Category: Bluestocking Belles Page 48 of 51

A not so casual stroll in the park

On July 30, 2016

image for Cassandra

Mrs. Cassandra Vaughn adjusted her wrap about her shoulders and peered ahead on the path of the tree-lined park. Was it only just yesterday that her lover, Neville Quinn, Earl of Drayton, had ended their association? It seemed he had wasted no time and was in a hurry to find her replacement. She watched the couple ahead of her continue their casual stroll. If her eyes did not mistake her, Cassandra’s rival for Drayton’s attention was none other than Lady Gwendolyn Sandhurst, sister to the Duke of Ashbury and his younger brother Lord Brandon Worthington. Drayton would be treading dangerous waters if he were to trifle with a married woman. If the woman’s husband did not call him out, her brothers certainly would!

583px-Thomas_Gainsborough_-_The_Mall_in_St._James's_Park_-_Google_Art_Project

“Why are we walking when there is a perfectly fine carriage waiting for us to ride in?” Mrs. Patience Moore complained bitterly.

Cassandra strained her neck to peer at the bend in the trail up ahead, wishing the trees out of her line of sight so she could see what Drayton was up to. Another tug on her sleeve brought her attention back to her companion. Patience Moore had no patience whatsoever, but had been a dear friend when she had most needed one after she lost her husband. That they were both on the lookout for their next benefactor was reason enough for a walk in the park where they could check out any new prospects. A widow down on her luck sometimes resorted to unpleasant and difficult situations beyond those she had been raised to.

“I needed to stretch my legs. The walk will do us good,” Cassandra finally answered but sighed in frustration when Patience went to a nearby tree to remove a pebble from her shoe. Now she had lost sight of the man. She must be losing her mind. Why in the world was she following him in the first place?

“Honestly, Cassandra, I did not mean for my feet to suffer such abuse today. These shoes were not made for traipsing about in the woods, dear.” Patience adjusted her bonnet, linked her arm through Cassandra’s, and urged her onward. “If we must continue, let us be quick about it so we can get back to your driver and enjoy our outing from the comfort of a padded seat.”

The Thread of Love without watermark As they rounded the bend that had obstructed her view of Drayton’s whereabouts, Cassandra skidded to a very unladylike halt and pushed Patience behind a tree. Her eyes narrowed with jealousy, although why such an emotion seemed to be plaguing her she could not say. They had made no commitment to one another nor expressed words of love. Their relationship had been a convenience for them both. Why, then, did Cassandra’s heart feel as though it were being stabbed with a knife when she observed Drayton carrying Lady Sandhurst in his arms before depositing her on a park bench?

“Is that not─” Patience began.

“Yes.”

“Are you not still with him?”

“Not as of yesterday.” Cassandra’s reply was so quiet the sound was almost lost on the wind. “I have seen enough. Shall we return to the carriage?” She could not keep herself from one last glance at Neville. She should have refrained, since her heart lurched yet again when he once more picked up the lady.

Not caring whether or not Patience followed her, Cassandra hastily cut through the trees to reach the main walkway of the park. Looking for her driver, she saw none other than Lord Brandon Worthington driving his own rig, as if she conjured him up . He slowed the team of horses as he came nearer and gave her a brilliant smile. An encouraging sign if Cassandra ever saw one. Perhaps the day had not been such a waste after all. He had just pulled the carriage to a halt and tipped his hat when she heard Lord Brandon’s name being called. With a hasty apology, he flicked the reins and Cassandra watched as Drayton deposited the gentleman’s sister inside the rig. They were gone before she had even had a chance to catch her breath.

She was occupied with thoughts of Lord Brandon being the next handsome gentleman to warm her bed, when her driver came abreast of them. After accepting assistance from her footman, she rearranged her dress and she relaxed in her carriage. As the team began to move, she groaned aloud. There on the walk was none other than Samuel Clemmons, editor of that nasty Teatime Tattler gossip rag, scribbling away on a note pad. She wondered for the remainder of the night what page she would find her name upon come the following day.

