I finally got a new WIP (work-in-progress) started! And for the first time in a LONG time, I started writing today (hence, I'm getting my newsletter out late) and did not want to stop. Even now, I've got this little itch to return to my completely imperfect little manuscript because it's MINE, and the characters are starting to come to life, and I want I find out what happens next!
I also just read the book Trying, by Kobi Yamada, to my kindergartener and it spoke to my soul. Here's the excerpt that hit me hardest:
"I had tried, and I had failed. Now he was asking me to try again? What good would that do? I had already proven I couldn't do it.
"But if I was honest, I wanted to believe I could.
"So, even though I worried that I wasn't good enough, I decided to try again."
Trying, writing, reaching, discovering . . . is a wonderful feeling, and it helps make up for the feelings of failure I have when I saw that negative review for Green as Grass. Every negative review is disheartening, but because of how Amazon's metrics work, a negative review right at the outset can be devastating! It essentially buries the book before it can get off the ground, so that's been very discouraging.
If any of you have had the opportunity to read Green as Grass, I hope you'll consider leaving a review on Amazon to help offset the negative reviews. The general etiquette, when it comes to supporting small-time authors, is "if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." I was once contacted by a reviewer who did not enjoy Harriet and did not wish to review it. She offered to mail it back to me! I was a little disheartened, but I was also touched by her thoughtful response. I have tried to follow her example ever since. Just because a book isn't good for you doesn't mean it isn't good for someone else.
I have some distressing publishing news, and we're all getting over the lingering remnants of a COVID epidemic at our house, but there are still SO MANY things to be glad about!
Happy things first, it was recently my birthday (yes, it was a happy one--I am so spoiled!) and I'm pregnant and looking forward to a hearty, healthy baby #3 in June! So that's the good news.
The bad news is that my book babies, including Medicine for Mandie and Fortune and Folly, both of which are currently in development, are going to need to wait an indefinite period of time because my publisher has decided to stop publishing . . . fiction. Just all fiction. No more fiction. (I know, I know . . . I think it's a little crazy too!!) So I'll need to find a new publishing home for my books after Green as Grass releases!
As inconvenient as all that is, it is DOABLE.
I believe, with the uncertain direction of the Finding Home series at the present moment, I'll pivot toward working on another Regency manuscript of mine in a different series for the time being. Surviving the Earl of Thetford has been placed on the backburner for a while now, and it really deserves better! Cracking it open and looking through it has been exhilarating ("I wrote this?? Wow, this is actually really good . . .") and I'm looking forward to submitting it to a new publisher within the next few months.
As always, I'll keep all my newsletter subscribers (and perhaps a little later, my blog readers, if any exist) updated. :)
Cheers, and happy winter! (Are you jealous of our snow??)
Exciting news! Green as Grass is now available for pre-order from Cedar Fort and Amazon! I just returned the proof of Green as Grass to the publisher and it's looking good so far. I'm so excited for it to release in March! It has taken what feels like forever, but I really do feel it's my best work so far and I love the story and characters. I love feeling like I am growing as a writer through practice, support, editing, and draft after draft.
There is so much joy in the creative process, no matter how difficult it is, and no matter how hard it is to have one's taste be higher than one's abilities! Every effort to make the gap smaller is worthwhile and fills me with a sense of accomplishment.
I may not be great about making and sticking to resolutions, but I have always loved the feeling of a fresh start. I love Mondays--a chance to start the week fresh and new, coming off a recharging Sabbath and ready to do better than I did the week before. I love mornings--a miniature chance for the same. And I love the new year celebration for much the same reason.
I saw a comic that struck me. One person said, "what are you expecting this new year?" The other responded, "flowers." And when the first person skeptically asked why, the other responded, "because I planted flowers."
I don't know about you, but I plan to try planting flowers this year! I love the steady, repetitive rhythm the changing seasons bring to each year. Sure, times get hard and I (like everyone else) have had my own share of struggles. But there are always moments of great, precious beauty even in the midst of those struggles, and I can feel myself growing and changing through them, which is perhaps the most exciting part of all.
Happy New Year!
Green as Grass is a sequel (or companion) to A Stage for Harriet that takes place concurrently. When I finished writing A Stage for Harriet (originally intended as a standalone novel), I realized that several characters' stories did not have satisfactory endings! One of the characters who was the most unfairly treated in A Stage for Harriet was the charming, bird-loving Mr. Andrew Brougham. What did he ever do to deserve being jilted? Nothing, that's what.
This man, I thought, deserves his own happily-ever-after! And thus, the idea of Green as Grass was born. And, you guys, it's something of a MAKEOVER story!! I love makeover stories. As an unabashed child of the 90s, there was always something so completely magical about those scenes where the frumpy girl or guy gets transformed into a perfect model over the course of a single cheerful pop song.
