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The Housekeeper’s Fears

From the diary of Beatrice Mellor, housekeeper at Blackheath Manor:

I worry about him, my boy.

He’s changed and I’m afraid I know the reason why.

ladyThomas James Worsley is the son of my late employer. So he’s not really my son — my husband and I were never so blessed, but nonetheless I nursed him.

I nursed him when he was as helpless as a babe returned to Blackheath after the war with Napoleon.

He was near death; the pneumonia had a strong hold on him. Each breath rattled through his lungs and I feared it would be his last.

I nursed him. I fed him when he was too weak to feed himself. I stayed with him night after night even when the doctor all but pronounced him dead.

I encouraged him when it seemed there was no hope. But I knew him. He was a fighter. Even when he got into scraps with his brothers, he would always been the last to yield. That fighting spirit helped him to live to another Christmas and then another.

I hadn’t realised he was blind at first, not when he was so ill and he spend more time in fever than not. And his leg! So many breaks in those bones and so many scars that he cannot straighten it for any length of time without pain…

My dear boy…

The way his brother treated him was shameful, but it’s not my place to question the Earl’s decision, mine is to do my duty and care for the people under my charge. And that is what brings me to this dilemma.

There’s a new addition to the household, a governess for the little misses.

Her name is Ella Montgomery and she knows.

She has seen Thomas and he seemed enraptured by her. I haven’t seen him this happy since the spring of 1815 – six years ago.

This can only end badly. I fear for him. His body has been broken, but what of his heart?

Nocturne-Cover-2400x1600ResizeAbout the Book

In her first posting as governess, Ella Montgomery discovers beautiful Blackheath Manor hides family secrets and suppressed passions. Mysterious piano music in the darkness of night draws Ella to the talented Thomas Worsley, the brother of her employer, the Earl of Renthorpe. Grievously wounded in the Napoleonic Wars, Thomas is held prisoner at Blackheath by more than his blindness and scars. Driven by bitter jealousy, the Earl has ensured Thomas is only a memory, his name etched on a marble memorial in the Bedfordshire village graveyard. Drawn together by their love of music, Ella and Thomas begin a clandestine affair, but how far will the Earl go to keep his family’s secret?

~Excerpt~

Ella crossed to the small window and looked out over the dales where she caught a glimpse of the village through the grove of trees and farmlands beyond, all wearing a blanket of snow.

Turning back to the room, Ella unpacked her precious few belongings. Before hanging them in the wardrobe, she laid her dresses on the bed to smooth them out – a winter Sunday dress of felt, the color of ripe raspberries, a forest green walking dress, and a Sunday dress for summer in soft buttery yellow linen, along with her slate grey day dress. The first three were all gifts from the Bishop’s wife. They were hand-me-downs, but still of the finest quality and not too out of fashion.

As she hung the dresses up, she reflected that Mrs. Stanton’s generosity had more than doubled her wardrobe. Before that she had owned only the grey day dress in addition to the black one she wore now.

Ella placed her most valued possession on the bed – her father’s Bible. She stroked the black leather cover, rubbed soft with age, and opened it. Inside were her father’s commentaries. Seeing his handwriting made her feel as though he were alive once more. Ella closed her eyes. The sharpness of his loss had barely lessened over the year.

She had never felt more miserable in her life.

The chimes from the grandfather clock echoed up the stairwell, registering the fourth hour of the afternoon. No one had yet brought the promised meal to her room – not that she was hungry, anyway.

She straightened her back, suddenly struck with the resolve to at least do something.

Although Mrs. Mellor had set a timetable, Ella was the girls’ governess, and therefore they were her responsibility. She would see them now and introduce herself before they were to be presented to their parents at bedtime.

Ella took a tentative step or two toward the staircase and looked up to the top floor. She could hear no sounds there. If she listened hard, she could hear maids downstairs preparing the dining table. Then she looked to the left and the right. If the school room was on this floor, perhaps the nursery was as well.

She knocked on several closed doors and received no response. The house was a jumble of passages and Ella soon found herself at the last door before a narrow stone spiral staircase. The sounds of kitchen activity below confirmed her belief these were the servants’ stairs.

She heard movement from behind the door – the scrape of a chair and a softly grunted curse. A moment’s indecision, then her hand was raised to knock on the door when Mrs. Mellor startled her for the second time today.

