Chapter One
1815
“I have good news for you, Annabelle,” said Miss Chalfont, the well-educated head mistress
and owner of The Beeches, an exclusive school for young ladies.
Seated on a straight-backed chair opposite Miss Chalfont’s walnut desk, Annabelle clasped
her hands tightly on her lap. “Has my guardian told you who my parents are?” she asked in a
voice quivering with excitement.
Regret flickered across Miss Chalfont’s face before she shook her head. “No, I am very
sorry, he has not. For your sake I wish he had. In fact, I do not know who he is. I receive
instructions from a lawyer in Dover. To be honest, for no particular reason, I have always
assumed your guardian’s identity is that of a man, but it could be that of a woman.”
Dover! Annabelle thought. The town where she had lived with her nurse before a nameless
elegant lady, with a French accent, brought her to The Beeches. Time and time again she had
wondered if the lady was her guardian or whether she was a stranger ordered to bring her here.
She had no way of knowing, for the lady had not answered any of her questions.
Annabelle looked into Miss Chalfont’s eyes. “Who is the lawyer, ma’am?”
“I do not know for he does not identify himself. He merely arranges for your…er…upkeep,
and sends me your guardian’s instructions.”
No clue to the mystery of my own identity, Annabelle thought and gazed down to conceal
her disappointment. “Has the lawyer given you permission to tell me who my guardian is?” she
asked, despite her suspicion that he had not.
Miss Chalfont looked down at a letter. “No, your guardian, whom I have no doubt has your
welfare at heart, still wishes to remain anonymous. But, my dear child, you are fortunate. Your
guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron de Beauchamp.”
Annabelle looked up with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and intense indignation at
the arrangement that took no heed of her wishes. “I am to marry a man I have never met?”
With restless fingers, Miss Chalfont adjusted her frilled mobcap. “Yes, your guardian has
arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron tomorrow.”
Annabelle stared at her kind teacher as though she had turned into a monster. “Mon dieu!”
she raged, reverting to the French she spoke when she was a small child. “My God! Tomorrow?
My guardian expects me to marry a Frenchman tomorrow? Miss Chalfont, surely you do not
approve of such haste.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Miss Chalfont tapped her fingers on her desk. “My
approval or disapproval is of no consequence. Your guardian wishes you to marry immediately
so there is little more to be said. A special licence has been procured and the vicar has been
informed.” Miss Chalfont smiled at her. “You have nothing to fear. This letter informs me that
Monsieur speaks English and lives in this country.”
Annabelle scowled. Her hands trembled. For the first time, she defied her head mistress.
“Nothing to fear? My life is to be put in the hands of a husband with the right to…beat me…or…
starve me, and you say I have nothing to fear, Miss Chalfont? Please believe me when I say that
nothing will persuade me to marry in such haste.”
Not the least display of emotion crossed the head teacher’s face. “You should not allow your
imagination to agitate your sensibilities. For all you know, the monsieur is charming and will be
a good, kind husband.”
“On the other hand, he might be a monster,” Annabelle said.
Miss Chalfont ignored the interruption and continued. “At eighteen, you are the oldest girl in
the school. It is time for you to leave the nest and establish one of your own.”
“Twaddle,” Annabelle muttered. “My education is almost complete and I suspect you wish
to be rid of me.”
Miss Chalfont smoothed the skirt of her steel-grey woollen gown and looked at Annabelle
with a cold expression in her eyes. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you say twaddle? As for
wishing to be rid of you child, that is not true. However, I will admit that in recent months I have
worried about your guardian’s future plans for you. But I need not have worried. As a happy
bride, I daresay you will go to London where those pretty blue eyes and long lashes of yours will
be so much admired that Monsieur le Baron will be proud of you.”
At any other time Miss Chalfont’s rare compliment would have pleased her. On this
occasion it only served to increase the fury she tried to conceal. Losing her temper would be
pointless. Before Annabelle spoke, she took a deep breath to calm herself. “It is unreasonable to
order me to marry the man without allowing me time to become acquainted with him.”
“Do not refer to your bridegroom as the man. I have told you his name is de Beauchamp.”
Rebellion flamed in Annabelle’s stomach. “What do you know of my…er...bridegroom-tobe, ma’am?”
Miss Chalfont looked down at the letter. “He is described as a handsome gentleman of
mature years.”
“One would think the description is of a piece of mature cheese or a bottle of vintage wine.”
Miss Chalfont frowned. “Do not be impertinent, Annabelle, you are not too old to be
punished.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but please tell me how mature he is,” Annabelle said, her eyes
wide open and her entire body taut with apprehension.
“Monsieur le Baron is some forty-years-old.”
“How mature?” Annabelle persisted with her usual bluntness.
“He is forty-two-years-old.”
Annabelle stood, bent forward, and drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. “Please be
kind enough to inform my guardian that I will not play Guinevere to an aging Arthur. I would
prefer to build my nest with a young Lancelot.”
Miss Chalfont’s shoulders heaved as though she was trying not to laugh. “Regardless of
your preference, you must marry according to your guardian’s wish.”
“Dear ma’am, you and your mother have always been kind to me. I cannot believe you
approve of—”
“As I have already said, my approval or disapproval is of no importance. Your duty is to
obey.”
Annabelle’s anger boiled and she felt somewhat sick in the stomach. Now that she was old
enough to leave the seminary, it seemed that unless she refused to co-operate, she really would
be disposed of without the slightest consideration for her personal wishes. Simultaneously afraid
to obey her guardian and furious because not even Miss Chalfont seemed to care about her
dilemma, Annabelle straightened up. She looked around the cosy parlour, with its thick oriental
rugs, pretty figurines on the mantelpiece, and a number of gilt-framed pictures on the wall, one
of which she had painted. “I will consider the marriage.” Annabelle looked down again, in case
rebellion revealed itself on her face. But she had not lied. She would consider the marriage
proposal, but not in the manner Miss Chalfont expected, for she would find a way to reject the
elderly baron.
Miss Chalfont stood, walked round her desk, and patted Annabelle’s shoulder before resting
her hand on it. “My dear child, there is little for you to consider. I dread to think of the
consequences if you disobey your guardian. You could be cast penniless from here with only the
clothes on your back. After all, your guardian does have complete power over you.”
Annabelle wanted to jerk away from her uncaring teacher’s hand but forced herself to
remain passive. She did not want the woman to suspect the nature of her rebellious thoughts and
have her closely watched. Inwardly, she seethed and decided that whatever the cost, she would
escape the fate in store for her. An image of her former nurse, with whom she corresponded,
flashed through her mind. With it came a sense of security and purpose.
On the 27th October, False Pretences will be available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookshop2/
Friday, 19 October 2012
Monday, 15 October 2012
New release 27/10/2912 False Pretences
There is a pre-order special of a 20% discount on my new release Regency novel False Pretences at
https://museituppublishing,com/bookstore2
Back book cover of False Pretences.
Five-year-old Annabelle arrived at boarding school fluent in French and English. Separated from her nurse, a dismal shadow blights Annabelle’s life because she does not know who her parents are.
High-spirited Annabelle is financially dependent on her unknown guardian. She refuses to marry a French baron more than twice her age.
Her life in danger, Annabelle is saved by a gentleman, who says he will help her to discover her identity. Yet, from then on nothing is as it seems, and she is forced to run away for the second time to protect her rescuer.
Even more determined to discover her parents’ identity, in spite of many false pretences, Annabelle must learn who to trust. Her attempts to unravel the mystery of her birth, lead to further danger, despair, unbearable heartache and even more false pretences until the only person who has ever wanted to cherish her, reveals the startling truth, and all’s well that ends well.
False Pretences
Chapter One
1815
“I have good news for you, Annabelle,” said Miss Chalfont, the well-educated head mistress and owner of The Beeches, an exclusive school for young ladies.
Seated on a straight-backed chair opposite Miss Chalfont’s walnut desk, Annabelle clasped her hands tightly on her lap. “Has my guardian told you who my parents are?” she asked in a voice quivering with excitement.
Regret flickered across Miss Chalfont’s face before she shook her head. “No, I am very sorry, he has not. For your sake I wish he had. In fact, I do not know who he is. I receive instructions from a lawyer in Dover. To be honest, for no particular reason, I have always assumed your guardian’s identity is that of a man, but it could be that of a woman.”
Dover! Annabelle thought. The town where she had lived with her nurse before a nameless elegant lady, with a French accent, brought her to The Beeches. Time and time again she had wondered if the lady was her guardian or whether she was a stranger ordered to bring her here. She had no way of knowing, for the lady had not answered any of her questions. Annabelle looked into Miss Chalfont’s eyes. “Who is the lawyer, ma’am?”
“I do not know for he does not identify himself. He merely arranges for your…er…upkeep, and sends me your guardian’s instructions.” No clue to the mystery of my own identity, Annabelle thought and gazed down to conceal her disappointment. “Has the lawyer given you permission to tell me who my guardian is?” she asked, despite her suspicion that he had not. Miss Chalfont looked down at a letter. “No, your guardian, whom I have no doubt has your welfare at heart, still wishes to remain anonymous. But, my dear child, you are fortunate. Your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron de Beauchamp.”
Annabelle looked up with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and intense indignation at the arrangement that took no heed of her wishes. “I am to marry a man I have never met?”
With restless fingers, Miss Chalfont adjusted her frilled mobcap. “Yes, your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron tomorrow.”
Annabelle stared at her kind teacher as though she had turned into a monster. “Mon dieu!” she raged, reverting to the French she spoke when she was a small child. “My God! Tomorrow? My guardian expects me to marry a Frenchman tomorrow? Miss Chalfont, surely you do not approve of such haste.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Miss Chalfont tapped her fingers on her desk. “My approval or disapproval is of no consequence. Your guardian wishes you to marry immediately so there is little more to be said. A special licence has been procured and the vicar has been informed.” Miss Chalfont smiled at her. “You have nothing to fear. This letter informs me that Monsieur speaks English and lives in this country.”
Annabelle scowled. Her hands trembled. For the first time, she defied her head mistress. “Nothing to fear? My life is to be put in the hands of a husband with the right to…beat me…or… starve me, and you say I have nothing to fear, Miss Chalfont? Please believe me when I say that nothing will persuade me to marry in such haste.”
Not the least display of emotion crossed the head teacher’s face. “You should not allow your imagination to agitate your sensibilities. For all you know, the monsieur is charming and will be a good, kind husband.”
“On the other hand, he might be a monster,” Annabelle said.
Miss Chalfont ignored the interruption and continued. “At eighteen, you are the oldest girl in the school. It is time for you to leave the nest and establish one of your own.”
“Twaddle,” Annabelle muttered. “My education is almost complete and I suspect you wish to be rid of me.”
Miss Chalfont smoothed the skirt of her steel-grey woollen gown and looked at Annabelle with a cold expression in her eyes. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you say twaddle? As for wishing to be rid of you child, that is not true. However, I will admit that in recent months I have worried about your guardian’s future plans for you. But I need not have worried. As a happy bride, I daresay you will go to London where those pretty blue eyes and long lashes of yours will be so much admired that Monsieur le Baron will be proud of you.”
At any other time Miss Chalfont’s rare compliment would have pleased her. On this occasion it only served to increase the fury she tried to conceal. Losing her temper would be pointless. Before Annabelle spoke, she took a deep breath to calm herself. “It is unreasonable to order me to marry the man without allowing me time to become acquainted with him.”
“Do not refer to your bridegroom as the man. I have told you his name is de Beauchamp.”
Rebellion flamed in Annabelle’s stomach. “What do you know of my…er...bridegroom-tobe, ma’am?”
Miss Chalfont looked down at the letter. “He is described as a handsome gentleman of mature years.”
“One would think the description is of a piece of mature cheese or a bottle of vintage wine.”
Miss Chalfont frowned. “Do not be impertinent, Annabelle, you are not too old to be punished.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but please tell me how mature he is,” Annabelle said, her eyes wide open and her entire body taut with apprehension.
“Monsieur le Baron is some forty-years-old.”
“How mature?” Annabelle persisted with her usual bluntness.
“He is forty-two-years-old.”
Annabelle stood, bent forward, and drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. “Please be kind enough to inform my guardian that I will not play Guinevere to an aging Arthur. I would prefer to build my nest with a young Lancelot.”
Miss Chalfont’s shoulders heaved as though she was trying not to laugh. “Regardless of your preference, you must marry according to your guardian’s wish.”
“Dear ma’am, you and your mother have always been kind to me. I cannot believe you approve of—”
“As I have already said, my approval or disapproval is of no importance. Your duty is to obey.” Annabelle’s anger boiled and she felt somewhat sick in the stomach. Now that she was old enough to leave the seminary, it seemed that unless she refused to co-operate, she really would be disposed of without the slightest consideration for her personal wishes. Simultaneously afraid to obey her guardian and furious because not even Miss Chalfont seemed to care about her dilemma, Annabelle straightened up. She looked around the cosy parlour, with its thick oriental rugs, pretty figurines on the mantelpiece, and a number of gilt-framed pictures on the wall, one of which she had painted. “I will consider the marriage.” Annabelle looked down again, in case rebellion revealed itself on her face. But she had not lied. She would consider the marriage proposal, but not in the manner Miss Chalfont expected, for she would find a way to reject the elderly baron.
Miss Chalfont stood, walked round her desk, and patted Annabelle’s shoulder before resting her hand on it. “My dear child, there is little for you to consider. I dread to think of the consequences if you disobey your guardian. You could be cast penniless from here with only the clothes on your back. After all, your guardian does have complete power over you.”
Annabelle wanted to jerk away from her uncaring teacher’s hand but forced herself to remain passive. She did not want the woman to suspect the nature of her rebellious thoughts and have her closely watched. Inwardly, she seethed and decided that whatever the cost, she would escape the fate in store for her. An image of her former nurse, with whom she corresponded, flashed through her mind. With it came a sense of security and purpose.
https://museituppublishing,com/bookstore2
Back book cover of False Pretences.
Five-year-old Annabelle arrived at boarding school fluent in French and English. Separated from her nurse, a dismal shadow blights Annabelle’s life because she does not know who her parents are.
High-spirited Annabelle is financially dependent on her unknown guardian. She refuses to marry a French baron more than twice her age.
Her life in danger, Annabelle is saved by a gentleman, who says he will help her to discover her identity. Yet, from then on nothing is as it seems, and she is forced to run away for the second time to protect her rescuer.
Even more determined to discover her parents’ identity, in spite of many false pretences, Annabelle must learn who to trust. Her attempts to unravel the mystery of her birth, lead to further danger, despair, unbearable heartache and even more false pretences until the only person who has ever wanted to cherish her, reveals the startling truth, and all’s well that ends well.
False Pretences
Chapter One
1815
“I have good news for you, Annabelle,” said Miss Chalfont, the well-educated head mistress and owner of The Beeches, an exclusive school for young ladies.