_DSF0006 This is an original piece with characters from Sherry Ewing’s work in progress, Nothing But Time. Sherry picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical & time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. Always wanting to write a novel but busy raising her children, she finally took the plunge in 2008 and wrote her first Regency. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Beau Monde & the Bluestocking Belles. Sherry is currently working on her next novel and when not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry’s work here on her page with the Bluestocking Belles or on the following social media outlets:

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A shocking experience at St George’s

By Bluestocking Belles

On July 23, 2016

In Jude Knight, Teatime Tattler

1e783f2b96b2e344ec2dbe8b51346b36 Honoured Sir

The wedding between Miss Caroline Thrushnet and Mr Lewis Colbrooke, which you sent this correspondent to report on for The Teatime Tattler proved to be rather more exciting than expected.

When your humble servant arrived, the groom waited in St George’s. Fashionably dressed and spectacularly handsome, he looked every inch the picture of maiden’s dream.

Many would say Miss Thrushnet was to be envied. She was to marry wealth, good looks, and even a title, after the wheels of the law completed their grinding and declared his missing cousin dead and Mr Colbrooke the Earl of Fenchurch.

Appearances can be deceptive, however. Mr Colbrooke has a dark reputation, and this correspondent has heard a number of stories that no wise paper would print while the gentleman is alive to exact retribution.

Suffice it to say that his predilections and vices make him no match for an innocent lady. And it appeared to all in the church that Miss Thrushnet agreed, for when she arrived, not a minute past the appointed hour, she was as white as the lilies she carried, and as grave as if she attended her own funeral rather than what some have called the happiest day of a woman’s life.

She took her place beside the groom, who took her hand, and not gently. He spoke out boldly, loudly enough that those in the front of the small crowd of attendees could hear him, urging the Reverend Chilhurst not to waste time, but to splice him to the damned chit, as he had other business to transact that afternoon and a wife’s maidenhead to breach before he could attend to it.

Miss Thrushnet could get no paler, but she grayed at those words, Sir. She grayed. But when the Reverend gentleman expressed horror at Mr Colbrooke’s coarseness and counselled Miss Thrushnet not to proceed, she said, so quietly that her voice could barely be heard, “I have no choice. Do it quickly, please.”

Whether that plea was to the Reverend or to Mr Colbrooke, who can tell?

And so the wedding began, and proceeded without a hitch until the Reverend spoke to the congregation, almost, it seemed, begged the congregation. “If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.”

He fell silent and waited. Mr Colbrooke cursed him with foul words, calling on him to proceed, but Miss Thrushnet turned to the crowd, and if ever eyes pleaded, hers did.

Honoured Sir, her pleas were answered.

The door to the church crashed back, and a large angry man shouldered his way past the ushers, shouting, “Stop the wedding!”

He wore the clothing of a gentleman, but beat those who would have prevented his progress with a walking stick carved in barbaric flourishes. One side of his face was almost a twin to that of the groom, but hard where Mr Colbrooke’s had softened with riotous living. The other was carved as ornately as his stick, in whorls and dots of black ink etched into his skin. He was half English, half savage, and wholly furious. Nothing and no one stood between him and the wedding party; or at least not for long.

A soft sigh turned our attention back to the unhappy couple. The bride had fainted, and who can wonder.

Lest you and your readers be bored with the long and loud discussion that ensued, suffice it to say that Magnus Colbrooke, the lost Earl of Fenchurch, had returned to claim Miss Thrushnet to whom, he said, he had been betrothed before he left for the other ends of the earth.

You will not be surprised that Mr Colbrooke refused to recognise him. But Miss Thrushnet, when she recovered consciousness, said that she had known him immediately, and as witness to that fact would marry him this very day, if the Reverend would conduct the ceremony.

He would not. The name on the license must be changed. But if Miss Thrushnet and Fenchurch are not husband and wife before the week is out, it will not be for want of action on the part of the earl.

Meanwhile, Mr Colbrooke left in a rage. This correspondent ventures to suggest that his cousin refrains from going out on a dark night unaccompanied, although if ever a gentleman looks as if he can take care of himself against criminals and bully boys, the returned Earl of Fenchurch is that man.

Where will it end, Honoured Sir? This correspondent will watch with great interest, of that you can be sure.

