Duty was the watchword in the Georgian and Regency eras. Everyone had his or her place, and every place had its duties. Even noble families were not exempt. A nobleman’s duty was to his line, his country and his church. His sons fulfilled these obligations.

The duty of the first son, the heir, was to his family. His obligation was to protect and increase the estate and to marry and produce a legitimate male successor who would inherit everything. All those Regencies that have the heir buying an army commission and going off to war are anachronisms. The social pressure for the heir to join the armed forces has existed for only about the past one hundred years. Two hundred years ago and earlier, the first son’s obligation to continue the line made him too valuable to waste on a battlefield where life was cheap. His duty was to survive and procreate.

The second son fulfilled the family’s duty to the country. He joined the army, usually as an officer by buying a commission. While some second sons bought places in the militia where there was little chance of dying, others lost their lives on various battlefields. I always wondered why a nobleman would go to great lengths to assure an heir and a spare, and then earmark the spare for such a perilous occupation. Regency England was already a dangerous place. In a world with poor sanitation, no antibiotics, few painkillers, and no understanding of germs, an infected cut could kill you. Why court death in war?

A nobleman also had a duty to the church, which the third son fulfilled by joining the clergy. A man did not necessarily have to be religious to become a clergyman. If this son’s family was rich and titled, his father likely controlled several livings, and he could give all of them to his son. (Note, the giving of multiple livings to one clergyman would be declared illegal later in the nineteenth century). The son could hire curates to do the work, and he could take the money from the livings and do as he chose. If the spare died in battle, the third son, with a relatively safe profession, was the spare spare, and could inherit. But only if there was a third son and the heir had no sons.

Any more sons were superfluous and were on their own. Their father may or may not have given them allowances. If not, they were likely on the lookout to marry heiresses. If they couldn’t snag one, or were modern and forward looking, they sought that dreaded of all things to a gentleman–work.

While the Regency was still a time of tradition, the era was also the time when our modern world began. Not every son played the game according to the rules. In my Regency comedy, An Inheritance for the Birds, the hero, Kit, is the second son of a baronet. He loves the land, and wants to work as a land steward. He worked with his father’s steward, and plans to take over when the older man retires. But at the old steward’s retirement, Kit’s father, a traditionalist, hires a new one and cuts off Kit’s allowance, thinking to force him to join the army. Instead, Kit’s older brother, who had wanted him as steward, finds him a job as a nobleman’s secretary. That job sounds fairly good until Kit finds out what he has to do. And then he receives the letter informing him about his chance to win his great-aunt’s estate. Maybe he can still fulfill his dream of caring for the land.

BLURB:

Make the ducks happy and win an estate!

Mr. Christopher “Kit” Winnington can’t believe the letter from his late great-aunt’s solicitor. In order to inherit her estate, he must win a contest against her companion, Miss Angela Stratton. Whoever makes his great-aunt’s pet ducks happy wins.

A contest: What a cork-brained idea. This Miss Stratton is probably a sly spinster who camouflaged her grasping nature from his good-natured relative. There is no way he will let the estate go to a usurper.

Angela never expected her former employer to name her in her will. Most likely, this Mr. Winnington is a trumped-up jackanapes who expects her to give up without a fight. Well, she is made of sterner stuff.

The ducks quack in avian bliss while Kit and Angela dance a duet of desire as they do their utmost to make the ducks–and themselves–happy.

EXCERPT:

Yawning, he shut the door behind him. Enough ducks and prickly ladies for one day. After dropping his satchel by the bed, he dragged off his clothes and draped them over the chair back. He dug a nightshirt from the valise and donned the garment before he blew out both candles.

Bates had already drawn back the bedclothes. The counterpane was soft under Kit’s palm, and covered a featherbed. He grinned. By any chance, had they used the down from the pet ducks to stuff the mattress and pillows?

After tying the bed curtains back, he settled into the soft cocoon and laced his fingers behind his head. Tomorrow, he would have it out with Miss Stratton about the steward’s residence, but that was tomorrow. He fluffed up his pillow and turned onto his side…

“QUACK!”

A bundle of flapping, squawking feathers exploded from the depths of the covers and attacked him. Throwing his arms over his head for protection, Kit fell out of bed. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door, the thrashing, quacking explosion battering him. A serrated knife edge scraped over his upper arm. “Ow!” Batting at the avian attacker with one hand, he groped for the latch with the other.

The door swung open. Miss Stratton, her candle flame flickering, dashed into the chamber. “Esmeralda, you stop that right now!”

The feathered windstorm quacked once more and, in a graceful arc, fluttered to the floor.

Kit lowered his arms and gave a mental groan. A duck. He should have known.

An Inheritance for the Birds, part of The Wild Rose Press’s Love Letters series, is available from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other places ebooks are sold.

Leave a comment with your email address for a chance to win a PDF copy of An Inheritance for the Birds.