Seated on a straight-backed chair opposite Miss Chalfont’s walnut desk, Annabelle clasped her hands tightly on her lap. “Has my guardian told you who my parents are?” she asked in a voice quivering with excitement.
Regret flickered across Miss Chalfont’s face before she shook her head. “No, I am very sorry, he has not. For your sake I wish he had. In fact, I do not know who he is. I receive instructions from a lawyer in Dover. To be honest, for no particular reason, I have always assumed your guardian’s identity is that of a man, but it could be that of a woman.”
Dover! Annabelle thought. The town where she had lived with her nurse before a nameless elegant lady, with a French accent, brought her to The Beeches. Time and time again she had wondered if the lady was her guardian or whether she was a stranger ordered to bring her here. She had no way of knowing, for the lady had not answered any of her questions. Annabelle looked into Miss Chalfont’s eyes. “Who is the lawyer, ma’am?”
“I do not know for he does not identify himself. He merely arranges for your…er…upkeep, and sends me your guardian’s instructions.” No clue to the mystery of my own identity, Annabelle thought and gazed down to conceal her disappointment. “Has the lawyer given you permission to tell me who my guardian is?” she asked, despite her suspicion that he had not. Miss Chalfont looked down at a letter. “No, your guardian, whom I have no doubt has your welfare at heart, still wishes to remain anonymous. But, my dear child, you are fortunate. Your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron de Beauchamp.”
Annabelle looked up with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and intense indignation at the arrangement that took no heed of her wishes. “I am to marry a man I have never met?”
With restless fingers, Miss Chalfont adjusted her frilled mobcap. “Yes, your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron tomorrow.”
Annabelle stared at her kind teacher as though she had turned into a monster. “Mon dieu!” she raged, reverting to the French she spoke when she was a small child. “My God! Tomorrow? My guardian expects me to marry a Frenchman tomorrow? Miss Chalfont, surely you do not approve of such haste.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Miss Chalfont tapped her fingers on her desk. “My approval or disapproval is of no consequence. Your guardian wishes you to marry immediately so there is little more to be said. A special licence has been procured and the vicar has been informed.” Miss Chalfont smiled at her. “You have nothing to fear. This letter informs me that Monsieur speaks English and lives in this country.”
Annabelle scowled. Her hands trembled. For the first time, she defied her head mistress. “Nothing to fear? My life is to be put in the hands of a husband with the right to…beat me…or… starve me, and you say I have nothing to fear, Miss Chalfont? Please believe me when I say that nothing will persuade me to marry in such haste.”
Not the least display of emotion crossed the head teacher’s face. “You should not allow your imagination to agitate your sensibilities. For all you know, the monsieur is charming and will be a good, kind husband.”
“On the other hand, he might be a monster,” Annabelle said.
Miss Chalfont ignored the interruption and continued. “At eighteen, you are the oldest girl in the school. It is time for you to leave the nest and establish one of your own.”
“Twaddle,” Annabelle muttered. “My education is almost complete and I suspect you wish to be rid of me.”
Miss Chalfont smoothed the skirt of her steel-grey woollen gown and looked at Annabelle with a cold expression in her eyes. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you say twaddle? As for wishing to be rid of you child, that is not true. However, I will admit that in recent months I have worried about your guardian’s future plans for you. But I need not have worried. As a happy bride, I daresay you will go to London where those pretty blue eyes and long lashes of yours will be so much admired that Monsieur le Baron will be proud of you.”
At any other time Miss Chalfont’s rare compliment would have pleased her. On this occasion it only served to increase the fury she tried to conceal. Losing her temper would be pointless. Before Annabelle spoke, she took a deep breath to calm herself. “It is unreasonable to order me to marry the man without allowing me time to become acquainted with him.”
“Do not refer to your bridegroom as the man. I have told you his name is de Beauchamp.”
Rebellion flamed in Annabelle’s stomach. “What do you know of my…er...bridegroom-tobe, ma’am?”
Miss Chalfont looked down at the letter. “He is described as a handsome gentleman of mature years.”
“One would think the description is of a piece of mature cheese or a bottle of vintage wine.”
Miss Chalfont frowned. “Do not be impertinent, Annabelle, you are not too old to be punished.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but please tell me how mature he is,” Annabelle said, her eyes wide open and her entire body taut with apprehension.
“Monsieur le Baron is some forty-years-old.”
“How mature?” Annabelle persisted with her usual bluntness.
“He is forty-two-years-old.”
Annabelle stood, bent forward, and drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. “Please be kind enough to inform my guardian that I will not play Guinevere to an aging Arthur. I would prefer to build my nest with a young Lancelot.”
Miss Chalfont’s shoulders heaved as though she was trying not to laugh. “Regardless of your preference, you must marry according to your guardian’s wish.”
“Dear ma’am, you and your mother have always been kind to me. I cannot believe you approve of—”
“As I have already said, my approval or disapproval is of no importance. Your duty is to obey.” Annabelle’s anger boiled and she felt somewhat sick in the stomach. Now that she was old enough to leave the seminary, it seemed that unless she refused to co-operate, she really would be disposed of without the slightest consideration for her personal wishes. Simultaneously afraid to obey her guardian and furious because not even Miss Chalfont seemed to care about her dilemma, Annabelle straightened up. She looked around the cosy parlour, with its thick oriental rugs, pretty figurines on the mantelpiece, and a number of gilt-framed pictures on the wall, one of which she had painted. “I will consider the marriage.” Annabelle looked down again, in case rebellion revealed itself on her face. But she had not lied. She would consider the marriage proposal, but not in the manner Miss Chalfont expected, for she would find a way to reject the elderly baron.
Miss Chalfont stood, walked round her desk, and patted Annabelle’s shoulder before resting her hand on it. “My dear child, there is little for you to consider. I dread to think of the consequences if you disobey your guardian. You could be cast penniless from here with only the clothes on your back. After all, your guardian does have complete power over you.”
Annabelle wanted to jerk away from her uncaring teacher’s hand but forced herself to remain passive. She did not want the woman to suspect the nature of her rebellious thoughts and have her closely watched. Inwardly, she seethed and decided that whatever the cost, she would escape the fate in store for her. An image of her former nurse, with whom she corresponded, flashed through her mind. With it came a sense of security and purpose.
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
Vote Now for Festival of Romance'sbest film and t.v.programme
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The Festival of Romance Film and T.V. Awards
The Festival of Romance will be presenting awards this year to the BEST ROMANTIC FILM of the year and the BEST ROMANTIC TELEVISION PROGRAMME of the year. Please CAST YOUR VOTE now and help decide the winners on the big and small screen -- and you could WIN a pair of tickets to mix with the stars of romance at the gala Festival of Romance Awards on 16th November 2012.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Final Prelude to War between France & England 1790-1793
Novels set during the French Revolution, the Napoleonic Wars and The Regency are very popular, so I am sharing my research with this group.
Those Englishmen, who considered the French Revolution was a disaster, regarded the massacres in September not only as a vindication of their predictions but as a prelude to war. However, the Prime Minister, William Pitt, dreaded war and preferred the path of appeasement.
The influx of thousands of penniless refugees, each with a tragic tale about the cruelty of the French Revolution, touched the hearts of kind-natured English men and women. The horror of events in France brought to mind the massacre of St. Bartholomew and the persecution of French Huguenots. Almost hereditary hatred of the French swept the country.
Pitt remained calm in spite of war mongers, and refused to deport representatives of a government which sanctioned the massacre at the Tuileries.
In England, after the wettest summer anyone could remember the harvest failed. Hunger spread throughout the land and peopled rioted in the north. Those in support of the revolution across the English Channel were blind to the facts. They envisaged the prospect of the happy, free life that French politicians promised. Pitt faced confrontation from those in favour of revolution who threatened stability at home. He was afraid of hungry men angered by a rise in the price of bread who believed French propaganda.
At this crucial period in English history news that General Custine had captured Mainz, had terrorised the Rhineland and then marched to Frankfurt arrived. Four days later Dumouriez, with a horde of skirmishers and ragged fanatics chanting ‘the Marseillaise’ swept the Austrians from their northern fortresses, and then marched on to Brussels.
The French politicians were delighted. They issued edicts which gave permission for their generals to follow the fleeing foe into neutral territory, and to flout the international agreements not to invade the Scheldt estuary in Holland. Soon, French gunboats sailed along the river to attack Antwerp.
Britain, the main guarantor of the Scheldt treaties, could only agree to the Dutch Ambassador’s request for Britain to honour the pledge if France invaded Holland. Pitt, who knew European peace was dependent on respect of international agreements, consented. Nevertheless, he hoped for the chance to settle the differences between European nations, thus concluding the war and leaving France to sort out her internal affairs. This became almost impossible because, after Antwerp fell, the French demanded free passage for their troops through the frontier fort of Maestricht, and the Dutch requested a British squadron to assist them.
It was essential for British trade to retain control of the Dutch coastline and the anchorages in the Scheldt. The Dutch alliance was one of the keystones of Pitt’s foreign policy which he could not risk. In a friendly conversation with Maret, a French diplomat on a private visit to England, Pitt warned him that an attack on Holland would lead to war.
The revolutionary leaders in France wanted conquest, an instrument of the revolution. They also wanted Holland’s international banks and gold reserves.
French criticism of Britain and her institutions, which the British were proud of, had turned the public opinion against France. English men united to preserve their rights and liberties and were determined to:-
‘Stand by the Church and the King and Laws;
The old Lion still has his teeth and claws.
Let Britain still rule in the midst of her waves,
And chastise all those foes who dare call her sons slaves.”
Sure that Britain would intervene Dumouriez was ordered not to invade Holland. In the British parliament Whigs and Tories united and sanctioned recruiting 17,000 more soldiers and 9,000 sailors.
Pitt’s pursuit of peace failed, but the French were forced to reconsider although they believed Britain’s strength depended on trade, and that if they could cut it off Britain would collapse. In their opinion, the British people would then revolt and welcome a French invasion, which would “regulate the destiny of nations and found the liberty of the world.”
On January 10th, 1793, the French Executive Council sanctioned the invasion of the United Netherlands. Immediately the British government issued orders to ban grain, which might be used by the invasion.
War was inevitable. After five years on half-pay, Captain Horatio Nelson rejoiced when offered a ship. He wrote: “everything indicates war, one of our ships looking into Brest has been fired into.” On the 20th of January, Britain negotiated with Austria and Prussia to act against France. When news of the French king’s execution reached London the response was hysterical fury. On the 1st of February the Republic of France declared war on Holland and Britain.
In Parliament Pitt declared: “Unless we wish to stand by, and to suffer State after State to be subverted under the power of France, we must now declare our firm resolution effectually to oppose those principles of ambition and aggrandisement which have for their object the destruction of England, of Europe and the world….whatever may be our wishes for peace, the final issue must be war.”
One can only imagine the Prime Minister’s despair after his strenuous efforts to maintain peace at home and abroad.
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Available from museituppublighing.com/bookstore2Tangled Love
Sunday's Child
New release in October False Pretences
Those Englishmen, who considered the French Revolution was a disaster, regarded the massacres in September not only as a vindication of their predictions but as a prelude to war. However, the Prime Minister, William Pitt, dreaded war and preferred the path of appeasement.
The influx of thousands of penniless refugees, each with a tragic tale about the cruelty of the French Revolution, touched the hearts of kind-natured English men and women. The horror of events in France brought to mind the massacre of St. Bartholomew and the persecution of French Huguenots. Almost hereditary hatred of the French swept the country.
Pitt remained calm in spite of war mongers, and refused to deport representatives of a government which sanctioned the massacre at the Tuileries.
In England, after the wettest summer anyone could remember the harvest failed. Hunger spread throughout the land and peopled rioted in the north. Those in support of the revolution across the English Channel were blind to the facts. They envisaged the prospect of the happy, free life that French politicians promised. Pitt faced confrontation from those in favour of revolution who threatened stability at home. He was afraid of hungry men angered by a rise in the price of bread who believed French propaganda.
At this crucial period in English history news that General Custine had captured Mainz, had terrorised the Rhineland and then marched to Frankfurt arrived. Four days later Dumouriez, with a horde of skirmishers and ragged fanatics chanting ‘the Marseillaise’ swept the Austrians from their northern fortresses, and then marched on to Brussels.
The French politicians were delighted. They issued edicts which gave permission for their generals to follow the fleeing foe into neutral territory, and to flout the international agreements not to invade the Scheldt estuary in Holland. Soon, French gunboats sailed along the river to attack Antwerp.
Britain, the main guarantor of the Scheldt treaties, could only agree to the Dutch Ambassador’s request for Britain to honour the pledge if France invaded Holland. Pitt, who knew European peace was dependent on respect of international agreements, consented. Nevertheless, he hoped for the chance to settle the differences between European nations, thus concluding the war and leaving France to sort out her internal affairs. This became almost impossible because, after Antwerp fell, the French demanded free passage for their troops through the frontier fort of Maestricht, and the Dutch requested a British squadron to assist them.
It was essential for British trade to retain control of the Dutch coastline and the anchorages in the Scheldt. The Dutch alliance was one of the keystones of Pitt’s foreign policy which he could not risk. In a friendly conversation with Maret, a French diplomat on a private visit to England, Pitt warned him that an attack on Holland would lead to war.
The revolutionary leaders in France wanted conquest, an instrument of the revolution. They also wanted Holland’s international banks and gold reserves.
French criticism of Britain and her institutions, which the British were proud of, had turned the public opinion against France. English men united to preserve their rights and liberties and were determined to:-
‘Stand by the Church and the King and Laws;
The old Lion still has his teeth and claws.
Let Britain still rule in the midst of her waves,
And chastise all those foes who dare call her sons slaves.”
Sure that Britain would intervene Dumouriez was ordered not to invade Holland. In the British parliament Whigs and Tories united and sanctioned recruiting 17,000 more soldiers and 9,000 sailors.
Pitt’s pursuit of peace failed, but the French were forced to reconsider although they believed Britain’s strength depended on trade, and that if they could cut it off Britain would collapse. In their opinion, the British people would then revolt and welcome a French invasion, which would “regulate the destiny of nations and found the liberty of the world.”
On January 10th, 1793, the French Executive Council sanctioned the invasion of the United Netherlands. Immediately the British government issued orders to ban grain, which might be used by the invasion.
War was inevitable. After five years on half-pay, Captain Horatio Nelson rejoiced when offered a ship. He wrote: “everything indicates war, one of our ships looking into Brest has been fired into.” On the 20th of January, Britain negotiated with Austria and Prussia to act against France. When news of the French king’s execution reached London the response was hysterical fury. On the 1st of February the Republic of France declared war on Holland and Britain.
In Parliament Pitt declared: “Unless we wish to stand by, and to suffer State after State to be subverted under the power of France, we must now declare our firm resolution effectually to oppose those principles of ambition and aggrandisement which have for their object the destruction of England, of Europe and the world….whatever may be our wishes for peace, the final issue must be war.”
One can only imagine the Prime Minister’s despair after his strenuous efforts to maintain peace at home and abroad.
