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
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
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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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.
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Away From Home
Last night I baby-sat at my daughter's house so that she could have a night out. No problems with the children but when I woke up this morning, although the guest bed is very comfortable, I realised there is nothing like one's own bed.
The two and a half year old makes me laugh when she says, "Oh dearie me," and "Oh Man." She's a fussy little thing who thinks she rules her family,
Enjoy your weekend.
The two and a half year old makes me laugh when she says, "Oh dearie me," and "Oh Man." She's a fussy little thing who thinks she rules her family,
Enjoy your weekend.
Monday, 23 April 2012
The Early Life of Georgette Heyer
The Early Life of Georgette Heyer
Author of Historical and Detective Fiction
16th August 1902 – 4th July 1974
From 1932 onwards a historical novel or a crime novel by, Georgette Heyer, was published every year. When she died, forty-eight of her books were still in print. Although she had not completed her last book My Lord John, the first of a trilogy about the house of Lancaster, which she regarded as her most important work, it was published after her death. Most of her historical novels are still being published. Therefore it is not surprising if we want to know more about her.
After the success of her novel These Old Shades released during the General Strike, Georgette Heyer believed publicity was unnecessary. From then on she gave no interviews, confiding in a friend: “My private life concerns no one but myself and my family.”Her best sellers, which journalist Lesley McDowell described as containing "derring-do, dashing blades, and maids in peril", were popular during the Depression and World War Two. In trying times they provided temporary escape from the realities and deprivations of war time. Her mention of Friday’s Child in a letter was: "'I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense. ... But it's unquestionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter or recovering from flu."
Georgette, a feminine version of George, was named for her father and grandfather. It is possible George Heyer senior’s family was Jewish, for his father was a merchant in Southern Russia who lived in Kremenchuk Village where Jews were allowed to settle. In 1859, twenty-seven year old, George junior, a fur merchant, came to England from Kharkov, possibly to escape a Russian progrom. According to his granddaughter, he was an affectionate family man full of fun and stories. If he was a Jew by birth, he reinvented himself in England, where he first became a warehouseman. In 1863 when he was a large woolen wholesaler’s foreign agent he became a British citizen. Three weeks later, he married Alice Waters, from a family long-established in Norfolk.
In 1869 Alice gave birth to a son, who was not, according to Russian tradition given his father’s second name. Instead the baby was christened George. In many ways George senior was ridding himself of his past and adopting all things British.
George junior was brought up to become an English gentleman. Amongst other subjects, including French and Greek, he excelled in literature. His parents must have been very proud when he won a scholarship to Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, founded by Frances Sidney, Countess of Sussex. The college was a Puritan foundation with the aims: some good and goodlie moniment for the mainteynance of good learninge. What George thought of one of the first students, Oliver Cromwell, whose head is buried beneath the College’s Ante-Chapel, is not known. It is known that George became very popular while taking advantage of good learninge during the four years he studied for his Classics degree, years in which he wrote poetry, something he would continue writing throughout his life.
George hoped to become an archaeologist, but when family fortunes did not permit it he became a teacher in Weymouth for some years before marrying Sylvia Watkins in August, 1901.
Sylvia’s family was wealthier than the Heyer family. Her father, who died in 1900, and his brother helped their father make a success of his international tugboat business. It is interesting to note that in Joseph Turner’s famous painting The Fighting Temeraire Tugged to her Last Berth to be Broken is towed by Watkins’s tugboat Monarch.
Waited on by servants, Sylvia, who had seven brothers and sisters, grew up in a substantial Victorian house, a happy home. Since Sylvia was musical, she received cello and pianoforte lessons. In 1895, at the age of nineteen she entered the internationally prestigious Royal Academy of Music where she studied for three years at the cost of eleven guineas a term. She dreamt of becoming a professional musician but conformed to society’s expectation that a young woman’s duty was to marry well and become a good wife and mother.
In the year when Sylvia began her studies at the Royal Academy of Music the Heyers moved into the house next door to her family. Six years later George junior and Sylvia married.
On the 16th of August, 1902, the recently married couple was delighted by Georgette’s birth in their house in Wimbledon, the first of many houses, mostly in the same town, that Georgette would grow up in.
