s the question of the Bennet girls’ education. When
Lady Catherine de Bourgh cross-questions Elizabeth about her and her sisters’
education, she discovers that they grew up without a governess; and that,
although Elizabeth and Mary are both musical, they never went up to London to
be properly taught. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘My mother would have
had no objection, but my father hates London,’</i> Elizabeth tells her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lady Catherine might be nosy but she asks questions to which
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">readers</i>, too, would like answers.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Why did you not all learn? You ought all
to have learnt. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an
income as yours.’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Later she says: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘No
governess? How was that possible? Your mother must have been quite a slave to
your education.’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></i><br />
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These are pertinent questions; and surely it is Mr Bennet’s
duty as a parent to see that his daughters have a decent education, especially
considering that they might have to work for a living if they don’t find
husbands. We also learn from Lady Catherine that Mr Bennet’s income could well support
proper music teachers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, the reader knows that it is extremely unlikely
that Mrs Bennet would have taught her daughters. So how were they educated? Possibly
they went to a girls’ school in Meriton, to an establishment like Mrs Goddard’s
school in Highbury in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Emma</i>, where <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘a reasonable quantity of accomplishments
were sold at a reasonable price.’</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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The Bennet girls can all read and write and are numerate. They would have been taught to sew (Lydia pulls apart a newly-bought
hat prior to redesigning it) and they had obviously had dancing lessons – they
are all good dancers. We know that Mary and Elizabeth were taught the piano by
somebody (even if not a London professional) and they had singing lessons. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<em>Two Girls at School, 1817</em></div>
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The sisters would have learnt a modicum of British History,
even if only through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Miss Mangnall’s
Historical and Miscellaneous Questions</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">for
the Use of Young People </i>(1798). They know various card games. Jane, at
least, can ride. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As Elizabeth says, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘We
were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary.
Those who chose to be idle certainly might.’</i> It is not very satisfactory.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my view, Mr Bennet should have seen to it that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">none</i> of his daughters were allowed to be
idle. And he certainly failed Mary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mary isn’t pretty like her sisters; instead, she tries to be
‘accomplished’. But, although she is obviously intelligent, Mr Bennet doesn’t
bother to teach her to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think </i>clearly.
Her trite observations are allowed to stand and, doubtless, give her father
some amusement, but that is, surely, not enough. He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could</i> have helped her – he is a thinking man - but he can’t be
bothered.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Furthermore, a man of breeding should treat his wife with
respect – even if they have very little in common. To do otherwise sets a bad example
to their children. Sir Thomas Bertram in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mansfield
Park</i>, for example, always treats Lady Bertram courteously, even though she does
very little apart from lying on her sofa and petting her dog, Pug. The Bertram children
are expected to treat their mother with the respect which is her due. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><em>Mr Bennet's reaction on hearing that Lydia has eloped with Mr Wickham</em> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Mr Bennet also allows himself to criticize his wife in front of
his children. He says of Charlotte Lucas’s engagement to Mr Collins: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘It gratified him … to discover that
Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish
as his wife and more foolish than his daughter!’ </i>And he obviously enjoys
Mrs Bennet’s distress about the Lucas-Collins match – and we sympathize – after
all, the Netherfield estate is entailed and it is Mr Collins who will inherit
it when Mr Bennet dies <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> Mrs Bennet
and her daughters. <em>They</em> will be homeless. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
It is not Mr Bennet’s fault that he only has daughters, but
it is <em>his</em> responsibility to see that his wife and children are properly
provided for after his death. We are told, towards the end of the book, that he
had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘often wished that, instead of
spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the better
provision of his children, and of his wife, if she should survive him.’</i> It
was his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">duty </i>to have done so, as he eventually
recognizes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