“Are you looking for something, Miss Montgomery?” she asked sharply.

Ella turned and found the woman’s expression as cold as the day outside.

“I’m seeking the nursery, Mrs. Mellor.”

“You won’t find it here.”

“Then if you would kindly direct me–”

“On the second floor. It is the room above yours. Use the main staircase, not the servants’. You do not want to give the wrong impression when you are new here.”

Mrs. Mellor extended her arms, drawing attention to a tray of food which Ella, so focused on Mrs. Mellor’s stern expression, had not noticed. The tray bore an elaborate silver savory dish warmed underneath by two small votive candles. Beside it was a platter of fresh fruit, a wedge of cheese and a sweetmeat dish filled with nuts.

“Oh,” said Ella, “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble on my account.”

The woman frowned a moment, then saw Ella’s gaze upon the tray and her look became glacial.

“This is not for you. I have more important duties than to be scullery maid to a governess. Get out of my way.”

Mrs. Mellor set the tray on a side table opposite the door on which Ella had been about to knock. With cheeks flushed red, Ella turned and hurried back down the passageway. Behind her as she fled, she heard a male voice answer Mrs. Mellor’s authoritative knock on the door.

Ella found the main stairs and started climbing, mentally berating herself. She had been here a scant two hours and gotten off on the wrong foot with one of the most important people in the house.

Her first post had not started well – and she had a horrible feeling it was not going to get any better.

Available from  Amazon  and   iBooks

Nocturne is a novella from Elizabeth Ellen Carter whose full-length titles include Warrior’s Surrender, Moonstone Obsession, and Moonstone Conspiracy.

Earl’s Ward Sets Fire to School

320px-Almeida_Júnior_-_Saudade_1899News about one’s children received from strangers is rarely good. The Countess of Chadbourn stared at the missive in her lap grateful her own children still resided in the nursery. Responsibility for her teen-aged brothers had become the very devil.

“Worry fixes nothing,” she reminded herself picking up the unopened letter and tapping it on her desk. She had, after all, expected this message as soon as she prevailed upon Mrs. Bosworthy to check on the boys. She had only met the woman once, but knew she lived near Wembley, had boys in the school, and would have access to local gossip.

Spy might be a more accurate term since Catherine begged the woman to be discrete and let neither the boys, nor their tutors, nor the house-masters know of her interest. Rather more discomforting was the fact that she had requested it be kept from her husband.

Within a year of her marriage her new husband, the earl, had insisted that Freddy and Randy go to school along with his nephew Charles, who was also their cousin. Catherine resisted for a year, insisting they needed time to adjust to the change in circumstances. The earl—Will— remembered school fondly and expected all three boys to do well. Within months first one and then all three wrote to complain about conditions. It was, her husband informed her, normal. “Don’t be overprotective,” he said. “Boys need to grow tough.”

A year later when the complaints stopped, he seemed to be proven correct. Freddy at least appeared to be thriving, and the boys showed no signs of problems for three terms, until the younger two moved to a different house. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew something was wrong. Randy had become more and more withdrawn. During the most recent holidays he looked downright ill. When asked he shrugged. He said the oddest thing. “It is just how things are done.” She tried talking to Will who gave her the most provoking superior look and said, “Women don’t understand these things.”

What was she to do? She turned to another mother, one who lived close enough to snoop. She flipped the wax seal from the missive with more force than strictly necessary, unfolded it, and gasped. She was out of her chair and down the hall in minutes.

“Will, Will! You must listen to me,” she insisted, flying into his study. “You have to read—“ She stopped. Will raised his head from his hands and faced her with a bleak expression. Letters of his own lay open on his desk.

He swallowed hard. “What is it, Catherine?”

“It’s about Randy.” She hesitated when her husband blanched.

He waved a hand rather helplessly over his own letter.

Catherine sank into worn leather chair. “Bertha Bosworthy has heard that some upper form boys are using Randy for a whipping boy. She says they’ve told him he has to take his cousin’s share of punishments because Charles is a duke and they aren’t allowed to touch him. She says the local physician told her he has seen Randy three times and the last time—“ She looked down at the letter to make sure she got it right. “—he told her last time Randy may have been ‘violated.’ Do you know what that could mean?” She looked up and saw her husband, pale as death, a sick expression twisting his handsome face. Apparently he did know.