A daughter in a well to do, but not rich, upper middle class parents, and with affectionate grandparents, aunts and uncles, Georgette grew up with pleasing manners, knowing how to behave in society and waited on by servants.
George Heyer adored his daughter. He had a ‘hands on’ approach to fatherhood unusual for an Edwardian gentleman. The baby developed to the sound of her father’s voice telling her tales from the Bible and Shakespeare, as well as children’s stories and nursery rhymes. She also listened to her mother playing musical instruments and singing.
From infancy onwards Georgette absorbed Victorian and Edwardian pride in the British Empire, the importance of class and good breeding along with a horror of vulgarity – factors prominent in her novels.
Educated at home until the First World War, Georgette’s love of literature was fostered by her father who encouraged her to read, and never forbade her to read any of her books. However, he insisted she master English grammar. He was delighted with her progress but her lack of musical talent disappointed her mother.
In 1907, when Georgette was five, her brother George Boris, (always called Boris) was born, to be followed in 1911 by the birth of her younger brother, Frank Dimitri. Throughout her life, Georgette would be the loving older sister portrayed in a charming photo. Smiling, her long hair loose, Georgette is standing by stool on which a top spins. Fascinated, Boris is looking down at it and Frank is peering over the edge of the stool enchanted by the sight.
* * * *
When Georgette was three years old her father, a very popular school master, quit his position as a French teacher at Kings College School in Wimbledon. Kings College Hospital, in need of £200,000 for new buildings, had appointed George as Appeals Secretary. By the time his first son was born he had also been given the position of Dean of the Medical School. He also found time to write and his poems were published in The Pall Mall Gazette, The Saturday Westminster Review and Granta. As for Georgette she made up stories and shared her father’s love of reading and writing,
To raise funds, George organised a carnival at Crystal Palace in Sydenham to raise funds. He also raised money through successful matinees in London at the Lyceum Theatre, Theatre Royal and Drury Lane, which gave him the opportunity to meet famous theatrical personalities and members of the nobility. Subsequently, he resigned from Kings College Hospital to become the Organising Secretary of the Shakespeare Memorial National Theatre Committee, and we can imagine him sharing his love of the bard and the theatre with his young daughter.
Throughout her childhood, Wimbledon with its leafy streets and large common, offered much to the future novelist. Sometimes George Heyer took her to meetings of the Wimbledon Literary and Scientific Society. George also taught his daughter to ride, which would stand her in good stead when writing historical fiction; and so did the horse drawn traffic, tradesmen’s, privately owned carriages, hackneys, the Box Hill stagecoach, the fire engine and powerful draught horses which pulled heavy loads.
In 1914 after George became the manager of the Paris branch of Cox’s bank he took his family to France. George Heyer appreciated the opportunity to enjoy French culture and society. Sylvia must have been delighted by musical entertainments not the least of which was the Paris opera. As for Georgette she stored up experiences and impressions, which she would one day use in her contemporary novel, Helen, in which the motherless heroine visits Paris with her father.
The outbreak of the First World War caused the Heyers return to Wimbledon, at which time, to avoid people thinking the surname was German, its pronunciation changed to hare.
Too old to be conscripted George believed it was his duty to enroll in the army. In September 1915 Lieutenant George Heyer joined The British Expeditionary Forces, Central Requisition Office in Rouen. Until then George had supervised his shy daughter’s education. Not only did his absence deprive her of his companionship, it also meant that at thirteen she must attend school for the first time. Georgette found it hard to adjust to the discipline at Oakhill Academy. Unfortunately, the intelligent girl with an unusual upbringing, who excelled in English language, literature, history and French, found it easier to make friends with teachers than she did with other girls. Those were difficult days for Georgette. Her mother, who had joined the Red Cross, was finding it difficult to manage financially. Conscious of the horrors of war, Georgette wrote to her father frequently about her life, obeying the unwritten rule that she should be cheerful.
When Georgette was seventeen, as well as corresponding with her father, Georgette wrote the first of her of novels, The Black Moth, in the form of a serial to amuse her brother Boris, a hemophiliac, while he was ill. In 1918 Georgette left Oakhill to attend The Study which promoted physical activities and offered a limited curriculum that did not interest her. The tedium and anxiety about the war was briefly alleviated when her father returned to England to be at his dying mother’s bedside. Subsequently her father, by now a Captain, received the MBE, but his father died without knowing about it; however her father’s inheritance enabled Georgette to participate in social life.
