Author: judeknight

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Up and Rolling in Two 22

I’m trying to keep all my balls in the air while maintaining a work-life balance

Happy New Year! It has been a couple of peculiar years in a row. A global pandemic is not necessarily the best time to sell our home of 20 years, move to another town, buy a new house, and do a complete renovation inside and out. By the time I published To Tame the Wild Rake in September, I was weary to the bone. The plot elves hung on for a few weeks to see a novella finished for the next Bluestocking Belles (with Friends) anthology, and then packed up to begin an early holiday.

How did your 2021 end? And how has it started?

For me, the holiday is over. We saw the last tradesman finish his work just before Christmas. Since then, we’ve almost finished all of the tasks we’d set out to do ourselves, but the pressure is off and we can set our own pace. On the story front, the plot elves are back and so am I.

I’m starting back into my regular blogging schedule, so check back here on Monday’s for Tea with Duchess of Haverford, on Wednesdays for an excerpt from one of my works in progress, on Fridays for snippets from my research and on Sundays for my news or book news from other authors. Do check out my I love guest authors page if you’d like to appear on my blog or in my newsletter.

I have three works-in-progress on the go, and I’ve others lined up to pick from when I finish any of those. I’m signed up for several more anthologies, and also for some stories in series with other authors. And I’ve started a new series of my own (more about that later).

Paradise at Last, which suffered when the plot elves decamped, is one of those works. I hope to have it finished and ready for ARC within the next week. Here’s a sneak peek. The scene is between Eleanor and her son, just before Christmas in 1815.

She owed her son an apology. She had already acknowledged her wrong-doing to Cherry, and been forgiven. But how could she tell her son of her remorse when he avoided her, and spoke to her only with distant politeness?

She would have to ask him for a private audience, but before she nerved herself to do so, he made the request himself. She followed him to the library, and allowed him to close the door behind them.

“Haverford, I have apologised for interfering between you and Cherry, but I would like to do so again. I have known all along that I was wrong to go privately to Cherry as I did. You are adults, and I should have said what I thought to both of you and trusted you to make your own decision. I am truly sorry for the distress I caused you.”

Haverford opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Eleanor put up a hand to stop him. “I have a second apology to make, Haverford. Watching you and Cherry together in the past week shows me that I was wrong again—wrong to believe that your love for Cherry was less deep than hers for you. Wrong to think that you would fall out of love once you had achieved your prize. All I ever wanted was for both of you to be happy. You are perfect for one another, and I shudder to think how close I came to preventing that happiness.”

For a moment, Haverford said nothing, his mouth hanging slightly open as if the words he’d planned to say had dissolved on his tongue. Then he gave a slight shake of his head. “Thank you, Mama.”

“I will never interfere again,” Eleanor promised. Perhaps that was a bit rash. “At least, I will try my very best.”

Haverford’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes. “I shall not ask such a sacrifice, Mama. Both Cherry and her mother have pointed out what a marvelous gift you have for interfering, as you call it. All I ask is that you consult us first on any plans you have that involve us and that you promise not to proceed without our agreement.”

Eleanor’s eyes were wet. She blinked to clear them. “I can promise that,” she agreed.

His smile broadened. “Come on, Mama. We have a house to decorate.”

He offered her his hand to help her rise, and his elbow to escort her back to the ballroom, just in time to see a footman moving a ladder away from the arched doorway. A kissing ball hung in the middle of the arch. Cherry stood looking up at it, and she glanced their way and smiled to see them together.

Haverford put his arm around Eleanor, reached up for a mistletoe berry, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I love you, Mama,” he told her. “Merry Christmas.”

And it was.

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Spotlight on A Christmas Code

The Code Breakers, Book 2

All that stands between Viscount James Ashworth and a much-anticipated quiet retirement is one simple assignment: protect the Prince Regent at a holiday house party.

But there’s one thing this seasoned spy didn’t count on–his childhood friend, Lady Gwyneth Beaumont, who has blossomed into an enticing, passionate hellion.

