Don't silk and seduction go well??

For those who are following the adventures of the Aikenhead Honours spying ring, I’m delighted to announce that the fourth story is now available. His Silken Seduction is the story of Ben, my fourth spying hero. It's a short ebook, available to download from the Harlequin ebook store. It will also be available from the Mills & Boon store soon, following UK publication of Jack’s story in paperback in September.

Here's the opening of His Silken Seduction

Lyons, France — March 1815

Ben closed his unbandaged eye and relaxed into the feather pillows to enjoy the sensation of Suzanne’s hands on his body. As always, she was precise and careful in removing the dressings from his wounds. With his eyes shut, the touch of her fingers on his naked torso was utterly delightful, as if she had laid one of her sumptuous silken velvets on his chest and swept it slowly across his skin. He floated, half awake, half dreaming.

“Mmm.” The sigh of pleasure escaped before he was aware of it. His body might be weak as water, but every square inch of it trembled at the mere prospect of Suzanne’s touch. He sank deeper into the pillows. His bones were melting.

“Ouch!” The dressing had caught. A stab of pain shattered the fragile fantasy that had been cradling him.

“Oh, forgive me, Herr Benn,” Suzanne gasped. Her fingers stilled for a moment, but it was too late. His shoulder wound had begun to bleed again.

She had been nursing him for a week now, and had even learned that he was an English spy, but she had never asked to know his real name. She seemed content to keep using his nom de guerre, Herr Christian Benn. It was probably for the best. If she were to discover that he was actually an English aristocrat, their comfortable understanding might cease. That would hurt unbearably.

Ben slid his good hand over hers and held it. She did not try to pull away. Ben absorbed the heat of her body through his fingers, like a reptile basking in the sun.

Was that a tiny shiver?

She was refusing to look at him.

In the blink of an eye, the sun-filled warmth evaporated. His fingers felt as if they had been doused with icy water, as if his flesh were shrinking away from hers, even though neither of them had moved.

What on earth was he about? He was behaving towards this amazingly courageous girl as if she were some kind of loose woman. She was his nurse and his rescuer. She deserved better than to be turned into an object of his lust.

He lifted his hand away. “Your pardon, Suzanne,” he began in a low voice. “I did not intend to alarm you.”

Her glance flickered to his face and away again. Her cheek was flushed. The delicate rose became her much too well, reminding him yet again of why his body’s desires were threatening to overcome his sense of honour.

It must not happen. They had become close by force of circumstances as she dressed and redressed his wounds: the shoulder where the bullet had been so roughly dug out, and the head wound he had inflicted on himself, by staggering from his bed and collapsing on the floor. No matter what he felt for Suzanne—and he was ashamed to admit it was lust—he must not allow her to feel anything for him.

She was a gentle, shy and hardworking girl, with little experience of men. She might too easily come to feel more for Ben than she should. And then what would happen? As soon as he was well enough, he would have to abandon her to continue with his mission. That was his duty. He must make sure she was able to forget him. That was his duty, too.

It was different back home in England. The girls he met there were of his own class. If they chose to flirt, or to swoon over his cursed good looks and the viscount’s title he would one day inherit, that was their choice. They knew the rules of the game.

But Suzanne did not know those rules. She was no aristocrat, merely a French silk-weaver’s daughter. The game she played was a game of life and death, for she was a royalist in a country cheering the return of its beloved Emperor Napoleon. Worse, she was hiding and nursing an English spy. She must not be allowed to develop tender feelings for such a dangerous guest.

Soon they would part for good, and Ben must leave her with a whole heart. His honour demanded nothing less.


I hope you enjoy Ben and Suzanne's silken seduction. The title suggests it's Ben's doing, but I'm honestly not too sure which of them is to blame. Perhaps those who have read it will let me know? Happy reading.

Joanna
http://www.joannamaitland.com/

The lure of the shoe

This weekend, I attended the RNA (Romantic Novelists’ Association) Conference in Penrith, in the beautiful Lake District. Saturday night is the Gala Dinner, so suitably attired, I left my room to head for the restaurant.

Only to go back again. I wore a beautiful pair of lavender coloured shoes, with flowers on the toe strap, decorated with pearls. I’d fallen in love with them in the shop, and bought them on the spot. But by the time I’d managed 50 yards, I hated them and I knew that by the end of the evening, I wouldn’t care about anything but how much my feet hurt.

Now I know that Shoes of the Devil have a habit of hanging around. I’d reason that maybe another time they wouldn’t feel so bad, that it was just a bad night. Then I’d put them on again and it would be the same. So I left them in my room, in the hope that someone would find them. The cleaning staff found them, and in front of the whole conference, Katie Fforde, our illustrious Pres, flourished them. So I had to own up. And yes, my Shoes of the Devil found another owner. Well, in a room full of shoe lovers, they were bound to. I just hope they are Shoes From Heaven for their new owner.

And it started me thinking. I think women have adored shoes since the first cavewoman wrapped a few jungle leaves around her feet and then stood up and decided that they might look better with a twig between the toes.

In the Georgian period, women could have shoes to die for. My books are mostly set in the 1750’s, and the shoes they wore then were mouthwatering. Gorgeous diamond-encrusted buckles decorated shoes with two or three inch heels made of brocade, silk, or even the softest leather. They had boots, too, to wear with their riding habits. Even the practical, everyday wear, leather buckled shoes are extremely pretty.

And the men weren’t far behind. Masculine versions, with a fashion for red heels in the 1750’s and 1760’s, the leather shoes set off the flamboyant, peacock fashions with a vengeance.

Later, in the Regency period, the ladies wore low-heeled shoes in what we would consider ballet-style. Comfortable and pretty.