Thank you all,

Linda

Linda Banche

Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!

http://www.lindabanche.com

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Who’d be plagued with a wife

That could set himself free

With a rope or a knife

Or a good stick like me

DIVORCE AND SEPARATION IN THE GEORGIAN AGE

Until the Divorce Reform Act of 1857, the only legal grounds upon which a divorce suit could be filed were adultery (generally by the wife) or impotence on the part of the husband. In the prior case, a judgment of criminal conversation had to first be obtained and then the case would proceed to the Ecclesiastical courts for divortiom a mensa et thoro, or legal separation from bed and board but this prohibited remarriage. A complete severance of marital bonds could only be obtained by divortium a vinculo which required a third step, the complex and costly procedure of a private Act of Parliament. In sum, divorce was virtually impossible for the poorer members of society.

THE WIFE SALE

For the lower classes, desertion or elopement was a frequently employed alternative to divorce, whereby the wife was either forced out of the home, or the husband simply set up a new abode with his mistress. Another method was the wife sale. Commonly practiced from about the end of the 17th century, the custom of “Wife-selling” was a public ritual used by many to recognize the dissolution of a marriage amongst the classes for which a legal divorce was exceedingly cumbrous, prohibitively expensive, and completely impractical. It was also an inventive means of dealing with the end of marriage because it mixed punitive ritual and social regulation with public entertainment. The wife sale was described by a number of 18th and 19th century newspapers as incorporating the symbolism of a livestock auction with the woman being led to the marketplace in a halter followed by a public declaration by the husband.

The Laws Respecting Women, As They Regard Their Natural Rights (1777) observed that:

“for the poor, wife selling was viewed as a method of dissolving marriage when a husband and wife find themselves heartily tired of each other, and agree to part, if the man has a mind to authenticate the intended separation by making it a matter of public notoriety”.

Wife- Sale advertisement:

“To be sold for Five shillings, my wife, Jane Hebbard. She is stoutly built, stands firm on her posterns and is sound in wind and limb. She can sow and reap, hold a plough, and drive a team, and would answer any stout able man that can hold a tight rein, for she is damned hard-mouthed and headstrong; but if properly managed, would either lead or drive as tame as a rabbit. She now and then makes a false step. Her husband parts with her because she is too much for him. All her body clothes will be given with her”

Historical documents suggest certain requirement to be met for a wife-sale and “re-marriage” to be considered legitimate by the rural communities:

•             The woman had to wear a halter
•             The sale had to be a public event either at a market square or fair
•             The transaction had to have the semblance of an open auction
•             Some manner of payment was required in the exchange (often involving alcohol!)

An eye-witness to such an event in says:

“The man led a woman by a rope. “Come up,” he said, and the lady came up accordingly. She was encouraged to this promptly by the presence of a man behind her armed with a stick and prepared to support her husband’s action by appropriate arguments. The husband, it appears, was not unmindful of the well known precept that wives were more easily led than driven; but in case the one method failed he had provided for the enforcement of the other.”

For the husband, the sale released him from his marital duties, including any financial responsibility for his wife. For the purchaser, who was often the wife’s lover, the transaction freed him from the threat of a legal action for criminal conversation, a claim by the husband for restitution or damage to his property, in this case his wife.

Although some 19th-century wives objected, records of 18th-century women resisting their sales are non-existent. With no financial resources, and no skills on which to trade, for many women a sale was the only way out of an unhappy marriage. On occasion, the wife even insisted on the sale.

A wife sold in Wenlock Market for 2s. 6d. in 1830 was quite determined that the transaction should go ahead, despite her husband’s last-minute misgivings:

“‘e [the husband] turned shy, and tried to get out of the business, but Mattie mad’ un stick to it. ‘Er flipt her apern in ‘er gude man’s face, and said, ‘Let be yer rogue. I wull be sold. I wants a change’.”

Primary Reference:

HUMOUR, HALTERS AND HUMILIATION: WIFE-SALE AS THEATRE AND SELF-DIVORCE BY Rachel Anne Vaesen, B.A., Simon Fraser University, 2003

A while back I did a series of posts on this blog about the private lives of the King Georges, which also included the “un-George” Frederick, Prince of Wales , son of George II and father of George III who died before he could inherit the British throne.

As portrayed in my novel FORTUNE’S SON, Frederick was a great philanderer and had a number of mistresses. He was also a close friend of Charles Calvert, fifth Baron Baltimore and was godfather to Baltimore’s son and heir, also named Frederick.

Today I was reading about Frederick 6th Lord Baltimore (an even more infamous 18th century philanderer) and came across a portrait of him as a young man. I was immediately struck by how much he seems to resemble NOT his father, but Frederick Prince of Wales.

Frederick 6th Baron Baltimore is on the left and Prince Frederick as a young man on the right

Makes one wonder…

**ADDENDUM TO POST** 

 The entire salacious history of Frederick Calvert will be included in my upcoming novel THE DEVIL YOU KNOW by Victoria Vane

As an author of romantic fiction, I am often asked what inspires my stories. As a history geek and self-professed Georgian Junkie, my inspiration for not just the story as a whole but the settings, the people, and the events are derived almost exclusively from some obscure thing I read in a memoir, a history book, or an 18^th century play.