Green as Grass may not have a physical makeover, but Andrew transforms over the course of the book from awkward and abashed (or rather green, in other words) to cool and confident on command, and I love this man in ALL of his various stages.
And who is performing this makeover? A loveable Emma-like brat who thinks she knows what is best for herself and everyone around her. So Andrew isn't the only one who gets a personality makeover throughout the story!
Without further ado, here is the current working blurb:
Miss Louisa Grenfeld, a protege of the great Beau Brummell himself, is a budding arbiter of London fashion who can do no wrong. Or can she? When her father informs her that the only way she can continue her fashionable lifestyle is through marriage, she reluctantly begins her search for a husband. But when she captures the interest of Mr. Andrew Brougham, an awkward, bird-loving social novice, she quickly determines to rid herself both of him and his unpleasant mother. She tutors Mr. Brougham in fashionable comportment and tries to turn his attentions toward other young ladies.
Mr. Andrew Brougham may not understand fashion, but he certainly knows his own mind, and he has determined that Miss Louisa Grenfeld and he would suit perfectly together. But between his mother forcing him toward an unwanted match and Miss Grenfeld's uncertainty he has a difficult path ahead. If he molds himself to conform to society's desires will that be enough to please both Miss Grenfeld and his exacting mother?
By the time Louisa realizes that her feelings toward Mr. Brougham are more tender than she'd thought, Andrew has half the young ladies in London setting their caps at him and both he and Louisa are juggling separate courtships. Will the two of them be able to overcome their pride and the obstacles that stand between them to find their way to one another?
So here's an outline of my Finding Home Regency romance series so far:
Prequel: Anything for You, My Lady (available for free here)
Book 1: A Stage for Harriet (available here and currently on sale for $0.99!)
Book 2: Green as Grass (scheduled to release in March 2022)
Book 3: Medicine for Mandie (written; currently with beta-readers)
Book 4: Fortune and Folly (Tentative title of this year's Nanowrimo project)
Book 5: The Captain's Governess (drafted; to be revised and submitted after book 4 is completed)
Have you ever been to England? I studied abroad there more 12 years ago now, and it was such an amazing experience. One of my literature classes there focused on the concept of a "pilgrimage"
Pilgrimage (n.): "any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest or for a votive purpose, as to pay homage"
Well, even at nineteen, I knew that I absolutely had to pay homage to Jane Austen, along with some of my other literary heroes. During the study abroad program, I also took the opportunity to visit sites from some of my favorite Jane Austen movies. I was able to visit Bath, which was Jane's home for some time, and run dramatically along the royal crescent, just as Anne did in the 2007 BBC Persuasion.
I also visited Chatsworth, which was Pemberly in the 2005 Pride and Prejudice (and which was also mentioned among the great houses visited by Lizzy and the Gardiners in the 1995 BBC Pride and Prejudice).
There are too many experiences to list here (I really packed those three months with all the literary meaning I could muster!!), but I'll finish on this one: A walk through the English countryside . . . in the rain. I wanted to be impulsive and romantic like Marianne Dashwood, but alas--no Colonel Brandon came to rescue me on horseback.
And I caught a cold. :(
I was a very silly young lady!
If you've visited good old England and have stories to tell, I'd love to hear about them in the comments below! Cheers, love! <3
P.S. I do know that Colonel Brandon's rescue of Marianne was only in the movies, not the book, but it really should have been! It fits his character perfectly and lends the perfect drama, doesn't it? BTW, I loooove Sense and Sensibility. The 2008 BBC adaptation is the BEST!
First off, a big THANK YOU to all my subscribers--I am so glad to have you here!
I may have been a writer for years, but I am still a total beginner when it comes to gardening. I have loved how forgiving the gorgeous, moist Midwest soil is for growing luscious crops on a very limited budget! (Anyone here living in the Midwest!? Raise your hands!)
I used what I learned from last year's garden (my first garden ever!) and more than doubled my harvest. This year we had zucchini, sugar snap peas, cherry and beefsteak tomatoes, green bell peppers, jalapenos, spaghetti squash, broccoli, okra, onions, and potatoes. Whew! Not all of them have yielded magnificent crops, but I have learned many lessons that I will definitely be using in next year's garden. Here are some of my favorites:
1. Weed suppression is your friend! I hate weeding and my gardening budget was MINISCULE. Solution: cardboard boxes. Save all those Amazon boxes, flatten them out, spread them across the ground, and top liberally with mulch, straw, grass clippings, and/or compost. Then cut holes in the cardboard where you plant your seeds/starters. That's it! It prevents (most) weeds from growing, the soil from eroding, and it keeps your glorious garden about 90% weed-free. :) If you don't have enough cardboard boxes, even newspaper works pretty well in a pinch!