The men also wore shoes, pumps for evening wear and shoes for town. And boots. Daywear for the fashionable man about town included extravagantly decorated, highly polished boots of mid thigh or knee-length variety. But no boots in the ballroom, ever!

Lord Atherton's Ward & The House Party

On July 1st the large print version of The House Party by Thorpe and Lord Atherton's Ward, My Weekly Pocket Novel, for D. C. Thomson were released.



The House Party is my seventh large print for Thorpe and Lord Atherton's Ward is my fifth novella for My Weekly Pocket Novels. Thorpe appear to have changed the style of their covers as the last two have been very similar, a grey background with a drawing of a woman. Previously they have used photographs, I'm not sure which I prefer. My last book, A Debt of Honour, has two lovely Regency girls on the front. Although I like this one, I think the costume is from an earlier era than Regency.
The cover for my novella, as usual, has absolutely nothing to do with the content of the book. The costume seems to be more Victorian than anything else and the girl's hair is out of keeping with either Regency or Victorian. However, I don't know about you, but I actually like it as an image. I hated the last one I had so this is a pleasant surprise.
I have a fourth large print coming out with Linford Romance next month, so far this line has produced superb covers. I can't wait to see what the new one will be like.
Since the publication of my Austenesque book, Miss Bennet & Mr Bingley I have received an excellent review on the Pemberley site, it has also been mentioned on several Jane Austen related blogs. I hope this translates into more sales. I'm still waiting for someone to put up a review on Amazon - I think having reviews helps with the sales.
I am now at the RNA conference in Penrith, I expect someone will post about it next week.
Fenella Miller
www.fenellajmiller.co.uk

The Scandals of an Innocent on sale!

I am very happy that the second book in my Brides of Fortune Trilogy is now available in US bookshops and from internet booksellers. The Scandals of an Innocent, which I am thrilled is currently at number 10 in the Borders Group bestsellers chart, tells the story of Alice Lister, a former housemaid who inherits her late employer's money and becomes one of the richest heiresses in the village of Fortune's Folly. Courted for her money, despised for her humble lineage, Alice becomes the target of every unscrupulous adventurer in town. I enjoyed writing a romance that crossed the class barriers and exploring what it was like for Alice to have her life eased by a great deal of money yet at the same time to feel uncomfortable and scorned in society. I particularly enjoyed giving Alice a tattoo - the indelible mark of her unsuitability to be a lady!

Here is an extract:

"Alice shifted a little, sighing. In contrast to Lizzie she still felt a little unsure of herself whenever she went out into society. She had had the dancing lessons and she could converse and play cards and do all the things that a real debutante heiress could do, but every day she was conscious of the sideways looks and the whispered comments. She thought that she always would be. Even her gown of rose pink, which both Lizzie and Lydia had admired extremely, could not give her the inner confidence she lacked.
One of Lizzie’s admirers, a young Army captain called John Jerrold, came over to carry her off for a cotillion, and Lowell arrived with two glasses of lemonade, one of which he handed his sister.
“I see I have missed my chance with Lady Elizabeth,” he said in his lazy country drawl, putting the second glass down on a ledge beside them, next to one of the carved marble busts of Grecian goddesses that adorned the alcoves in the ballroom. “Can’t drink this ghastly stuff myself and the Granby never serves beer on evenings like this.”
Alice smothered a snort to think of her brother bringing a tankard in from the taproom.
“I’d give a great deal to see you drinking beer in the ballroom in front of the Duchess of Cole,” she said, nodding towards Lydia’s mama who was holding court in the chaperons’ corner, surrounded by her cronies. Faye Cole had managed to ride out the scandal of her daughter’s pregnancy by virtue of being the first and loudest to condemn Lydia and she remained an arbiter of county society. Alice could not abide her. Neither could Mrs Lister, who quite rightly blamed the Duchess for being the architect of her social exclusion. Every so often the two of them would eye each other like prize fighters.
“The Duchess will be distraught that mama’s feathers are higher than hers tonight,” Lowell continued. “Could you not prevent her from buying such a monstrous headpiece, Allie? She looks like a cockatoo with such a high crest!”
Alice gave him a speaking look. “I would not dream of spoiling mama’s fun, Lowell. If she wishes to wear pearls and feathers and artificial roses, that is her choice.”
“She’s wearing them all together tonight,” Lowell said gloomily. “Looks like an accident in a flower cart.”
“I did not think you would care about it,” Alice said, slipping her hand through her brother’s arm. “You never bother about what people say.”
Lowell shrugged moodily. The morose expression sat oddly on his fair, open features. Normally he was the most equable of characters but Alice sensed there was something troubling him tonight.
“Lowell?” She prompted. “You do not really have a tendre for Lady Elizabeth, do you?”
Lowell’s grim expression was banished as he gave her his flashing smile. “Good God, no! Did you think I was sulking because she prefers some sprig of the nobility to me? Lady Elizabeth is far above my touch. Besides, we would not suit.”
“No,” Alice agreed. “She needs someone less tolerant than you are.”
“She needs to grow up,” Lowell said brutally. “She’s spoilt.”
“She’s been a good friend to me,” Alice said, whilst not exactly contradicting him.
“I appreciate that,” her brother said. He shot her a look. “You’re not happy though, are you, Allie?”
Alice was startled at his perspicacity. “What do you mean? Of course I am-”
“No you are not. Neither am I, and mama is the unhappiest of all. She hates to be slighted like this.” Lowell’s gesture encompassed the ballroom with its neat rows of dancers, their reflections repeated endlessly in the long series of mirrors that adorned the walls. “Strange, is it not, that when you are hungry and exhausted from working all the hours there are you think that to have money will cure all your woes?”
“It cures a great many of them,” Alice said feelingly.“But not the sense that somehow you have wandered into the wrong party,” Lowell said, his eyes still on the shifting patterns of the dance. “I am coming to detest the way in which we are patronised. This isn’t our world, is it, Allie? If it was you would be dancing rather than standing here like a wallflower.”