I love reading old plays, especially those bawdy restoration comedies that were largely reprised or “borrowed from” in the Georgian period. As art imitates life, the stage is where we garner so much truth about the mindset of the people and the mores of a particular era. By example, I use the theatre setting in my novel, FORTUNE’S SON, to draw parallels between my heroine, Lady Susannah Messingham and the character of William Wycherley‘s Margery Pinchwife:

***Excerpt***

The play was Cibber’s revival of William Wycherley’s The Country Wife, a notoriously bawdy Restoration comedy, with Kitty Clive as Margery. It was a favorite production of the prince’s; he was well-known for his vulgar sense of humor. Act I had already begun with the young bride, Margery, just up from the country, conversing with her new sister-in-law, Alithea, as Margery’s jealous husband, Mr. Pinchwife, eavesdropped from behind the drawing-room door.

While the audience enjoyed the satire of the pretty young country girl married to the jealous and possessive older man, Lady Messingham’s mirth faded with the dour reflection that the scene played out much like her own life of the past ten years. Like Wycherley’s Margery, she had been a country bride, the property of a jealous and possessive husband, and ignorant of the ways of the sophisticated world. Unlike Margery, however, she had also spent the past months languishing by the sickbed of a dying man.

She had longed for a normal life, one so many others took for granted, but those days were now behind her. Free at last free of husbandly constraints, she was determined to live, yet the strictures of mourning made her new widowhood both blessing and curse. After six months of formal mourning, she was restless, yearning for the pleasures of town life so long denied her. Making an effort to throw off the melancholy thought, she drew her attention back to the stage. ***End Excerpt***

CLIP FROM WYCHERLEY’S THE COUNTRY WIFE with Helen Mirren as Margery Pinchwife:

 Plays have also inspired my entire storyline, as is the case with my new Victoria Vane release, A BREACH OF PROMISE. In this hot historical novella, I loosely model the relationship of my characters Lydia and Marcus after Leticia Hardy and Doricourt in Hannah Cowley‘s The Belle’s Stratagem. Similar to Cowley’s play, the premise of my story is an engagement contracted by the hero and heroine’s parents when they were very young. Also similar is that my hero and Cowley’s Doricourt have both been many years abroad and have taken their betrothal and betrothed completely for granted. Each returns to England with a diminished appreciation of their own countrywomen compared to the continental beauties.

Cowley’s Leticia is smitten by her erstwhile finance but dismayed by his apparent indifference to her charms and vows to “win his heart or never be his wife.” Her unusual stratagem to win him over is based on the belief that it is “easier to convert a sentiment into its opposite than to transform indifference into tender passion.” These circumstance and sentiments closely match those of my own heroine, Lydia Trent in A BREACH OF PROMISE.   ***Excerpt***

The elder woman patted her hand. “Then it’s no surprise you would feel as you do. But now you are here, Marcus shall soon make amends.”

“I’m afraid you misapprehend my purpose, Philomena. Though it pains me for your sake to say so, I no longer have any wish to marry Marcus. I have come to London only to request an end to our betrothal.”

“But my dear, you act in such haste!”

“Six years is hardly haste, ma’am,” Lydia remarked wryly.

“You should hear him out before coming to such an irrevocable decision. In truth, I take much blame upon myself for not prodding Marcus. Yet he was so single-minded to establish himself with the diplomatic service that I feared pressuring him to marry would only have caused resentment.”

“No doubt!” Lydia agreed. “He expressed as much the night of our engagement, but I was moonstruck. Marcus has never shown me more than polite indifference. I now realize that is not enough for me. In truth, I would almost rather he despised me than merely tolerated my existence.”

Lady Russell puckered her brow. “You would have a future husband despise you? How extraordinary!”

“Indeed, my lady! For antipathy is at least a form of passion! Even negative emotion can sometimes be turned around, but what can be done when no feeling exists at all? I will not wed a man only to live as indifferently as strangers.”

“My dear, given sufficient time…”

Lydia sighed. “For nearly six years I clung to that foolish hope but time appears to have only been my enemy. He truly doesn’t want me. He never did.”

“But my dear, you do not know men,” Lady Russell consoled. “They are undeniably obtuse. The daft creatures never know what they want until it’s placed under their very noses.” She smiled and clasped the young woman’s hand with a conspiratorial look. “You have now come to town, Lydia. Ergo, he will want you.”

“I fear it is not so simple as that. My feelings toward him are no longer engaged.”

“Is that truly so?” Lady Russell broke into a dubious smile. Although Lydia had spoken with conviction, she failed to meet the elder woman’s astute gaze. “Then my dear, it must be my son’s onus to re-engage them.”  ***End Excerpt***

But while determined to rebuff the arrogant and conceited Marcus at every turn, my heroine Lydia wages a battle royale only to discover she is defenseless against his counter-strategy of seduction.

Indeed, I was so enamored of Cowley’s play (it was a favorite of the Royal family who commanded it every season) that I used it again with my most recent hot historical novella, A WILD NIGHT’S BRIDE coming in late April from Breathless Press.  In this case, however, my heroine is an actress at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane who not only plays the part of Cowley’s notorious Kitty Willis on the stage, but actually adopts the persona of Kitty in her real life to help her obtain a powerful and influential protector.