Gwyneth herself has a secret mission of her own: prove she’s worthy of joining the Code Breakers and win the heart of the hard-headed viscount she’s loved since they were children. Yet when her spying uncovers a secret so shocking the enemy would kill for it, she’s thrown head-first into a dangerous world of intrigue, deceit, and treachery.

With Ash by her side, Gwyneth is unstoppable. Soon the notorious rake realizes that the woman he’d always considered off-limits is his perfect match, this Christmas and forever after–if only they can survive long enough for that mistletoe kiss.

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Code-Breakers-Book-ebook/dp/B00PG9DGQK

BN – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-christmas-code-jacki-delecki/1120724392?ean=2940150472648

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/a-christmas-code/id939617054

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-christmas-code

Google Play – https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jacki_Delecki_A_Christmas_Code?id=rPpoBQAAQBAJ

Books2Read – https://books2read.com/u/mqRd24

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23621265-a-christmas-code

BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/a-christmas-code-by-jacki-delecki

Excerpt

Hot and breathless from performing the newly imported French dance steps of the Quadrille, Gwyneth paused during the break in the music. She fanned her heated cheeks repeatedly attempting to cool herself. Lord Henley glanced down at her. His lips were tight; his eyes beaded with need. She had seem the same look on the faces of many men, but never on the face of the only man who mattered.

She wanted to see the same burning desire and possessiveness in the eyes of her childhood infatuation like she knew blazed in her eyes when she looked at the impossible but dazzling Viscount Ashworth.

The gentleman, newly arrived, had barely glanced at her despite the new gown made especially to entice the hard-headed rake. Her friend and dress designer, Miss Amelia Bonnington, obsessed with the simplicity of Greek togas, had crisscrossed sky blue silk across Gwyneth’s ample chest with a revealing décolletage. The back of the gown was draped in the same manner with a revealing “V.” It was simple design, but sensual in the way the fabric clung to her body.

She felt enticing and hopeful that tonight Ash would finally throw off all the restraints. She had felt his eyes on her back, knowing he watched her as she gaily danced the intricate pattern she had just learned from her French dance master.

Lord Henley offered his arm as the quadrille ended. “May I take you to the refreshment table for a glass of punch? This new French dance is very demanding.”

“Thank you. I’m not thirsty. Can you please take me to my dear friend, Miss Bonnington?”

Lord Henley’s eyes clouded with emotion. Gwyneth couldn’t refuse the dance, but she needed to escape the gentleman before he embarrassed himself. She wanted to spare the gentleman the pain of rejection. After her five marriage proposals this season, she had become somewhat of an expert in recognizing the signs of imminent declaration.

Lord Henley escorted Gwyneth to Amelia, who also had finished dancing and now stood alone.

“Thank you, sir for the dance.” Gwyneth did a brief curtsy.

Lord Henley bowed. “It was my pleasure.” He hesitated, then sharply nodded his head. She didn’t want to be unkind, but there was no reason to pretend interest and encourage hope when there was none.

They watched Lord Henley circle to the other side of the room.

Amelia hid her face behind her fan. Her bright eyes dancing in merriment. “Another stricken gentleman.”

“I believe he was about to ask if he could call on my brother tomorrow. I think I did an excellent job of extricating myself before the gentleman declared his feelings.”

“Lord Henley is quite a catch. He’s heir to a vast fortune. His interest can’t be limited only to your dowry.”

“Thank you. I’m glad it isn’t only money that makes me attractive.” Gwyneth liked to believe it was her wit, her sparkling eyes, but she knew her position as sister to an earl and heiress to a hefty inheritance gave her a definite cache with the gentleman. And it was just like Amelia to joke about her wealth.

“Your following of swains has nothing to do with your luscious figure, your dramatic looks, or your amiable personality. It is my unique skill as designer has brought all these gentleman to swoon at your feet.” Amelia snickered which set off Gwyneth to laugh.