This vignette precedes the events in Magnus and the Christmas Angel by six months. Magnus and the Christmas Angel is a short story that tells about the final reconciliation of Magnus and his wife, after months of misunderstanding.

Jude Knight is giving away Magnus and other stories to new subscribers to her newsletter (four of which are only available by gift from Jude). Jude’s newsletter goes out several times a year, and with news about new releases and other writing related events and activities. And Jude always includes a link to short stories, collections of character interviews, or other ebooks that are not available to the general public.

To subscribe, go to http://judeknightauthor.com and fill out the subscriber box in the right margin.

You can read more about Jude Knight and her books on her website, or on her author page here on the Belles site.

Biscuits and Tea with a Side of Questions

By Aunt Augusta

On July 9, 2016

In Nicole Zoltack, Regency (19th century Britain), Teatime Tattler

b5d29f087f038a11e7949613308a1f1a Sage gathered some biscuit and tea for the guests. Using her shoulder, she nudged the door open. She smiled at her lady, the strange but kind Katia who did not seem to quite belong to this day and time.

Trying not to be overly intrusive, she couldn’t help but listen to the conversation her lady and her friends were having.

Lady Theodosia pointed to the page. “As always, Aunt Augusta has wonderful advice. Love can be hard sometimes, but if it is meant to be, it will find a way.”

Lady Anna smiled. “And have you found love?”

Lady Theodosia brought her cup to her mouth, but Sage spied her now-pink cheeks.

“Does anyone have a guess as to who Aunt Augusta is?” Katia asked. She murmured her appreciation to Sage for the tea.

Sage was curious herself. Katia had been teaching her how to read, and Sage enjoyed reading the column herself. As to who was the one dispensing the advice, Sage had no idea.

Neither, as it turned out, did any of the ladies gathered.

“She has to be old,” Miss Eliza put forth. “She seems rather knowledge.”

“Yes. And someone who must have experienced a great love,” Lady Vanessa said with a faraway look in her eyes.

“Why else would she be such a proponent for love? I do agree.” Lady Theodosia nodded and helped herself to a biscuit.

“Married then,” Katia said.

“Or else a widow,” Sage commented without thinking.

“True,” Katia mused, as always seemingly unmindful of today’s customs. Sage knew she shouldn’t have spoken; Katia never cared. “Although that is a tragic thought, so hopefully she is still with her love.”

For a time, the ladies conversed and even ventured names, but not one of them could figure out the mystery. Perhaps one day it would be resolved, but until then…

Sage brought forth some parchment and quills and had to smile when she saw each lady surreptitiously fetch one. I wager that Aunt Augusta will be getting a letter from each soon enough.