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Available from museituppublighing.com/bookstore2Tangled Love
Sunday's Child
New release in October False Pretences
Final Prelude to War between France & England 1790 -1793
Novels set during the French Revolution, the Napoleonic Wars and The Regency are very popular, so I am sharing my research with this group.
Those Englishmen, who considered the French Revolution was a disaster, regarded the massacres in September not only as a vindication of their predictions but as a prelude to war. However, the Prime Minister, William Pitt, dreaded war and preferred the path of appeasement.
The influx of thousands of penniless refugees, each with a tragic tale about the cruelty of the French Revolution, touched the hearts of kind-natured English men and women. The horror of events in France brought to mind the massacre of St. Bartholomew and the persecution of French Huguenots. Almost hereditary hatred of the French swept the country.
Pitt remained calm in spite of war mongers, and refused to deport representatives of a government which sanctioned the massacre at the Tuileries.
In England, after the wettest summer anyone could remember the harvest failed. Hunger spread throughout the land and peopled rioted in the north. Those in support of the revolution across the English Channel were blind to the facts. They envisaged the prospect of the happy, free life that French politicians promised. Pitt faced confrontation from those in favour of revolution who threatened stability at home. He was afraid of hungry men angered by a rise in the price of bread who believed French propaganda.
At this crucial period in English history news that General Custine had captured Mainz, had terrorised the Rhineland and then marched to Frankfurt arrived. Four days later Dumouriez, with a horde of skirmishers and ragged fanatics chanting ‘the Marseillaise’ swept the Austrians from their northern fortresses, and then marched on to Brussels.
The French politicians were delighted. They issued edicts which gave permission for their generals to follow the fleeing foe into neutral territory, and to flout the international agreements not to invade the Scheldt estuary in Holland. Soon, French gunboats sailed along the river to attack Antwerp.
Britain, the main guarantor of the Scheldt treaties, could only agree to the Dutch Ambassador’s request for Britain to honour the pledge if France invaded Holland. Pitt, who knew European peace was dependent on respect of international agreements, consented. Nevertheless, he hoped for the chance to settle the differences between European nations, thus concluding the war and leaving France to sort out her internal affairs. This became almost impossible because, after Antwerp fell, the French demanded free passage for their troops through the frontier fort of Maestricht, and the Dutch requested a British squadron to assist them.
It was essential for British trade to retain control of the Dutch coastline and the anchorages in the Scheldt. The Dutch alliance was one of the keystones of Pitt’s foreign policy which he could not risk. In a friendly conversation with Maret, a French diplomat on a private visit to England, Pitt warned him that an attack on Holland would lead to war.
The revolutionary leaders in France wanted conquest, an instrument of the revolution. They also wanted Holland’s international banks and gold reserves.
French criticism of Britain and her institutions, which the British were proud of, had turned the public opinion against France. English men united to preserve their rights and liberties and were determined to:-
"Stand by the Church and the King and Laws;
The old Lion still has his teeth and claws.
Let Britain still rule in the midst of her waves,
And chastise all those foes who dare call her sons slaves.”
Sure that Britain would intervene Dumouriez was ordered not to invade Holland. In the British parliament Whigs and Tories united and sanctioned recruiting 17,000 more soldiers and 9,000 sailors.
Pitt’s pursuit of peace failed, but the French were forced to reconsider although they believed Britain’s strength depended on trade, and that if they could cut it off Britain would collapse. In their opinion, the British people would then revolt and welcome a French invasion, which would “regulate the destiny of nations and found the liberty of the world.”
On January 10th, 1793, the French Executive Council sanctioned the invasion of the United Netherlands. Immediately the British government issued orders to ban grain, which might be used by the invasion.
War was inevitable. After five years on half-pay, Captain Horatio Nelson rejoiced when offered a ship. He wrote: “everything indicates war, one of our ships looking into Brest has been fired into.” On the 20th of January, Britain negotiated with Austria and Prussia to act against France. When news of the French king’s execution reached London the response was hysterical fury. On the 1st of February the Republic of France declared war on Holland and Britain.
In Parliament Pitt declared: “Unless we wish to stand by, and to suffer State after State to be subverted under the power of France, we must now declare our firm resolution effectually to oppose those principles of ambition and aggrandisement which have for their object the destruction of England, of Europe and the world….whatever may be our wishes for peace, the final issue must be war.”
One can only imagine the Prime Minister’s despair after his strenuous efforts to maintain peace at home and abroad.
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Available from museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
Tangled Love
Sunday's Child
New release in October False Pretnces
Friday, 31 August 2012
The Chamption by Elizabeth Chadwick
Disgusted by the corruption in an English monastery,where he has been flogged for a minor misdemeanor,Alexander de Montroi flees to his older brother in Normandy, where he learns to excel in tourneys.
Monday, whose mother ran away from her father, Lord of Stafford, to marry a mere knight who earns his living in tourneys, dreams of being a lady gowned in silk instead of a sempstress.
Alexander and Monday's friendship is corrupted when, inebriated, they make love. Monday runs away to bear her child. A quirk of fate leads to her becoming the future King John of England's mistress.
Another quirk of fate brings Alexander and Monday together but they must fight for their happiness.
The Champion is peopled with imaginary and historical characters each of whom springs to life on the pages. I particularly liked Monday and Alexander's small son, Florian.
12th century life is expertly described with many interesting details including birth control.
I shall keep The Champion with other novels to be read again.
Tangled Love
Sunday's Child
New Release. False Pretences. October
Monday, whose mother ran away from her father, Lord of Stafford, to marry a mere knight who earns his living in tourneys, dreams of being a lady gowned in silk instead of a sempstress.
Alexander and Monday's friendship is corrupted when, inebriated, they make love. Monday runs away to bear her child. A quirk of fate leads to her becoming the future King John of England's mistress.
Another quirk of fate brings Alexander and Monday together but they must fight for their happiness.
The Champion is peopled with imaginary and historical characters each of whom springs to life on the pages. I particularly liked Monday and Alexander's small son, Florian.
12th century life is expertly described with many interesting details including birth control.
I shall keep The Champion with other novels to be read again.
Tangled Love
Sunday's Child
New Release. False Pretences. October
Saturday, 25 August 2012
The Reign of Terror Begins
By and large Europe regarded the democratic fervour in France with profound suspicion. In England, the Prime Minister, William Pitt, welcomed the new French government’s renunciation of war and aggression. However, the attitude toward the French monarchy, princes and nobles alarmed Europe with its kings, princes and aristocrats.
In June 1971 when King Louis attempted to flee anarchy he was captured on the way to the frontier and returned to Paris, by which time Leopold, the German Emperor was aware of the insults to his sister, Marie of Antoinette, Queen of France. Yet Leopold did not want to become involved in French affairs. However, after the royal family’s flight from Paris and their forcible return to Paris in summer 1791, he suggested joint European action to free “the most Christian King and his Queen.” Subsequently Leopold issued a Declaration “to place the King of France in harmony with the rights of sovereigns and the well-being of his people’.
In October, the *Girondins forced the king to accept a new Constitution. When the Assembly met for the first time it confiscated the émigré’s property, and passed sentence of death of those who did not return to France by the end of the year.
The Girondins clamoured for a crusade against Leopold, the Austrian despot On January 11th, 1792 to the tune of “Liberty or Death” the government declared that if the Emperor did not relinquish his threat against France, his country would face invasion.
The French government sent agents to the Netherlands to promote rebellion against Austria. In the meantime, William Pitt, the British Prime Minister, pursued the path of peace. In his Budget Speech in February, 1792 Pitt stated that he believed “Europe was on the threshold of a long period of peace and prosperity.” In order to appease those who feared war, he made economies in the Army and Navy.
On the 20th of April, France declared war on Austria. The **Jacobin clubman, Robespierre, leader of a small group, declared war would assist the growth of tyranny. The Girondins refuted Robespierre’s argument on the grounds that the army’s revolutionary enthusiasm would lead to triumph. They were mistaken. The French rabble of an army fled from the Austrian troops.
King Louis attempted to veto a bill to, amongst other things, dismiss the Girondin Ministry. Jacobins and Girondins united and chose Danton, a 32 year-old lawyer from the Champagne to be their leader.
All too soon the great bell of the Cordeliers tolled at night. It signalled Danton had seized the Hotel de Ville prior to an attack on the Tuilleries. While Napoleon Bonaparte, who was writing a history of Corsica, watched the mob storm the Tuileries.
The Swiss Guards were massacred. The royal family fled. By that night Louis VII had been deposed and confined in a small cell.
The Prussians invaded France and took Verdun. Only the ill-equipped French army, energised by Danton, blocked the way between the Prussian army and Paris, where the Prussians boasted they would free the royal family. While Danton called for volunteers to swell the army, amongst whose elected officers were seven future marshals of the Napoleonic Wars, 1,600 prisoners were massacred; most of them liberally minded aristocrats.
To the east of Valmy, Brunswick, the Prussian general, defeated by the rain and mud, sickness and division in his army, called off his men. Goethe who accompanied the army discerned the truth. “From this day and this hour dates a new epoch in the history of the world.”
On the following day, without news of victory, the monarchy was abolished and the statement “the Republic was one and indivisible” was made.
The Prussians retreated. Led by Custine, the French army pursued them to Speyer and Worms. The nobility fled before Custine’s battle cry. “War to the tyrant’s palace! Peace to the poor man’s cottage.”
From the other side of the Channel the English regarded events in France with increasing bewilderment. Their reactions were slow but in time they would act.
* * * *
*The Girondins were radical democrats, a faction of the Jacobins. The Girondins forced the declaration of war against Austria, which began the Wars of the Revolution that would result in the Napoleonic Wars.
**Jacobins derive the name from the Jacobin Club of the French Revolution, which was formed in 1789. After the fall of the Girondins the Jacobin leaders instituted The Reign of Terror.
* * * *
Available from MuseItUp publishing, Amazon kindle, kobo and elsewhere.
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, honour,loss and past love, will it be possible for him to find happiness?
Tangled Love set in England in 1706. The tale of two great estates and their owners, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
New Release. 27th October. False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Friday, 24 August 2012
Simple Pleasures
These days children have so many indoor and outdoor toys, not to mention the i pads, laptops,computers,wi fi, on line games etc., etc.
This week my son sank a very small garden pond into my lawn. On Wednesday my daughter's sons filled it with water, then went home and caught some of the frogs in the long grass beneath their trampoline and them brought them to my house and put them in the pon. Worried because they thought the ponds might not be able to get out they put sticks in it to act as escape routes.
Yesterday, I took the boys and their 3 yr old sister to a pond centre. They loved the fountains, the ponds, the fresh water and tropical fish etc. We bought 6 water snails, a pond plant and some oxygenating plants. When we returned to my house they erupted into the garden to set up the modest pond.
The most expensive toy could not have bought the pleasure they gained from the little pond, the purpose of which is to attract frogs to eat slugs,
All the best,
Rosemary
This week my son sank a very small garden pond into my lawn. On Wednesday my daughter's sons filled it with water, then went home and caught some of the frogs in the long grass beneath their trampoline and them brought them to my house and put them in the pon. Worried because they thought the ponds might not be able to get out they put sticks in it to act as escape routes.
Yesterday, I took the boys and their 3 yr old sister to a pond centre. They loved the fountains, the ponds, the fresh water and tropical fish etc. We bought 6 water snails, a pond plant and some oxygenating plants. When we returned to my house they erupted into the garden to set up the modest pond.
The most expensive toy could not have bought the pleasure they gained from the little pond, the purpose of which is to attract frogs to eat slugs,
All the best,
Rosemary
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
A happy morning and a recipe for ice-cream.
Yesterday, I revised a scene from my novel set in England in the second Edward's reign. I needed to slip some historical facts into a small section of backstory. So, to improve on the scene I used the main character's thoughts and dialogue. I think it reads well and hope my readers will enjoy it.
After I wrote, two of my grandsons and I picked blackberries in the field behind the allotments. We gathered enough to freeze, some for blackberry and applie jam or jelly, and to make blackberry ice cream for lunch in my new ice crean machine. The boys scraped their dessert bowls clean but having eaten several helpings of cous cous were to full to have a second helping.
The recipe is as follows.
1 cup of condensed milk.
1 cup of cold full fat milk.
1 and a half cups of thick cream.
2 and half cups of soft fruit or mangoe.
If you don't have an ice cream maker and want to try it you could mix it in a blender until it is stiff and then freeze it. I haven't tried this method but I think it will work.
Weight-wise it's not too bad because it's very filling. As my mother used to say,'Everything in moderation.'
After I wrote, two of my grandsons and I picked blackberries in the field behind the allotments. We gathered enough to freeze, some for blackberry and applie jam or jelly, and to make blackberry ice cream for lunch in my new ice crean machine. The boys scraped their dessert bowls clean but having eaten several helpings of cous cous were to full to have a second helping.
The recipe is as follows.
1 cup of condensed milk.
1 cup of cold full fat milk.
1 and a half cups of thick cream.
2 and half cups of soft fruit or mangoe.
If you don't have an ice cream maker and want to try it you could mix it in a blender until it is stiff and then freeze it. I haven't tried this method but I think it will work.
Weight-wise it's not too bad because it's very filling. As my mother used to say,'Everything in moderation.'
Sunday, 19 August 2012
Britain’s Disillusionment with France Prior to War
France rejoiced. After 200 years of absolute Monarchy it seemed the era of reason had arrived. In fact, the age of irrationality had arrived. Not only did the deputies in the Estates General lack political experience, they were irresponsible. Eventually Comte de Mirabeau, a renegade nobleman declared the Third Estate was the only constituent assembly. “We met together by National Will,” Mirabeau declared. “Force alone shall disperse us.”
Far from establishing the goal of national virtue, unrestrained violence ensued, beginning with the Storming of the Bastille.
Speculators profited, criminals from the provinces crowded Paris, rumour was rife, one of which was that the hated Austrian queen, Marie Antoinette, would order massacres. Fear replaced the old order.
In San Domingo the Declaration of the Right of Man led to the slaves rebelling and murdering their owners. In France bread was in short supply. The king and queen were referred to as ‘the baker and the baker’s wife.
On the 5th of October 1789 a mob incited by orators stormed Versailles. The royal family escaped through a secret passage. Rioters surrounded their coach. In Paris they were sent to the Palace of the Tuileries.
In England there was some sympathy for the French Revolution that was compared to the ‘Glorious Revolution in Britain in 1688”.
Although there were inevitable problems in Britain, King George III, a family man, was popular, and most of his subjects approved of Parson Woodforde’s prayer.
“And may so good a King long live to reign over us – and pray God that his amiable and beloved Queen Charlotte may now enjoy again every happiness this world can afford with so good a man, and may it long, very long continue with them both here and eternal happiness hereafter.”
When the French mob threatened the royal family’s life even John Wilkes, a champion of peoples’ rights to do as they pleased, declared. “New France is not a democracy, it is a mobacracy.”
For the time being, Britain did not interfere, perhaps in the hope of good coming out of evil.
