Category: Teatime Tattler Page 149 of 154

Please send money…and Montmartre soup

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.

Yet More Shocking Behaviour from London’s Most Scandalous Libertine…

By Guest author

On June 29, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler, Uncategorized

Special to the Teatime Tattler~

Like many of you, I have followed the outrageous shenanigans of Mr Ross Jameson over the last few years with growing concern. It beggars belief how a man with such low-born and repellent connections has wheedled his way into society and I fear for all of our futures if this is a sign of things to come. Surely other see what his crass behaviour clearly implies?

Jameson, as we all know, is little more than an upstart from the slums, the son of a tavern wench and a notorious forger. By his own admission, he hauled cargo at the filthy London docks and probably still consorts with the sort of criminals who thrive there. How is it possible that such a man is welcomed into the homes of the great and the good? I was scandalized when his application to join White’s Gentleman’s Club was approved, although if every terrible story we hear about the man is to be believed, I daresay the other members feared his dreadful retribution if they refused him entry.

It is well known that he ruins other men. Why, only last year he charmed the unwitting Earl of Runcorn into partaking in an innocent card game, then manipulated the poor fellow into wagering the deeds of his own house. Poor Runcorn never stood a chance against the vile trickster and lost it all. Unsurprisingly, in his shock and grief, the unfortunate earl blew his own brains out immediately afterwards in the lobby of White’s!

Since then, other horrors have come to light. Every week there is a new story about Jameson in the gossip columns. Sordid tales of gambling, debauchery, the cuckolding unsuspecting husbands, confidence tricks and worse. Have you heard about what happened with not one, but TWO! Opera dancers at Convent Garden? Suffice to say, the exact particulars are too outrageous even for this publication, but it involved the shameless seduction of BOTH women at the same time!

There is even talk that he sold his own criminal father down the river in order to claim the reward from the authorities! Whilst I do not now, and never could, condone forgery as a profession, what sort of man betrays his own kin for financial reward?

And to make matters worse, Jameson does not show any remorse for having the blood of at least two men on his hands. He swans around town as if he has a divine right to mix with his betters. I am now reliably informed he intends to live in the beautiful country house he swindled from the deceased Earl of Runcorn, where, no doubt, he will quickly turn my beloved Barchester Hall into a brothel or gaming hell, or some other scandalous den of inequity. We cannot allow this travesty to happen! He must be stopped before he ruins more lives.

He might dress and sound like a respectable gentleman, but mark my words, one day that despicable rogue will hang from the gibbet! And I will happily swing on his legs!

Kind regards

Lady H___

About That Despicable Rogue

A lady’s mission of revenge…

Lady Hannah Steers has three reasons to loathe and despise Ross Jameson. He’s a scandalous libertine, he stole her home and he was responsible for the death of her brother!

Determined to expose Ross for the rogue he is, Hannah dons a disguise and infiltrates his home as his new housekeeper. Unfortunately, this scoundrel proves himself to be the epitome of temptation and, instead of building a case against him, Hannah finds herself in a position she never expected…falling head over heels in love with him.

~Excerpt~

Hannah schooled her features into a neutral mask to cover her disgust at being with him. She had heard Jameson was a shocking libertine, but she had not expected to be confronted with such overwhelming evidence of his debauchery straight away. The sight of the rumpled bedclothes and the overpainted woman wantonly sprawled across them, skirts raised suggestively to her knees, had been bad enough- but then her eyes had encountered their first sight of Ross Jameson, and that had been frankly outrageous.

He was a huge bear of a man- showing far more exposed skin than a gentleman would deem proper. Of course, a gentleman would not have the body of a farm labourer either. Jameson was solid and muscled-a sure sign of his coarse upbringing. Men of class were more willowy and less… sturdy. He probably looked ridiculous stuffed into a tailored coat. She supposed the less discerning women would describe his tousled black hair and twinkling green eyes as handsome, but he used those good looks to his advantage.

He appeared to Hannah exactly what he was- a charming, dangerous and duplicitous rogue. She certainly would not trust him as far as she could throw him- which, she conceded, was not likely to be very far…

About the Author

Virginia Heath lives on the outskirts of London with her understanding husband and two, less understanding, teenagers. After spending years teaching history, she decided to follow her dream of writing for Harlequin. Now she spends her days happily writing regency romances, creating heroes that she falls in love with and heroines who inspire her. When she isn’t doing that, Virginia likes to travel to far off places, shop for things that she doesn’t need or read romances written by other people.

Amazon link: http://amzn.to/2431qYN

Website: http://www.virginiaheathromance.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/VirginiaHeath_

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/virginiaheathauthor

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.

Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Kobo • iBooks

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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A brigade of brides? Whatever next!

By Guest author

On June 21, 2016

In Guest author, Teatime Tattler

AnsonTxPostOfficeMuralCowboyDanceDancers409BG Lorraine Stuart reporting from Tarnation, Texas direct to Mr. Clemens at the Teatime Tattler:

Your correspondent was fortunate to attend a festive evening at the luxurious home of Mrs. L. Harrison, young widow of famed United States Army soldier Col. William Harrison. As one might expect at this ball, ladies presented a rainbow of lovely gowns.