Will I ever have cause to send one myself?

~~~

Sage and Katia are from The Test of Time, Lady Theodosia from Masked Love, Lady Vanessa from Love Before Honor, and Miss Eliza from Joy to the World. Lady Anna will have her story told in Christmas Kisses, which will be included in this year’s Bluestocking Belles’ boxed set.

Thetestoftimesmall Katia jumps at the chance to go to England with her best friend after Rose ditches her deadbeat boyfriend. While walking through the market, she spies a large mansion and recognizes the guy out front as her high school friend Tony. Just as they start to reconnect, Katia passes through times and lands in the arms of Lord Landon, who looks like Tony but certainly doesn’t act like him.

Soon, Katia learns that this 1815 is different from the one in history books. Trapped in a parallel world, Katia struggles to not fall for Landon but his charm proves too much for her. Just when she is about to confess her love for him, Katia travels through time yet again.

The course of love never did run smooth and if Katia can’t figure out and master the test of time, she’ll never see her friends again, or worse, never be reunited with Landon.

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Nicole is one of the Belles. You can learn more about her here.

Please send money…and Montmartre soup

By Aunt Augusta

On July 4, 2016

In Bluestocking Belles, Jessica Cale, Teatime Tattler

A letter was recently discovered in the ditch outside His Majesty’s bedchamber. It is said King Louis’ interest in his subjects extends to reading their missives before they are delivered. Given the insalubrious place it was found, one can only assume he did not approve of its contents…

Francoise_Marie_de_Bourbon_par_Caminade_Alexandre-François Dearest Sister,

I’ve run out of money again. I lost ten thousand écus on bassett last night. I know you disapprove of gaming, but His radiant Majesty does not permit us to sit unless we are playing. I was attending Ysabeau, and quite suddenly I suffered a pain to my back so terrible I thought for a moment someone had done me in! I simply had to sit, and once I did, I was quite relieved. Perhaps it was the silver threads in my newest gown. It’s heavy enough to wear into battle, and that may be just as well. One cannot be too careful surrounded by so many rivals.

Could I prevail upon you to send me a little more to get by until I receive the estate? Belchamps lingers, the stubborn old goat, and inheritance powder isn’t cheap, you know. Ysabeau insists on the smallest of doses so as to avoid detection, but as diverting as it is to watch him suffer, I’d prefer to smother him and be done with it. My Chevalier is aware Belchamps is ill, but he does not know his affliction is yours truly. I daresay he would not approve—my sweet, innocent love! Perhaps ever so slightly less innocent as of late.

I would not need much, perhaps another thirty-thousand? I am confident I could recover my losses. I’ve a talent for cards, as you may remember. I will repay you by Christmas, and treat you to half a dozen new gowns, as well. The estate is not insignificant, and once I have his wretched daughter safely confined to a convent, it will all belong to me, and I will be in a better position to contest the possession of St. Croix. Archambault, that insufferable blackamoor, has further disgraced himself by bringing an Englishman into our midst, a certain Jack Sharpe of Southwark, wherever that is.

It is said this Sharpe is related to an earl, but it is plain he is common as dirt. His every thought shows on his face as he fights the King for Cendrillon’s favour—bon chance, cher!—and disdains the rest of us for only the Lord-knows-what. He has no lover nor true patron, and I am convinced he thinks himself above court politics. Ha! Just this week, I saw him enter the chapel with a button in his cuff undone, and he neglected to remove his hat when Marie-Celeste sneezed. Poor, misguided youth.

As for the much celebrated Cendrillon, she will be fortunate to survive the week. His Majesty gifted her with a pair of coveted red-heeled slippers for the tableau tomorrow, and Ysabeau is furious. She is convinced everything the girl has done since her arrival has been part of a great plot against her, but between you and I, Louise, I do not believe Cendrillon is deceptive enough to play so deep a game. Ysabeau is at once my dearest friend and greatest enemy, and is prone to fits of paranoia and insanity. If the King discovers half of what she has done, she will beat Belchamps’ daughter to the convent.

I have enclosed a little love charm to aid you in capturing your neighbor’s affections. Wear it around your neck, but take care not to crack it open–it’s filled with blood and holy oil, and will stain your gown. I am assured its magic is very potent. If you find yourself in Montmartre soon, might I beg you send me more inheritance powder, or some of La Voisin’s infamous soup? I am impatient to be rid of Belchamps, and Ysabeau charges far too much for hers.

Give my love to the children.

Your Affectionate Sister,
Chloe

The Long Way Home
(The Southwark Saga, Book 3)
By Jessica Cale

A paranoid king, a poison plot, and hideous shoes…it’s not easy being Cinderella.

After saving the life of the glamorous Marquise de Harfleur, painfully shy barmaid Alice Henshawe is employed as the lady’s companion and whisked away to Versailles. There, she catches King Louis’ eye and quickly becomes a court favorite as the muse for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella. The palace appears to be heaven itself, but there is danger hidden beneath the façade and Alice soon finds herself thrust into a world of intrigue, murder, and Satanism at the heart of the French court.