While I have gained inspiration for my work from many historical sources, the Georgian stage will always be one of my very favorites. For those interested, here is a link to the Guardian’s review of a recent reprisal of  The Belle’s Stratagem http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2011/sep/11/the-belles-stratagem-review .

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Whether historical fiction or historical romance, self-professed Georgian junkie Emery Lee loves nothing more than crafting emotionally compelling stories that bring the past vividly to life. 

“Lee brings the atmosphere of the Georgian era to life with lush descriptions that beg the reader to see, hear, feel and touch it all….with a lively cast of characters and surprising twists and turns that are reminiscent of Fielding’s Tom Jones or Defoe’s Moll Flanders.”-RT BOOK REVIEWS

Her debut novel THE HIGHEST STAKES, is an epic tale of star-cross lovers set in the high stakes world of 18th century horse racing. In FORTUNE’S SON, Emery spins a web of drama, passion, and deceit, deep in the world of high stakes gaming. She is a member of the Historical Novel Society, Romance Writers of America, RWA, Georgia Romance Writers, and the group moderator for Goodreads Romantic Historical Fiction Lovers. http://authoremerylee.com  

She also writes hot historical romance as VICTORIA VANE  http://authorvictoriavane.com

A BREACH OF PROMISE, Ellora’s Cave

A WILD NIGHT’S BRIDE coming soon from Breathless Press 

“Reckless hearts, battling wits, and plenty of steam in a wonderfully well drawn Georgian setting.”- NYT Bestselling author Grace Burrowes 

LINK TO FULL POST AND BOOK GIVEAWAYS AT HISTORICAL HUSSIES: http://historicalhussies.blogspot.com/2012/01/guest-victoria-vane-when-art.html

ADRIAN TEAL’S GIN LANE GAZETTE

In around 1800, a horrible old lecher called the Duke of Queensbury was obsessed with prolonging his youth and virility. Somehow or other, he got the idea into his head that sleeping with veal chops on his cheeks (which he fed to his dogs in the morning) and taking lengthy milk baths would do the trick. He had large quantities of milk delivered to his London pad, and would wallow contentedly for hours on end. A rumour soon started doing the rounds that he was then selling the milk back to the supplier, so huge numbers of people in London stopped drinking the stuff.

Stories like this tickle my fancy immeasurably and, if they tickle yours too, I bring you glad tidings: I’m writing a whole book of them.
The crowd-funded publishing venture, Unbound, has attracted brilliant writers like Monty Python’s Terry Jones and comic novelist Tibor Fischer to their ranks, and they are now pitching my book proposal via their website. It’s a bawdy romp called The GIN LANE GAZETTE, and will be an illustrated compendium of scurrilous highlights from a fictional Georgian newspaper, dealing with true stories of scandal, intrigue and oddities; a kind of Georgian Heat magazine, if you like.
In addition to gossip columns about ill-behaved eighteenth-century celebs, there will be sports reports, book reviews, obituaries, advertisements for bizarre Georgian goods, services and entertainments, and a ‘courtesan of the month’ feature for reading under the bedclothes. It will have warmth, humour, authenticity, and riotous caricatures disporting themselves across every page.

If my pitch attracts enough pledges, it will be published, and those who subscribe will have their names listed in the back of the book, and can also enjoy many splendid Georgian-themed perks, which include having yourself caricatured as an eighteenth-century belle or buck, and a Georgian pub crawl. You can come to the launch party, and even have yourself drawn into the book, if you like.

VIDEO LINK ADRIAN TEAL TALKS ABOUT THE GIN LANE GAZETTE: ade_final.mp4

This was an age when alcoholic Prime Minsiters fought duels with political opponents, equestrian entertainers rode standing on their saddles while wearing a mask of bees, and quack doctors diagnosed their patients’ maladies by licking the soles of their feet. In undertaking this labour of love I have set out to give people a taste of the exuberance, self-confidence, debauchery, elegance, bravery, villainy, inventiveness and eccentricity which characterize this glorious period of our history, and I hope you will choose to come along for the ride.

SHARED FROM SHAKESPEARE’S ENGLAND BLOG:  http://www.shakespearesengland.com/2011/12/gin-lane-gazette.html

http://londonist.com/2011/12/get-the-gin-lane-gazette-printed.php?showpage=1#gallery-1

**THE ROMANCE REVIEWS TOP PICK**

**NIGHT OWL REVIEWS TOP PICK**

Rose of Normandy Tavern – 1739

To Philip’s surprise, Mr. Gogh detained him as he sought to leave. “A word with you, young sir?”

Philip became instantly defensive. “If there is question of my gamesmanship—”

“I assure you, it is nothing of the kind. I was asked to deliver this message.”

Philip opened the note written in a woman’s delicate hand:

My Bold Young Gallant,

Fear of footpads and cutthroats, has me desirous of your escort.

Lady M.

“Above my touch, did you say?” Philip handed George the note. “I trust you can find your way safely without me?”