Nicola Cornick

The Other Mr Darcy UK edition now available!

I'm very glad to say that the UK version of my novel, THE OTHER MR DARCY, published by Robert Hale, is now available. I was quite thrilled with the cover, which looks very elegant indeed. The online image doesn't quite do it justice

Since I enjoy looking at things from a bit of a different perspective, I've teamed up two very different people: the prim and proper Miss Caroline Bingley, and Mr Darcy's enigmatic American cousin Robert Darcy, and I had the greatest fun (and I admit, more than a few chuckles) watching them interact.

It's very definitely a romance, so for those of you who don't care for the Jane Austen aspect of it, it's a stand alone novel.
You don't need to know Pride and Prejudice to enjoy it.

For a brief flavour of the novel, here's a short exerpt:

The Other Mr Darcy
Prologue

Caroline Bingley sank to the floor, her silk crepe dress crumpling up beneath her. Tears spurted from her eyes and poured down her face and, to her absolute dismay, a snorting, choking kind of sound issued from her mouth.

“This is most improper,” she tried to mutter, but the sobs — since that was what they were — the sobs refused to stay down her throat where they were supposed to be.

She had never sobbed in her life, so she could not possibly be sobbing now. But the horrible sounds kept coming from her throat. And water — tears — persisted in squeezing past her eyes and down her face.

Then with a wrench, something tore in her bosom — her chest — and she finally understood the expression that everyone used but that she had always considered distinctly vulgar. Her heart was breaking. And it was true because what else could account for that feeling, inside her, just in the centre there, of sharp, stabbing pain?

And what could account for the fact that her arms and her lower limbs were so incredibly heavy that she could not stand up?

She was heartbroken. Her Mr Darcy had married that very morning. In church, in front of everyone, and she had been unable to prevent it.

He had preferred Elizabeth Bennet. He had actually married her, in spite of her inferior connections, and even though he had alienated his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose brother was an earl. Caroline simply could not comprehend it.

She had that tearing feeling again and she looked down, just to make sure that it was not her bodice that was being ripped apart. But the bodice, revealing exactly enough of her bosom as was appropriate for a lady, remained steadfastly solid. So the tearing must have come from somewhere inside her. It squeezed at her with pain hard enough to stop her breathing, and to force those appalling sobs out even when she tried her best to swallow them down.

She rested her face in her hands and surrendered to them. She had no choice in the matter. They were like child’s sobs, loud and noisy. More like bawling, in fact. Her mouth was stretched and wide open. And the noise kept coming out, on and on.

On the floor, in the midst of merriment and laughter, on the day of William Fitzwilliam Darcy’s wedding, with strains of music accompanying her, Miss Caroline Bingley sobbed for her lost love.

***

A long time later, someone tried to open the door. She came to awareness suddenly, realizing where she was. The person on the other side tried again, but she resisted, terrified that someone would come in and catch sight of her tear-stained face. No one, no one, she resolved, would ever know that she had cried because of Mr Darcy.

Whoever was on the other side gave the doorknob a last puzzled rattle, then walked slowly back down the corridor.

She rose, straightening out her dress, smoothing down her hair with hands that were steady only because she forced them to be.

She needed to repair the ravages her pathetic bawling had caused. At any moment, someone else could come in and discover her. She moved to look into a mirror that hung above the mantelpiece.

And recoiled in shock...


Monica Fairview, whose Other Mr Darcy has finally made its appearance.

I was delighted recently to receive a copy of my latest book, MOONSHADOWS- so far my only romantic ghost story! Moonshadows was published as an e-book earlier this year by Samhain Publishing, and I am thrilled now to see the paperback version on my bookshelf.
Here's the outline:-

Right man, wrong century?

Feeling trapped between an attraction to her rich, handsome boss and loyalty to her penniless boyfriend Jez Skelton hopes a visit to her aunt's house will clear her head. Instead, a box of inherited letters raises the dust of the past – and clouds her present even more.
The eighteenth century letters resurrect the tragic love story of Sarah, a woman who was mysteriously erased from the family history. A woman whose love for a rich and powerful lord forms a disturbing parallel to Jez's life. Is it a warning not to succumb to her boss-or a risk suffering the same unhappy fate?
Piers Cordeaux knows his advances are forcing Jez into a corner but he can't seem to help himself. Something about her reaches deep inside him, awakening needs that all his money can't satisfy. He can't shake the conviction that they are meant for each other.
As Jez tries to ignore her growing attraction to Piers, she is drawn deeper into her ancestor’s desperate story. And she begins to wonder if her connection to Piers is an accident…or the work of a ghost whose determination to claim his lady reaches across two centuries of time.

MOONSHADOWS is my first attempt at mixinhg a modern day love story with a historical romance. I think it works very well, and would love to know what you think. Maybe, if you are going on holiday soon you might be looking for something a little different read beside the pool!

Melinda Hammond

Publication of THE LOVEDAY CONSPIRACY

This is an abridged extract from the Prologue of THE LOVEDAY CONSPIRACY which foreshadows events to come that again engage Adam and Japhet Loveday in political intrigue. Amid such derring do there is not one but two strong romances woven through the story.