During the following year she met two daughters of Oxford dons, who would become her lifelong friends. The first was, Joanna Cannan, the twenty-two year daughter of a historian. Before the war Joanna’s poetry book was published. After the war, she wrote historical fiction and, amongst other things, historical biography. The second was twenty-three year old Carola Oman, who wrote children’s pony books and detective stories.
Georgette frequently met her friends, who hoped to be published, to talk about books. They also discussed each others works-in-progress and offered constructive criticism of it.
It would be interesting to know whether she discussed The Black Moth, about a gentleman highwayman accused of cheating at cards, with Joanna and Carola. Certainly her father enjoyed it and encouraged her to prepare it for submission to a publisher. The novel, which heralded her long career, was released in 1921. One of her biographers, Jane Aiken Hodge claimed the novel was typical of Heyer’s historical fiction with “the saturnine male lead, the marriage in danger, the extravagant young wife, and the group of idle, entertaining young men.”
Historical novels
The Black Moth 1921 Powder and Patch (originally published as The Transformation of Philip Jettan 1923),1930
The Great Roxhythe 1923 Simon the Coldheart 1925
These Old Shades 1926 The Masqueraders 1928
Beauvallet 1929 The Conqueror 1931
Devil’s Cub 1932 The Convenient Marriage 1934
Regency Buck 1935 The Talisman Ring 1936
An Infamous Army 1937 Royal Escape1938
The Spanish Bride 1940 The Corinthian 1940
Faro’s Daughter 1941 Friday’s Child 1944
The Reluctant Widow 1946 The Foundling 1948
Arabella 1949 The Grand Sophy 1950
The Quiet Gentleman 1951 Cotillion 1953
The Toll-Gate 1954 Bath Tangle 1955
Sprig Muslin 1956 April Lady 1957
Sylvester
:Or the Wicked Uncle 1957 Venetia 1958
The Unknown Ajax 1959 A Civil Contract 1961
The Nonesuch 1961 False Colours 1963
Frederica 1965 Black Sheep 1966
Cousin Kate 1968 Charity Girl 1970
Lady of Quality 1971 My Lord John 1975
Short Stories
Pistol for Two 1960 containing the following historical short stories.
Pistols for Two, A Clandestine Affair, Bath Miss, Pink Domino, A Husband for Fanny, To Have the Honour, Night at the Inn and The Duel, Hazard,
Snowdrift, and Full Moon.
Other short stories
A Proposal to Cicely (1922) The Bulldog and the Beast (1923)
Linckes' Great Case (1923) Runaway Match (1936) Pursuit (1939
Contemporary Novels
Instead of the Thorn (1923) Helen (1928)
Pastel (1929) Barren Corn (1930)
Contemporary Thrillers
Footsteps in the Dark (1932) Why Shoot a Butler? (1933)
The Unfinished Clue (1934) Death in the Stocks (1935)
Behold, Here's Poison (1936) They Found Him Dead (1937)
A Blunt Instrument (1938) No Wind of Blame (1939)
Envious Casca (1941) Penhallow (1942)
Duplicate Death (1951) Detection Unlimited (1953)
Principle Bibliography
The Private World of Georgette Heyer, Jaine Aiken Hodge Bodley Head.
Georgette Heyer Biography of a Best Seller, Jennifer Kloester
Author of Historical and Detective Fiction
16th August 1902 – 4th July 1974
From 1932 onwards a historical novel or a crime novel by, Georgette Heyer, was published every year. When she died, forty-eight of her books were still in print. Although she had not completed her last book My Lord John, the first of a trilogy about the house of Lancaster, which she regarded as her most important work, it was published after her death. Most of her historical novels are still being published. Therefore it is not surprising if we want to know more about her.