“Indeed, and I daresay I’d be much safer without you this night,” George remarked, and then read the missive with a low whistle, adding a cautionary word, “Very interesting to have attracted such notice, but I warned you about her type.”

“Mayhap you are right, and she simply mocks me, but still, I am intrigued. In either case, I intend to satisfy my curiosity.”

“You might be assured of satisfying a great deal more than curiosity, should you choose to accompany me to Tom King’s, rather than dallying with trouble.”

“No doubt you’ll find enough trouble of your own at that pox-ridden hole-in-the-wall that disguises itself as a coffee house.”

“I hardly think your purse fat enough to become so nice in your tastes, Drake. Besides, if you so choose to involve yourself, mark my words, she’ll cost you more dearly in the end than the best whore in Covent Garden.”

Mr. Gogh cleared his throat in mild rebuke at the exchange, “The lady is outside in her carriage. A gentleman should never keep a lady waiting.”

Philip smiled. “I would rather say, a gentleman always awaits a lady’s pleasure.”

Her confidence was not misplaced in mere vanity. Susannah, Lady Messingham, was neither a young and simpering miss, nor yet a world-weary jade, but at eight-and-twenty was beauty ripened to its prime.

She waited outside the Rose of Normandy much longer than she would have expected. Surely, he would not refuse to come. She opened and then closed her painted fan with an exasperated huff. No man of her acquaintance would have passed up such a brazen invitation.

Of course, she told herself, she had cared only for his protection, the callow fool, but if he chose to dismiss her note… She shuddered to imagine his handsome young body bloodied and stripped naked. Stripped naked? Why should that vision have come to mind?

She had nearly decided to depart when the footman opened the door and the young man she had singled out at the hazard table sprang into the plush velvet interior of her coach. He seated himself lightly at her side and brought her hand to his lips with much exaggerated gallantry. “My lady, I present myself as your most obedient and humble servant.”

“Humble? I fear the young gentleman’s swaggering airs belie that particular attribute.” She laughed, a low, ironic chuckle. “Now then, pray give my coachman your direction.”

“My direction, my lady?”

“Why, to carry you home of course.” She could detect his flush even in the dimly lit coach. “Did I not say so very clearly in my missive?”

He tersely repeated her written words: “Fear of cutthroats and footpads has me desirous of your escort.”

“Indeed. I had the greatest fear of cutthroats and footpads when I imagined you departing unarmed from the gaming house.”

He bristled at her disdainful reply. “I shan’t stand for your ridicule, madam!”

“Pray do not take such umbrage, child,” she laughed. “How do you expect to slay such dragons as Mr. Knight with not so much as a dress sword?”

“I suspected you of mockery when I read your note. I almost didn’t act upon it.”

“Is that so, my young buck? Then precisely why did you act?”

He paused to consider the truth of it. Curiosity? Bewitchment? He answered quite differently. “I suspect it was a misplaced sense of gallantry, my Lady Disdain. But if not fear for your safety, why did you really send for me?”

“I have a proposition.”

An interesting choice of words. He found himself growing more intrigued by the minute. “This, ah, proposition, is why you invited me into your coach?”

She repeated his earlier unspoken words. “I was most curious, you see, almost bewitched. I was enthralled to know the secret of your dice.”

Philip shrugged. “There is no secret. Luck was simply on my side tonight.”

“I don’t believe you. Besides, you owe me a debt of gratitude, you know, after having saved your magical dice from Mr. Knight and his hammer.”

“You thought to have saved me?” His laugh was derisive. “I assure you, madam, the dice were fair. Mr. Knight may have split them to his heart’s delight, and I would have rattled any other set of bones in my box to the same result.”

“In truth? Then it is not the dice, but the box? How does it work?”

“It doesn’t, and devil carry me away should I introduce a lady to such vice.”

“Now don’t prose with me. I have seen thee in thy glory at hazard, young Philip.” She moved in closer now, her breasts nearly in contact with his chest, providing him a gratuitous view of her décolleté.

His nostrils flared unconsciously in response to her proximity and her scent. Aqua Admirabilis—he recognized the essence. This heady fusion of bergamot and womanly musk threatened to overwhelm his senses.

She took firm grasp of his lapel with one hand, and while her warm breath fanned his ear in a seductive whisper, the other snaked slowly down his chest. “Teach me your trick, Philip, and mayhap I’ll reciprocate with a lesson of my own.”

Philip swallowed hard, fighting the incipient stirrings of arousal.

Roaming freely, her fingers continued a steady exploratory descent.

He closed his eyes, his body rife with anticipation, but that’s where it ended, as her hand darted into his pocket and snatched out the dice box.

“She-devil!” Philip cried an imprecation of disappointment and growing frustration.

She turned away with a triumphant chortle, holding the box just out of his reach. “Now I have taken your magical box and shan’t return it until you reveal its secrets.”

Philip glowered, considering how to turn the tables to his advantage. “If that is your pleasure, my lady, I propose an exchange.”

“Exchange?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What kind of exchange?”

“I’ll reveal the trick of the dice when you reveal your face.”

“No. I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Why not? Are you disfigured?” he goaded.

“Of course not!” her vanity cried out. “I only wish to remain incognito until I am assured I can trust you.”