A flame snaked across the cracked flagstones and as it sizzled along the fuse to the top of the powder keg, the Captain and four of his crew covered their faces with their arms. Each gulped a lungful of air, their bodies braced. There was a blast of heat. Then orange flames momentarily lit the dungeon. The impact of the explosion flung the men back against the wall, scalding the breath from their bodies. A shower of debris and dust billowed around them, stinging their throats and nostrils. With hearts pounding louder than a blacksmith’s anvil, they waited, peering through the clearing smoke. The thick oak door hung crookedly on its hinges. Behind it in the black pit that was the prisoner’s cell cries of terror and coughing was silenced by a shout.
‘We are friends. You have been freed. There is little time to get away before the garrison will be called out. Follow us!’
Men with their features hidden beneath matted beards and sores staggered out. Most wore some degree of naval attire, which had been reduced to rags. Despite the cold all had been stripped of their jackets and boots, the officers as dishevelled as the deck hands. A few civilians also staggered out with their silk or fine cambric shirts in tatters around bruised and whip lashed bodies; the colour of their torn breeches indistinguishable after months of laying on filthy straw and rats’ droppings. They were a motley group weakened by dysentery and starvation rations.
‘There is no time to loose.’ The captain ordered. He was shocked at their condition. Some seemed barely able to walk. He could not tell if any were wounded or incapacitated by infirmity or age. There were more prisoners than he expected and it was his duty to save not only the English prisoners of war, but also any Frenchman who faced the guillotine because of his birth. From his hasty inspection some could barely stand and were unlikely to make the short dash through the port to the long boat.
‘God praise you!’ Voices greeted them.
‘Save your breath for what lies ahead.’ the captain warned, ‘The greatest danger is still to be faced before you are aboard my ship.’
The strongest had pushed their way to the front and these were given the spare daggers and cudgels the Captain’s men had been able to carry.
‘Help each the wounded where you can, but once the fighting starts it will be every man for himself.’ It was not a decision the Captain wanted to make but too much depended on them getting quickly away or he could lose his ship and many more lives would be in peril.
Two of his men helped support the wound. The Captain seeing the terrified face of a youth not much older than is eldest son, who was clinging to the wall for support, hooked the lad over his shoulder. With his sword raised, he stepped over the two bodies of the guards, each with their throats cut. Their greatest danger was the steps to the entrance of the lockup. If the sentries came hurtling down them both prisoners and rescuers would be trapped. They could all die.
The Captain breathed easier that no alarm had so far been raised, but the explosion would have alerted the guards on the city walls. They would have only a few minutes to escape unless his accomplice Monsieur Grande had created a diversion in the town.
Halfway up the steps he smelt the first taint of smoke in the air. As he flung open the door to the courtyard an orange glow lit the sky behind the quay. The thud of running men and shouts raised in panic were headed away from them. The fire that had been set was next to the grain store and if that burnt town, the citizens would endure a winter facing starvation.
‘Keep to the shadows!’ The captain warned the prisoners. He stood at the doorway urging those lagging behind to catch up with the others. He also glanced anxiously along the quay. Lord Grande must not be far behind them. There were only two long boats to row out to their brigantine and he could not afford to wait long for his accomplice to board. Yet without him the rescue would have failed.
‘Hurry my friend,’ he groaned as he sped after the prisoners.
The outcry and frenzy in the town had drawn many of the sailors from the quayside taverns, but there would still be some placed on watch on each vessel. In times of war every furtive move was regarded as suspicious.
‘Halt. Who goes there?’ A command was barked out in French. ‘Halt or I shoot!’
Up ahead there was the sound of a scuffle and of a shot being fired. The Captain could just make out the first of the prisoners climbing down the stone quay steps to a long boat. Others were fighting.
This could be disastrous. The Captain felt his blood freeze. From out of a tavern a dozen soldiers appeared, half of them carrying muskets. Their officer had raised his sword aloft and was rallying more to his side.
The Captain drew his own pistol and fired at the officer, who went down, shot through an eye socket.
‘At them men! For England and King George!’ The Captain shouted. He was now in the thick of the skirmish and laying about him with his sword. He was slowed by the weight of the youth who also hampered his movements.
A volley of musket fire brought down more prisoners but then it would take the soldiers over a minute to reload and some prisoners charged them wielding cudgels against muskets now used as clubs.
There was little moonlight but the glow from the fire not only lit up the sky it was reflected in the water of the harbour. Only fifty yards separated them from the long boat.
‘Give me the boy.’ A white-haired prisoner took the youth from the captain.
No longer restricted he was now able to defend the backs of the stragglers. The fight was frantic and those left on the quay were outnumbered. Desperation reignited their failing energy when the stamp of booted feet from the direction of the town meant reinforcements. But for which side? Had Lord Grande made it to the quay, or was it more French?…

…There was a deathly hush.
‘And did they escape?’ A young voice demanded.
‘Of course they did, numbskull,’ Nathan Loveday taunted. ‘Otherwise Papa would not be alive to tell the story.’

THE LOVEDAY CONSPIRACY is published in hardback by Headline and available now.

Colonel Brandon's Diary

I'm just dropping in to say that the US paperback of Colonel Brandon's Diary will be out on July 7th. I really loved writing this book.

At first glance, Colonel Brandon might seem like an unlikely hero but on closer inspection he's a man with a deep heart and a tragedy in his past. I enjoyed bringing this past to life in his diary, following the plot laid down by Jane Austen but adding detail and colour, exploring his relationships with his father and brother, with his first love Eliza and with Eliza's daughter.

And I adored showing his love for Marianne Dashwood, giving his perspective on her warm, generous nature and her free spirit.

It's such a great story, with heroes and villains, comic characters and silly ones, and I hope you're going to love the story from Brandon's point of view.