Tears were running down Gwyneth’s cheeks. “You do know how to level a woman’s confidence.”

The comment drove both to louder laughter.

Ash had turned to gaze at Gwyneth. His bright eyes lightening before he smiled at her.

Lost in the merriment, she smiled back before she realized she had resolved not to appear as a puppy, waiting at his feet for a pat on the head. She could hide her feelings as well as he did. Forbidden by some unwritten gentleman’s code, Ash, considered her off limits. She wasn’t sure if it was the age difference of eight years, his rakish past, or her position as his best friend’s younger sister.

He still kept her at a distance, maintaining she was a mere youngster and they were simply childhood friends. She had spent the entire season trying to convince him otherwise, but she was tiring of the game. It was time to look to her future.

Meet Jacki Delecki

Jacki Delecki is a USA TODAY Best Selling author whose stories are filled with heart-pounding adventure, danger, intrigue, and romance.

Her books have consistently received rave reviews, and AN INNER FIRE was chosen as an Editor’s Selection by USA Today. Currently, she has three series: the contemporary romantic suspense Impossible Mission, featuring Delta Force operatives; Grayce Walters, contemporary romantic suspense following a Seattle animal acupuncturist with a nose for crime; and the Code Breakers, Regency suspense set against the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars. Delecki’s stories reflect her lifelong love affair with the arts and history. When not writing, she volunteers for Seattle’s Ballet and Opera Companies, and leads children’s tours of Pike Street Market.

Visit JackiDelecki.com to learn more about Jacki and her books. Follow her on FB at facebook.com/JDelecki/ and on Twitter at twitter.com/jackidelecki. You can also sign up for her newsletter at subscribepage.com/y2u4r9_copy

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Normal Service Will Resume Shortly


Just a quick note to apologise for the break in posting. We’ve been flat out at our place. The painting is nearly all done, and we’re on a sprint to Friday, when the carpet goes down. I have two more small jobs to do, then I’m taking the computer down and putting it safely away until all the furniture is back in place. Possibly the weekend.

Stay well, folks.

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Emotions on WIP Wednesday

Make ’em laugh, make ’em cry, make ’em wait, says the old advice to aspiring writers. I’ve done the last with my story about Eleanor, Duchess of Haverford. I’m having a go at the first two. Here’s a bit. What do you think? And what do you want to share?

Ah yes. Of course. It should have occurred to her, but it had not. She had been about to ascend to the traditional chambers of the Duchess of Haverford—an entire suite of rooms that mirrored and were adjacent to the duke’s suite.

Another reminder that she was no longer the mistress of this house and the other houses of the ducal estates. She climbed the stairs with her heart sinking, turned into the family wing, and stopped at the indicated door.

Tears welled in her eyes. The suite had been fully refurbished. She saw new wallpaper and drapes in her favourite colours, the comfortable chairs that had sat for years either side of her fireplace looking as fresh as the day they were purchased, now each side of her new fireplace. Above it was the same painting of her two sons as little boys that had been over her mantle since the day the painter delivered it.

She drifted around the room, touching one familiar item after another, and stopping to examine the new pieces that someone had selected with care and an eye to her comfort. A warm throw rug in soft fur. A replacement for the old footstool that had always been just a little too low.

And, yes, the fireplace chairs had been recovered, but the original fabric had been copied exactly.

Following her dresser through the door into her new bedchamber and beyond into her dressing room, she found the same touch, redolent of love in every detail. Her study, too, on the other side of the sitting room, was perfect—almost a duplicate of the one she had created in the duchess’s quarters, with her delicate desk, all her books in glass-doored bookshelves, and her own comfortable reading chair. The one addition was delightful: a window seat from which she could look over the formal gardens enclosed in the u-shaped formed by the main house and the two large wings that stretched towards the river.

It must have been Charlotte. For the first time in months, Eleanor allowed the hope that she had been forgiven to unfurl in her heart.