The Prime Minister, William Pitt the Younger, hated the thought of war and avoided the subject in1789 and 1800. Then the political philosopher, Edmund Burke, published his Reflections on Revolution. The French wrote and spoke much of liberty but to Burke liberty could not be seen when nuns, who nursed the sick, were stripped naked and scourged in the street. Liberty, he stated, must be based on justice, law and morality.
By 1790 Burke had realised the so called dawn of French Utopia was a violent storm about to be loosed by the illegal, brutal and cruel excesses of the French mob.
The statesman, Mirabeau, died in May 1791. From then on republican clubs in control of the mobs were in power. In retrospect it seems inevitable that the Reign of Terror would lead to the king and queen’s execution, as well as the wholesale slaughter of aristocrats and many less well-born victims, and Britain’s long struggle against France.
* * * *
Available from MuseItUp publishing, Amazon kindle, kobo and elsewhere.
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, honour,loss and past love, will it be possible for him to find happiness?
Tangled Love set in England in 1706. The tale of two great estates and their owners, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
New Release. 27th October. False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Festival of Romance New Talent Award
New Talent Award aims to uncover romantic fiction authors of the future
The Festival of Romance is delighted to announce that the New Talent Award will run again this year. The industry judges are Georgina Hawtrey-Woore senior editor at Cornerstones, Random House and Diane Banks, literary agent at the Diane Banks Associates Literary Agency.
The Festival of Romance New Talent Award aims to cast a spotlight on the authors of tomorrow and is open to all writers who have not yet had a book commercially published. Writers may submit the opening chapter (up to 3,500 words) of a romantic novel of any type by 30th September 2012. The winner and runners-up will be announced and presented with trophies at the gala Festival of Romance Awards on Friday 16th November 2012. There is a small entry fee to cover the award administration. Entrants may also gain a critique of their entry written by a professional novelist.
“As part of the Festival of Romance we want to help new writers with talent get their break into the commercial fiction world,” says Kate Allan, chief romantic at the Festival of Romance. “At the Festival of Romance in November we are running writing workshops, an industry conference and chance to meet publishers face to face as well as the New Talent Award. I'm delighted that Georgina Hawtrey-Woore and Diane Banks have agreed to judge this year's entries.”
Winner of the 2011 New Talent Award Henriette Gyland subsequently garnered a book deal from publishers Choc Lit. Her debut novel Up Close will be published in December 2012.
For more details about how to enter the New Talent Award please see www.festivalofromance.co.uk
The Festival of Romance is delighted to announce that the New Talent Award will run again this year. The industry judges are Georgina Hawtrey-Woore senior editor at Cornerstones, Random House and Diane Banks, literary agent at the Diane Banks Associates Literary Agency.
The Festival of Romance New Talent Award aims to cast a spotlight on the authors of tomorrow and is open to all writers who have not yet had a book commercially published. Writers may submit the opening chapter (up to 3,500 words) of a romantic novel of any type by 30th September 2012. The winner and runners-up will be announced and presented with trophies at the gala Festival of Romance Awards on Friday 16th November 2012. There is a small entry fee to cover the award administration. Entrants may also gain a critique of their entry written by a professional novelist.
“As part of the Festival of Romance we want to help new writers with talent get their break into the commercial fiction world,” says Kate Allan, chief romantic at the Festival of Romance. “At the Festival of Romance in November we are running writing workshops, an industry conference and chance to meet publishers face to face as well as the New Talent Award. I'm delighted that Georgina Hawtrey-Woore and Diane Banks have agreed to judge this year's entries.”
Winner of the 2011 New Talent Award Henriette Gyland subsequently garnered a book deal from publishers Choc Lit. Her debut novel Up Close will be published in December 2012.
For more details about how to enter the New Talent Award please see www.festivalofromance.co.uk
Monday, 6 August 2012
1789 Prelude to Britain's Struggle Against France
Baroness Orczy’s Scarlet Pimpernel is the fictional hero, Sir Percy Blakeney Bart, who saved the victims of the French Revolution. Unfortunately, when it began there was no real life hero to save de Launey, Governor of the Bastille.
On the 14th July, 1789 the French revolution began. A violent crowd of men and women gathered in front of the Bastille. Shortly before five o’clock the rabble stormed the old Paris fortress and tore de Launey, 30 Swiss guards and 80 pensioners to pieces. Afterwards, holding severed heads aloft, they set out to murder the chief magistrate in the Hotel-de-Ville.
This event announced to the world that the French intended to overthrow the old order.
The foundation of society had been the feudal system. By 1789 taxation had impoverished the French workers living in abject misery in hovels.The people demanded change.Writers and philosophers extolled the virtues of a longed for age of reason.
During the reign of Louis XIV France was the most powerful nation in Europe. If William III of England and Marlborough had not defeated France, the French might have ruled Europe. Yet, in France, effective government was eroded by the aristocrats’ privileges, the middle classes exclusion from government and ever increasing dissatisfaction with the Church. The governing class lost touch with the masses, who, in 1788 and 1789 suffered from hunger and cold.
In January 1789, the treasury was bankrupt, the last harvest had been ruined, and the streets of Paris were flooded with unfortunate wretches. After two centuries of absolute rule the king summoned the States General to meet at Versailles. After three weeks, the Third Estate took control. This declaration was a prelude to the storming of the Bastille and, eventually, Britain’s 22 year struggle against France.
On the 14th July, 1789 the French revolution began. A violent crowd of men and women gathered in front of the Bastille. Shortly before five o’clock the rabble stormed the old Paris fortress and tore de Launey, 30 Swiss guards and 80 pensioners to pieces. Afterwards, holding severed heads aloft, they set out to murder the chief magistrate in the Hotel-de-Ville.
This event announced to the world that the French intended to overthrow the old order.
The foundation of society had been the feudal system. By 1789 taxation had impoverished the French workers living in abject misery in hovels.The people demanded change.Writers and philosophers extolled the virtues of a longed for age of reason.
During the reign of Louis XIV France was the most powerful nation in Europe. If William III of England and Marlborough had not defeated France, the French might have ruled Europe. Yet, in France, effective government was eroded by the aristocrats’ privileges, the middle classes exclusion from government and ever increasing dissatisfaction with the Church. The governing class lost touch with the masses, who, in 1788 and 1789 suffered from hunger and cold.
In January 1789, the treasury was bankrupt, the last harvest had been ruined, and the streets of Paris were flooded with unfortunate wretches. After two centuries of absolute rule the king summoned the States General to meet at Versailles. After three weeks, the Third Estate took control. This declaration was a prelude to the storming of the Bastille and, eventually, Britain’s 22 year struggle against France.
Sunday, 5 August 2012
1793 Britain's Struggle Against France Begins
In Bernard Cornwall’s novels we follow his hero Sharpe as he fights in the Iberian Peninsula and at the Battle of Waterloo; but when did Britain’s war against France begin?
On the morning of a bitterly cold February day in 1793 George the III and his sons the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York approached the parade ground at Whitehall, followed by the Queen and Princesses in carriages.
In front of Horse Guards the king rode down the lines of five battalions of the three regiments of Foot Guards. Then 2,000 soldiers commanded by their officers on horseback marched in slow time to the road to Greenwich, to the adulation of an enthusiastic crowd.
Ill-equipped they embarked in leaking ships for Holland. Thus the first troops crossed the sea to participate in what would be a 22 year war against France.
The population of the prosperous British Isles was half or less than that of France. After the last Stuart monarch, Queen Anne, the Hanoverian princes became kings of Britain, but they were constitutional monarchs. The great landowners ruled exercised power behind the throne. They entailed their vast estates on their eldest sons, secured positions for their younger ones in the Army or Navy, the church, as lawyers, bankers and merchants, and arranged prestigious marriages for their daughters. England was governed without a police force, a Civil Service, although Samuel Pepys is regarded as its founder, and had not equivalent to the Bastille.
England’s prosperity forcibly struck foreigners.
When the young Comte de la Rochefoucauld visited Norfolk in 1784, he admitted the houses in little villages with clean houses. He wrote that they had ‘the appearance of cosiness, in which ours in France are lacking. There is something indefinable about these houses which make them appear better than they actually are.’
In England droit administrative did not exist to crush dissenters, to the contrary the rule of law was upheld. It would be to protect the rule of law and to prevent the French destroying the old order that Britain would be at war with France for 22 years.
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, honour,loss and past love, experience of brutality will it be possible for him to find happiness?
Tangled Love set in England in 1706. The tale of two great estates and their owners, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
New Release. 27th October. False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
Available from MuseItUp publishing, amazon kindle, barnesand noble, kobo and elsewhere.
On the morning of a bitterly cold February day in 1793 George the III and his sons the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York approached the parade ground at Whitehall, followed by the Queen and Princesses in carriages.
In front of Horse Guards the king rode down the lines of five battalions of the three regiments of Foot Guards. Then 2,000 soldiers commanded by their officers on horseback marched in slow time to the road to Greenwich, to the adulation of an enthusiastic crowd.
Ill-equipped they embarked in leaking ships for Holland. Thus the first troops crossed the sea to participate in what would be a 22 year war against France.
The population of the prosperous British Isles was half or less than that of France. After the last Stuart monarch, Queen Anne, the Hanoverian princes became kings of Britain, but they were constitutional monarchs. The great landowners ruled exercised power behind the throne. They entailed their vast estates on their eldest sons, secured positions for their younger ones in the Army or Navy, the church, as lawyers, bankers and merchants, and arranged prestigious marriages for their daughters. England was governed without a police force, a Civil Service, although Samuel Pepys is regarded as its founder, and had not equivalent to the Bastille.
England’s prosperity forcibly struck foreigners.
When the young Comte de la Rochefoucauld visited Norfolk in 1784, he admitted the houses in little villages with clean houses. He wrote that they had ‘the appearance of cosiness, in which ours in France are lacking. There is something indefinable about these houses which make them appear better than they actually are.’
In England droit administrative did not exist to crush dissenters, to the contrary the rule of law was upheld. It would be to protect the rule of law and to prevent the French destroying the old order that Britain would be at war with France for 22 years.
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, honour,loss and past love, experience of brutality will it be possible for him to find happiness?
Tangled Love set in England in 1706. The tale of two great estates and their owners, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
New Release. 27th October. False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
Available from MuseItUp publishing, amazon kindle, barnesand noble, kobo and elsewhere.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
The Napoleonic Wars - The Long Struggle
When I think of the French Revolution, the reign of George III and Regency, so many authors spring to mind. Dickens, Thackery, Jane Austin, Georgette Heyer, Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe, and many others.
At the moment I am studying the late 18th century and the early 19th century.
For twenty-two years, from 1793 to 1815, France tried to dominate the world. At the beginning of this period, some men and women who had seen the Protector Richard Cromwell were still alive. At the end of it those who would live until Adolf Hitler was young had been born. On a personal note my grandfather remembered my long-lived great grandfather speaking about the Battle of Waterloo.
During those years of struggle the French wanted to overturn the old order, however the British did not accept a government not based on the rule of law. At one time Britain fought nearly the whole of Europe with little hope of victory. To make matters worse, when Britain was on the verge of bankruptcy, revolutionary France benefitted from Napoleon Bonaparte, considered by many to be the greatest military genius in the history of the world.
Until Sir John Moore fought Napoleon in Spain, only the Russians triumphed over Napoleon for a few months between 1806 and 1807.
Trafalgar and the battle of Waterloo are so well-known that the first ten years of struggle, which William Pitt called ‘the virtues of adversity endured and adversity resisted, of adversity encountered and adversity surmounted, which ended in the Peace of Amiens, are often forgotten.
The peace did not last but it did give Britain the breathing space necessary for the war to continue until 1815.
Available from https;//museituppublishing.com/bookstore2, Amazon kindle,Good Reads, Kobo and elsewhere
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, honour,loss and past love, experience of brutality will it be possible for him to find happiness?
Tangled Love set in England in 1706. The tale of two great estates and their owners, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
New Release. 27th October. False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
At the moment I am studying the late 18th century and the early 19th century.
For twenty-two years, from 1793 to 1815, France tried to dominate the world. At the beginning of this period, some men and women who had seen the Protector Richard Cromwell were still alive. At the end of it those who would live until Adolf Hitler was young had been born. On a personal note my grandfather remembered my long-lived great grandfather speaking about the Battle of Waterloo.
During those years of struggle the French wanted to overturn the old order, however the British did not accept a government not based on the rule of law. At one time Britain fought nearly the whole of Europe with little hope of victory. To make matters worse, when Britain was on the verge of bankruptcy, revolutionary France benefitted from Napoleon Bonaparte, considered by many to be the greatest military genius in the history of the world.
Until Sir John Moore fought Napoleon in Spain, only the Russians triumphed over Napoleon for a few months between 1806 and 1807.
Trafalgar and the battle of Waterloo are so well-known that the first ten years of struggle, which William Pitt called ‘the virtues of adversity endured and adversity resisted, of adversity encountered and adversity surmounted, which ended in the Peace of Amiens, are often forgotten.
The peace did not last but it did give Britain the breathing space necessary for the war to continue until 1815.
Available from https;//museituppublishing.com/bookstore2, Amazon kindle,Good Reads, Kobo and elsewhere
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, honour,loss and past love, experience of brutality will it be possible for him to find happiness?
Tangled Love set in England in 1706. The tale of two great estates and their owners, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
New Release. 27th October. False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
Sunday, 8 July 2012
The Scarlet Pimpernel - Fact or Fiction
The Scarlet Pimpernel - Fiction and Fact
“They seek him here, they seek him there,
Those French men seek him everywhere.
Is he in Heaven? – Is he in hell?
That damned annoying Pimpernel.”
The Scarlet Pimpernel, Baroness Orczy’s most famous character, is Percy, the gallant daredevil, Sir Percival Blakeney Bart. He is the hero of her novels and short stories set in The French Revolution, so aptly nick-named The Reign of Terror.
Orczy was a royalist with no sympathy for the merciless Jacobins who spared no efforts to achieve their political ambitions. Historical accounts prove everyone in France was at risk of being arrested and sent to the guillotine. Orczy’s works of fiction about the Scarlet Pimpernel display her detailed knowledge about Revolutionary France, and capture the miserable atmosphere which prevailed in that era.
When writing about her novel The Laughing Cavalier, Percy’s ancestor, Orczy described Percival’s “sunny disposition, irresistible laughter, a careless insouciance and adventurous spirit”.
As I mentioned in my previous article in Baroness Orczy, in Vintage Script, Percy revealed himself to Orczy while she was waiting for a train at an underground station. She saw him dressed in exquisite clothes that marked him as a late eighteenth century gentleman, noted the monocle he held up in his slender hand and heard both his lazy drawl and quaint laugh. Inspired by their meeting she wrote The Scarlet Pimpernel in five weeks.
On the second of August, 1792, Percy founded his gallant League of Gentlemen composed of nine members. When ten more members enrolled in January 1793 there was “one to command and nineteen to obey.” Percy and his league saved innocents from the French Revolutionary Government’s tool, Madame Guillotine.