“Why should you have such a need for anonymity?” he asked.

“I am a widow, and a ready target for gossipmongers.”

“You’ll simply have to trust that your secret is safe with me.”

She paused, biting her lip in indecision, considering whether the dim light of the coach would keep her sufficiently in shadow if unmasked; but if he agreed to do her bidding, it would scarce matter. “Very well,” she decided and removed the domino.

Philip peered closely at her face. Her profile was well-defined in the dim light, even if her features were indistinct. The clean lines of her forehead, nose, and chin left no doubt she was as lovely as he had imagined. First, his good fortune at the tables, and now he was alone with Botticelli’s Venus herself. Surely, his guardian angel looked fondly on him this night! Now, if only he played his cards right…

She regarded him expectantly. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“All right. Give me your hand. You must master the proper technique.” His long, slender, fingers stroked her palm as he placed the cool, ivory cubes upon it.

“The technique?” she repeated blankly, acutely aware of his touch on her skin.

“The outcome of the dice, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, “But how can it be done?”

“Retaining one die, whilst dropping only the second into the box, ensures that only one of the two should tumble. Mastering the technique allows one to better manage the number of pips that turn up, thereby significantly reducing the odds.”

“So you are able to predict what will fall?”

“Not precisely. One can never know for a certainty what will turn up, but with skill, one may greatly increase the odds in one’s favor. The first trick, however, is to retain one die.”

He delicately placed one of the cubes between her thumb and index fingers, and then pressed the other between the joint of her thumb and palm. He took her hand in both of his and turned it over, instructing her to drop only the first into the dice box. Both dice fell.

“Oh!” she cried her dismay. “’Tis not near as simple as you make it appear.”

“Practice, dear lady, practice.” He took the dice back from her to demonstrate and repeated the gestures so fluidly, that she could barely follow the motions. He then cast the dice from the box onto the carriage seat, rolling up six and five.

“Thusly.” He waved his free hand with a flourish.

“I know what you did, but could barely follow it.”

“Precisely the point of this exercise. It is an art not easily mastered, and, if clumsily executed, it is practiced at one’s greatest peril. I dedicated my entire youth to the technique as assiduously as the most ardent scholar to his Ovid and Homer.”

“So, while your Eton schoolmates were reading the Greeks, you were studying to become one? A wicked confession indeed, that you so squandered a proper and genteel education.”

“Harrow,” he corrected with a frown. “I attended Harrow, at least until embarking on a more worldly education.”

“You left school for the Grand Tour?”

Philip laughed outright at the suggestion. “My Grand Tour was limited to the lower gaming hells of London, interspersed with spring and autumn forays to the racetracks. I was dismissed,” he explained, with more than a trace of bitterness.

“What would prompt the son of a peer to become an adventurer?”

“What would prompt me, madam?” His voice grew harsh. “I was induced by several most inconvenient necessities—sustenance and shelter, for example.”

“How can one of your tender years have grown so cynical?” His revelation tinged with hurt behind the cynicism mysteriously moved her. She instinctively reached for his face, but he caught her palm and grazed it as smoothly as any courtier.

She regarded him, bewildered, yet fascinated. One moment he was a wounded boy, and the next, he would play at seduction. The sensation of his warm lips, coupled with the intensity of his dark gaze, made her wonder vaguely if she might be losing the upper hand. The confines of the carriage seemed at once too close.

“You too, would be my lover? Others, greater than you, have vied to be my protector, and I would have none of them. And you? You can’t even have reached your majority.” She laughed to dismiss the notion, but wondered at her own discomfort at this burgeoning sense of intimacy.

“Let not my years belie my experience.”

“La! How you talk, as if I am some artless tavern maid!”

Philip flushed. “I have done with your scorn, my lady. If not for want of a lover, why did you ask me alone into your carriage?”

She paused, considering just how much to reveal. “Is it not evident? I wish to learn to master the cards and the dice.”

He surveyed her dress, her jewels, and the elegant carriage, with an arched brow. “Why the deuce would you want to do that?”

“For diversion of course—gaming is all the rage, and I am a woman of fashion, after all.”

“Have you considered the consequences if you lose? Many a great lady has compromised her virtue to pay a debt of honor to an inveterate rake.”

“La, child! As if I would be so careless with my virtue! Besides, you are going to teach me not to lose.”

“Why in damnation would I do that?”

She leaned into him, stirring him once more with a warm, moist, lingering kiss full on his mouth. “Because I asked you to.” – END EXCERPT  

“Lee brings the atmosphere of the Georgian era to life with lush descriptions that beg the reader to see, hear, feel and touch it all….with a lively cast of characters and surprising twists and turns that are reminiscent of Fielding’s Tom Jones or Defoe’s Moll Flanders.” -RT BOOK REVIEWS

A GUEST BLOG BY VICTORIA VANE

As an author of historical fiction it is my belief that to truly understand a given era one must study the popular culture of the times, and nowhere is the mindset of the people more clearly demonstrated than on the stage. It was while reading Hannah Cowley’s The Belle’s Stratagem, one of the most popular of late Georgian era plays, that I was inspired to write A BREACH OF PROMISE.