Will pushed himself to his feet slowly as if infinitely tired. “I’m going down there,” he said. “I’ve had a letter too. Freddy set fire to Randy’s house-master’s office. It almost took the whole place down. He’s been thrown out.”

“Good!” Catherine said. “He probably deserved it. The house-master I mean, not Freddy.”

“I have no doubt he did,” Will said with a nod at the letter in her hand. “I also had one from Fred. All it said was, ‘Randy had a problem. The three of us took care of it.’”

He walked around the desk and pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry Catherine. I misjudged the situation. I’ll get them out of there.” He kissed her soundly and started for the door.

“Do it quickly,” she said at his retreating back, “Before one of those horrid gossip rags like The Teatime Tattler gets wind of it and we have, ‘Earl’s ward sets fire to school’ screaming from every headline in London.
____________________________________________________

This bit of fiction has been enlarged and published as A Mother’s Work is Never Done, a short story that describes Will’s efforts to comfort Randy.

You can obtain a ***FREE*** copy of it on Smashwords.

Dangerous-Nativity-Cover-Front-900x1350Catherine and Will’s love story can be found in A Dangerous Nativity, which also introduced the boys, Fred, Randy, and Charles. They, in turn, will find their own happiness as adults in my next series. The first, The Renegade Wife will tell Randy’s story. It is due out in October 2016, with the other two books to follow in 2017.

You can find more about A Dangerous Nativity and Caroline Warfield’s other books here.

 

A Wager and a Curse!

In which Mr. Clemens welcomes  Alanna Lucas, author of Waltzing with the Earl, who interviews her heroine.

AL: Welcome, Lady Trevena. Thank you for joining me today. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.

LT: The pleasure is all mine. This is a new experience for me. I must admit, I am quite nervous. I’ve never been interviewed before. I have not been this nervous since I pretended to be my dearest friend at a country house party last year and….

She takes in a deep breath and then exhales slowly.

I apologize. When I’m nervous I tend to ramble. It is one of my greatest flaws, but one my darling husband assures me is quite endearing.

AL: I hear that you didn’t want to have a season in London. What made you change your mind?

LT: I lost a wager to my brother. I was so desperate for things not to change, to Eugene_Onegin_(Samokish-Sudkovskaya)_05amaintain a quiet country life that I left my fate to a game of chess.

She lowers her voice.

You see, I had not lost to Weston before. I thought nothing could go wrong. That game was the first of many things that would go wrong.

AL: Miss Jerome has made it known throughout the ton that you were an utter disaster.

LT: Miss Jerome is a horrible gossipmonger, but for once, what she spews is true. Between spilled punch, torn dresses, and toppled footmen…shaking her head… Who knew a wallflower could cause such a ruckus!

Giggling.

At least I can laugh about it now.

AL: Not a very auspicious beginning. Please tell us how you met Lord Trevena.

LT: He is my brother’s oldest friend. But it wasn’t until I saw him at Lady Lamden’s ball that I thought of him as anything other than Weston’s friend.

She says with a sigh.

 He was so handsome in his dark blue coat. From across the room, our eyes met. He strolled toward me, never shifting his gaze. He was the first gentleman to ever ask me to dance. The moment our hands met…I knew.

AL: How romantic! But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

LT: No. Tristram believed that he was cursed; it had all but consumed his life. Rumors had circulated for years about the Longstone curse, which had taken all Tristram loved.

Shaking her head.

He was convinced that harm would come to me, so he fled London to protect me.

AL: You must have been heartbroken.

LT: I was devastated, but my dearest sister-in-law devised a plan and arranged for me to go after him. Such wanton behavior! Desperate times called for desperate measures.

AL: Everything seemed to have worked out in the end.

LT: It definitely did. She said with a smile that lit the room. Our love is stronger than the curse of Longstone.

AL: Thank you for visiting today. I wish you and Lord Trevena much happiness.

About the BookWaltzing with the Earl
Believing he is cursed, Tristram, Lord Trevena, the Earl of Longstone, agrees to do just one favor for a friend, to dance with the man’s sister, but the beautiful and headstrong Isabel Albryght will settle for no less than claiming his lonely heart.