2. Tomatoes, beans, and all other plants need so much more support than you think they will! This year I repurposed a fallen tree and an old wooden ladder as plant supports and they *mostly* worked, but could have been much better. I collected lots of branches from the last big thunderstorm and I plan to get even more creative with all-natural plant supports next year. I'm already excited to try again.
There is so much more joy in keeping plants alive and growing a garden than I ever would have guessed before starting. Are you going to have some crops fail? Of course. Are some of your house plants not going to make it? Sure. But there's nothing like having a bit of green around you during a long, dark winter to help you feel alive. Growing things is a magical feeling, has a much lower entry cost than most people think, and brings us to lesson 3:
3. JUST DO IT!! Be brave enough to try. Even if every single one of your seedlings fails (I have definitely had that happen! Ouch!) or if you kill your first potted plant within a month, it's always worth trying.
How on earth does this relate to writing?
In writing, as in gardening, the only seeds of yours that will grow are the ones that are planted. Writing can let you add vines, leaves, life, and branches to what may have begun as an errant thought, and someday your work may even bear fruit. Some projects die, of course, but the ones that don't make the entire process so very worthwhile. A cheesy thought, but it's true. So go out there and plant something new!
Happy growing, my friends. :) Thank you for coming along with me on my journey.
When I wrote A Stage for Harriet, I initially conceived it as a standalone novel, but then I started to wonder about some of the other characters' fates, and their loose ends started to really bother me! Stories began flowing, plots marrying themselves to characters in my mind, and Green as Grass was born. Green as Grass is the story of the poor, awkward, bird-loving Mr. Andrew Brougham, who courted Harriet disguised as Lady Virginia in A Stage for Harriet. He was largely ignored and then jilted at the end of the book. I began to wonder what his story was. Who had managed to captivate him, and if he were so captivated, why did he become engaged to Lady Virginia in the first place??
These were questions that needed answers, and all of these answers will be found in Green as Grass, which is scheduled to be published next spring by Cedar Fort, and they've been working to broaden their distribution, so that's exciting. I've always loved a good makeover story. (Clueless is one of my favorite Austen adaptations.) My Big Fat Greek Wedding, The Princess Diaries . . . FUN, right? I love makeovers. But I ALSO love George Bernard Shaw's riff on the classic Ovidian myth Pygmalion, because, truthfully, what reason does the newly created "fair lady" have to stay with their creator?
Green as Grass contains something of a makeover story gone awry, in which the fashionable young Miss Louisa Grenfeld, a brilliant protégé of Brummell himself, attempts to turn the awkward Mr. Andrew Brougham into the rage of the season. But when he catches the eye of one of the wealthiest and loveliest ladies in London, what will become of Louisa when she realizes, too late, what her beloved avian scholar means to her?
I'm including the first chapter of the current draft below. Enjoy!
September 30, 1813
Lady Norbury’s card party
“Miss Louisa! There you are. Do tell me what you think of my bespoke new fob! Isn’t it marvelous?” Beau asked.
Louisa looked up to see Mr. Brummell descending upon her in all his evening finery, and she could not reel in a smile. “Which one, sir?”
He gestured to a small bird-shaped bronze medallion hanging from a blue ribbon at his hip. She smiled when she saw it. “I am quite partial to birds, sir,” she said. “So I am not a reliable judge, but I do like it.”
“I am aware, Miss Grenfeld. That is why I asked you in particular.” He gave her a small wink. “Now let us see. Whom do we have here this evening?”
Louisa turned and surveyed the elite assembly alongside her dear friend, Beau Brummell, that esteemed icon of fashion. They had become good friends the last season, and she was proud of herself for earning his approval.
“What do you think of that one, there?” Mr. Brummell asked her.
“Hmm?” She glanced in the direction he indicated. There, entering the drawing room, was a starry-eyed young man who had to have just returned from a tour. The look of overt interest in his eyes ran decidedly counter to the practiced expression of boredom worn by most of the pink of the ton.
Louisa giggled. “He’s come straight from a home tour, my dear Brummell. Can you not see? Far too sure of himself to be fresh from Oxford and practically bursting at the seams to tell everyone of all the beautiful countryside he’s seen in the Lake District. He may even recite a poem or two.”
Mr. Brummell chuckled lightly. “Whatever else he may be, he’s certainly green as grass, isn’t he?
“Indeed, but who knows—he may become all the rage once the season sets in. It’s dreadfully early for such predictions, you know.”
“If anyone were to know, it would be I. Or you, perhaps. You’re becoming quite the arbiter of fashion too, you know.”
She playfully slapped his wrist with her fan. “You flatter me, Brummell. I could never presume my opinion could carry as much weight as yours.”
“Hmm. Perhaps not. But I am fond of your opinions.”
Louisa rolled her eyes heavenward for an instant but smiled.