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Touring historic England during lockdown

My personal romantic hero and I are being careful during this current outbreak of the global pandemic. We’re sticking close to home, and not going out into large groups. But we are touring the world. Every evening, another dinnertime cruise. Every day, a city or a building or both. And this is one of the series that is helping us to enjoy virtual travel. George Clarek’s National Trust Unlocked. The English architect visited National Trust sites throughout Britain during the UK lockdown, and the results are amazing. Read more here: https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/features/our-places-on-screen-with-george-clarkes-national-trust-unlocked

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The Rival on WIP Wednesday

In romances, some of the tension often comes from a would-be or imagined or actual rival for the affections of the main characters. This week, I’m inviting author who wishes to share an excerpt about a rival. Mine is from Paradise At Last, and James has no idea.

The usual chattering flock of maidens hovered in his vicinity, trying to attract his attention. In the thirty-three months since he ascended to his title, he’d lost count of the number of ladies who happened to swoon or trip or collapse just as he passed close enough to catch them. Sometimes, he fantasised about speeding up in time to let them crash to the floor behind him. So far, he had resisted the temptation.

At least the marriageable females could be defeated by icy civility. Not so the bored matrons and dashing widows looking for less respectable liaisons. They found it incredible that a widower who was also a wealthy duke might survive without someone to warm his bed, and therefore assumed he was extremely discrete, which made an affair with him even more to be desired.

He was not looking for a mistress. It was the truth, whether they believed it or not. As a young man, he had been unusual among his wild friends in needing an emotional connection before he could consider physical intimacy. Since experiencing the heights of bliss and the joys of partnership with Mahzad, his beloved wife, he had even less interest in mindless coupling.

Nor did he need a wife. He had his heir; his eldest son who wife was carrying their second child. In all the years since Mahzad’s death, he had considered joining his life with only one other. With Eleanor, whom he had lost once again.

Mrs Turner was approaching, a predatory gleam in her eye. James was pretty sure it was her who had groped his bottom when they stood side by side in the reception line. She stopped when greeted by a friend, and James took the opportunity to step sideways behind a group who were earnestly discussing, of all things, the most fashionable colour to use for evening turbans.

“Avoiding an ambush, Duke?” He knew that amused contralto, and turned to smile at the speaker as she slipped a hand onto his elbow.

“Mrs Kellwood. How are you this evening?” The widow had become a friend in the past few months—a safe lady to spend time with at events such as this. She had, initially, suggested a more intimate relationship, but had readily accepted his refusal.

“I survive, my dear, but would be the better for a stroll on the terrace, if you would be kind enough to oblige me.”

James offered his arm, wondering if she was about to overstep the boundaries of friendship, but she made no attempt to press close or to lean on his arm. Still, he stiffened when she admitted, “I have an ulterior motive, Duke. I will tell you all about it when we are out of the crowd.”

But all she was after was a listening ear. “My son is insisting I invest in this mining venture, Duke, and — I don’t know. I can see nothing wrong with it, but I just have a feeling…” She shrugged. “Am I being foolish? Do you know anything about diamond mining in the Cape Colony?

James’s guilt at having ascribed to her, even briefly, the marital or lustful motives of so many other females had him offering to read the prospectus and ask a few quiet questions among his contacts.

“But you are so busy!” she exclaimed. “I do not like to bother.”

“It is no bother,” he assured her. “Send it over.”

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Tea with James, Duke of Winshire

An excerpt post, taken from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover.

Winshire looked around as he knocked on the door. The cottage had been kept in good repair, but nevertheless had an air of abandonment. He was trying to nail down what details indicated it was unloved in when the door opened. He turned to ask to be shown to his hostess, or allowed to wait for her inside until she could see him. There she stood, her warm smile the only welcome he needed.

He could feel his own smile growing in response. “Eleanor.”

The Duchess of Haverford stepped back to give him space to enter. “James. Come in!”