A PROPHECY FORETOLD

Raised by her doting older brother, Isabel Albryght grew up cosseted and protected. She enjoyed her life in the country, her books, and her freedom. Then her brother married. Within months Isabel’s best friend married. It seemed it was time for Isabel to marry, too. Socially awkward and a bit too keen for most of the ton, Isabel proceeded to have the most horrible season on record…until she was approached by Tristram, the Earl of Longstone.

Two dances. That was all Tristram could offer anyone when considering his family curse, which had taken all he loved in the last ten years, so his promise to the beautiful Miss Albryght’s brother was simply that. The ton would soon see she was a desirable partner, her awkwardness would fade and other young swains would beat feet to her doorstep. But then he held her in his arms, and the delightful Isabel became his beating heart. Headstrong and full of passion, she believed she might waltz them away from Death. She alone could tempt him to try.

~Excerpt~

The temperature in the room rose by several degrees—it was positively sweltering. Isabel did not know how much longer she could tolerate standing in the midst of hell, surrounded by a mixture of unidentifiable odors and loud boisterous laughter. She thought her head would explode.

 Closing her tired eyes, she brought her gloved hand to her temple. Isabel could feel her body sway, but was unable to stop the motion. She could not even gather her wits about her to stamp down, or even beg, the feelings to cooperate. Isabel could sense another mishap was forthcoming, which further added to her distress. And she had been doing so well.

A gentle hand came to her elbow. “Allow me to accompany you onto the balcony for some fresh air, Miss Albryght.” Lord Trevena’s voice broke through the haze. His tone was soft and full of concern.

Isabel opened her eyes; they felt thick and heavy, and still out of focus. Tristram somehow managed to maneuver her through the crush without bumping into anyone. The moment they reached the unoccupied balcony, the cool evening breeze cleared the haziness Isabel had been fighting in her head.

They strolled to the edge of the balcony, partly hidden within the shadows, and clear of any curious gossipmongers. The garden beyond was concealed in darkness, but the lingering scent of blooming roses wafted through the air. Tristram released his gentle hold on her arm. The absence of his hand made her heart lurch, wanting more.

Isabel turned to face him. Even in the dim light, his clear blue eyes sparkled like stars in the night. She struggled to find the words, but when they finally came, they would not stop.

“Thank you for coming to my aid. I am quite recovered now. The room was quite warm and the noise…”

“Isabel,” Tristram said in a deep husky tone. Her name on his lips sent a jolt of excitement through her body.

Taking a step closer, he brought his hand to her face, his gloved thumb dancing intimately across her cheek. Her heart pounded against her ribs, practically stealing her breath.

“Lord Trevena.” His name exited her lips in a breathy gasp.

He bent his head and whispered his name across her cheek. “Tristram.”

Isabel could not imagine anything more sensual than this moment. She lifted her chin, and their cheeks brushed. His lips were so close, but still too far away. His warm breath teased her senses. Closing her eyes, she waited for his kiss.

Amazon   All Romance  Smashwords   Boroughs Publishing Group

author picAbout the Author

Alanna Lucas grew up in Southern California, but always dreamed of distant lands and bygone eras. From an early age she took interest in art, history, and travel, and enjoys incorporating those diversions into her writing. However, she believes that true love is the greatest source of inspiration and is always an adventure.

Alanna makes her home in California where she spends her time writing historical romances, dreaming of her next travel destination, spending time with family, and staying up too late indulging in her favorite past time, reading.

Find her here:

www.alannalucas.com

https://www.facebook.com/alannalucas27

https://twitter.com/alannalucas27

 

 

Marnie Gets Her Revenge

11 June 1790, Gracechurch Street, London

It was late when I reached London and the temporary haven of my foster mum’s home. I hadn’t slept in days, partly out of fear of discovery by his lordship’s men and partly because the babe fussed so much. The brat was always hungry and I had no idea how to feed her. I was tempted to leave her with the family who took us in the first night—the farmer’s wife who found a way to feed her cow’s milk seemed that taken with her—but then his lordship would get her back and how would that serve my purpose? But oh, if I had known how much trouble it would be to sneak off with a puling infant while trying to keep out of the way of a powerful earl, I might have considered some other form of revenge.