After the success of her novel These Old Shades released during the General Strike, Georgette Heyer believed publicity was unnecessary. From then on she gave no interviews, confiding in a friend: “My private life concerns no one but myself and my family.”Her best sellers, which journalist Lesley McDowell described as containing "derring-do, dashing blades, and maids in peril", were popular during the Depression and World War Two. In trying times they provided temporary escape from the realities and deprivations of war time. Her mention of Friday’s Child in a letter was: "'I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense. ... But it's unquestionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter or recovering from flu."
Georgette, a feminine version of George, was named for her father and grandfather. It is possible George Heyer senior’s family was Jewish, for his father was a merchant in Southern Russia who lived in Kremenchuk Village where Jews were allowed to settle. In 1859, twenty-seven year old, George junior, a fur merchant, came to England from Kharkov, possibly to escape a Russian progrom. According to his granddaughter, he was an affectionate family man full of fun and stories. If he was a Jew by birth, he reinvented himself in England, where he first became a warehouseman. In 1863 when he was a large woolen wholesaler’s foreign agent he became a British citizen. Three weeks later, he married Alice Waters, from a family long-established in Norfolk.
In 1869 Alice gave birth to a son, who was not, according to Russian tradition given his father’s second name. Instead the baby was christened George. In many ways George senior was ridding himself of his past and adopting all things British.
George junior was brought up to become an English gentleman. Amongst other subjects, including French and Greek, he excelled in literature. His parents must have been very proud when he won a scholarship to Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, founded by Frances Sidney, Countess of Sussex. The college was a Puritan foundation with the aims: some good and goodlie moniment for the mainteynance of good learninge. What George thought of one of the first students, Oliver Cromwell, whose head is buried beneath the College’s Ante-Chapel, is not known. It is known that George became very popular while taking advantage of good learninge during the four years he studied for his Classics degree, years in which he wrote poetry, something he would continue writing throughout his life.
George hoped to become an archaeologist, but when family fortunes did not permit it he became a teacher in Weymouth for some years before marrying Sylvia Watkins in August, 1901.
Sylvia’s family was wealthier than the Heyer family. Her father, who died in 1900, and his brother helped their father make a success of his international tugboat business. It is interesting to note that in Joseph Turner’s famous painting The Fighting Temeraire Tugged to her Last Berth to be Broken is towed by Watkins’s tugboat Monarch.
Waited on by servants, Sylvia, who had seven brothers and sisters, grew up in a substantial Victorian house, a happy home. Since Sylvia was musical, she received cello and pianoforte lessons. In 1895, at the age of nineteen she entered the internationally prestigious Royal Academy of Music where she studied for three years at the cost of eleven guineas a term. She dreamt of becoming a professional musician but conformed to society’s expectation that a young woman’s duty was to marry well and become a good wife and mother.
In the year when Sylvia began her studies at the Royal Academy of Music the Heyers moved into the house next door to her family. Six years later George junior and Sylvia married.
On the 16th of August, 1902, the recently married couple was delighted by Georgette’s birth in their house in Wimbledon, the first of many houses, mostly in the same town, that Georgette would grow up in.
A daughter in a well to do, but not rich, upper middle class parents, and with affectionate grandparents, aunts and uncles, Georgette grew up with pleasing manners, knowing how to behave in society and waited on by servants.
George Heyer adored his daughter. He had a ‘hands on’ approach to fatherhood unusual for an Edwardian gentleman. The baby developed to the sound of her father’s voice telling her tales from the Bible and Shakespeare, as well as children’s stories and nursery rhymes. She also listened to her mother playing musical instruments and singing.
From infancy onwards Georgette absorbed Victorian and Edwardian pride in the British Empire, the importance of class and good breeding along with a horror of vulgarity – factors prominent in her novels.
Educated at home until the First World War, Georgette’s love of literature was fostered by her father who encouraged her to read, and never forbade her to read any of her books. However, he insisted she master English grammar. He was delighted with her progress but her lack of musical talent disappointed her mother.
In 1907, when Georgette was five, her brother George Boris, (always called Boris) was born, to be followed in 1911 by the birth of her younger brother, Frank Dimitri. Throughout her life, Georgette would be the loving older sister portrayed in a charming photo. Smiling, her long hair loose, Georgette is standing by stool on which a top spins. Fascinated, Boris is looking down at it and Frank is peering over the edge of the stool enchanted by the sight.