Persuasion, the Cobb and Louisa Musgrove

I've been to Lyme Regis very recently - I always love going because I know it is a place that Jane Austen visited often and really took to her heart.

...the principal street almost hurrying into the water, the walk to the Cobb, skirting round the pleasant little bay, which in the season is animated with bathing-machines and company; the Cobb itself, its old wonders and new improvements, with the very beautiful line of cliffs stretching out to the east of the town, are what the stranger's eye will seek; and a very strange stranger it must be, who does not see charms in the immediate environs of Lyme, to make him wish to know it better. The scenes in its neighbourhood, Charmouth, with its high grounds and extensive sweeps of country, and still more its sweet, retired bay, backed by dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock among the sands make it the happiest spot for watching the flow of the tide, for sitting in unwearied contemplation; the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme; and, above all, Pinny, with its green chasms between romantic rocks, where the scattered forest-trees and orchards of luxuriant growth declare that many a generation must have passed away since the first partial falling of the cliff prepared the ground for such a state, where a scene so wonderful and so lovely is exhibited, as may more than equal any of the resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of Wight: these places must be visited, and visited again to make the worth of Lyme understood..

Part of Jane's book Persuasion was inspired by the town - the dramatic turn of events when Louisa Musgrove jumps from the Cobb is a turning point in the book for our heroine Anne Elliot.

There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, excepting Louisa: she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In all their walks he had had to jump her from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet made him less willing upon the present occasion; he did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly to shew her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain, she smiled and said, "I am determined I will": he put out his hands; she was too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless! There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like death. The horror of that moment to all who stood around!

Far from running up these steps myself I found it quite terrifying - descending from the top is the scariest way down especially when there is a gale howling! Walking along the top of the Cobb is exhilarating but even in fine weather there seems to be a good chance of getting blown off - not for the faint hearted!

Jane Odiwe

Illustration by Philip Gough

Waterloo 2009

For those of us who enjoy looking at men in Regency uniforms:



Kate Allan

Mr Darcy, Vampyre

Way back in June 2008 I warned you I have an untidy mind, and listed all the books I was thinking about writing. Little did I suspect that soon afterwards a completely different idea would occur to me and that I would drop everything to write it! I've been sitting on this for a long time, dying to tell you all about it but at the same time wanting to keep it under wraps. But now, here it is, Mr Darcy, Vampyre!



The book is a sequel to Pride and Prejudice with a twist. Elizabeth and Darcy's love for one another is legendary, but can it overcome Darcy's terrible secret? You'll have to wait until August to find out, because that's when the book hits the shops in the US (or should that be stores?!)

Meanwhile, you can read more about it on the Mr Darcy, Vampyre blog and it's available to pre-order now from Barnes and Noble and Amazon US

Fancy a Dip in the River?

As I write this it is not exactly Flaming June, but perhaps by the time it appears the sun will come out again and we'll all be in the mood for bathing.

I have researched seaside bathing during the Regency and even set a love scene in a bathing machine (The Outrageous Lady Felsham) and of course, the hero or heroine taking a risky plunge in the local stream often occurs in a hot summer romance - but it had never occured to me that anyone might willingly take a swim in the 19thc Thames or Mersey.

Then I found the print above of the Royal Waterloo Bath in Ackermann's Repository for 1819. According to the description "It contains a plunging-bath, 24 feet long by 8 feet wide, and two private baths, 10 feet long by 8 feet wide. The depth may be regulated at pleasure by machinery, which raises or depresses the bottom. To each of the baths are attached small dressing-rooms, commodiously fitted up, with proper persons to attend upon visitors. The water, being a running stream, is changed every two minutes."


There was a boat at Waterloo Bridge to convey the bathers out to the Bath and the "terms of bathing" were one shilling in the plunging-bath or one and six for the private baths. Season tickets were available.

I was dubious about how popular it could be to bathe in the Thames in the middle of London -surely the water must be filthy? - but to my surprise I found an unmistakeable floating bath with its tall flagpole in the Grand Panorama of London, 1844. This one is moored at Blackfriar's Bridge.

In the words of the Ackermann's article "...we have a noble river filled with the purest and most wholesome waters in the world. The want of baths in London has led to the incommodious and indecorous practice of public exposure in the Thames."




1858, only fourteen years after this print was published, was the Great Stink when the Thames was so foul that Parliament had to close and people fainted. In the intervening period improvements to domestic sanitation had sent sewage from homes direct into the river and the floating baths were doomed.




I still haven't discovered when the floating bath first apeared in London, but there was certainly one in Liverpool in 1816. The Liverpool Mercury for August 9th 1816 has a picture of it and both an advertisement and (doubtless by the same hand) a letter to the editor explaining the improvements to increase the flow of water through the boat. Apparently, those in rowing boats passing at either end could see through the grills into the bathing compartment - which must have been entertaining for all concerned. On the Prince Regent's birthday there would be admission for ladies - but only to view the boat: no bathing would be allowed. One wonders if this was to allay their fears that their sons and husbands were sneaking off to some other kind of establishment altogether!

Carriages in Vienna

This is one of the row of about twenty carriages lined up outside the Hofburg palace in Vienna. This line contained carriages of every colour: pure white, pale blue with black leather seats, maroon with black trim, maroon and white, and a glossy black one with an interior of white buttoned leather. You will see in the photo that behind each of the two horses is a sort of canvas chute. This catches any droppings so the streets of Vienna remain clean. I have not been able to find out if this was the case during the Congress of Vienna. Emperor Franz Joseph had ordered a hundred such carriages built for the visiting monarchs of Europe. They were painted dark green with the Imperial coat of arms emblazoned on the doors in gold. Each coach was drawn by two white horses and had a driver and groom dressed in the imperial yellow livery. It must have been a spectacular sight to see them - the coaches not the grooms! - dashing about the streets of Vienna, or waiting outside one of the many palaces where every night hostesses vied with each other to give the most lavish ball.