Gypsy girl“Open up, mum, it’s me, Marnie!”

Finally, the door opened enough for Mum Herne to peer at me in the darkness.

“Marnie? It is you! For goodness sake, I thought you were in Derbyshire… Come in, I’m so glad to see you… it’s been ages since you took that position with the Cranbournes. Oh!”

She had just shut the door behind us when she saw the babe in my arms. “You have… a child?”

I held the babe out to her, pleased for the respite. I never realized how much it could hurt to hold a babe—even a tiny one—for hours at a time. “A girl child.”

Mum Herne cuddled her in her arms. “Such pretty blue eyes. A blonde,” she commented as she looked over my dark gypsy coloring with questioning eyes. “Must look like her father?”

“The spittin’ image,” I assured her. “The earl was a towhead when he was a babe, although his hair has darkened a bit since then.”

Mum’s head jerked back. “The earl is her father? The Earl of Cranbourne?”

I nodded as I looked hopefully in the direction of the kitchen. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a bite of bread and cheese? I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning.” When I’d managed to lift a meat pie off a pie maker’s cart without him noticing. But she didn’t need to know that. The mention of food had the intended effect of distracting her—at least temporarily—from the lecture about my morals I knew would be coming.

“Yes, of course. In the larder.” She looked down at the babe in her arms. “And the child? When did you feed her last? Looks downright poorly, she does.”

I shook my head and collapsed into the nearest chair. “So sorry, mum. It’s just that—I’m famished. We’ve been one step ahead of his lordship all the way, and the worry of it all just took my milk away. I was hoping you might have some cow’s milk for the poor mite… it’s only by the grace of God that I’ve found a few kindly folk along the way to keep her from starving.”

Mum’s eyes widened. “You’re running away from… the earl? Why on earth…? Never mind, you can tell me the whole later. Right now this child needs tending.”

An hour later, the babe asleep in a makeshift bed in mum’s bedchamber, she and I sat at the kitchen table and I told her my story. She already knew I’d been a maid in the household of the Cranbournes and that I’d agreed to travel all the way to Derbyshire because I’d hoped to catch the eye of the comely earl. She’d warned me against it, telling me it was foolish to set my cap at such a high falultin’ gent and that it would all come to no good—and while I hated having to admit she was right—she seemed to accept my story at face value. Some of it was even true. Maybe.

The story I told her was that the earl seduced me without any intention of marriage, all the while he was courting another woman. The affair continued after his marriage, and when I found myself with child, I was turned out without a character by her ladyship. I had no place else to go but the workhouse, but when the babe was born so pretty and so much like her father, I thought he might be willing to part with a few quid a month for food and lodgings. Little did I know that he would be so desperate to keep the babe’s existence from his wife that he would threaten to take her away from me and kill her! Which is what sent me flying from Derbyshire.

I’ve always been good at acting—my birth mother always said I should tread the boards at Covent Garden—and Mum Herne knew this, but I think the presence of the poor babe set off her maternal instincts and all she could think of was how to protect poor little Annie from the evil earl who threatened her life.

That was when we heard the sound of horses charging down the street.

“It’s his lordship!” I cried. “He’s found us! Quick, find us a place to hide!”

I ran to the bedchamber to pick up Annie.

“The earl?” But how…?”

I reminded her of the reference she had sent with me when I applied for the position. No doubt they would have gone back to ascertain the direction. She bit her lip and then shook her head.

“There’s no place here he won’t find you. A rich and powerful earl? I can’t imagine how you managed to get so far!”

Then a strange look came over face. “Although perhaps there is a way. We’ll have to bind the babe securely, though…”

By the time the loud banging at the door began, she had already bound the babe tightly around me with a red wool scarf and pressed a small black stone into my hand.

“I’m sending you into the future,” she whispered, urging me toward the back of the house. “Only for a short time. I’ll send you a signal when the coast is clear. But you mustn’t lose this stone.”

“The future?” I knew mum had a gift—’the sight’—which quite a few of our clan claimed to have—but traveling through time? I’d never heard of anyone who could do this, and I wasn’t sure I believed she could either.

That was when we heard the door give way and the sound of loud voices and footsteps.