His income is £2000 a year. If he’d saved 10% - surely not
too difficult – it would have meant that the marriage settlement of £5000 would
now be worth well over £9000. Luckily for Mr Bennet, Mr Darcy’s generosity
enables Lydia to marry Wickham, and Mr Bennet himself <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘would be scarcely ten pounds a year the loser.’ <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YBIF6r4q-_lqVFLYesntBsZw5Y7XPg3aisiduuC7Q-EE9BNVoZFMNG7iYbspwJYXp2NKLNVa7WMhif80KMokH46huR4Gem2jdZ3CLFsr3w6JXNPfP4ktDezpWzID5eDvwxHy/s1600/Reading+Lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="488" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YBIF6r4q-_lqVFLYesntBsZw5Y7XPg3aisiduuC7Q-EE9BNVoZFMNG7iYbspwJYXp2NKLNVa7WMhif80KMokH46huR4Gem2jdZ3CLFsr3w6JXNPfP4ktDezpWzID5eDvwxHy/s400/Reading+Lady.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><em>Reading Lady</em> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
And it is Mr Bennet’s refusal to listen to Elizabeth’s
advice to forbid Lydia to accept Mrs Forster’s invitation to go to Brighton, which
precipitates the final catastrophe of Lydia running off with Wickham. Elizabeth’s
plea is heartfelt: she points out that she and her sisters’ social acceptance
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘respectability in the world must be
affected by the wild volatility and disdain of all constraint which mark Lydia’s
character.’ </i>And she sees Kitty, who follows her sister, being drawn in,
too. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Vain, ignorant, idle, and
absolutely uncontrolled! Oh my dear father, can you suppose it possible that
they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their
sisters will not be often involved in their disgrace?’ <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
He listens, and he has an answer to her points which satisfies
him and he gives Lydia permission to go to Brighton. When push comes to shove,
he always goes for the option which will cost him the least trouble.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_Q_LdEpkmQ7OS7hYO8lOAbpXHmN8K7Q3n7bjDLpjHecJX3owz_FMCLyZKe1j5NgXGpVoDy4UC_uoXARv98EG-__mdV_jAS1bVzMx82qYbbZVzAwuU1WCpDrmIuZ0RrZTjLk7/s1600/Jane+Austen+NPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="556" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_Q_LdEpkmQ7OS7hYO8lOAbpXHmN8K7Q3n7bjDLpjHecJX3owz_FMCLyZKe1j5NgXGpVoDy4UC_uoXARv98EG-__mdV_jAS1bVzMx82qYbbZVzAwuU1WCpDrmIuZ0RrZTjLk7/s400/Jane+Austen+NPG.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em>Jane Austen, after Cassandra Austen. National Portrait Gallery.</em></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
At the end of the book, Mr Bennet has married off three of
his five daughters, so money will be less tight. He could, if he so chose,
start saving for Kitty, Mary and his wife’s futures. But he doesn’t, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘he naturally returned to all his former
indolence.’ </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he assumes
(probably correctly) that his two rich sons-in-law will make sure that his wife
and unmarried daughters will be comfortable, financially. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not an admirable trait.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
There are other fathers in Jane Austen’s novels whose
characters may be worthy of censure: General Tilney’s bullying, for example, or
Sir Walter Elliot’s snobbery and financial fecklessness, but it is Mr Bennet’s disengagement
from his daughters’ upbringing which makes him the most blameworthy, in my opinion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
Elizabeth Hawksley<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949657441934825128noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-46315770337321857082018-07-31T20:35:00.000+01:002018-07-31T20:35:50.566+01:00Latest of my brides by chanceAs I've just launched Book Six of my Brides by Chance series, I thought a little excerpt might be in order. This particular heroine has popped up in several earlier stories as the girl who is clearly going to end up a spinster. Her disadvantage is not so much pecuniary as just being too plain and ordinary to "take" as the saying went. She starts out being pushy and desperate, trying to attract the attention of every eligible male. But a couple of stories ago, another heroine advised her to relax and stop trying so hard. She took the advice to heart, but there were still no takers.<br />
<br />
Delia is now resigned to dwindling into a maiden aunt. But a chance encounter on the road to Weymouth throws her helter-skelter into an adventure where she meets.... but that would be giving it all away.<br />
<br />
EXCERPT:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The stallion lengthened his
stride to a canter. Delia pulled him up as they reached the bridge, regarding
it with disfavour. “It looks rickety to me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“Give me the reins!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
She relinquished them with
alacrity, having no desire to attempt to negotiate the narrow wooden slats
leading across, along with the aged and broken railing. Just as Giff guided
Tiger’s steps onto the precarious structure, a familiar sound reached Delia’s ears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Hoof beats. More than one set.
And crackling twigs along with the swish of shifting leaves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“Oh, dear heaven, I think they’re
coming!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“Damn them to hell!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Her heart leapt into her mouth as
the horse took the bridge at a pace that threatened to upturn the lot of them
into the river below. The clatter of Tiger’s hooves on the wooden surface sent
her senses flying into apprehension.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“They’ll hear that for sure!”