While The Belle’s Stratagem juxtaposes two different story lines, the essential theme concerns men learning to respect the women in their lives both before and after marriage. This theme of respect is closely mirrored in my  historical romance novella, A BREACH OF PROMISE.

Like Cowley’s play, the premise of my story is an engagement contracted by the hero and heroine’s parents when they were very young. Also similar is that my own hero, Marcus, like Cowley’s Doricourt, has been many years travelling abroad and has recently returned to England a handsome, fashionable, and much sought after bachelor, but one who has learned to appreciate continental beauty and manners far above those of his own countrywomen.

Cowley’s Leticia is smitten by her erstwhile finance but dismayed by his apparent indifference to her charms and vows to “win his heart or never be his wife.” The unusual stratagem employed to win him over is based on the belief that it is “easier to convert a sentiment into its opposite than to transform indifference into tender passion.” These circumstance and sentiments closely match those of my own heroine, Lydia Trent in A BREACH OF PROMISE.

EXCERPT  :

Lady Russell was aghast. “You mean to tell me you have not laid eyes on Marcus for six years?”

“Indeed so. He only came once after our betrothal to pay his respects to my father, although to be fair, they did maintain an ongoing, if somewhat sporadic correspondence. I have heard nothing more from him before these last few months.”

The elder woman patted her hand. “Then it’s no surprise you would feel as you do. But now you are here, Marcus shall soon make amends.”

“I’m afraid you misapprehend my purpose, Philomena. Though it pains me for your sake to say so, I no longer have any wish to marry Marcus. I have come to London only to request an end to our betrothal.”

“But my dear, you act in such haste!”

“Six years is hardly haste, ma’am,” Lydia remarked wryly.

“You should hear him out before coming to such an irrevocable decision. In truth, I take much blame upon myself for not prodding Marcus. Yet he was so single-minded to  establish himself with the diplomatic service that I feared pressuring him to marry would only have caused resentment.”

“No doubt!” Lydia agreed. “He expressed as much the night of our engagement, but I was moonstruck. Marcus has never shown me more than polite indifference. I now realize that is not enough for me. In truth, I would almost rather he despised me than  merely tolerated my existence.”

Lady Russell puckered her brow. “You would have a future husband despise you? How extraordinary!”

“Indeed, my lady! For antipathy is at least a form of passion! Even negative emotion can sometimes be turned around, but what can be done when no feeling exists at all? I will not wed a man only to live as indifferently as strangers.”

“My dear, given sufficient time…” Lydia sighed. “For nearly six years I clung to that foolish hope but time appears to have only been my enemy. He truly doesn’t want me. He never did.”

“But my dear, you do not know men,” Lady Russell consoled.

“They are undeniably obtuse. The daft creatures never know what they want until it’s placed under their very noses.” She smiled and clasped the young woman’s hand with a conspiratorial look. “You have now come to town, Lydia. Ergo, he will want you.”

“I fear it is not so simple as that. My feelings toward him are no longer engaged.”

“Is that truly so?” Lady Russell broke into a dubious smile. “Then my dear, it must be my son’s onus to re-engage them.”

http://www.romconinc.com/index.php?option=com_lyftenbloggie&view=entry&year=2011&month=12&day=29&id=1788%3Aa-breach-of-promise-by-victoria-vane&Itemid=5

THE HIGHEST STAKES e-book is on sale in all formats for $1.99 until January 8th. http://www.amazon.com/Highest-Stakes-country-fortune-ebook/dp/B003CTEFIY/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

(Press photos from THE GAMESTER produced by San Francisco American Conservatory Theater January 6 – February 6, 2005)

Written in 1705, The Gamester was 18^th century dramatist Susanna Centlivre’s first commercial success and one of the first plays in a genre now known as “reform comedies.” Gentle satire and physical humor used to teach a social lesson, such works also mirrored Hogarth’s moralistic engravings such as “The Rake’s Progress.”

Centlivre was the author of more than 16 plays and one of the most popular dramatists of her time. In terms of number of performances, her plays enjoyed longer runs than those of Dryden, Congreve, Cibber, and even the celebrated Sheridan. Her critical acclaim rested in breathing new life into stock characters and situations.

The Gamester’s title character, Valere, is mastered by money and chance, an arrangement by which social station could conceivably rise and fall as quickly–and randomly–as the roll of a gamester’s dice. The play focuses on the necessary reclamation of a young nobleman lost in the vice of gambling. Atypical is the comedic portrayal that everyone, heedless of rank, gender, or philosophical outlook, is affected in some manner by Valere’s addiction. Act I curtain opens with Hector, Valere’s valet, slumped in a chair, waking and yawning:

“Bless me! ‘Tis broad daylight; Who the Devil would serve a Gamester!’Tis a cursed life, this that I lead. O, my dear bed how seldom so I visit thee! When shall I be in the fold of thy embrace and snore forth my thanks? I, that could enjoy four-and –twenty hours together am grown a perfect stranger to thy charms. O. ,y precious master! Now, then to one will he come home with an empty pocket and then will he be confoundedly out of humour; Then shan’t I dare ask him for any dinner. Thus am I robbed of the two chiefest pleasures of my life, Eating and Sleeping.”