Mum gave me a push and I felt myself floating through darkness before I felt myself collide with something big and heavy. My last thought before my soul abandoned my body was that at least I had my revenge. The Cranbournes would never find their baby now.

About A Home for Helena

A HOME FOR HELENA 150x220Believing that she has been misplaced in time, Helena Lloyd travels back two hundred years in an attempt to find out where she belongs.

Widowed father James Walker has no intention of remarrying until he makes the acquaintance of his daughter’s lovely new governess.

Lady Pendleton, a time-traveling Regency lady herself, suspects that these two belong together. First, however, she must help Helena discover her true origins—and hopefully, a home where she belongs.

A Home for Helena is Book 2 of The Lady P Chronicles.

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About the Author

P9 copySusana Ellis has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar. A former teacher, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and 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 Reluctant Bride

John Constable_Salisbury_meadows Church Painting

Gwendolyn flinched at the priest’s words.

“You may kiss the bride, Lord Sandhurst,” he repeated since she had not paid the least bit of attention whilst he sealed her fate to her groom. As if she needed a reminder that she was now wed to a gentleman not of her choosing.

Mrs Russel by John Smart 1741-1811She raised her red puffy eyes and stared at the man who was so old that he surely had one foot perched on the edge of his grave. How her father could promise her to a man of his ilk was beyond her imagination. That her own brother would honor the contract after their sire’s passing and condemn her to a loveless marriage tore at her heart. And the pressure he had put on her to give her consent! She would never forgive Hartford for as long as she drew breath in her body.

“My dear wife,” Sandhurst murmured with an appreciative glare. His eyes traveled the length of her body. He did not even give her the courtesy of abstaining from such a leer whilst still in a church and not behind closed doors.

The priest cleared his throat and gave Gwendolyn his own condemning look that she should be responding to her husband.

She said nothing; she simply looked at the floor showing her disdain at the union. She trembled when she glanced up and saw him lick his lips as though he were about to devour a tasty treat. He leaned forward. She choked back her anger.

It took every inch of strength not to allow her husband to see how much he repulsed her. His mouth hovered over her own before his head plunged ever downward to capture her lips. Inwardly, she groaned. His kiss was so much worse than she could have ever imagined, and when his hand clamped around her waist bringer her closer, she swore she was going to retch. Right here. In a holy chapel. God help her.

She pulled away so abruptly she lost her balance and would have spilled backwards if it were not for his firm hold continuing to keep her close…as close as could be expected, that is, given his girth.  She shuddered. Lord Bernard Sandhurst chuckled in amusement. Gwendolyn could not find anything in this situation that would be cause for his merriment, but he was certainly pleased considering the gleam she saw in his pale cold eyes.

François-Joseph_Navez (1787-1869) Portrait_of_Jacques-Louis_David 199x240Sandhurst took her elbow and began escorting her down the aisle of the church that was relatively empty. As empty as her heart. Her husband nodded to several acquaintances. Gwendolyn passed her mother who hid a handkerchief that she surely had used to dry her eyes. Her brother, Brandon, looked as grim as she herself felt. She would not acknowledge Hartford’s presence. He may hold their father’s title of duke but as far as she was concerned, he was dead to her. As dead as her emotions would become if she was going to survive this marriage.

As they reached the rear of the church, she stumbled once more. There, barely hidden in the last pew, was a man scribbling away with his quill. Oh no, she thought. Please do not let him be from the Teatime Tattler. But luck was not on her side this day. God surely must have forsaken her for the marriage had gone through and the reporter could not have been more pleased with the day’s outcome. Mr. Clemens raised his eyes when she drew near and had the unmitigated nerve to salute her with his ever-efficient quill.

As Gwendolyn was helped into the carriage, she knew it would not be long before all of London read about her recent marriage. She could already hear the sniggering of the gossipmongers as they laughed about the duke’s daughter who could not find a man to marry who was near her own age. She would be the laughing stock of society by the Tattler’s morning edition.

The carriage door slammed shut as Gwendolyn took her seat, much like the reality that her former life was now over. She could already feel the ice quickly surrounding her heart knowing she would never find love as Lord Bernard Sandhurst’s wife. Only a miracle could save her from her fate and believing in miracles was for fools…


_DSF0006This is an original piece and prequel to 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 and her published work here on her page with the Belles or on these social medial outlets:

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