Having left his apprenticeship to serve King Charles as a spy, Jack Sharpe is given a mission that may just kill him. In the midst of the Franco-Dutch war, he is to investigate rumors of a poison plot by posing as a courtier, but he has a mission of his own. His childhood friend Alice Henshawe is missing and he will stop at nothing to see her safe. When he finds her in the company of the very people he is meant to be investigating, Jack begins to wonder if the sweet girl he grew up with has a dark side.

When a careless lie finds them accidentally married, Alice and Jack must rely on one another to survive the intrigues of the court. As old affection gives way to new passion, suspicion lingers. Can they trust each other, or is the real danger closer than they suspect?

“Really brilliant writing that’s so engaging with such endearing characters! I especially love the way Jack and Alice are both so devoted to each other! I was totally absorbed in this exciting and fascinating world Jessica Cale created from the very first paragraph to the last! I read this all in one sitting, staying awake late to finish, just had to!” – Romazing Reader

Jessica Cale is the award-winning author of the historical romance series, The Southwark Saga. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in North Carolina.

Jessica is also a Bluestocking Belle. You can visit her page here.

Vanessa’s Dilemma

By Susana Ellis

On June 24, 2016

In Regency (19th century Britain), Susana Ellis, Teatime Tattler

April 1810, Piccadilly Street, London

“Vanessa! So this is where you’ve got to! Mama is beyond vexed with you for slipping away during my fitting!”

Hatchard’s Bookshop, Piccadilly Street

Vanessa’s head jerked back as she slammed the book shut with a definitive smack and gaped at her younger sister, whose pixie-like appearance was contradicted by the sharp tone of her voice.

“I’m so sorry. I only meant to find a new book. What time is it? Surely I haven’t been here more than ten minutes or so.”

Eugenia rolled her emerald green eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. “We’ve been searching for you more than half an hour. Mama had to reschedule your fitting since Madame LaFleur had another appointment.”

She dropped her arms and reached into her reticule for a handkerchief. “Really, Vanessa, I know it must be difficult for you to look forward to my wedding in view of the fact that you are my older sister, but can you not at least make the effort to avoid antagonizing our mother? You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. The entire house will be in an uproar and there will be no peace for anyone.”

She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, and Vanessa, overcome with contrition for her behavior and compassion for her sister, rose to embrace her, the book carefully laid on the bench.

“I am so sorry, Genie. I don’t mean to be so ungenerous. Of course I am delighted at the news of your betrothal. You and Reese are perfect for each other, and you deserve a magnificent wedding. Please forgive me for being so thoughtless! It’s just that—you and Mama were busy with the modiste and I thought I could just slip out for a moment to see if Hatchard’s had any new novels.” She swallowed. “The time got away from me.”

Eugenia stroked her hair gently. “I know this can’t be easy for you, my dear. Not after what happened in the past. I almost feel guilty for finding my own happiness so quickly and unexpectedly when you have had to endure so much.” She stepped back and grasped Vanessa’s shoulders, looking at her directly. “Wedding aside, it’s time for you to move ahead with your life. Find some worthwhile occupation… a charity, perhaps. Something to get you out of the house before Mother’s constant carping makes you fit for Bedlam.”

Vanessa wanted to argue that she was doing well enough without her sister’s advice, but the lie just wouldn’t fall off her tongue. Slinking off to her bedchamber at every opportune moment to bury herself in books and write bad poetry was not really much of a life. Especially not with having to endure her mother’s constant nagging about her appearance, her unmarried state, and her bluestocking tendencies. Eugenia and their mother’s obsessive devotion to her had made life at Sedgely House bearable; once Eugenia was whisked off to Hertfordshire with her gentleman-farmer husband, Mrs. Sedgely’s attention would be focused entirely on remaking her disappointing older daughter.

She leaned in and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You constantly amaze me, little sister. Just seventeen and not only are you about to become a bride, but you have the maturity and wisdom to offer your spinster sister some excellent advice. If I involve myself in some worthwhile charity, perhaps Mama will give up pestering me to find a husband.”

Eugenia threw back her head and laughed. “I assure you she will never give up that particular pleasure. But at least you will have the opportunity to escape the house and her badgering, and at the same time do some good for the unfortunate.” She chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “No doubt you will meet a great deal of interesting ladies—and gentlemen—and who knows what will happen from there?”