Forgetting to be afraid of the crossing, she trained her eyes on the thickets
behind and caught movement in the trees. “I can see them! Giff, hurry, for
heaven’s sake!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The horse’s hoofs hit terra firma
again and Tiger shot into the forest, going straight through a gap in the
trees. Delia looked back, trying to see if their pursuers were on the trail and
saw instead the worn path winding away behind them. Oh, help! If those ruffians
were able to cross the bridge, they could follow just as easily.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Impatience claimed her as Tiger’s
pace slowed. “He’s tiring!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
She saw Giff glance up through
the canopy of leaves. Was he finding the sun to guide them west again? “Not far
now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“How do you know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“Should hit a lane at any
moment.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“But what if they get across the
bridge?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“We must hope they’re too
faint-hearted to attempt it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Delia was not convinced. “They’ve
shown nerve enough so far.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“But not common sense. With luck,
one of them at least will fall in.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
At which instant, Delia heard a
loud cry and a splash. Elation soared and she laughed out. “They have fallen
in!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
She was craning to try and see
behind Giff and caught an amused look.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“It’s to be hoped they never find
out how pleased you are about it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“Pleased? I hope the wretch has
broken his leg. But I’m sorry for the horse.” Giff’s laughter echoed in the
trees and Delia gave him a buffet on the arm. “Hush, for heaven’s sake! They’ll
hear you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
His brows flew up. “If I ever met
such a bossy chit!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
“If it comes to that, I’ve never
met such an autocratic fellow!” She regarded him a moment, a little concerned
to see strain in his face. “Do you need another swig of brandy?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
He shook his head briefly, his
gaze concentrated on path ahead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Delia studied his face without
meaning to, forgetful of everything save his danger. A pang smote her. He
mustn’t die!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><br />
Elizabeth Bailey<br />
<br />
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Available at Amazon and other stores:<br />
<br />
Amazon<br />
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<br />Elizabeth Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407958362024218785noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-19678307561312220052018-07-25T18:17:00.000+01:002018-07-25T18:17:39.346+01:00Diversity in romance<br />
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<img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="312" height="320" src="https://images-eu.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/5159pfkZ1EL.jpg" width="199" /> </div>
<br />
This post is a little late, because I scrapped what I was going to write and went with this instead.<br />
At the weekend, Suzanne Brockmann made the keynote speech at the RWA Convention in Denver. I think this marks a seminal moment in publishing, and sent people home determined to do something. <br />
She spoke about diversity, in particular gay romance. Suz is a pioneer of gay romance, especially in mainstream publishing. Her gay character Jules, a kick-ass FBI agent appeared in several of her Troubleshooter books, and is a reader favorite. There was a real development in these books, and his friendship with one in particular, Sam, turned Sam from a thoughtless homophobic to Jules’ best friend. Once you’ve read Jules, you’ll never forget him. He wasn’t there because he was gay, he was there because he was an FBI agent who happened to be openly gay. His career suffered for it, too. <br />
Jules was no token character. He was distinctive, fully rounded, a man with faults. Someone you could fall in love with.<br />
Tokenism is a tricky thing. The heroine’s gay best friend, the black drug dealer, the Chinese takeaway owner. While there are a lot of these in real life, when they are depicted as “typical,” with flat characterisation, it’s lazy and insulting. It’s a character the author sticks in for the sake of diversity, and miserably fails.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HbXCJ79g0L6KDRkMEwy2dlATaS_KqIwnDPUeY2FN2WekiMJytX_dbf0765xX4m3VXFFbOCULuqHe0JPxjuOacIIkV6XElNEVrshRkNfmNG2msXSoA1-YDo174Z-cMAfPdBl5qQ/s1600/Conn_9781516102488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HbXCJ79g0L6KDRkMEwy2dlATaS_KqIwnDPUeY2FN2WekiMJytX_dbf0765xX4m3VXFFbOCULuqHe0JPxjuOacIIkV6XElNEVrshRkNfmNG2msXSoA1-YDo174Z-cMAfPdBl5qQ/s320/Conn_9781516102488.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
In historicals it’s even more difficult. Earlier this year, Kensington published my first gay novel, Sinless. I got tons of emails asking me to write his story, and I’m thrilled that Darius got his story. I thought I would have to do a quick novella and self publish it (with Kensington’s permission, since it’s part of the contracted Shaws series). And I’m so pleased it was part of a mainstream m/f series. But historically, “sodomy” was punishable by death. So there was deep peril in what came naturally, and most men lived closeted. Because to come out would mean persecution and possible death.<br />