London society speculated about the identity of The Scarlet Pimpernel but, with the possible exception of the Prince Regent, only the members of Percy’s league knew his true identity.
Percy, a man of wealth and influence well-acquainted with the Prince Regent, heir to the throne, married Marguerite St. Just, a French actress. Until Percy discovered Marguerite was responsible for an aristocratic family’s death he was an adoring husband. Percy kept his alias, The Scarlet Pimpernel secret from Marguerite for fear she would betray him. Still loving Marguerite in spite of her crime, he feigned indifference, treated her coldly, shunned her company and acted the part of a fool so successfully that he bored her. However, Marguerite discovered the truth about Percy and saved his life. After the romantic couple’s reconciliation, Marguerite is mentioned as a member of the league in Mam’zelle Guillotine.
At the beginning of each of Orczy’s novels about The Scarlet Pimpernel and his league, the current events of the French Revolution are summarised. Thus, Orczy weaves fiction and face by not only featuring English and French historical figures such as Robespierre, d’Herbois, The Prince of Wales, and Sir William Pitt, the younger, but by making use of historical events. For example, in Eldorado Orczy describes the Dauphin in the care of the brutal shoemaker, Simon, who teaches the prince to curse God and his parents.
In the midst of horror, Orczy uses romance and heroism to defeat evil, as she did as a child when playing the part of a fearless prince while her sister acted the part of a damsel in distress.
Orczy spent 1900 in Paris that, in her ears, echoed with the horrors of the French Revolution. Surely she had found the setting for her magnificent hero The Scarlet Pimpernel, who would champion the victims of The Terror. But why did she choose such an insignificant flower for Percy’s alias? It is not unreasonable to suppose a Parisian royalist organisation’s triangular cards, which were hand painted with roses that resemble scarlet pimpernels, fuelled Orczy’s imagination.
Further fuel might have been added by a man called Louis Bayard, a young man with similarities to the real life Scarlet Pimpernel, although he might not have been motivated by Percy’s idealism
William Wickham, the first British spymaster, engaged the nineteen-year old Louis Bayard. In the following years, Louis proved himself to be as elusive as Percy. Like Percy, Louis had many aliases. Not only did Orczy’s fictional hero and Louis fall in love with actresses, both of them appeared and disappeared without causing comment. Real life Louis’s and fictional Percy’s lives depended on being masters of disguise.
In disguise, Percy fools his archenemy, Citizen Chauvelin, who Orczy gives the role of official French Ambassador to England. It is an interesting example of her distortion of historical personalities and incidents in order for them to feature in her works of fiction. In fact, it is doubtful that Bernard-Francois, marquis de Chauvelin ever assumed a false identity as he did in Orczy’s novel, The Scarlet Pimpernel, about Percy and his League of Gentlemen, among whom are such fictional but memorable characters such as Armand St Just, Marguerite’s brother, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Hastings and Lord Tony Dewhurst.
Another example of Orczy weaving fact and fiction is Louis-Antoine St Just, a revolutionary, who she describes as Marguerite’s cousin. Louis-Antoine St Just, a young lawyer, was Maximillian Robespierre’s follower. He supported the punishment of traitors as well as that of anyone who was a ‘luke-warm’ revolutionary. In The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel Marguerite’s brother, the fictional, Armand St Just, meets with Robespierre and other Jacobins. Orczy portrays him as young, fervent and articulate as the real life Louis-Antoine St Just.
Throughout the history of publishing countless authors, who became famous and whose work is still enjoyed as books, films, plays and t.v. dramatisations, found it difficult to place their work. Orczy’s most famous novel was no exception. Percy took the leading role in her play called The Scarlet Pimpernel and captured the audience’s hearts. Subsequently the novel was published and Percy became famous. His fame increased with each sequel about his daring exploits.
Orczy did not write her novels featuring Percy and his brave companions in historical sequence, but for readers who might prefer to read them in that order instead of the order in which she wrote them, they are as follows.
Novels
Title
*The Laughing Cavalier
**The First Sir Percy
***Pimpernel and Rosemary
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Sir Percy Leads the Band
I Will Repay
The Elusive Pimpernel
Lord Tony’s Wife
The Way of the Scarlet Pimpernel
Eldorado
Mam’zelle Guillotine
Sir Percy Hits Back
A Child of the Revolution
The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel
* About Sir Percy’s ancestor.
** Play 1903.
*** About Sir Percy’s descendant.
Short Stories
The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel
Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel
Of Further Interest.
Links in the Chain of Life. Baroness Orczy’s biography.
A Gay Adventurer. A biography of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart (1935) written by ‘John Blakeney’ pseudonym of Baroness Orczy’s son John Montagu Baroness Orczy Barstow
First published by Vintage Script Summer 2012.
“They seek him here, they seek him there,
Those French men seek him everywhere.
Is he in Heaven? – Is he in hell?
That damned annoying Pimpernel.”
The Scarlet Pimpernel, Baroness Orczy’s most famous character, is Percy, the gallant daredevil, Sir Percival Blakeney Bart. He is the hero of her novels and short stories set in The French Revolution, so aptly nick-named The Reign of Terror.
Orczy was a royalist with no sympathy for the merciless Jacobins who spared no efforts to achieve their political ambitions. Historical accounts prove everyone in France was at risk of being arrested and sent to the guillotine. Orczy’s works of fiction about the Scarlet Pimpernel display her detailed knowledge about Revolutionary France, and capture the miserable atmosphere which prevailed in that era.
When writing about her novel The Laughing Cavalier, Percy’s ancestor, Orczy described Percival’s “sunny disposition, irresistible laughter, a careless insouciance and adventurous spirit”.
As I mentioned in my previous article in Baroness Orczy, in Vintage Script, Percy revealed himself to Orczy while she was waiting for a train at an underground station. She saw him dressed in exquisite clothes that marked him as a late eighteenth century gentleman, noted the monocle he held up in his slender hand and heard both his lazy drawl and quaint laugh. Inspired by their meeting she wrote The Scarlet Pimpernel in five weeks.
On the second of August, 1792, Percy founded his gallant League of Gentlemen composed of nine members. When ten more members enrolled in January 1793 there was “one to command and nineteen to obey.” Percy and his league saved innocents from the French Revolutionary Government’s tool, Madame Guillotine.
London society speculated about the identity of The Scarlet Pimpernel but, with the possible exception of the Prince Regent, only the members of Percy’s league knew his true identity.
Percy, a man of wealth and influence well-acquainted with the Prince Regent, heir to the throne, married Marguerite St. Just, a French actress. Until Percy discovered Marguerite was responsible for an aristocratic family’s death he was an adoring husband. Percy kept his alias, The Scarlet Pimpernel secret from Marguerite for fear she would betray him. Still loving Marguerite in spite of her crime, he feigned indifference, treated her coldly, shunned her company and acted the part of a fool so successfully that he bored her. However, Marguerite discovered the truth about Percy and saved his life. After the romantic couple’s reconciliation, Marguerite is mentioned as a member of the league in Mam’zelle Guillotine.
At the beginning of each of Orczy’s novels about The Scarlet Pimpernel and his league, the current events of the French Revolution are summarised. Thus, Orczy weaves fiction and face by not only featuring English and French historical figures such as Robespierre, d’Herbois, The Prince of Wales, and Sir William Pitt, the younger, but by making use of historical events. For example, in Eldorado Orczy describes the Dauphin in the care of the brutal shoemaker, Simon, who teaches the prince to curse God and his parents.
In the midst of horror, Orczy uses romance and heroism to defeat evil, as she did as a child when playing the part of a fearless prince while her sister acted the part of a damsel in distress.
Orczy spent 1900 in Paris that, in her ears, echoed with the horrors of the French Revolution. Surely she had found the setting for her magnificent hero The Scarlet Pimpernel, who would champion the victims of The Terror. But why did she choose such an insignificant flower for Percy’s alias? It is not unreasonable to suppose a Parisian royalist organisation’s triangular cards, which were hand painted with roses that resemble scarlet pimpernels, fuelled Orczy’s imagination.
Further fuel might have been added by a man called Louis Bayard, a young man with similarities to the real life Scarlet Pimpernel, although he might not have been motivated by Percy’s idealism
William Wickham, the first British spymaster, engaged the nineteen-year old Louis Bayard. In the following years, Louis proved himself to be as elusive as Percy. Like Percy, Louis had many aliases. Not only did Orczy’s fictional hero and Louis fall in love with actresses, both of them appeared and disappeared without causing comment. Real life Louis’s and fictional Percy’s lives depended on being masters of disguise.
In disguise, Percy fools his archenemy, Citizen Chauvelin, who Orczy gives the role of official French Ambassador to England. It is an interesting example of her distortion of historical personalities and incidents in order for them to feature in her works of fiction. In fact, it is doubtful that Bernard-Francois, marquis de Chauvelin ever assumed a false identity as he did in Orczy’s novel, The Scarlet Pimpernel, about Percy and his League of Gentlemen, among whom are such fictional but memorable characters such as Armand St Just, Marguerite’s brother, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Hastings and Lord Tony Dewhurst.
Another example of Orczy weaving fact and fiction is Louis-Antoine St Just, a revolutionary, who she describes as Marguerite’s cousin. Louis-Antoine St Just, a young lawyer, was Maximillian Robespierre’s follower. He supported the punishment of traitors as well as that of anyone who was a ‘luke-warm’ revolutionary. In The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel Marguerite’s brother, the fictional, Armand St Just, meets with Robespierre and other Jacobins. Orczy portrays him as young, fervent and articulate as the real life Louis-Antoine St Just.
Throughout the history of publishing countless authors, who became famous and whose work is still enjoyed as books, films, plays and t.v. dramatisations, found it difficult to place their work. Orczy’s most famous novel was no exception. Percy took the leading role in her play called The Scarlet Pimpernel and captured the audience’s hearts. Subsequently the novel was published and Percy became famous. His fame increased with each sequel about his daring exploits.
Orczy did not write her novels featuring Percy and his brave companions in historical sequence, but for readers who might prefer to read them in that order instead of the order in which she wrote them, they are as follows.
Novels
Title
*The Laughing Cavalier
**The First Sir Percy
***Pimpernel and Rosemary
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Sir Percy Leads the Band
I Will Repay
The Elusive Pimpernel
Lord Tony’s Wife
The Way of the Scarlet Pimpernel
Eldorado
Mam’zelle Guillotine
Sir Percy Hits Back
A Child of the Revolution
The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel
* About Sir Percy’s ancestor.
** Play 1903.
*** About Sir Percy’s descendant.
Short Stories
The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel
Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel
Of Further Interest.
Links in the Chain of Life. Baroness Orczy’s biography.
A Gay Adventurer. A biography of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart (1935) written by ‘John Blakeney’ pseudonym of Baroness Orczy’s son John Montagu Baroness Orczy Barstow
First published by Vintage Script Summer 2012.
Sunday, 1 July 2012
Bariness Orczy
Baroness Orczy
Best remembered for her hero, Percy Blakeney, the elusive scarlet pimpernel, Baroness Orczy was born in Tarna Ors, Hungary, on September twenty-third, eighteen hundred and sixty-five to Countess Emma Wass and her husband Baron Felix Orczy. Her parents frequented the magnificent court of the Austrian Hungarian Empire where the baron was well known as a composer, conductor and friend of famous composers such as Liszt and Wagner.
Until the age of five, when a mob of peasants fired the barn, stables and fields destroying the crops, Emma Magdolna Rozália Mária Jozefa Borbála “Emmuska” Orczy, enjoyed every luxury in her father’s magnificent, ancestral chateaux, which she later described as a rambling farmhouse on the banks of the River Tarna. The baron and his family lived there in magnificent ‘medieval style’. Throughout her life; the exuberant parties, the dancing and the haunting gypsy music lived on in Emmuska’s memory.
After leaving Tarna Ors forever, the Orczys went to Budapest. Subsequently, in fear of a national uprising, the baron moved his family from Hungary to Belgium. Emmuska attended convent schools in Brussels and Paris until, in 1880, the baron settled his family in Wimpole Street, London.
At fifteen years of age, Emmuska not only learned English within six months, but also won a special prize for doing so. Later, she first attended the West London School of Art and then Heatherby’s School of Art, where she met her future husband, Montague Barstow, an illustrator.
Emmuska fell in love with England and regarded it as her spiritual birthplace, her true home. When people referred to her as a foreigner, and said there was nothing English about her, she replied her love was all English, for she loved the country.
Baron Orczy tried hard to develop his daughter’s musical talent but Emmuska chose art, and had the satisfaction of her work being exhibited at The Royal Academy.
Later, she turned to writing.
In 1894 Emmuska married Montague and, in her own words, the marriage was ‘happy and joyful’.
The newly weds enjoyed opera, art exhibitions, concerts and the theatre. Emmuska’s bridegroom was supportive of her and encouraged her to write. In 1895 her translations of Old Hungarian Fairy Tales: The Enchanted Cat, Fairyland’s Beauty and Uletka and The White Lizard, edited with Montague’s help, were published.
Inspired by thrillers she watched on stage, Emmuska wrote mystery and detective stories. The first featured The Old Man in the Corner. For the generous payment of sixty pounds the Royal Magazine published it in 1901. Her stories were an instant hit. Yet, although the public could not get enough of them, she remained dissatisfied.
In her autobiography Emmuska wrote: ‘I felt inside my heart a kind of stirring that the writing of sensational stuff for magazines would not and should not, be the end and aim of my ambition. I wanted to do something more than that. Something big.’
Montague and Emmuska spent 1900 in Paris that, in her ears, echoed with the violence of the French Revolution. Surely she had found the setting for a magnificent hero to champion the victims of “The Terror”.
Unexpectedly, after she and her husband returned to England, it was while waiting for the train that Emmuska saw her most famous hero, Sir Percival Blakeney, dressed in exquisite clothes. She noted the monocle held up in his slender hand, heard both his lazy drawl and his quaint laugh. Emmuska told her husband about the incident and within five weeks had written The Scarlet Pimpernel. Very often, although the first did not apply to Emmuska and Montague, it is as difficult to find true love as it is to get published. A dozen publishers or more rejected The Scarlet Pimpernel. The publishing houses wanted modern, true-life novels. The Scarlet Pimpernel was rejected. Undeterred Emmuska and Montague turned the novel into a play.
The critics did not care for the play, which opened at the New Theatre, London in 1904, but the audiences loved it and it ran for 2,000 performances. As a result, The Scarlet Pimpernel was published as a novel and became the blockbuster of its era making it possible for Emmuska and Montague to live in an estate in Kent, have a bustling London home and buy a luxurious villa in Monte Carlo.
During the next thirty-five years, Emmuska wrote not only sequels to The Scarlet Pimpernel such as, Lord Tony’s Wife, 1917, The League of The Scarlet Pimpernel 1919, but other historical and crime novels. Her loyal fans repaid her by flocking to the first of several films about her gallant hero. Released in 1935, it was produced by her compatriot, Alexander Korda, starred Lesley Howard as Percy, and Merle Oberon as Marguerite.