He followed her across a small entrance hall to a cosy little parlour, where a fire burned in the hearth and a tray with a tea set waited on a small table between two chairs. Eleanor took the seat closest to the tea pot and waved her hand to the other. “Be seated, dear friend. Would you care for tea?”

Tea was not what he hungered for. For ten years after Mahzad’s death, he had thought himself beyond desire, but Eleanor brought it roaring back the first time he saw her on his return to England. Getting to know her again had only increased his longing; she was even lovelier, both within and without, than when they had first met long ago, before her father accepted the Duke of Haverford’s suit for her hand, and rejected that of James, who was only the third son of the Duke of Winshire.

James was forced into exile and Eleanor was made to marry Haverford.

He kept his feelings to himself. If he told her his hopes, and if she shared them, he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her like this without besmirching his honour and insulting hers.

Eleanor was a married woman and virtuous, even if her husband was a monster. Even if the old devil was rotting from within and locked away for his own good and to protect the duchy. James accepted the offered seat and the cup of tea; asked after the duchess’s sons and wards and caught her up to date with his own family; exchanged comments on the war news and the state of the harvest.

“James,” she said at last, “I proposed this meeting for a reason.”

“To see me, I hope. Since Parliament went into recess and we both left London, I have missed our weekly visits to that little bookshop you frequent.”

Eleanor smiled, and James fancied that he saw her heart in her eyes for a moment, and it leapt to match his. But her smile faded and her lashes veiled her eyes. “That, too, my dear friend. I have missed you, too. But there is another matter I need to bring to your attention.”

She grimaced and gave her head a couple of impatient shakes. “It seems I am always muddying our time together with gossip and scandal. I am so sorry, James.”

“One day, I hope we will be able to meet without subterfuge, and for no reason but our pleasure,” James said. The last word was a mistake. He might be old, but at the word ‘pleasure’, his body was reminding him urgently that he was not yet dead.

Eleanor seemed unaffected, focused on whatever bad news she had to give him. “You are aware, I am sure, of the history of your niece Sarah’s ward?”

“Her son?” James queried. He had assumed Eleanor knew. She was a confidante of his sister-in-law.

“Indeed. What you may not know—what I have just found out—is that Society is making that assumption and spreading the story.”

James shook his head. “I guessed the gossips and busybodies would reach that conclusion, but without proof or confirmation, and with the family firmly behind her, the rumours will die.”

“True, if that was all. But James, you may not know—Sarah may not know—that her little boy’s father is back in England and, if my sources are accurate, seeking a bride.”

James stiffened. “The coward has returned?”

“As to that,” Eleanor said, “Grace always suspected that Sutton and Winshire had something to do with his disappearance, and it is being whispered that his father has recently bought him out of the navy, where he had worked his way up to being a surgeon.”

“And your sources are connecting Sarah and her child with this man?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Not yet. The two rumours are separate. But if the two of them meet, people may make connections. Especially if the child resembles his father.” She shrugged, even that small elegant movement unusually casual for the duchess. “It is all very manageable, James, but you needed to know.”

“I appreciate it, Eleanor.” He sighed. “English Society is more of a snake pit than the court of the Shah of Shahs or that of the Ottoman Sultan Khan.

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Spotlight on Once Upon a Haunted Heart in Upon a Midnight Dreary

When doors creak and ghostly whispers can be heard throughout the halls, this stunning collection of haunted Historical Romance novellas is sure to leave you breathless with ethereal, romantic tales…

Welcome to UPON A MIDNIGHT DREARY anthology!

Many of your favorite Historical Romance authors have come together for a collection of never-before published stories inspired by true, legendary hauntings of the British Isles. These tales will give you a chill, a thrill, and have you reading them over and over. From the moors of Devon to the ballrooms of Regency London, and far north into the Scottish Highlands, these stories will bring you wistful dreams of legendary and haunting romance. You’ve never before experienced a collection like this by some of the very best authors in Historical Romance.