Vanessa grinned, aiming a playful swat at Eugenia’s upper arm. “You mustn’t hold your breath. No doubt any gentlemen involved in such schemes are stout, white-haired solicitors old enough to be my father.”

“But they may have eligible sons,” her sister suggested with a smile. “In any case, you will make the acquaintance of many worthy individuals that you might never have encountered in the ballrooms of the ton. People who value more in life than simply wealth and titles.”

“Mother will hate that. You know she has always aspired to have lofty connections.”

“My Reese is a squire’s son, a gentleman farmer. No title. No more than moderately well-to-do. Besides, she can’t but recall the mess that occurred with your betrothal to a baron’s son.” Seeing Vanessa’s face whiten, she grasped a hand and squeezed it. “Now don’t keep berating yourself over it, Vanessa. It was years ago, and it wasn’t your fault he ran off to Scotland with a milkmaid. You didn’t love each other. You agreed to the betrothal only to please Mama.”

Vanessa drew a deep, calming breath and smiled shakily. “True. I’m so glad that you were able to find and fight for your true love, Genie. Your Reese is a fortunate man to have won so wise a wife.”

Eugenia flushed. “Just between you and me, I haven’t the faintest idea how to be a wife. I shouldn’t want Reese to become disappointed with me.”

Vanessa shook her head. “That man loves you, Genie. I’m sure he worships every part of you, right down to your toenails.”

“My toenails?” Eugenia’s giggles reverberated through the shop, and the slender gentleman behind the counter sent them a stern look.

“Along with the other parts of you he hasn’t seen yet,” Vanessa continued. “He hasn’t, has he?”

Eugenia tilted her head as she reflected on it. “No, I don’t think so. Not my toenails, at any rate.” She bit her lip. “But seriously, Vanessa, I do have some concerns. Not about Reese, but about a childhood friend of his, the earl’s daughter from a neighboring estate. When we went to call upon her the other day, I could see that the news of our engagement was a devastating blow to her.”

“Ah yes, Lady Theresa Granville. She had her presentation the year before mine. I heard about her, but she’s been absent from the social scene since.”

“That’s because she’s completely fixated on farming, maybe even more so than Reese is. They’re constantly together talking about agricultural nonsense, and the truth is, I’ve done nothing more than arrange cut flowers from the garden. I could study farming every day and never have as much knowledge as she has in her little finger.”

“Ah, but Reese chose you. He’s had years to propose to her and chose not to do so. I’m quite sure he doesn’t expect you to turn into Lady Theresa.”

Eugenia smiled shakily. “I hope you’re right. I know he loves me. I just hope I can persuade Lady Theresa to accept me as Reese’s wife. Her friendship is important to him—to both of them, really—and I should really dislike to be the reason it came to an end.”

Vanessa squeezed her sister’s hand. “She’ll learn to love you, my dear. Everyone does, when they get to know you.”

The shop door opened noisily, and a scowling gentleman peered in.

“Excuse me, ladies, but is that your carriage holding up traffic in the street? The lady inside has been waving her umbrella out the window for quite some time.”

“Mama!”

Both girls stared at each other in horror before they raced to the door of the bookshop and shakily boarded the carriage, mumbling apologies that went unheard as Mrs. Sedgely railed at them relentlessly.

Vanessa leaned her head against the squabs and closed her eyes.

Genie is right. I need to take charge of my life. Now… how shall I go on from here?

About Treasuring Theresa

Theresa Cover Front 200x310 WEB Lady Theresa despises London society. What’s worse is that she has to attend the betrothal ball of the young man she expected to marry. To deflect all the pitiful glances from the other guests, she makes a play for the most striking gentleman there—who happens to be her Cousin Damian, who is everything she despises.

Damian, Lord Clinton sees a desperate young lady with no social graces, and it solidifies his opinion that country folk are beneath him. But it so happens that he is the heir to that young lady’s father’s title and estate, and the time comes when he finds himself obliged to spend some time there.

Thrown together, both Damian and Theresa discover each other’s hidden depths. But are their differences too much to overcome to make a successful match?

Treasuring Theresa is Book 1 of The Hertfordshire Hoydens series. Originally published in the Blush Cotillion line at Ellora’s Cave, Treasuring Theresa has been re-released with a brand new cover by the fabulous Mari Christie. Book 2, Cherishing Charlotte, will be coming in the autumn, and Book 3, Valuing Vanessa, will appear in the Bluestocking Belles’ next holiday anthology.

Treasuring Theresa was a finalist in the 2013 EPIC Awards.

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About the Author

Susana has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar. Voracious reading led to a passion for writing, and her fascination with romance and people of the past landed her firmly in the field of historical romance.

A teacher in her former life, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and central Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA and Maumee Valley Romance Inc.

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