Emmuska and Montague moved to Monte Carlo in the late 1910’s where they remained during Nazi occupation in the Second World War.
Montague died in 1943 leaving Emmuska bereft. She lived with her only son and divided her time between London and Monte Carlo. Her last novel Will-O’theWisp and her autobiography, Links in the Chain of Life were both published in 1947 shortly before her death at the age of eight-two on November the twelfth, in the same year.
A lasting tribute to the baroness is the enduring affection the public has for her brave, romantic hero, Sir Percival Blakeney, master of disguise.
First published Spring 2011
Volume 1Vintage Script
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www.vintagescript.co.uk
Sunday, 24 June 2012
5* Review of Tangled Love by Rosemary Morris
I'm delighted by this review by Maggi Anderson of my novel Tangled Love set in England in Queen Anne's reign 1702 - 1714.
In 1693, loyal to his oath of allegiance to James II, ten year old Richelda's father follows James to France. Before her father leaves he gives her a ruby ring and makes her swear an oath to try and regain their ancestral home, Field House.
The story begins when Richelda at 18 is orphaned, and lives in run-down Belmont House with her mother's old nurse and her dog, Puck. Richelda can only dream of living the life she was meant for and hopes her childhood friend, Dudley, will honor his promise to marry her.
When Richelda's wealthy aunt, who had been disinterested in her welfare up to now, takes her to London and arranges her marriage to Viscount Chesney, the new owner of Field House. Richelda is both delighted and dismayed. She cannot trust the handsome Chesney, even though she is desperate to honor her oath to regain Field House.
I enjoyed this historical romance very much, it's well written and Morris knows her history and understands the society of the period well. The heroine and hero are both attractive and likeable. I wanted to see them get together in the end. What stood out for me in this romance is the shrewd knowledge of human nature, Morris displays. Her character's rash actions, mistakes and foibles are always understandable, and never detract from the good characters of both,
All the best,
Rosemary Morris
In 1693, loyal to his oath of allegiance to James II, ten year old Richelda's father follows James to France. Before her father leaves he gives her a ruby ring and makes her swear an oath to try and regain their ancestral home, Field House.
The story begins when Richelda at 18 is orphaned, and lives in run-down Belmont House with her mother's old nurse and her dog, Puck. Richelda can only dream of living the life she was meant for and hopes her childhood friend, Dudley, will honor his promise to marry her.
When Richelda's wealthy aunt, who had been disinterested in her welfare up to now, takes her to London and arranges her marriage to Viscount Chesney, the new owner of Field House. Richelda is both delighted and dismayed. She cannot trust the handsome Chesney, even though she is desperate to honor her oath to regain Field House.
I enjoyed this historical romance very much, it's well written and Morris knows her history and understands the society of the period well. The heroine and hero are both attractive and likeable. I wanted to see them get together in the end. What stood out for me in this romance is the shrewd knowledge of human nature, Morris displays. Her character's rash actions, mistakes and foibles are always understandable, and never detract from the good characters of both,
All the best,
Rosemary Morris
Friday, 15 June 2012
Sunday's Child a Traditional Regency Novel
I am delighted to announce that Sunday's Child has been released today.
I need to keep on pinching myself to realise that I really am a published author.
It's not enough for Sunday's Child to be bonny and blithe and good and gay, she must find the strength to protect her sisters and make the right choices.
And it is not sufficient for Major Tarrant a veteran of the Peninsular Wars against Napoleon to admire Sunday's Child, he must overcome his own demon,
All the best,
Rosemary
Available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
I need to keep on pinching myself to realise that I really am a published author.
It's not enough for Sunday's Child to be bonny and blithe and good and gay, she must find the strength to protect her sisters and make the right choices.
And it is not sufficient for Major Tarrant a veteran of the Peninsular Wars against Napoleon to admire Sunday's Child, he must overcome his own demon,
All the best,
Rosemary
Available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
Sunday, 10 June 2012
Special Offer & extract from Sunday's Child a Regency Novel
Sunday’s Child – Announcement
I am proud to announce that my novel Sunday’s Child set in the Regency era will be published on the 15th of June by MuseItUp publishing, and that there is a pre-publication discount of 22%.
The idea for Sunday’s Child came while I read about modern day soldiers suffering from post traumatic syndrome, and the effect on the families of those who lost a soldier in war.
What, I asked myself, would be the effect on Sunday’s Child whose beloved father and brothers died while fighting against the French in the Napoleonic Wars, and on a brave major who underwent a horrific experience, in the days when there was no counselling for post traumatic syndrome? How would they overcome their experiences?
Sunday’s Child
Prologue
Hertfordshire, England
1810
Fourteen year old, Georgianne Whitley leaned over the banister to watch her aunt’s butler admit a handsome cavalry officer dressed in uniform. One day, her mamma frequently assured her, she would marry such a military man, a member of her dear father’s regiment. Of course, this officer was probably too old to ever be her husband. However, in future, she was sure she would meet someone equally handsome with whom she would fall in love. She giggled. ‘Love is not the main prerequisite for marriage,’ Mamma always claimed. According to her mother, rank, lands, and wealth were more important whereas, according to Papa, love was the only reason to marry.
She turned her head to look at her cousin, Sarah Tarrant. “Who is he?”
“Don’t you recognize him? He is my half brother, Rupert, Lieutenant Tarrant.”
“Of course, but he has changed so much since I last saw him five years ago. He is taller.
Careless of whether or not he would look up and see her, Georgianne inched forward until, bent almost double, she could still gaze down at him.
Rupert removed his shako, revealing his thick, sun-kissed fair hair.
Sarah put her arms around Georgianne’s waist. “If you are not careful, you will fall.”
Georgianne gripped the rail of the highly polished oak banister while she straightened.
“Look at your gown. It’s crushed. You’re such a…a hoyden.”
She stamped her foot. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. My mamma says you are.”
“Well, she is wrong.” In spite of her denial, rueful, she looked down at her crumpled, white muslin gown. What would her aunt say if she knew Papa had taught her to shoot? Once again, she peered over the banister. A ray of June sunshine from the window illuminated the gold braid on Rupert’s scarlet uniform. Yes, one day she really would marry such an officer to please herself, and her parents.
Chapter One
Hertfordshire, England
November 1813
Rupert, Major Tarrant, caught his breath at the sight of seventeen year old Georgianne. Black curls gleamed and rioted over the edges of her bandeau. Georgianne’s heart-shaped face tilted down toward her embroidery frame. Her hands lay idle on her gown. It was lilac, one of the colours of half-mourning. A sympathetic sigh escaped him. She wore the colour out of respect for her father, who lost a hand and leg, during the Battle of Salamanca, and died of gangrene more than a year ago.
There had been so many deaths since he last saw Georgianne. Not only had her brothers died during the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo but his elder brother had drowned six months ago while bathing in the lake on their father’s estate.
He advanced into the room with Adrian, Viscount Langley, at his side. Georgianne looked up and smiled. He caught himself staring into her hyacinth blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes. Colour crept over her high cheekbones. Her arched eyebrows drew together across her smooth forehead. Egad, she had the sweetest countenance he had ever seen; one with the lustrous, milky white sheen of china, and bow shaped rose pink lips to catch at the heart.
Georgianne stood.
He bowed. “My condolences.”
Sarah, clad in full mourning for her older half-brother, stood to make her curtsy to Langley. “I trust you have everything you require, my lord?”
Langley bowed. “Yes, thank you.”
“My lord, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Whitley.”
Georgianne curtsied as his lordship crossed the parlour to make his bow.
Tarrant inclined his head. “Ladies, please excuse us, we must see to our horses.”
Sarah shook her head at him. “See to your horses? The grooms can do so.”
Georgianne gurgled with laughter. “Ah, Sarah, have you forgotten how cavalrymen fuss over their mounts?”
“Excuse us.”
****
After the gentlemen left, Georgianne glanced at her cousin. She had seen little of her since Sarah yielded to the family’s persuasion to marry Wilfred Stanton, heir to his uncle, the Earl of Pennington.
Despite her reluctance to leave home because of her mamma’s unfortunate habit, and extravagant displays of grief over the loss of her husband and sons, Georgianne agreed to visit her cousin Sarah, who suffered from melancholy after the birth of a son.
Anxious for her mamma and two younger sisters, she reminded herself Whitley Manor—on the southern outskirts of Cousin Stanton’s Hertfordshire parish—lay a mere fifteen minutes away by carriage.
“Are you daydreaming, Cousin?”
Georgianne pretended to be busy untangling another strand of embroidery thread. “No.”
“Did I tell you Papa wants Tarrant to resign from the army now he is Papa’s heir?” Sarah’s needle flashed in and out of her work.
“Yes, several times.” Georgianne shivered, stretched her hands toward the fire, and fought a losing battle with the draughts in the old vicarage.
“Are you not interested in dear Tarrant?”
Georgianne bent her head. Once, she had wanted to marry a military man. However, after the loss of her father and brothers, she changed her mind for fear death might snatch him from her, either on the battlefield or as a result of wounds sustained in combat. She shook her head, remembering the dreams she harboured three years earlier when she last saw Major Tarrant. How her life had altered since then. Most of the time, she lived cloistered at home in reduced—yet not impoverished—circumstances. She spent her life in an endless round of mending and embroidery, both of which she detested. Her only escape from this drab existence consisted of daily walks, rides, or reading her beloved books. A yawn escaped her. Oh, the tedium of her days at home.
“You have not answered my question.”
Georgianne gathered her thoughts. “Yes, Sarah, I am interested in Major Tarrant. After all, we have known each other since we were in the nursery.”
“Good, but what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your sewing.”
Georgianne picked up her needle and thrust it in and out of the chemise, careless of the size of her stitches. Already she loathed the garment and vowed never to wear it.
“Papa wants Tarrant to marry,” Sarah rattled on.
Eyes downcast, Georgianne set aside her sewing and wrapped her arms around her waist for comfort. Before they died, her brothers and father had expressed their admiration for Major Tarrant in their letters. She shrugged. Once upon a time, she had built a castle in the air inhabited by Major Tarrant, a mere lieutenant when she last saw him.
Mamma still insisted on love not being the prime consideration for marriage, but novels and poems contradicted her opinion. Georgianne wanted to fall in love with one of the many eligible young gentlemen available: maybe a titled gentleman like Viscount Langley, provided he was not a military man. She shrugged. Certainly her mamma would regard the Viscount favourably. His lordship was wealthy, possessed good manners, and his height and broad shoulders equalled Major Tarrant’s. However, although she found no fault with him, Mamma might not approve of the Viscount’s skin—almost as dark as a gypsy from exposure to the sun while serving abroad—and his hair and eyes, sufficiently dark to rival any Spaniard’s. Her spirits lifted. The rectory would be a happier place with two fine young men in attendance. She was glad to be here, despite her acute concern for her family.
Sarah’s voice ended her musing. “Have you heard Tarrant inherited his godfather’s estate and fortune? Besides his pay, his income is thirty thousand pounds a year.”
Georgianne nodded. “Yes, I know. Major Tarrant is exceptionally fortunate.” Sarah blinked. “Why are you smiling?”
Georgianne stood and crossed the room to look out of the window. “I am happy because, so far, Major Tarrant and Viscount Langley have survived the war, which has taken so many lives and affected everyone in some way or another.”
She must force herself to remain cheerful. Papa had died eighteen months ago. It was time to set grief aside, if she could only find the means.
Thankfully, there was much to look forward to. After her presentation at court, she would be sure to meet many engaging gentlemen, one of whom she might marry. In time, she could help her sisters to escape their miserable existence.
Georgianne drummed her fingers on the windowsill. Her thoughts darted hither and thither. She glanced around the parlour, inhaling the odour of potpourri and lavender-scented beeswax.
Wilfred Stanton entered the room. He stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped over his paunch. “Mrs Stanton, my uncle, the Earl of Pennington, has arrived unexpectedly, and is resting after the rigours of his journey. Tarrant and his friend are busy with their horses. No, no, do not disturb yourself, my love. No need to bestir yourself on my uncle’s behalf.”
Cousin Stanton’s lips parted in a smile revealing yellowed teeth. “Ah, I know what you ladies are like. Have you been matchmaking? There must be a dozen or more eligible members of the fair sex amongst our neighbours who would be eager to meet Tarrant. If they knew of his visit, I daresay all of them would harbour thoughts of marrying him.”
“Indeed,” Sarah said in a colourless tone of voice.
Accustomed to taking long walks every day, Georgianne fidgeted. She found it difficult to tolerate Sarah’s sedentary habits.
“Sarah, will you not come for a walk? You know the doctor is concerned by your continued lethargy. Do not forget he encourages gentle exercise to improve your health.” She stared out at the dark grey clouds. Suddenly they parted and sunlight bathed her. It heightened the colour of her gown and warmed her. She reached up to smooth her bodice and noticed a movement in the shadowed east wing. Was someone peering at her through the small, diamond-shaped panes? There were no menservants in the household. Could it be Cousin Stanton’s uncle, the earl?
Sarah stepped daintily to her side, and slipped an arm around her waist. “Come, it is time to change our clothes before we dine.”
Available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
I am proud to announce that my novel Sunday’s Child set in the Regency era will be published on the 15th of June by MuseItUp publishing, and that there is a pre-publication discount of 22%.
The idea for Sunday’s Child came while I read about modern day soldiers suffering from post traumatic syndrome, and the effect on the families of those who lost a soldier in war.
What, I asked myself, would be the effect on Sunday’s Child whose beloved father and brothers died while fighting against the French in the Napoleonic Wars, and on a brave major who underwent a horrific experience, in the days when there was no counselling for post traumatic syndrome? How would they overcome their experiences?
Sunday’s Child
Prologue
Hertfordshire, England
1810
Fourteen year old, Georgianne Whitley leaned over the banister to watch her aunt’s butler admit a handsome cavalry officer dressed in uniform. One day, her mamma frequently assured her, she would marry such a military man, a member of her dear father’s regiment. Of course, this officer was probably too old to ever be her husband. However, in future, she was sure she would meet someone equally handsome with whom she would fall in love. She giggled. ‘Love is not the main prerequisite for marriage,’ Mamma always claimed. According to her mother, rank, lands, and wealth were more important whereas, according to Papa, love was the only reason to marry.
She turned her head to look at her cousin, Sarah Tarrant. “Who is he?”
“Don’t you recognize him? He is my half brother, Rupert, Lieutenant Tarrant.”
“Of course, but he has changed so much since I last saw him five years ago. He is taller.
Careless of whether or not he would look up and see her, Georgianne inched forward until, bent almost double, she could still gaze down at him.
Rupert removed his shako, revealing his thick, sun-kissed fair hair.
Sarah put her arms around Georgianne’s waist. “If you are not careful, you will fall.”
Georgianne gripped the rail of the highly polished oak banister while she straightened.