Foremost was Mrs. Harrison herself, who led fashion in a lavender silk gown trimmed in white Valencia lace. Mrs. V. H., wife of J.H., looked lovely in mauve gros grain accented by white point lace. Newcomer C. B. wore blue poult de soie trimmed in darker blue embroidery.

After twirling across the floor in the slightly scandalous waltz, Miss O. S. was seen strolling to the balcony in the company of E. K. for a secluded tête–à–tête. Do we hear wedding bells? Miss J. N. danced repeatedly with M. B. and love’s light also danced in her eyes—in spite of her vow not to wed. Was there a spat between Miss R. R. and Z. E? Your correspondent was not privileged to hear the words spoken, but there appears to be trouble on the horizon for this couple. Mr. G. P. took an unfortunate tumble to his knees and sat out the remainder of the ball.

Return next week, dear readers, when you correspondent will report on the opera house appearance of famed singer Geraldine Chitwood.

~~~~

The small, dusty town of Tarnation, Texas is suffering. There are no single women and young men are moving to more diversely populated towns. Lydia Harrison is a young widow who wants her town to prosper and grow. She travels back East to recruit suitable young women to come to Tarnation and live with her until they choose the man they wish to marry. To help, she holds receptions and dances where the seven young women can meet fifteen respectable men under properly chaperoned conditions. People in town have labeled these young women the Bride Brigade. Ophelia is a painfully shy, gentle woman who suffered severe beatings from her overbearing father before she escaped with the help of her friend, Josephine Nailor, also one of the seven women.

OPHELIA, Bride Brigade book 4:

Ophelia final L A painful past…

A desperate escape…

A hope for the future…

Ophelia Shipp wants safety, a home, a kind husband, and to raise a family. To achieve her goal, she travels halfway across the country to tiny Tarnation, Texas. What awaits her there must be better than what she left. She longs for a respectable man who will treasure his wife and never raise his hand to her.

Elias Kendrick had a difficult childhood but has overcome poverty and shame to build his empire in Tarnation. Now that he owns a successful saloon, the opera house, and his home, he is ready to marry and start a family. He’s vowed his children’s life will be different from his—if only he can find the right woman.

Two opposites attract—or are they? Ophelia and Elias must learn to overlook their superficial differences and work out their chance at lasting love.

Excerpt from Ophelia

Here is an excerpt from OPHELIA at the first reception for the men and women to mingle. After greeting the fifteen men in a receiving line, shy Ophelia has chosen a seat at the side to watch others:

Mr. Kendrick strolled toward her holding a cup and a plate filled with samples of Mrs. Murphy’s delicacies. “You look as if you could use punch and a snack.”

She fought for something clever to say, but nothing came. At least she managed a smile. “Thank you. I am thirsty after introducing myself so many times.”

He sat in the chair separated from hers by a small table. “Nice shindig, isn’t it?”

She admired his ability to appear so at ease. She took a sip of punch before answering, “I love watching and listening. Everyone appears so happy and excited.”

“What about you? Are you happy or excited?”

She couldn’t prevent a grin. “Both. Being in Mrs. Harrison’s home is so pleasant and the other women are very nice. This morning I woke up excited about this event.”

“Me, too.” He chuckled, sending light dancing in his brown eyes. “What brings you to Tarnation, Miss Shipp?”

“Same as the others I suppose. No point pretending otherwise, I want a kind husband, a secure home, and children. This appears to be a nice town even though it’s small. I notice there’s even an opera house.”

“That there is. I built the opera house only a year ago. The manager and I try for a variety of acts so that by the end of the season, everyone has enjoyed at least a couple of shows.”

She leaned forward, happy to know he was so fair-minded. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy them all. I’ve never been to a live performance.” Oops, she hadn’t intended to admit that.

He leaned back and his eyes widened. “Never? You mean except at school, of course.”

A blush’s heat seared her face. How embarrassing to admit she was a country bumpkin who had done nothing interesting in her entire life. “My father was very strict. I couldn’t appear in or attend school plays. Mr. Kozlov has invited me to the opera house performance in two weeks. I’m looking forward to the event.”

Was that disappointment she saw on his face? “You’ll enjoy Geraldine Chitwood. We were exceptionally fortunate to book her. Normally, she only plays larger towns more easily reached. Being without railway access places us at a disadvantage.”

She had to restrain herself from rubbing her rear. “Oh, my bones haven’t forgotten that stage ride.” She leaned toward him. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Kendrick. Besides owning the opera house, I mean.”

“I’m twenty-nine and never married.” He took a deep breath and averted his gaze before he spoke. “If you led such a quiet life that you weren’t allowed to attend plays, then you’ll no doubt look down on me because, as well as the opera house, I own the local saloon.”

She hoped she hid her surprise that Lydia had included a saloon owner in this group of “acceptable” men. What should she say?

Trying for the truth, she said, “I try never to pass judgment, Mr. Kendrick. I don’t approve of drunkenness but I know most men enjoy meeting with others and sharing a drink or game of cards.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Very broad-minded of you. Do you play cards, Miss Shipp?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t play anything. All I’ve ever done is work.”