* * * *
When Georgette was three years old her father, a very popular school master, quit his position as a French teacher at Kings College School in Wimbledon. Kings College Hospital, in need of £200,000 for new buildings, had appointed George as Appeals Secretary. By the time his first son was born he had also been given the position of Dean of the Medical School. He also found time to write and his poems were published in The Pall Mall Gazette, The Saturday Westminster Review and Granta. As for Georgette she made up stories and shared her father’s love of reading and writing,
To raise funds, George organised a carnival at Crystal Palace in Sydenham to raise funds. He also raised money through successful matinees in London at the Lyceum Theatre, Theatre Royal and Drury Lane, which gave him the opportunity to meet famous theatrical personalities and members of the nobility. Subsequently, he resigned from Kings College Hospital to become the Organising Secretary of the Shakespeare Memorial National Theatre Committee, and we can imagine him sharing his love of the bard and the theatre with his young daughter.
Throughout her childhood, Wimbledon with its leafy streets and large common, offered much to the future novelist. Sometimes George Heyer took her to meetings of the Wimbledon Literary and Scientific Society. George also taught his daughter to ride, which would stand her in good stead when writing historical fiction; and so did the horse drawn traffic, tradesmen’s, privately owned carriages, hackneys, the Box Hill stagecoach, the fire engine and powerful draught horses which pulled heavy loads.
In 1914 after George became the manager of the Paris branch of Cox’s bank he took his family to France. George Heyer appreciated the opportunity to enjoy French culture and society. Sylvia must have been delighted by musical entertainments not the least of which was the Paris opera. As for Georgette she stored up experiences and impressions, which she would one day use in her contemporary novel, Helen, in which the motherless heroine visits Paris with her father.
The outbreak of the First World War caused the Heyers return to Wimbledon, at which time, to avoid people thinking the surname was German, its pronunciation changed to hare.
Too old to be conscripted George believed it was his duty to enroll in the army. In September 1915 Lieutenant George Heyer joined The British Expeditionary Forces, Central Requisition Office in Rouen. Until then George had supervised his shy daughter’s education. Not only did his absence deprive her of his companionship, it also meant that at thirteen she must attend school for the first time. Georgette found it hard to adjust to the discipline at Oakhill Academy. Unfortunately, the intelligent girl with an unusual upbringing, who excelled in English language, literature, history and French, found it easier to make friends with teachers than she did with other girls. Those were difficult days for Georgette. Her mother, who had joined the Red Cross, was finding it difficult to manage financially. Conscious of the horrors of war, Georgette wrote to her father frequently about her life, obeying the unwritten rule that she should be cheerful.
When Georgette was seventeen, as well as corresponding with her father, Georgette wrote the first of her of novels, The Black Moth, in the form of a serial to amuse her brother Boris, a hemophiliac, while he was ill. In 1918 Georgette left Oakhill to attend The Study which promoted physical activities and offered a limited curriculum that did not interest her. The tedium and anxiety about the war was briefly alleviated when her father returned to England to be at his dying mother’s bedside. Subsequently her father, by now a Captain, received the MBE, but his father died without knowing about it; however her father’s inheritance enabled Georgette to participate in social life.
During the following year she met two daughters of Oxford dons, who would become her lifelong friends. The first was, Joanna Cannan, the twenty-two year daughter of a historian. Before the war Joanna’s poetry book was published. After the war, she wrote historical fiction and, amongst other things, historical biography. The second was twenty-three year old Carola Oman, who wrote children’s pony books and detective stories.
Georgette frequently met her friends, who hoped to be published, to talk about books. They also discussed each others works-in-progress and offered constructive criticism of it.
It would be interesting to know whether she discussed The Black Moth, about a gentleman highwayman accused of cheating at cards, with Joanna and Carola. Certainly her father enjoyed it and encouraged her to prepare it for submission to a publisher. The novel, which heralded her long career, was released in 1921. One of her biographers, Jane Aiken Hodge claimed the novel was typical of Heyer’s historical fiction with “the saturnine male lead, the marriage in danger, the extravagant young wife, and the group of idle, entertaining young men.”