Valere’s father threatens disinheritance unless he reforms his profligate ways but after causing every other character to commit offenses against social station, manners, or morals, Valere is ultimately reformed by the virtuous Angelica who brings him back within the boundaries of good society by the use of witty repartee and cunning masquerade.

Dramatis Personae: 

Sir Thomas Valere       Father to Valere the Gamester

Convinced the young man is gambling away his inheritance, Valere's father confronts his son

Dorante                     Valere’s uncle, also in Love with Angelica

Valère finds a rival for Angelica in his uncle Dorante .

Young Valere              A Gentleman much in Love with Angelica

Valere greets Angelica as her disapproving guardian looks on.

Mr. Lovewell                   in Love with Lady Wealthy

Marquis of Hazard      A supposed French nobleman who woos Lady Wealthy

The Marquis's inept attempt to woo the widowed Lady Wealthy

Hector                         Valet to Valere

Valère and his selfless servant Hector hatch a plan to escape creditors.

Lady Wealthy             A van and coquettish widow, sister to Angelica

Angelica                      In Love with Valere

Convinced Valère will steal Lady Wealthy the Marquis challenges him to a duel.

Good morning, RU! Today, I’d like to welcome fellow Sourcebooks author Emery Lee to the classroom. I first met Emery, not through our mutual publisher, but through her fabulous Goodreads forum. Emery is here to talk about the many ways in which authors can connect with readers.  Emery, the class is yours!

You are brimming with hope, joy and anticipation. Your beautiful shiny new novel, the work of your blood (if you count paper cuts), sweat, and tears is about to launch  – into the vast sea of a gazillion other beautiful shiny new novels – many by authors far better known, with many more books under their belts.

The image is both daunting and dismaying. With thousands of authors and tens of thousands of books being released each year, the good news is that the popularity of romantic fiction continues to grow. An estimated 74.8 million people read at least one romance novel per year according to a 2008 RWA Reader Survey. Furthermore, projected romance sales are estimated to exceed $1.3 billion this year. But with over 8,000 traditionally published romance titles released last year, in addition to the recent glut of self-pubbed books, how can we “newbies” avoid drowning in this tsunami?

We all know (or certainly should by now) the importance of social media in book promotion. Yet, if we take only a brief time to observe, we find that everyone is shouting and no one is really listening. Facebook and Twitter are barraged with messages: “I have a new release. Buy my book. Giveaway on my blog. Look at the great reviews.”  We all do it. We have little choice. But how effective is this? For a debut author, not very. Most readers have learned to tune it all out and continue to gravitate to those authors they already know and love. So what’s a new or emerging author to do?

I believe it all begins with a bit of self-examination. As writers we each have a unique voice and style, and our own stories to tell. We all offer a certain “brand” of romance. So ask yourself these questions:  Who am I as a writer? What makes me unique or sets me apart? Who are the authors most like me?

The next questions involve your potential readers: Who is my target audience? Who are their readers? Lastly, and most importantly – WHERE are those readers and how can I engage them?

As a debut author whose work straddles two genres (historical fiction and historical romance) and does not fit neatly into either category, the question of “branding” and finding readership was very difficult. Knowing this, prior to the release of my second book, FORTUNE’S SON, I set out on a deliberate course to find and engage potential readers. In the process I discovered a niche between historical romance and historical fiction that is filled by some wonderful authors, authors who write the kind of books I most love to read, and the ones I want to write.  Thus, eighteen months ago Romantic Historical Fiction Lovers was born, a group that began with a handful of members comprised of authors and readers I sought out for our common interests in books combining real history with romance.

Beginning as an endeavor to simply compile a great reading list of romantic historical fiction titles, the group has expanded into a discussion forum for over 800 avid readers, book bloggers and authors.  In addition to our original Goodreads site, we now have a very active Facebook group with over 200 members, as well as a weekly news digest, and a monthly book club featuring live author chats. It has become a thriving little community and tons of fun with lively interaction between authors and readers. For me, the answer was not costly and mostly ineffective advertising (Having spent a huge percentage of my first advance, I speak from experience!) but in relationship building.

Mohammed must go to the mountain folks! Go to the watering hole if you write westerns or to the water cooler if you write contemporaries. There are myriad opportunities if we only look for them.  Target a couple of discussion forums and groups and become an active presence there. No one will be interested if you simply introduce yourself, your book, and leave. In truth, many group moderators are insulted by this kind of author behavior. As authors we all love books. Talk about them! The genres we love, the types of heroes and heroines we adore, the era’s we most enjoy, our personal favorite DIK books. My advice to others just starting out is to engage the readers on a personal level and in time, you will find your own niche and your own following.

Statistics courtesy of RWA:http://www.rwa.org/cs/the_romance_genre/romance_literature_statistics***

LINK TO ORIGINAL POST:  http://romanceuniversity.org/2011/12/12/creative-ways-to-find-your-readership-by-emery-lee/