Prisoners of the Parole Towns

I am very pleased and excited to report that my book One Wicked Sin is a finalist not only for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Historical Romance but also for the Colorado Award of Excellence as well!

The research I did for this book was fascinating, drawing on the experience of Napoleonic prisoners of war in Britain. A little while ago Louise blogged about the prisoner of war camp built at Norman Cross in 1797 and excavated recently by Channel 4’s Time Team. Thousands of prisoners of war were also housed in prison hulks and in medieval castles turned gaols such as Portchester and Edinburgh. But the background to One Wicked Sin looked at a different side of the prisoner experience, that of the officers who were accommodated in parole towns across the country.

There were 50 parole towns across Britain, ranging from Kelso in the Scottish Borders to Abergavenny in Wales to Wincanton in Somerset. Each town could house between 200 – 300 officers. One thing that struck me immediately about the parole town experience was that these were small country or market towns as opposed to big cities. What must it have been like suddenly to have hundreds of prisoners of war living amid the small local populace? And not just French prisoners but other nationalities as well - Danish, Irish, Spanish, American and many more.

Before any officer was permitted to reside in a parole town he had to sign up to certain terms and conditions including that he could not go further than a mile out of the town and that he had to observe a curfew. Perhaps the terms should also have included that he should not attempt to elope with a local girl – several officers did! The British authorities gave each French officer a half a guinea a week for living expenses and the more resourceful supplemented their income by teaching French or dancing or setting up in business. However half a guinea evidently was not sufficient for some of the officers. In Wantage, where One Wicked Sin is set, one French colonel wrote to his bankers, Coutts in London, asking them to transfer funds to the local bank because he simply could not manage on such a pittance!

The history of the parole towns is a fascinating one and the French prisoners of war have left surprisingly little trace in the written records of the towns where they lived amongst the population for a number of years. Their legacy lives on however in the businesses they started and thefamilies they married into. In contrast to the officers the non-commissioned prisoners have left their mark on the landscape. They laboured on many engineering projects of the early nineteenth century from canal building to docks. Putting together their stories and learning about their experiences has been a very interesting process. One of the few memorials that I discovered to the parole prisoners is this one at Leek in Staffordshire.

One Wicked Sin was published in the US last year and will be coming out in the UK in July from MIRA.

RITA Nomination for Lord of Scandal!

I am thrilled and honoured to announce that my book, Lord of Scandal, has received a RWA RITA nomination in the Best Regency Historical category!

Lord of Scandal is a dark, sensual Regency Historical set against the background of the Great Frost Fair of 1812. The hero, Ben Hawksmoor, is a celebrity in the Regency firmament, a friend of Prinny and a dangerous scoundrel whose only aim in life is to make money and ensure that he never returns to the gutters from which he came. When he meets Catherine Fenton, the daughter of a nabob, the attraction between the two of them is explosive. Ben deliberately sets out to compromise Catherine for her fortune, but then he discovers that Catherine and her money are not going to fall into his arms without a fight!

Lord of Scandal was published in the US by HQN books in June 2007 and will be coming out in trade paperback from Harlequin Mills & Boon in August 2008.

Here is an extract:

"Suddenly the scarlet curricle was right beside them and Ben Hawksmoor was close enough for Catherine to touch. The pavement seemed to shift slightly beneath her feet. She wanted to turn and run but she stood still, rooted to the spot. With a sense of inevitability, she looked up to meet Ben’s cool hazel eyes. He was looking at her with disturbing intentness.
“Catherine?” Lily said questioningly, and Catherine jumped and dragged her gaze away from Ben’s. He bowed to Lily, smiling.
“Miss St Clare.”
“Lord Hawksmoor.” Lily sounded ruffled, but not on her own account. She was looking from Catherine to Ben with a frown on her face. “Have you met? I didn’t think-”
Ben turned back to Catherine. His smile was warmer for her, intimate enough to make her stomach clench.
“Madam…” There was the very faintest hint of a question in his tone. Catherine realised that he would think that she, like all the other eager ladies in the crowd, had come deliberately to see the race.
“I did not know you would be here,” she blurted out, and blushed at her own gaucheness. “That is, I did not come especially to see you…”
That was even worse. She could feel herself getting hotter and hotter to see the amusement in Ben Hawksmoor’s eyes. He had passed the reins to his groom now and jumped down onto the pavement beside her. He took her hand and drew her a little apart, ignoring the calls of the crowd for the race to start.
“I am desolated to hear you did not seek me out,” he murmured, the spark of humour still in his voice, “when I would go a deal further than Oxford Street to see you again, Catherine.”
Catherine closed her eyes for a second against the potent awareness coursing through her. He had the most attractive voice she had ever heard, smooth, mellow and hopelessly seductive. For a moment she felt frighteningly adrift.
“I doubt that,” she said, rallying. She looked about her at the throng of people. “You do not need my approval when you have all this.”
Ben turned so that his broad shoulders blocked out the crowd. His physical presence was so powerful that Catherine felt a little light-headed. She had his whole attention now. The race, the crowd, the Regent himself, none of them mattered. They could have been alone.
“You mistake.” He spoke softly. “You are the only thing here that interests me, Catherine.”
Catherine’s mind went completely blank. She had little experience of flirting or playing games and she knew that was what he was doing. He had to be. He could not be sincere.
“That,” she said, “is absurd.”
He smiled again and the lines deepened at the corners of his eyes in a way that made her stomach flip.
“You won’t flirt with me?”
She took a deep breath. “No.”
“A pity. But this time I meant what I said.”
Catherine realised that her hand was still in his. She tried to free herself but he refused to let go. He was running his thumb over the back of her hand now in small, distracting strokes. Catherine could feel the insistence of his touch through the material of her gloves.
“You did come here to see me, didn’t you?” He murmured.
Catherine’s gaze jerked up to meet his laughing hazel eyes. “You have a monstrously high opinion of yourself,” she said.
He gave her a rueful half smile and her heart turned over. “Have I?”
She watched his smile fade and another very different, more disturbing emotion take its place. Then someone dug an elbow in Catherine’s ribs and she realised they were surrounded by a crowd growing more restless by the minute. She forced herself to look beyond the compelling demand in Ben’s eyes.
“You are keeping his Highness waiting,” she said.
Ben grinned. “It is worth it.”
“You take too many risks.”
“Always.” He gave her that dangerous, flashing smile, released her hand and swung himself back up onto the box of the curricle. The crowd gave an ironic cheer.
“A kiss for luck!” Someone shouted.
Ben leaned down. His gloved fingers touched her cheek.
“May I?”
She barely heard the words above the pounding of her pulse but she must have made some sound, for he tilted her chin up and then his lips brushed hers, lightly, a brief but insistent pressure. He was cold and tasted of fresh air and her mind reeled. He straightened and Catherine opened her eyes to see the blaze of triumph in his. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was a little rough.
The winter sky was too bright. The light hurt her eyes. She felt shaky. The crowd roared its approval."