Authors in this anthology include:

Kathryn Le Veque
Caroline Lee
Chasity Bowlin
Hildie McQueen
Maggie Andersen
Mary Lancaster
Meara Platt
Violetta Rand
Alexa Aston
Anna Markland
Aubrey Wynne
Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Elizabeth Johns
Elizabeth Keysian
Emily E K Murdoch
Emily Royal
Heather McCollum
Anna St. Claire
Lynne Connolly
Maeve Greyson
Whitney Blake

Light your candle, lock your doors, and settle down to this smashing collection of darkly-tinged romantic stories with unforgettable heroes and magnificent ladies. Romance has never been so daring… or so haunting!

And if you hear a knock on your door… don’t answer it unless you are prepared to welcome a wandering wraith in a tattered wedding gown…

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Upon-Midnight-Dreary-Halloween-Anthology-ebook/dp/B08XF2JKQ2/?tag=annastclaire-20

BN – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/upon-a-midnight-dreary-kathryn-le-veque/1138891603?ean=2940165410666

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/upon-a-midnight-dreary-a-halloween-anthology/id1555350770

https://books.apple.com/us/book/upon-a-midnight-dreary-a-halloween-anthology/id1555350770

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/upon-a-midnight-dreary-a-halloween-anthology

Excerpt from Anna St. Claire’s contribution

Once Upon a Haunted Heart

Surrey, England

19 October 1813

The woman’s scream pierced the air as the pain of her child’s entrance into the world wracked her body.

“Please . . . I pray . . . something for the pain . . .”

“Is there something we can do to help?” begged her aunt.

The midwife tutted, shaking her head. “I am sorry, my dear.” The older woman picked up the small vial found next to the bed and held it to the light. “What ’ave ye done, my child? Who told ye to drink this? They do not use it when a pregnancy has gone to term.”

“The earl’s physician said it would ensure an easier delivery,” Melinda huffed in pain.

“The earl’s physician gave you this?” Her aunt’s eyes rounded in horror.

“No, he wrote it on paper and arranged it with the chemist . . .” her words fell off as realization of what she had done hit her and she feared for her child.

Melinda lay writhing in pain while the midwife took charge. She could not believe her stupidity. Her betrothed had promised to return after seeing his father. However, he had never returned. Nothing made sense. Daniel had seemed excited at the prospect of having a child. He had promised to wed her. He said he loved her.

Once the pregnancy had begun to show, her presence had caused speculation and her father risked losing customers. He had moved her to his sister-in-law’s home several towns away from her own, certain no one would recognize her or connect her to their family business.

The last months of the pregnancy had been difficult. Desperation had driven her to the earl’s door. She had explained her circumstances to her betrothed’s father and pleaded for a place to stay until he returned for her; his father had ridiculed her.

“He is not your betrothed,” the earl mocked her. “And there will be no wedding. Rather than wed you, he left on a trip.”

“Where did he go? Please tell me,” she begged.

The earl would not say. She had heard a rumor he had gone to fight with Wellington but could gain no confirmation.

“He made no mention of being betrothed,” scoffed the earl, staring down at her softly rounded belly.

“Please, my lord. ’Tis your son’s baby. I am carrying Daniel’s baby . . .” The door slammed shut. “. . . and I have no place to stay,” she finished, tears streaming down her face.

Several months later, she had received a visit from a man claiming to be the earl’s physician. He claimed the earl had sent him, saying the earl had reconsidered helping her and sent her funds for the comfort of her and her baby, but requested she never seeks him out again. It had been a substantial amount of money—two hundred pounds. The physician had arranged for the vial, assuring her he had secured it to gain her comfort in her pregnancy, and instructed her to take it when the pain started.

She had never shown it to anyone. When she started cramping, she tried the medicine. Almost immediately, the cramping had worsened, and the pain had grown to such an intensity, it was as if the baby was ripping itself from her womb. Her aunt had summoned the midwife and sent word to her brother-in-law.