I also tried to write a story about the origin of slavery, as part of the Richard and Rose series. I had to give up. The language they used as a matter of course is just not acceptable today. They used it without being pejorative, but the words are far more laden with historical abuse and hatred when we look at it today. And I always try to be historically accurate. I could have used the word “black” which is just about acceptable, but that upset the rhythm of the book, and the way the words fell on the page. So I gave up. In fact there were lots more people of colour in history, but they were absorbed into the general population. Tradespeople, servants, the infamous black pages, freed slaves and the like. No aristocrats, not in the Georgian and Regency era, but some had ancestors who were poc, like Queen Charlotte, who was said to have African-like features.<br />
The romance industry, particularly in the US, has been slow to accept diverse characters. That’s partly because they are not well represented among romance writers. There is a tradition of black romance writers in the US, and I’ve had the great fortune to meet some of them, including the lovely and hugely talented Beverley Jenkins. In the UK it’s even more dire. That’s not to say that you have to be a POC or gay to write those stories, but it would help if they were better represented.<br />
The RNA is actively involved in encouraging more diverse stories. There’s a long way to go, but at least we’re on the way.<br />
But read Suzanne Brockmann’s speech. It’s astonishingly good, and I do think it marks a new phase in romance writing. From the RWA shunning gay romance, erotic romance and others, rejecting those authors as members, to today, we’ve come some way. During her speech Suz pointed out how difficult it was to write gay characters, from her first book where one of her secondary characters was gay, and her editor made it change it, to the best-selling All Through the Night, she has explained how that came to happen. Mostly because Suzanne Brockmann is a Big Name in romance, and so she had that platform to base her stories on, something she knows only too well.<br />
We’re getting there, but there’s a long way to go.<br />
<a href="https://tinyletter.com/SuzanneBrockmann/letters/that-rwa-lta-speech-news-from-suz">You can read Suzanne Brockmann’s moving and inspirational speech here</a>. You won’t be sorry. And while you’re at it, pick up the first of her Troubleshooter series, The Unsung Hero. It’s so good.<br />
<br />
lynneconnollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687025766573756077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18955239.post-16146207339095619982018-07-16T16:49:00.000+01:002018-07-16T16:49:01.184+01:00All's Well That Ends Well - at least I hope it does.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The Nightingale Chronicles - Book 4 - All's Well That Ends Well</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">This is the final book in a four book series and both Sarah Cooper and Alfie Nightingale will have to endure a deal of heartbreak and danger over the next two years to reach their happy ever after. Sarah becomes betrothed to Robert Billings and moves her family back to Colchester, and Alfie leaves to be a policeman in London. Somehow Sarah must hold the family together and pray that her man will come back to her. Alfie has a life changing decision to make but will he make the right one for himself and the family that he has abandoned?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was sad to say goodbye to my characters, Sarah and Alfie Nightingale, after many years with them. I took them from twelve and thirteen years old to twenty-four and twenty-five with families of their own. The Nightingale Chronicles are family sagas and also regional as they are set firmly in Essex and the East End.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim93vcVV7wX4vfsNAqb8usadencazHHT1nHCTjLzeOn_dijMbL7jgE8T-7vqt2VTVgZRN5kYgRw07F0wxA554teldyyyLl0tQGPl7rwNm06jUBs13b0sKY2s5ZIaltkK6iNerG5A/s1600/Victoria%2527s+War+Reunited+Cover+MEDIUM+WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim93vcVV7wX4vfsNAqb8usadencazHHT1nHCTjLzeOn_dijMbL7jgE8T-7vqt2VTVgZRN5kYgRw07F0wxA554teldyyyLl0tQGPl7rwNm06jUBs13b0sKY2s5ZIaltkK6iNerG5A/s320/Victoria%2527s+War+Reunited+Cover+MEDIUM+WEB.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRH_wxU3tZLLAbZ8ODqZ-p9yJTlyLvJ9PlQZ0UcodA6VaHosFrClFCkpPAgoJXz5Z3zuiJV3vBE9Ocw1J0DbtKcZQKgS1q-SHIE_RnjI4vPZ4xXFR8oBlIl-RrZ8sAptDR8JFHVw/s1600/Victoria%2527s+War+Shadows+Cover+MEDIUM+WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRH_wxU3tZLLAbZ8ODqZ-p9yJTlyLvJ9PlQZ0UcodA6VaHosFrClFCkpPAgoJXz5Z3zuiJV3vBE9Ocw1J0DbtKcZQKgS1q-SHIE_RnjI4vPZ4xXFR8oBlIl-RrZ8sAptDR8JFHVw/s320/Victoria%2527s+War+Shadows+Cover+MEDIUM+WEB.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There are now something called Exotic Sagas - ones set in foreign places - such as the Tea Planter's Wife. It would appear, according to agents and editors these are highly desirable titles right now - also anything about an orphan. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have already written what could be classed as an Exotic in Victoria's War. Victoria isn't working class (so not a clogs and shawls - which the others were) but Anglo-Indian and forced to give up her heritage when she marries an English army captain. The book starts in India, then moves to England, Africa, India, Bruma, America and ends in England. This book was inspired by my mother's memoirs (she was Anglo-Indian) and I love it. Not sure why it hasn't proved as popular as my other WW2 books.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I was going to write a series about a family involved with building the </span>railway but now wonder if I should write something about an orphan. Victorian era is packed full of interesting stories. Henry Mayhew is my go-to research book and I can't wait to finish the Regency I'm writing and the edits for Aria and then I'll get started on my reading. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">best wishes</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Fenella J Miller</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Fenella J Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13612724388603068664noreply@blogger.com3