“Look at your gown. It’s crushed. You’re such a…a hoyden.”
She stamped her foot. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. My mamma says you are.”
“Well, she is wrong.” In spite of her denial, rueful, she looked down at her crumpled, white muslin gown. What would her aunt say if she knew Papa had taught her to shoot? Once again, she peered over the banister. A ray of June sunshine from the window illuminated the gold braid on Rupert’s scarlet uniform. Yes, one day she really would marry such an officer to please herself, and her parents.
Chapter One
Hertfordshire, England
November 1813
Rupert, Major Tarrant, caught his breath at the sight of seventeen year old Georgianne. Black curls gleamed and rioted over the edges of her bandeau. Georgianne’s heart-shaped face tilted down toward her embroidery frame. Her hands lay idle on her gown. It was lilac, one of the colours of half-mourning. A sympathetic sigh escaped him. She wore the colour out of respect for her father, who lost a hand and leg, during the Battle of Salamanca, and died of gangrene more than a year ago.
There had been so many deaths since he last saw Georgianne. Not only had her brothers died during the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo but his elder brother had drowned six months ago while bathing in the lake on their father’s estate.
He advanced into the room with Adrian, Viscount Langley, at his side. Georgianne looked up and smiled. He caught himself staring into her hyacinth blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes. Colour crept over her high cheekbones. Her arched eyebrows drew together across her smooth forehead. Egad, she had the sweetest countenance he had ever seen; one with the lustrous, milky white sheen of china, and bow shaped rose pink lips to catch at the heart.
Georgianne stood.
He bowed. “My condolences.”
Sarah, clad in full mourning for her older half-brother, stood to make her curtsy to Langley. “I trust you have everything you require, my lord?”
Langley bowed. “Yes, thank you.”
“My lord, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Whitley.”
Georgianne curtsied as his lordship crossed the parlour to make his bow.
Tarrant inclined his head. “Ladies, please excuse us, we must see to our horses.”
Sarah shook her head at him. “See to your horses? The grooms can do so.”
Georgianne gurgled with laughter. “Ah, Sarah, have you forgotten how cavalrymen fuss over their mounts?”
“Excuse us.”
****
After the gentlemen left, Georgianne glanced at her cousin. She had seen little of her since Sarah yielded to the family’s persuasion to marry Wilfred Stanton, heir to his uncle, the Earl of Pennington.
Despite her reluctance to leave home because of her mamma’s unfortunate habit, and extravagant displays of grief over the loss of her husband and sons, Georgianne agreed to visit her cousin Sarah, who suffered from melancholy after the birth of a son.
Anxious for her mamma and two younger sisters, she reminded herself Whitley Manor—on the southern outskirts of Cousin Stanton’s Hertfordshire parish—lay a mere fifteen minutes away by carriage.
“Are you daydreaming, Cousin?”
Georgianne pretended to be busy untangling another strand of embroidery thread. “No.”
“Did I tell you Papa wants Tarrant to resign from the army now he is Papa’s heir?” Sarah’s needle flashed in and out of her work.
“Yes, several times.” Georgianne shivered, stretched her hands toward the fire, and fought a losing battle with the draughts in the old vicarage.
“Are you not interested in dear Tarrant?”
Georgianne bent her head. Once, she had wanted to marry a military man. However, after the loss of her father and brothers, she changed her mind for fear death might snatch him from her, either on the battlefield or as a result of wounds sustained in combat. She shook her head, remembering the dreams she harboured three years earlier when she last saw Major Tarrant. How her life had altered since then. Most of the time, she lived cloistered at home in reduced—yet not impoverished—circumstances. She spent her life in an endless round of mending and embroidery, both of which she detested. Her only escape from this drab existence consisted of daily walks, rides, or reading her beloved books. A yawn escaped her. Oh, the tedium of her days at home.
“You have not answered my question.”
Georgianne gathered her thoughts. “Yes, Sarah, I am interested in Major Tarrant. After all, we have known each other since we were in the nursery.”
“Good, but what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your sewing.”
Georgianne picked up her needle and thrust it in and out of the chemise, careless of the size of her stitches. Already she loathed the garment and vowed never to wear it.
“Papa wants Tarrant to marry,” Sarah rattled on.
Eyes downcast, Georgianne set aside her sewing and wrapped her arms around her waist for comfort. Before they died, her brothers and father had expressed their admiration for Major Tarrant in their letters. She shrugged. Once upon a time, she had built a castle in the air inhabited by Major Tarrant, a mere lieutenant when she last saw him.
Mamma still insisted on love not being the prime consideration for marriage, but novels and poems contradicted her opinion. Georgianne wanted to fall in love with one of the many eligible young gentlemen available: maybe a titled gentleman like Viscount Langley, provided he was not a military man. She shrugged. Certainly her mamma would regard the Viscount favourably. His lordship was wealthy, possessed good manners, and his height and broad shoulders equalled Major Tarrant’s. However, although she found no fault with him, Mamma might not approve of the Viscount’s skin—almost as dark as a gypsy from exposure to the sun while serving abroad—and his hair and eyes, sufficiently dark to rival any Spaniard’s. Her spirits lifted. The rectory would be a happier place with two fine young men in attendance. She was glad to be here, despite her acute concern for her family.
Sarah’s voice ended her musing. “Have you heard Tarrant inherited his godfather’s estate and fortune? Besides his pay, his income is thirty thousand pounds a year.”
Georgianne nodded. “Yes, I know. Major Tarrant is exceptionally fortunate.” Sarah blinked. “Why are you smiling?”
Georgianne stood and crossed the room to look out of the window. “I am happy because, so far, Major Tarrant and Viscount Langley have survived the war, which has taken so many lives and affected everyone in some way or another.”
She must force herself to remain cheerful. Papa had died eighteen months ago. It was time to set grief aside, if she could only find the means.
Thankfully, there was much to look forward to. After her presentation at court, she would be sure to meet many engaging gentlemen, one of whom she might marry. In time, she could help her sisters to escape their miserable existence.
Georgianne drummed her fingers on the windowsill. Her thoughts darted hither and thither. She glanced around the parlour, inhaling the odour of potpourri and lavender-scented beeswax.
Wilfred Stanton entered the room. He stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped over his paunch. “Mrs Stanton, my uncle, the Earl of Pennington, has arrived unexpectedly, and is resting after the rigours of his journey. Tarrant and his friend are busy with their horses. No, no, do not disturb yourself, my love. No need to bestir yourself on my uncle’s behalf.”
Cousin Stanton’s lips parted in a smile revealing yellowed teeth. “Ah, I know what you ladies are like. Have you been matchmaking? There must be a dozen or more eligible members of the fair sex amongst our neighbours who would be eager to meet Tarrant. If they knew of his visit, I daresay all of them would harbour thoughts of marrying him.”
“Indeed,” Sarah said in a colourless tone of voice.
Accustomed to taking long walks every day, Georgianne fidgeted. She found it difficult to tolerate Sarah’s sedentary habits.
“Sarah, will you not come for a walk? You know the doctor is concerned by your continued lethargy. Do not forget he encourages gentle exercise to improve your health.” She stared out at the dark grey clouds. Suddenly they parted and sunlight bathed her. It heightened the colour of her gown and warmed her. She reached up to smooth her bodice and noticed a movement in the shadowed east wing. Was someone peering at her through the small, diamond-shaped panes? There were no menservants in the household. Could it be Cousin Stanton’s uncle, the earl?
Sarah stepped daintily to her side, and slipped an arm around her waist. “Come, it is time to change our clothes before we dine.”
Available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
Friday, 8 June 2012
Sunday's Child a Regency Novel by Rosemary Morris
Sunday’s Child – Announcement
I am proud to announce that my novel Sunday’s Child set in the Regency era will be published on the 15th of June by MuseItUp publishing, and that there is a pre-publication discount of 20%.
The idea for Sunday’s Child came while I read about modern day soldiers suffering from post traumatic syndrome, and the effect on the families of those who lost a soldier in war.
What, I asked myself, would be the effect on Sunday’s Child whose beloved father and brothers fought against the French in the Napoleonic Wars, and on a brave major who underwent a horrific experience, in the days when there was no counselling for post traumatic syndrome? How would they overcome their experiences?
Sunday’s Child
Prologue
Hertfordshire, England
1810
Fourteen year old, Georgianne Whitley leaned over the banister to watch her aunt’s butler admit a handsome cavalry officer dressed in uniform. One day, her mamma frequently assured her, she would marry such a military man, a member of her dear father’s regiment. Of course, this officer was probably too old to ever be her husband. However, in future, she was sure she would meet someone equally handsome with whom she would fall in love. She giggled. ‘Love is not the main prerequisite for marriage,’ Mamma always claimed. According to her mother, rank, lands, and wealth were more important whereas, according to Papa, love was the only reason to marry.
She turned her head to look at her cousin, Sarah Tarrant. “Who is he?”
“Don’t you recognize him? He is my half brother, Rupert, Lieutenant Tarrant.”
“Of course, but he has changed so much since I last saw him five years ago. He is taller.
Careless of whether or not he would look up and see her, Georgianne inched forward until, bent almost double, she could still gaze down at him.
Rupert removed his shako, revealing his thick, sun-kissed fair hair.
Sarah put her arms around Georgianne’s waist. “If you are not careful, you will fall.”
Georgianne gripped the rail of the highly polished oak banister while she straightened.
“Look at your gown. It’s crushed. You’re such a…a hoyden.”
She stamped her foot. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. My mamma says you are.”
“Well, she is wrong.” In spite of her denial, rueful, she looked down at her crumpled, white muslin gown. What would her aunt say if she knew Papa had taught her to shoot? Once again, she peered over the banister. A ray of June sunshine from the window illuminated the gold braid on Rupert’s scarlet uniform. Yes, one day she really would marry such an officer to please herself, and her parents.
Chapter One
Hertfordshire, England
November 1813
Rupert, Major Tarrant, caught his breath at the sight of seventeen year old Georgianne. Black curls gleamed and rioted over the edges of her bandeau. Georgianne’s heart-shaped face tilted down toward her embroidery frame. Her hands lay idle on her gown. It was lilac, one of the colours of half-mourning. A sympathetic sigh escaped him. She wore the colour out of respect for her father, who lost a hand and leg, during the Battle of Salamanca, and died of gangrene more than a year ago.
There had been so many deaths since he last saw Georgianne. Not only had her brothers died during the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo but his elder brother had drowned six months ago while bathing in the lake on their father’s estate.
He advanced into the room with Adrian, Viscount Langley, at his side. Georgianne looked up and smiled. He caught himself staring into her hyacinth blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes. Colour crept over her high cheekbones. Her arched eyebrows drew together across her smooth forehead. Egad, she had the sweetest countenance he had ever seen; one with the lustrous, milky white sheen of china, and bow shaped rose pink lips to catch at the heart.
Georgianne stood.
He bowed. “My condolences.”
Sarah, clad in full mourning for her older half-brother, stood to make her curtsy to Langley. “I trust you have everything you require, my lord?”
Langley bowed. “Yes, thank you.”
“My lord, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Whitley.”
Georgianne curtsied as his lordship crossed the parlour to make his bow.
Tarrant inclined his head. “Ladies, please excuse us, we must see to our horses.”
Sarah shook her head at him. “See to your horses? The grooms can do so.”
Georgianne gurgled with laughter. “Ah, Sarah, have you forgotten how cavalrymen fuss over their mounts?”
“Excuse us.”
****
After the gentlemen left, Georgianne glanced at her cousin. She had seen little of her since Sarah yielded to the family’s persuasion to marry Wilfred Stanton, heir to his uncle, the Earl of Pennington.
Despite her reluctance to leave home because of her mamma’s unfortunate habit, and extravagant displays of grief over the loss of her husband and sons, Georgianne agreed to visit her cousin Sarah, who suffered from melancholy after the birth of a son.
Anxious for her mamma and two younger sisters, she reminded herself Whitley Manor—on the southern outskirts of Cousin Stanton’s Hertfordshire parish—lay a mere fifteen minutes away by carriage.
“Are you daydreaming, Cousin?”
Georgianne pretended to be busy untangling another strand of embroidery thread. “No.”
“Did I tell you Papa wants Tarrant to resign from the army now he is Papa’s heir?” Sarah’s needle flashed in and out of her work.
“Yes, several times.” Georgianne shivered, stretched her hands toward the fire, and fought a losing battle with the draughts in the old vicarage.
“Are you not interested in dear Tarrant?”
Georgianne bent her head. Once, she had wanted to marry a military man. However, after the loss of her father and brothers, she changed her mind for fear death might snatch him from her, either on the battlefield or as a result of wounds sustained in combat. She shook her head, remembering the dreams she harboured three years earlier when she last saw Major Tarrant. How her life had altered since then. Most of the time, she lived cloistered at home in reduced—yet not impoverished—circumstances. She spent her life in an endless round of mending and embroidery, both of which she detested. Her only escape from this drab existence consisted of daily walks, rides, or reading her beloved books. A yawn escaped her. Oh, the tedium of her days at home.
“You have not answered my question.”
Georgianne gathered her thoughts. “Yes, Sarah, I am interested in Major Tarrant. After all, we have known each other since we were in the nursery.”
“Good, but what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your sewing.”
Georgianne picked up her needle and thrust it in and out of the chemise, careless of the size of her stitches. Already she loathed the garment and vowed never to wear it.
“Papa wants Tarrant to marry,” Sarah rattled on.
Eyes downcast, Georgianne set aside her sewing and wrapped her arms around her waist for comfort. Before they died, her brothers and father had expressed their admiration for Major Tarrant in their letters. She shrugged. Once upon a time, she had built a castle in the air inhabited by Major Tarrant, a mere lieutenant when she last saw him.
Mamma still insisted on love not being the prime consideration for marriage, but novels and poems contradicted her opinion. Georgianne wanted to fall in love with one of the many eligible young gentlemen available: maybe a titled gentleman like Viscount Langley, provided he was not a military man. She shrugged. Certainly her mamma would regard the Viscount favourably. His lordship was wealthy, possessed good manners, and his height and broad shoulders equalled Major Tarrant’s. However, although she found no fault with him, Mamma might not approve of the Viscount’s skin—almost as dark as a gypsy from exposure to the sun while serving abroad—and his hair and eyes, sufficiently dark to rival any Spaniard’s. Her spirits lifted. The rectory would be a happier place with two fine young men in attendance. She was glad to be here, despite her acute concern for her family.
Sarah’s voice ended her musing. “Have you heard Tarrant inherited his godfather’s estate and fortune? Besides his pay, his income is thirty thousand pounds a year.”
Georgianne nodded. “Yes, I know. Major Tarrant is exceptionally fortunate.” Sarah blinked. “Why are you smiling?”
Georgianne stood and crossed the room to look out of the window. “I am happy because, so far, Major Tarrant and Viscount Langley have survived the war, which has taken so many lives and affected everyone in some way or another.”
She must force herself to remain cheerful. Papa had died eighteen months ago. It was time to set grief aside, if she could only find the means.