Some happy news. I completed my latest book for Severn House on April 24th and sent it to my agent. She loved it and sent it on. Entitled Heart of Stone it was accepted within two weeks and is scheduled for publication this November. I'm delighted, and breathless!

Jane Jackson.

Fourteen inches and fug

I’m currently researching naval life in the Regency period for a series of books I’m starting to write. So a trip to Portsmouth was absolutely essential. We are so lucky that HMS Victory has been preserved, essentially as she was. Writers can get a real feeling for what life on board might have been like. The only thing that hasn’t been preserved is the chaos of war — and the smell. Sailors apparently preferred to have the gunports closed, and to live in the dark and the fug!

Life on board was exceedingly cramped, unless you were the Admiral, or the Captain. Nelson’s cabin, on the upper gun deck, occupied about a quarter of the length of the ship. In his dining cabin, you can see the polished mahogany table laid for 20, with room to spare. The Captain’s cabin, on the quarterdeck above, was about half that size. There were guns everywhere and the sailors’ quarters, in particular, were dominated by them. Everything else — eating, sleeping in a hammock in 14 inches of hanging space — had to be squeezed in between.

Photography isn’t allowed on board HMS Victory, but here is a shot of an officer’s cabin on board HMS Warrior, launched in 1860, which was actually much more spacious than HMS Victory. In HMS Victory, officers’ cabins were smaller and the guns took up far more of space. When a ship cleared for action, everything was dismantled and stowed away, leaving guns and crews.

The museum at the historic dockyard includes some interesting exhibits of the reality of warfare. I’d learned at school about how the young Napoleon Bonaparte dispersed a Paris insurrection in 1795 with a “whiff of grapeshot” but I didn’t actually know what grapeshot was. Given the name, I’d imagined shot about the size of a grape. Wrong! This is grapeshot as used in naval canon. Each of the balls is about the size of a tennis ball and as the shot is fired, the canvas bursts and the balls fly in all directions. Terrifying. No wonder the Paris mob was dispersed.

It’s all grist to the writer’s mill and I am thoroughly enjoying becoming immersed in naval life. Though I really don’t think I’d have enjoyed living it! Would you?

Joanna
http://www.joannamaitland.com

Research

Most historical romances are about the aristocracy, mine included. We love to read about lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, all young, all good looking and sexually irresistible, finding their way to love.

So what about the other classes of society? Didn’t they fall in love?

I have incorporated other classes sometimes, for instance Rose in the Richard and Rose books is from the landed gentry – a different class to the aristocrats, and Arabella, heroine of “Tantalizing Secrets” is a factory owner’s widow and the daughter of a vicar.

In Georgette Heyer’s books all her heroes and heroines had some connection with the top echelons of society. Her governess heroines had relatives who were generals or barons. And if we were to put all the dukes in all the Regencies end to end, they’d probably circumnavigate the globe. It would be an interesting sight, though, wouldn’t it?

I can think of exceptions, some excellent ones. Maddy, the heroine of Laura Kinsale’s wonderful “Flowers From the Storm” is a quaker miss with not one aristocratic relative, yet she marries her duke. Maddy came alive for me in that book, and her different background made the book more enjoyable and explained her character to a certain extent. She wasn’t the saint she thought she was, neither was she as infallible as she thought. Maddy thought too small, as the hero’s aunt, Lady de Marly, pointed out in one unforgettable scene.

In doing the research for “Tantalizing Secrets” I became engrossed in the history of the cities and towns of England and I came across the phenomenon of the London Cit, the wealthy city merchant or banker. They had their own institutions, their own social circles and their own customs. They would have hated one of their number marrying into the aristocracy, although occasionally that did happen. The Cit’s power base was their often fabulous wealth, the Guilds, ancient institutions that regulated industry in the City of London, and Parliament, particularly the House of Commons. The aristocrats had the Lords, the Cit had the Commons, together with the landed gentry and the untitled members of the aristocracy.

Queen Charlotte’s coronation gown was encrusted with diamonds – all borrowed from City merchants. Her husband, George III, was very aware of the power of the city merchant, and did his best to keep them sweet. Many innovations came from the City or were financed by the merchants there. And women had a lot of freedom, like one of my ancestors, Hester Bateman, who became one of the premier businesswomen in London. Her husband died young, and she had sons to provide for, so she carried on the business for them. It prospered, and although her company never reached the artistic heights of a Paul Storr, she did very well with everyday items, and they are sought after today. Not that she ever made a piece of silver herself.

So I’m doing more research into the city merchants and financiers. A novel in the offing? Maybe, but I’m enjoying the research!

The Credit Crunch - Regency Style

Living beyond one's means is nothing new. In fact betting and gaming was a major preoccupation during the Regency period. Upper-class women mostly confined their gaming to cards - loo, faro, marcao, whist and the like. Men also gambled at cards, often wagering vast sums on a hand in the clubs and hells of Pall Mall, or risking their fortunes on the roll of the dice.

Almost any kind of bet was acceptable but once entered into was held as binding. Although gambling debts were not enforceable through the law they where considered to be debts of honour and it was understood amongst the upper classes that a wager undertaken between them took precedence over just about anything else - even if it meant the gentleman incurring the debt forfeited his entire estate as a consequence. A man of honour would not dream of defaulting, even if it meant keeping his tailor, and other tradesmen, waiting for payment.