Too late, she realized the intent of the doctor’s visit—if he had even been a physician. Melinda had allowed the earl’s offer of money to cloud her judgment, and as a result, both lives—hers and her baby’s—were threatened.

A pain like no other rent her body as the child’s head finally showed itself and the lusty wails of her daughter drowned out Melinda’s cry. Why did you leave us, Daniel? There was a strange comfort about her as her daughter emerged, and she would have sworn she could see Daniel’s face gazing down at the baby. “Daniel . . . you are here,” she cried, puzzled that his brown eyes spoke of heartbreak.

Weak but needing to touch the child, Melinda held out her arms, comforted when her aunt placed her daughter to her chest to suckle. Her body felt depleted and worn, quickly losing its strength. She could barely take a breath without effort. I am dying. But why is Daniel here? Her body shook, and the bleeding intensified.

“The bleeding is getting worse. Someone, please, help my niece,” her aunt cried, putting cold cloths on her niece’s head and frantically pushing her hair from her face.

“There is no hope for ’er,” the midwife whispered in a choked voice. “I fear the girl ’as taken too much of the vial to stop it.”

“Danielle . . . her name . . . is Danielle,” Melinda rasped. Please, Aunt, please see she is cared for properly.”

“I will do my best, sweet niece,” her aunt sobbed, brokenly.

“I love you, Danielle. I shall always be near,” Melinda breathed, before kissing her daughter’s forehead and handing the child to her aunt. Conflicting emotions washed over her—joy, pain, and anger. Daniel’s specter beckoned her against the milieu of her daughter’s wails.

She struggled to fill her lungs once more. “May the earl know no peace, and there be no further union in his line until they acknowledge my daughter,” Melinda intoned as her life faded.

 

Meet Anna St Claire

Anna St. Claire is a big believer that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself. She sprinkles her stories with laughter, romance, mystery and lots of possibilities, adhering to the belief that goodness and love will win the day.

Anna is both an avid reader author of American and British historical romance. She and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina with their  two dogs and often, their two beautiful granddaughters, who live nearby. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, and Mimi—all life roles that Anna St. Claire relishes and feels blessed to still enjoy. And she loves her pets – dogs and cats alike, and often inserts them into her books as secondary characters.

Anna relocated from New York to the Carolinas as a child. Her mother, a retired English and History teacher, always encouraged Anna’s interest in writing, after discovering short stories she would write in her spare time.

As a child, she loved mysteries and checked out every Encyclopedia Brown story that came into the school library. Before too long, her fascination with history and reading led her to her first historical romance—Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind, now a treasured, but weathered book from being read multiple times. The day she discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss,’ books, Shanna and Ashes In The Wind, Anna became hooked. She read every historical romance that came her way and dreams of writing her own historical romances took seed.

Today, her focus is primarily the Regency and Civil War eras, although Anna enjoys almost any period in American and British history. She would love to connect with any of her readers on her website – www.annastclaire.com, through email—annastclaireauthor@gmail.com, Instagram – annastclaire_author, BookBub – www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-st-claire,Twitter – @1AnnaStClaire, Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/authorannastclaire/ or on Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Anna-St-Claire/e/B078WMRHHF?ref=.

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British Newspapers Archive online

In among painting door frames and resorting cupboards so we can organise the garage, I’ve been doing a job I’ve had in mind for a while: writing a list of the types of article to be found in Regency newspapers, which I access through British newsletter archive. It’s an initiative between the British Library and Find My Past to digitise the British Library’s vast collection of newspapers, and I can spend hours reading news items, classified advertising, theatre reviews, market reports, Court news, and Society gossip. It’s a time suck, but it is also fascinating.

https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/

I’m currently reading newspapers from the week beginning 15 November 1815, when they report the news from Paris: Marshall Ney successfully argued that the Council of War had no status to try him for treason, and his case was referred to the Council of Peers. Also, the fashion leaders of Paris prescribed turbans for evening wear. White or Black, with perhaps a feather.