Thankfully, there was much to look forward to. After her presentation at court, she would be sure to meet many engaging gentlemen, one of whom she might marry. In time, she could help her sisters to escape their miserable existence.
Georgianne drummed her fingers on the windowsill. Her thoughts darted hither and thither. She glanced around the parlour, inhaling the odour of potpourri and lavender-scented beeswax.
Wilfred Stanton entered the room. He stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped over his paunch. “Mrs Stanton, my uncle, the Earl of Pennington, has arrived unexpectedly, and is resting after the rigours of his journey. Tarrant and his friend are busy with their horses. No, no, do not disturb yourself, my love. No need to bestir yourself on my uncle’s behalf.”
Cousin Stanton’s lips parted in a smile revealing yellowed teeth. “Ah, I know what you ladies are like. Have you been matchmaking? There must be a dozen or more eligible members of the fair sex amongst our neighbours who would be eager to meet Tarrant. If they knew of his visit, I daresay all of them would harbour thoughts of marrying him.”
“Indeed,” Sarah said in a colourless tone of voice.
Accustomed to taking long walks every day, Georgianne fidgeted. She found it difficult to tolerate Sarah’s sedentary habits.
“Sarah, will you not come for a walk? You know the doctor is concerned by your continued lethargy. Do not forget he encourages gentle exercise to improve your health.” She stared out at the dark grey clouds. Suddenly they parted and sunlight bathed her. It heightened the colour of her gown and warmed her. She reached up to smooth her bodice and noticed a movement in the shadowed east wing. Was someone peering at her through the small, diamond-shaped panes? There were no menservants in the household. Could it be Cousin Stanton’s uncle, the earl?
Sarah stepped daintily to her side, and slipped an arm around her waist. “Come, it is time to change our clothes before we dine.”
Available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
Sunday's Child. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, loss and past love, will it be possible for him to put the past behind him?
Tangled Love set in Queen Anne's reign a tale of two great estates, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
October 2012 False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
I am proud to announce that my novel Sunday’s Child set in the Regency era will be published on the 15th of June by MuseItUp publishing, and that there is a pre-publication discount of 20%.
The idea for Sunday’s Child came while I read about modern day soldiers suffering from post traumatic syndrome, and the effect on the families of those who lost a soldier in war.
What, I asked myself, would be the effect on Sunday’s Child whose beloved father and brothers fought against the French in the Napoleonic Wars, and on a brave major who underwent a horrific experience, in the days when there was no counselling for post traumatic syndrome? How would they overcome their experiences?
Sunday’s Child
Prologue
Hertfordshire, England
1810
Fourteen year old, Georgianne Whitley leaned over the banister to watch her aunt’s butler admit a handsome cavalry officer dressed in uniform. One day, her mamma frequently assured her, she would marry such a military man, a member of her dear father’s regiment. Of course, this officer was probably too old to ever be her husband. However, in future, she was sure she would meet someone equally handsome with whom she would fall in love. She giggled. ‘Love is not the main prerequisite for marriage,’ Mamma always claimed. According to her mother, rank, lands, and wealth were more important whereas, according to Papa, love was the only reason to marry.
She turned her head to look at her cousin, Sarah Tarrant. “Who is he?”
“Don’t you recognize him? He is my half brother, Rupert, Lieutenant Tarrant.”
“Of course, but he has changed so much since I last saw him five years ago. He is taller.
Careless of whether or not he would look up and see her, Georgianne inched forward until, bent almost double, she could still gaze down at him.
Rupert removed his shako, revealing his thick, sun-kissed fair hair.
Sarah put her arms around Georgianne’s waist. “If you are not careful, you will fall.”
Georgianne gripped the rail of the highly polished oak banister while she straightened.
“Look at your gown. It’s crushed. You’re such a…a hoyden.”
She stamped her foot. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. My mamma says you are.”
“Well, she is wrong.” In spite of her denial, rueful, she looked down at her crumpled, white muslin gown. What would her aunt say if she knew Papa had taught her to shoot? Once again, she peered over the banister. A ray of June sunshine from the window illuminated the gold braid on Rupert’s scarlet uniform. Yes, one day she really would marry such an officer to please herself, and her parents.
Chapter One
Hertfordshire, England
November 1813
Rupert, Major Tarrant, caught his breath at the sight of seventeen year old Georgianne. Black curls gleamed and rioted over the edges of her bandeau. Georgianne’s heart-shaped face tilted down toward her embroidery frame. Her hands lay idle on her gown. It was lilac, one of the colours of half-mourning. A sympathetic sigh escaped him. She wore the colour out of respect for her father, who lost a hand and leg, during the Battle of Salamanca, and died of gangrene more than a year ago.
There had been so many deaths since he last saw Georgianne. Not only had her brothers died during the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo but his elder brother had drowned six months ago while bathing in the lake on their father’s estate.
He advanced into the room with Adrian, Viscount Langley, at his side. Georgianne looked up and smiled. He caught himself staring into her hyacinth blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes. Colour crept over her high cheekbones. Her arched eyebrows drew together across her smooth forehead. Egad, she had the sweetest countenance he had ever seen; one with the lustrous, milky white sheen of china, and bow shaped rose pink lips to catch at the heart.
Georgianne stood.
He bowed. “My condolences.”
Sarah, clad in full mourning for her older half-brother, stood to make her curtsy to Langley. “I trust you have everything you require, my lord?”
Langley bowed. “Yes, thank you.”
“My lord, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Whitley.”
Georgianne curtsied as his lordship crossed the parlour to make his bow.
Tarrant inclined his head. “Ladies, please excuse us, we must see to our horses.”
Sarah shook her head at him. “See to your horses? The grooms can do so.”
Georgianne gurgled with laughter. “Ah, Sarah, have you forgotten how cavalrymen fuss over their mounts?”
“Excuse us.”
****
After the gentlemen left, Georgianne glanced at her cousin. She had seen little of her since Sarah yielded to the family’s persuasion to marry Wilfred Stanton, heir to his uncle, the Earl of Pennington.
Despite her reluctance to leave home because of her mamma’s unfortunate habit, and extravagant displays of grief over the loss of her husband and sons, Georgianne agreed to visit her cousin Sarah, who suffered from melancholy after the birth of a son.
Anxious for her mamma and two younger sisters, she reminded herself Whitley Manor—on the southern outskirts of Cousin Stanton’s Hertfordshire parish—lay a mere fifteen minutes away by carriage.
“Are you daydreaming, Cousin?”
Georgianne pretended to be busy untangling another strand of embroidery thread. “No.”
“Did I tell you Papa wants Tarrant to resign from the army now he is Papa’s heir?” Sarah’s needle flashed in and out of her work.
“Yes, several times.” Georgianne shivered, stretched her hands toward the fire, and fought a losing battle with the draughts in the old vicarage.
“Are you not interested in dear Tarrant?”
Georgianne bent her head. Once, she had wanted to marry a military man. However, after the loss of her father and brothers, she changed her mind for fear death might snatch him from her, either on the battlefield or as a result of wounds sustained in combat. She shook her head, remembering the dreams she harboured three years earlier when she last saw Major Tarrant. How her life had altered since then. Most of the time, she lived cloistered at home in reduced—yet not impoverished—circumstances. She spent her life in an endless round of mending and embroidery, both of which she detested. Her only escape from this drab existence consisted of daily walks, rides, or reading her beloved books. A yawn escaped her. Oh, the tedium of her days at home.
“You have not answered my question.”
Georgianne gathered her thoughts. “Yes, Sarah, I am interested in Major Tarrant. After all, we have known each other since we were in the nursery.”
“Good, but what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your sewing.”
Georgianne picked up her needle and thrust it in and out of the chemise, careless of the size of her stitches. Already she loathed the garment and vowed never to wear it.
“Papa wants Tarrant to marry,” Sarah rattled on.
Eyes downcast, Georgianne set aside her sewing and wrapped her arms around her waist for comfort. Before they died, her brothers and father had expressed their admiration for Major Tarrant in their letters. She shrugged. Once upon a time, she had built a castle in the air inhabited by Major Tarrant, a mere lieutenant when she last saw him.
Mamma still insisted on love not being the prime consideration for marriage, but novels and poems contradicted her opinion. Georgianne wanted to fall in love with one of the many eligible young gentlemen available: maybe a titled gentleman like Viscount Langley, provided he was not a military man. She shrugged. Certainly her mamma would regard the Viscount favourably. His lordship was wealthy, possessed good manners, and his height and broad shoulders equalled Major Tarrant’s. However, although she found no fault with him, Mamma might not approve of the Viscount’s skin—almost as dark as a gypsy from exposure to the sun while serving abroad—and his hair and eyes, sufficiently dark to rival any Spaniard’s. Her spirits lifted. The rectory would be a happier place with two fine young men in attendance. She was glad to be here, despite her acute concern for her family.
Sarah’s voice ended her musing. “Have you heard Tarrant inherited his godfather’s estate and fortune? Besides his pay, his income is thirty thousand pounds a year.”
Georgianne nodded. “Yes, I know. Major Tarrant is exceptionally fortunate.” Sarah blinked. “Why are you smiling?”
Georgianne stood and crossed the room to look out of the window. “I am happy because, so far, Major Tarrant and Viscount Langley have survived the war, which has taken so many lives and affected everyone in some way or another.”
She must force herself to remain cheerful. Papa had died eighteen months ago. It was time to set grief aside, if she could only find the means.
Thankfully, there was much to look forward to. After her presentation at court, she would be sure to meet many engaging gentlemen, one of whom she might marry. In time, she could help her sisters to escape their miserable existence.
Georgianne drummed her fingers on the windowsill. Her thoughts darted hither and thither. She glanced around the parlour, inhaling the odour of potpourri and lavender-scented beeswax.
Wilfred Stanton entered the room. He stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped over his paunch. “Mrs Stanton, my uncle, the Earl of Pennington, has arrived unexpectedly, and is resting after the rigours of his journey. Tarrant and his friend are busy with their horses. No, no, do not disturb yourself, my love. No need to bestir yourself on my uncle’s behalf.”
Cousin Stanton’s lips parted in a smile revealing yellowed teeth. “Ah, I know what you ladies are like. Have you been matchmaking? There must be a dozen or more eligible members of the fair sex amongst our neighbours who would be eager to meet Tarrant. If they knew of his visit, I daresay all of them would harbour thoughts of marrying him.”
“Indeed,” Sarah said in a colourless tone of voice.
Accustomed to taking long walks every day, Georgianne fidgeted. She found it difficult to tolerate Sarah’s sedentary habits.
“Sarah, will you not come for a walk? You know the doctor is concerned by your continued lethargy. Do not forget he encourages gentle exercise to improve your health.” She stared out at the dark grey clouds. Suddenly they parted and sunlight bathed her. It heightened the colour of her gown and warmed her. She reached up to smooth her bodice and noticed a movement in the shadowed east wing. Was someone peering at her through the small, diamond-shaped panes? There were no menservants in the household. Could it be Cousin Stanton’s uncle, the earl?
Sarah stepped daintily to her side, and slipped an arm around her waist. “Come, it is time to change our clothes before we dine.”
Available from: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2
Sunday's Child. Despite quixotic Major Tarrant's experience of brutality, loss and past love, will it be possible for him to put the past behind him?
Tangled Love set in Queen Anne's reign a tale of two great estates, duty, betrayal, despair and hope.
October 2012 False Pretences a Regency Novel. Will Annabelle escape an arranged marriage and discover who her parents are?
www.rosemarymorris.co.uk
http://rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Thursday, 17 May 2012
Saturday, 12 May 2012
Sunday's Child by Rosemary Morris
Georgianne Whitley’s beloved father and brothers died in the war against Napoleon Bonaparte. While she is grieving for them, she must deal with her unpredictable mother’s sorrow, and her younger sisters’ situation caused by it.
Georgianne’s problems increase when the arrogant, wealthy but elderly Earl of Pennington, proposes marriage to her for the sole purpose of being provided with an heir. At first she is tempted by his proposal, but something is not quite right about him. She rejects him not suspecting it will lead to unwelcome repercussions.
Once, Georgianne had wanted to marry an army officer. Now, she decides never to marry ‘a military man’ for fear he will be killed on the battlefield. However, Georgianne still dreams of a happy marriage before unexpected violence forces her to relinquish the chance to participate in a London Season sponsored by her aunt.
Shocked and in pain, Georgianne goes to the inn where her cousin Sarah’s step-brother, Major Tarrant, is staying, while waiting for the blacksmith to return to the village and shoe his horse. Recently, she has been reacquainted with Tarrant—whom she knew when in the nursery—at the vicarage where Sarah lives with her husband Reverend Stanton.
The war in the Iberian Peninsula is nearly at an end so, after his older brother’s death, Tarrant, who was wounded, returns to England where his father asks him to marry and produce an heir.
To please his father, Tarrant agrees to marry, but due to a personal tragedy he has decided never to father a child.
When Georgianne, arrives at the inn, quixotic Tarrant sympathises with her unhappy situation. Moreover, he is shocked by the unforgivably brutal treatment she has suffered.
Full of admiration for her beauty and courage Tarrant decides to help Georgianne.
Publication Date. June, 2012 Available from MuseItUpPublshing, Kindle Books and elsewhere
Sunday, 6 May 2012
Rain, rain go away.
This year in S.E. England we enjoyed some unseasonable hot weather, which was followed by heavy rain. Of course we needed the rain, water levels were very low but the hose pipe ban is like a death knell for gardeners. And now it's cold and wet which delays sowing herbs, fruit and vegs. To make matters worse a late frost has been forecast, and that will ruin my crops of apples, cherries, greengages, pears,.
However, I still have Swiss Chard, New Zealand Spinach and Curly Kale. As for the broad beans, they love the rain and are reaching for the sky.
I have a sunny bed - if we ever see the sun again - in my front garden, which I manured, and in which I then planted perpetual strawberries in. The strawberry plants in the adjacent bed have been there for some time. I'm not sure how long they will go on fruiting. As I write I can almost taste freshly picked, sun warmed strawberries that are nothing like the sour ones purchased in supermarkets. (By the way, even if you haven't got much space you can grow strawberries in pots.)
Some of the herbs, particularly fragrant dill and tasty chives are sprouting so, to use a pun, my grow your own garden is not a complete wash out.
However, I still have Swiss Chard, New Zealand Spinach and Curly Kale. As for the broad beans, they love the rain and are reaching for the sky.
I have a sunny bed - if we ever see the sun again - in my front garden, which I manured, and in which I then planted perpetual strawberries in. The strawberry plants in the adjacent bed have been there for some time. I'm not sure how long they will go on fruiting. As I write I can almost taste freshly picked, sun warmed strawberries that are nothing like the sour ones purchased in supermarkets. (By the way, even if you haven't got much space you can grow strawberries in pots.)
Some of the herbs, particularly fragrant dill and tasty chives are sprouting so, to use a pun, my grow your own garden is not a complete wash out.
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