Vowels - or IOU's - are commonly referred to in historical fiction. Their name is derived from the vowels - i,o and u which they represented. Incurring a debt of honour was taken so seriously that borrowing from a woman or even resorting to a moneylender were considered more honourable alternatives than defaulting.

Women did not view their gaming debts quite so seriously as men but were still obliged to pay. This often resulted in the sale of jewellery or other valuable personal items in order to honour their commitments. But such was the lure of the card table that the share of pawning their diamonds didn't prevent them from presenting themselves for more punishment, convinced that their luck must be due to change, the very next night.

Wendy

Two Gentlemen From London

Here is the final version of my cover for the Hale book which comes out in October. As always I love it - what do you think? Below is the opening scene from the book. I hope you enjoy it enough to want to read the whole thing when it comes out.

'Miss Bentley, lawks a mussy! They're here. Young Fred saw the carriage turn into the lane not ten minutes ago.'
Annabel Bentley dropped the jar of bramble jelly she had been about place on the shelf in the pantry. 'After so long? I had thought Mama and I safe from him.' Stepping over the sweet mess on the flagstones she gathered up her skirts, calling over her shoulder as she ran. 'You and Tom know what to do; we have about thirty minutes before they arrive.'
How had he found them? They had been so careful these past years, had not even attended church or visited Ipswich themselves. Her heart pounding, she ran upstairs calling her mother.
'Mama, we are discovered. We must get organized or it will be too late.' She had hoped never to be reminded of that black time again.
Lady Sophia appeared from the south facing chamber she used for her studio, as usual she had paint streaks on her face and fingers. 'Are you quite certain, my love? I can hardly credit that monster has been able to find us.'
'Well, he has. Mary and Tom are putting on the holland covers, we have to clear your studio.'
In the beginning they had practiced this exercise several times, but as the months, and then the years, slipped by they had stopped rehearsing. However, the boxes were ready and it was the work of moments to fill them with the paraphernalia.

'Quickly, open the panel and I'll start taking things through.' Annabel tried to recall how long it was since she had checked their intended hiding place. It must be almost a year, the two secret rooms would be dust covered, but it was too late to worry about that. There was the clatter of footsteps and their servants arrived to disguise the bed chambers they had been occupying with covers.
'Miss Bentley, everything's ready downstairs, we shall have your rooms done in a trice. Fred is moving the horses, I reckon we'll be prepared in good time.'
'This room is finished; all we need is sufficient food and water for today and tomorrow. No doubt you will be obliged to offer accommodation tonight, but when he finds he's mistaken, he will surely leave first thing.'
'He'll not get a meal he'll enjoy tonight, I'll make sure of that.'
'Thank you, Mary. I cannot imagine why the three of you have stayed with us so long in this isolated place, but we could not have managed without you.'
'Bless you, miss, it's been our pleasure. You mustn't worry. If you and Lady Sophia get settled, we'll be up with what you need as soon as we've done here.'
Annabel stepped into the hidden passageway, relieved to see her mother had not been idle, the sconces were burning and she had sufficient illumination to fasten the panel behind her and to pick up one of the remaining boxes.
The passageways and narrow staircase led from top to bottom of the ancient mansion. The place had once been used by smugglers and although the exit to the beach had fallen into disuse years ago, it was still possible to get from the kitchen to the hidden apartment in the attic.
She followed the twists and turns without hesitation, it was fixed in her mind. She could hear her mother moving about ahead of her and guessed she would be setting up her easel.
'There you are, my love. I shall run back and fetch the last box whilst you check we have everything we need up here. I fear the bed linen will be damp after so long.'
Annabel didn't bother to argue that she was younger and fitter and should be the one to go back, for it would be untrue. Her mother was barely eight and thirty, and she nineteen on her last name day, they would be taken for sisters if ever they appeared together in public.
These secret rooms had been constructed when the house was built. There was no way to enter them via the attics, the only panels that opened were in the room that had been used as a studio and the boot room in the basement. She walked across to the low doors that opened onto the roof.
She pulled them back and stepped out, knowing she could not be seen from below. Brandon Hall, originally built in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, now had a false edifice making it appear what it was not. Behind the brick frontage, hidden between two chimney breasts, was a space more than large enough to walk about. She carefully removed the brick that filled the peephole.
Her throat constricted and her hands clenched. Fred had not been mistaken. Already half way down the long curving drive was a smart, black travelling carriage. They had not received a visitor since they had joined Great-Aunt Beth, nobody knew they were there. It could only be her stepfather, Randolph Rushton, and his loathsome man of affairs.
A vivid flash of lightning split the sky. She counted, had reached five, when the thunder followed. The storm they had been anticipating all day would be upon them within the hour. She prayed the river that ran parallel to the lane would not flood, the last time it had done so it had been a week before the road was passable.


Miss Bennet & Mr Bingley is now available from Amazon and all other distributors. It has been given a good review on Pemberley and is mentioned on four other Jane Austen sites.
best wishes
Fenella Miller

Creative ideas from mysterious places!

The appearance of a crop circle in the shape of a jellyfish in the fields near our house last week might not seem the most obvious inspiration for a Regency author but as you know, we often get our ideas from all kinds of unusual places! When I heard about the “jellyfish” it set me to wondering when the first recorded mention was of crop circles and whether any had appeared in Regency times. I did some research and came up with some fascinating answers!