Historical novels
The Black Moth 1921 Powder and Patch (originally published as The Transformation of Philip Jettan 1923),1930
The Great Roxhythe 1923 Simon the Coldheart 1925
These Old Shades 1926 The Masqueraders 1928
Beauvallet 1929 The Conqueror 1931
Devil’s Cub 1932 The Convenient Marriage 1934
Regency Buck 1935 The Talisman Ring 1936
An Infamous Army 1937 Royal Escape1938
The Spanish Bride 1940 The Corinthian 1940
Faro’s Daughter 1941 Friday’s Child 1944
The Reluctant Widow 1946 The Foundling 1948
Arabella 1949 The Grand Sophy 1950
The Quiet Gentleman 1951 Cotillion 1953
The Toll-Gate 1954 Bath Tangle 1955
Sprig Muslin 1956 April Lady 1957
Sylvester
:Or the Wicked Uncle 1957 Venetia 1958
The Unknown Ajax 1959 A Civil Contract 1961
The Nonesuch 1961 False Colours 1963
Frederica 1965 Black Sheep 1966
Cousin Kate 1968 Charity Girl 1970
Lady of Quality 1971 My Lord John 1975
Short Stories
Pistol for Two 1960 containing the following historical short stories.
Pistols for Two, A Clandestine Affair, Bath Miss, Pink Domino, A Husband for Fanny, To Have the Honour, Night at the Inn and The Duel, Hazard,
Snowdrift, and Full Moon.
Other short stories
A Proposal to Cicely (1922) The Bulldog and the Beast (1923)
Linckes' Great Case (1923) Runaway Match (1936) Pursuit (1939
Contemporary Novels
Instead of the Thorn (1923) Helen (1928)
Pastel (1929) Barren Corn (1930)
Contemporary Thrillers
Footsteps in the Dark (1932) Why Shoot a Butler? (1933)
The Unfinished Clue (1934) Death in the Stocks (1935)
Behold, Here's Poison (1936) They Found Him Dead (1937)
A Blunt Instrument (1938) No Wind of Blame (1939)
Envious Casca (1941) Penhallow (1942)
Duplicate Death (1951) Detection Unlimited (1953)
Principle Bibliography
The Private World of Georgette Heyer, Jaine Aiken Hodge Bodley Head.
Georgette Heyer Biography of a Best Seller, Jennifer Kloester
Saturday, 14 April 2012
Tangled Love a Book Trailer
I am proud to announce the book trailer for Tangled Love set in England in Queen Anne's reign.
You may view it on my website or at this link http://youtu.be/Psz_Z8_3Jko
You may view it on my website or at this link http://youtu.be/Psz_Z8_3Jko
Friday, 13 April 2012
Lucky Seven
I am working on a new novel called Tangled Lives set in England in Queen Anne's reign 1702 - 1714.
Here is a seven line extract from page 77.
William dabbed the blood oozing onto the white lace at his throat with his silk handkerchief. “I do not understand what you mean.”
“Lord Kemp, if Mistress Kemp challenges you in an English court of law and it decides her mother’s betrothal to Monsieur Sarazzin should have been upheld, to all intents and purposes your father would have been a bigamist.” Gervaise grinned. “Even if you had the satisfaction of your half-sisters being declared illegitimate, would it not be as pretty a kettle of fish as you ever did see?”
And here are seven authors whose work I enjoy. Benita Brown, Freda Lightfoot, Margaret Chrisawn, Mirella Patzer, Roseanne Dowell, Rosalie Skinner and last but not least Wally Rabbani
Here is a seven line extract from page 77.
William dabbed the blood oozing onto the white lace at his throat with his silk handkerchief. “I do not understand what you mean.”
“Lord Kemp, if Mistress Kemp challenges you in an English court of law and it decides her mother’s betrothal to Monsieur Sarazzin should have been upheld, to all intents and purposes your father would have been a bigamist.” Gervaise grinned. “Even if you had the satisfaction of your half-sisters being declared illegitimate, would it not be as pretty a kettle of fish as you ever did see?”
And here are seven authors whose work I enjoy. Benita Brown, Freda Lightfoot, Margaret Chrisawn, Mirella Patzer, Roseanne Dowell, Rosalie Skinner and last but not least Wally Rabbani
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
Inspiration on Holiday
On Saturday, I returned from a week's holiday in North Devon with my daughter and her three children.