~~~~~~~~

Caroline Clemmons is an Amazon bestselling and award winning author of American-set Victorian historical and contemporary western romances. A frequent speaker at conferences and seminars, she has taught workshops on characterization, point of view, and layering a novel.

Caroline and her husband live in the heart of Texas cowboy country with their menagerie of rescued pets. When she’s not indulging her passion for writing, Caroline enjoys time with family, reading, travel, antiquing, genealogy, and getting together with friends. Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Google+, Pinterest, and her books at her Amazon Author Page.

Subscribe to her newsletter here to receive a FREE novella of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE.

Caroline loves to hear from readers at caroline@carolineclemmons.com

The mystery of the hidden parchment

By Sherry Ewing

On June 18, 2016

In Sherry Ewing, Teatime Tattler

PD castle

Gentle Reader:

I am most pleased to share with you something that has come into my possession, although I will not divulge the source of such a rare find. Suffice it to say, this small treasure was found when a wall within a chamber at a certain castle caved in. Within the fallen rocks, several unusual items were found that surely could not have come from the medieval era. An odd writing instrument, made of a material that this editor has never seen before, accompanied a parchment containing the words of a lady who confirms my suspicions that she found herself in a time not her own. But I will let you be the judge of her origins as you read on.

Clemens

I’m losing my mind. There is no other reason for the delusion that is plaguing me. They tell me I hit my head upon my arrival at the beach and perhaps that can explain the migraine that has me hiding away in this room. Yet, it’s a room that isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen in my life, except between the pages of a book.

I feel as though someone is constantly watching me. These servants come and go in my room and yet, half the time, I close my eyes because I refuse to believe what I am seeing when they are open. The people here are oddly dressed in clothes that belong in a historical movie or a faire. Candles light the room, and I have yet to see anything electronic or even electrical. No television. No landline. No wires or sockets. No lights that would require power. My cellphone doesn’t get reception. Food arrives on platters with wine even for breakfast but I have no appetite for food. They advise me that I’ll be well soon and will return to my normal self, but there is nothing normal about where I am. I feel like I’ve stepped through the looking glass into the twelfth century.

There is a man called Fletcher who is the reason I hit my head when I tripped trying to escape him. He scares me, not only because of the almost sinister appearance of his clothes, but also because of how I feel whenever he enters the room. I swear I know the instant he’s about to enter. And with just one look at him from across the room, all the air gets sucked from my lungs in a rush of emotions. I don’t even want to think about those hypnotic amber eyes. I hate to admit it, but a person could drown staring into those eyes and do so gladly.

Yes…I am going crazy. I keep pinching myself to wake myself up but all I am achieving is a red arm. Clearly, I am wide-awake, but I continue to refuse to believe that I am somehow stuck in twelfth century England. How is it possible? I cannot, in a single step along a Californian beach, go back 900 years in time and to a completely different continent than the good American soil I remember.

pen My name is Jenna Sinclair. I am 25 years old living in San Francisco, California and I’m not in a medieval castle. I am writing this note so I can remember who I am, where I come from, and not become drawn into this hallucination that will rob me of the last shreds of sanity I possess. I’ll finish this note to myself on this crazy parchment before my damn pen runs out of ink and hide it between the rocks in the wall. I will return home to my mother and my best friend Amy. And most importantly, I will not, under any circumstances, fall in love with a handsome stranger who dresses as a knight of old and who might fulfill every romantic notion that has ever crossed my mind. Obviously I’m dreaming this whole dang nightmare.

Jenna Sinclair
San Francisco, California

TFMH 72dpi-1500x2000 Jenna Sinclair and Fletcher Monroe are characters in Sherry Ewing’s just released novel To Follow My Heart: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novel (Book Three).

Blurb:

Love is a leap. Sometimes you need to jump…

After a gut wrenching break up with her fiancé, Jenna Sinclair heads to the coast to do a little soul searching. To say everything is subject to change is putting it mildly. Her world is not only turned upside down, but pretty much torn asunder when she is pulled through a time gate on the beach beneath the Cliff House and transported more than eight hundred years into the past.

Fletcher Monroe, captain of the garrison knights at Berwyck Castle, has wasted too much time pining for a woman who will never be his. When he finally decides to move on with his life and focus on his duties, he is suddenly confronted with a woman who magically appears at his feet. This could either be the best thing that has ever happened to him or another cursed event in a string of many. He soon finds he is wildly attracted to her, but she’s scared to death of him ─ not a very encouraging beginning.

From the shores of California to twelfth century England and back again, Jenna and Fletcher must find a way to reconcile their two different worlds before Time forever tears them apart.

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_DSF0006 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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