The earliest recorded mention of a crop circle appears to be in 815AD when the Bishop of Lyons wrote of corn “flattened by magical storms.” A celebrated case in 1678 records the case of the “Mowing Devil” which was shown on a contemporary woodcut. The text that accompanies the woodcut states that when a farmer asked a neighbour to cut his three and a quarter acre oat field, the man 'endeavour'd to sell the Sweat of his Brows and Marrow of his Bones at as dear a Rate as reasonably he might . . . some sharp Words had passed . . . The irritated farmer with a stern look . . . told the poor man, That the Devil should Mow his Oats before he should have anything to do with them.' The result was that that very night people saw the oat field in flames and in the morning a perfect round crop circle had been cut in the middle of the field. However, this report was discredited in some circles as being untrue and the woodcut a means of reinforcing the power of the church as a warning not to anger God with intemperate words. Even if this was the case, however, it does suggest that the concept of crop circles was something that men were familiar with at this time.

By the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, the emphasis had shifted from religion and superstition to scientific investigation. Several scientific journals record the appearance of crop circles in this time, down to meticulous detail of how the corn was bent and flattened in some cases and cut and placed in others. Theories on crop circle formation suggested that they might have been created by swirling vortices of air or some other type of natural atmospheric process such as lightning. However, one particular account from the Victorian period near Plummer's Hill, in High Wycombe, Bucks, describes two disc-shaped objects with flashing lights hovering over a site where the very next day a circle of bent, flattened grasses was discovered! Was this the earliest suggestion that crop circles are created by aliens?

There are many ancient sites and historic events in this part of the world that could inspire a book, including the historic scouring of the Uffington White Horse and I’m tempted to include a mystery crop circle into one of my Regencies!

Nicola Cornick

Jane Austen: The Teen Queen?

I first encountered Jane Austen as a teenager, which probably accounts for why I am fascinated with the way she manages to capture the teenage spirit.

We studied Pride and Prejudice at school. My teacher, Mrs A—, loved reading out the funny parts of the novel to the class, especially the ones that had Mrs Bennet in them. To me, she’ll always be the quintessential Mrs Bennet. As you would expect, many of the girls in the class started groaning the moment Mrs A—/Mrs Bennet started reading, which always conjured up for me the images of Lydia and Kitty. This combination of teacher enacting the mother, and students being who they were – teenagers – has probably skewed my vision of Pride and Prejudice forever.

Still, I think it’s one of the remarkable aspects of Jane Austen that doesn’t get discussed often enough. Her ability to represent teenagers accounts for why each successive generation seems to rediscover Austen in a way that the older folks find irritating. There’s that “been there, done that” feeling whenever the new generation re-discovers her. But then again, each successive group brings to the novel its own notions.
One only has to look at the difference between the 1995 depiction of Elizabeth Bennet by Jennifer Ehle (right) and the 2005 version with Keira Knightly (below). I love Ehle in the 1995 version.

But what the 2005 version shows you much more clearly is that this is a film about teens.

Jane Austen’s skill at capturing the teenage mind was especially remarkable because she did it a long, long time before teenagers were even invented. Apparently it was not until James Dean’s Rebel Without a Cause came out in 1955 that the concept of “the teenager” even came to exist. Before that, if you were a teenager, tough luck. You were either an overgrown child, or a very young adult. James Dean, by portraying a lot of the issues and problems of teenagers, put teenagers for the first time on the map.

To give you a sense of how good she was at portraying the teen mind, look at Lydia, Kitty, and Mary, who represent a range of teenage archetypes, from the “popular” girl (Lydia), to the follower who longs to be popular (Kitty), to the “nerd” outsider (Mary). Then compare these figures to Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre goes through childhood to adulthood without ever passing through the “teen” phase. We never see it, unless you consider her childhood rebellion as her first teen gesture. But she was only ten. Jane Eyre is a different type of novel, obviously, but it’s much more typical of the way adolescence was depicted generally.

In this, if in nothing else, Jane Austen emerges as a pioneer (though there are plenty of other things she pioneered, too). Of course, if you mentioned the word “teenager” to her, she wouldn’t know what you were talking about. Which makes it all the more amazing that she was able to capture something which was not even identified until a century and a half later.

By Monica Fairview, whose The Other Mr Darcy will be available in a matter of weeks, i.e. at the end of June 2009.

The Eastbourne Redoubt

Summer is the time for going to the seaside and strolling along the prom, and a few weeks ago at Eastbourne I did just that, and was rewarded with a wonderful dsicovery.

Eastbourne is more generally associated with the Edwardian era than the Napoleonic wars, but it does have the most amazing redoubt, now restored to its early 19th century glory.

In the early 1800's the fear of a French invasion of Britain was very real. Napoleon moved troops to Boulogne and planned to ferry them across to the south coast. In response the British Government built over 70 Martello Towers plus three circular fortresses at Harwich, Dymchurch and Eastbourne.

In 1805, Nelson's victory at Trafalgar lessened the threat but plans had been laid and work began on the Eastbourne Redoubt, which took three years to build and only ever fired two shots in anger (at a French ship which strayed too close to the shore – the shots missed).

The Redoubt was used as an observation post and convalescent hospital during WWI and during WWII anti-aircraft guns were mounted on the gun platform. It is now a military museum and houses the regimental museums of The Royal Sussex Regiment and the Queen's Royal Irish Hussars.

Ironically, the Redoubt, which was built to defend the south coast, is now itself defended from the sea by the promenade, but I am so glad it has survived.

Melinda Hammond / Sarah Mallory

Promotional News

Sorry I am so late putting up my post but I am so excited I think my vibes gave my computer a wobbly and it needed to cool down before it would accept my post.

I have just heard that from late June to September Tesco are doing a special promotion for The Loveday Secrets. Every little helps as they say. I'm off to raid the wine rack and celebrate.

Kate Tremayne