My father's paternal family had strong links with the West Country, and I have happy memories of childhood holidays in Somerset and Devonshire.
As soon as we crossed the border in Somerset and saw the sign Welcome to Somerset I felt as though I was coming home. In Devonshire, daffodils and primroses bloomed in the banks on either side of narrow, twisting country roads. The gorse was ablaze with golden blooms. As we travelled vibrant geen fields dotted with ewes and lambs or cattle spread as far as my eyes could see.
The villages, stately homes and the varied coastline awakened many happy memories and stirred my imagination. By the time we returned home at the end of the week I had a plot and theme for a new novel in mind and had already written the first paragraphs.
Due to the edits of my novels of my novel Sunday's Child to be published in June, and False Pretences to be published in October as well as other writing projects I don't know when I'll begin the novel; but that's all right because the characters will have time to to develop before I begin it.
All the best,
Rosemary Morris
My father's paternal family had strong links with the West Country, and I have happy memories of childhood holidays in Somerset and Devonshire.
As soon as we crossed the border in Somerset and saw the sign Welcome to Somerset I felt as though I was coming home. In Devonshire, daffodils and primroses bloomed in the banks on either side of narrow, twisting country roads. The gorse was ablaze with golden blooms. As we travelled vibrant geen fields dotted with ewes and lambs or cattle spread as far as my eyes could see.
The villages, stately homes and the varied coastline awakened many happy memories and stirred my imagination. By the time we returned home at the end of the week I had a plot and theme for a new novel in mind and had already written the first paragraphs.
Due to the edits of my novels of my novel Sunday's Child to be published in June, and False Pretences to be published in October as well as other writing projects I don't know when I'll begin the novel; but that's all right because the characters will have time to to develop before I begin it.
All the best,
Rosemary Morris
Monday, 12 March 2012
My guest blog at The Romantic Novelists Association
Tomorrow I will be a guest blogger at the Romantic Novelists Association of Great Britain.
You are cordially invited to read about me and to learn about the RNA.
Link: htp://www.romanticnovelists association.org
You are cordially invited to read about me and to learn about the RNA.
Link: htp://www.romanticnovelists association.org
Saturday, 25 February 2012
Review of Tangled Love
I am delighted with this review of my novel on Amazon kindle.
Love, betrayal, treasure trove,
By
J. Pittam "Maythorn" (Hertfordshire, England)
This review is for: Tangled Love (Kindle Edition)
I very much enjoyed this new author. Tangled Love is set at the turn of the 18th century it follows the fortunes of Richelda, poverty-stricken daughter of a now-dead Jacobite. Richelda is haunted by the childhood oath she made at her father's instigation, to regain their ancestral home. She knows she has little chance of fulfilling that dream - until her wealthy aunt promises to make Richelda her heiress. But there is a condition; she must marry the man of her aunt's choosing- Viscount Lord Chesney. Richelda's feelings for Chesney are ambivalent and her heart already belongs to her peniless childhood companion, Dudley.
Love and betrayal, misplaced loyalties, even the promise of a treasure trove make this an charming story with a well-rounded, believable heroine and a delicious hero. Rosemary Morris's attention to historical detail brings period and place vividly to life. More please,
All the best,
Rosemary Morris
Love, betrayal, treasure trove,
By
J. Pittam "Maythorn" (Hertfordshire, England)
This review is for: Tangled Love (Kindle Edition)
I very much enjoyed this new author. Tangled Love is set at the turn of the 18th century it follows the fortunes of Richelda, poverty-stricken daughter of a now-dead Jacobite. Richelda is haunted by the childhood oath she made at her father's instigation, to regain their ancestral home. She knows she has little chance of fulfilling that dream - until her wealthy aunt promises to make Richelda her heiress. But there is a condition; she must marry the man of her aunt's choosing- Viscount Lord Chesney. Richelda's feelings for Chesney are ambivalent and her heart already belongs to her peniless childhood companion, Dudley.
Love and betrayal, misplaced loyalties, even the promise of a treasure trove make this an charming story with a well-rounded, believable heroine and a delicious hero. Rosemary Morris's attention to historical detail brings period and place vividly to life. More please,
All the best,
Rosemary Morris
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