“Really, though,” Brummell continued. “What devilish awkward hands! Quite a decent coat. It looks like Weston's work. But that neckcloth! Looks as though he had his valet do it. Do you know who he is?”
Louisa shook her head. “No. I’m certain I can secure an introduction, however. Look there—he’s talking with Mrs. Clavendish.”
When Louisa turned back to Brummell there was a wicked glint in his eyes that she knew all too well. She smiled curiously. “What is it, Brummell? You’ve just had an awful idea.”
He smirked at her. “He looks green enough that I’d wager you could make him fall in love with you by the end of the evening.”
She flushed. “Nonsense! Not by the end of the evening, in any case. I’d need at least a few weeks to do that.”
“So you admit you could do it?”
He had been baiting her! She glanced back at the young man for a moment and stood her ground, pursing her lips. “Of course I could. But it doesn’t follow that I ought to.”
“Don’t be missish—it’s all in good fun. How about a little wager?” he said. “If he comes for a morning visit within the next two days, you win. If he doesn’t, I win. Is that fair?”
She shook her head and laughed. He would find anything to bet on. “I suppose. What is at stake, pray?”
Her heart pinched nervously. That was almost all of her pin-money for the entire quarter, and, although she was fairly confident she could win, Brummell shouldn’t be betting so heavily if he were in as much debt as the rumor mill claimed he was.
“No,” she said. “Just one pound.”
He pouted at the small stakes but nodded and they shook hands.
They were interrupted just then by Lady Stanfield, an older woman in a silver gown, jewels and feathers nestled in her graying hair, who latched herself to Mr. Brummell’s arm. “My dear Brummell, you must assist me! These young snips are tearing me to pieces at speculation, and Mrs. Hayes has utterly refused to partner with me again!”
Mr. Brummell smiled indulgently at Lady Stanfield and joined the table, but not before casting Louisa a meaningful glance toward the green young man.
Louisa closed her fan and allowed it to dangle casually from her wrist. She nodded at a gentleman her father’s age as she made her way to the young man’s vicinity.
As she walked toward that end of the room, she passed a large mirror on the wall and verified that she was just as pretty as she had been upon arriving at the party. Her auburn hair was piled high in a fashionable style of curls and braids, adorned with pearls. Tiny cream satin slippers peeped from beneath an impeccably cut dress of deep blue. Her lips were reliably plump and pink, her cheekbones high, and her eyes a dark, shining brown beneath perfectly arched brows. She walked toward the door, as if to leave, but paused meaningfully next to the conversing pair for a moment. Sure enough, her method worked.
“Oh, Miss Grenfeld!” Mrs. Clavendish said. “Do come here. I want to introduce you to Mr. Andrew Brougham. He’s recently returned from a grand tour of the north country!”
“It’s not really a grand tour, madam,” Mr. Brougham sounded mildly uncomfortable. “Travel to the continent is nearly impossible at the moment for those not enlisted.”
“This is Miss Louisa Grenfeld, Mr. Brougham.” Mrs. Clavendish barreled on heedlessly, “And I am certain you two will find much to speak of. Oh, Mr. Farnsworth! You must excuse me.” The lady hurried off after Mr. Farnsworth, leaving the pair alone.
“A tour of the northern country sounds fascinating!” Louisa said, carefully hiding her sarcasm. She’d listened to so many stories about such ‘tours’ lately that she was quite tired of them, but she also knew it would inevitably surface later in the conversation if she did not initially inquire. “Where did you visit, sir?” Louisa opened her fan again and peered from behind it in a way calculated to spark interest.
Sure enough, roses bloomed in the young man’s cheeks. “Oh, all the usual places, of course. The Lake District, and some of the more famous lochs and forests in Scotland. We made it as far as the Scottish highlands before we needed to return. Fascinating wildlife.”
Louisa raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t mentioned a single ruin, poem, or famous individual, unlike most others did. Was he really so dotingly fond of the outdoors?
“Do you hunt, sir?”
He laughed nervously “I’m a terrible shot, but I do enjoy being out on horseback, especially through wooded country. I tend to get distracted, however, so it is no longer easy for me to find hunting companions.” He smiled in such a cheerfully self-deprecating manner that Louisa found herself warming to him despite her original intentions.
“Indeed?” she laughed. “And what is it that so distracts you, sir?”
She blinked a few times. The proper response from a young lady of her social caliber was to laugh carelessly at this confession—birdwatching was far from a popular topic for the drawing room. But she couldn’t help herself.
“Is that so?” she asked. “And are you an avid avian scholar?”
Mr. Brougham smiled. “I do love birds, though I do not consider myself an expert. I have a pair of birds as pets here in town, but I prefer the ones in my dovecote or that live wild on my estate.”
Louisa’s eyebrows raised in interest. He had already come into his own estate? But he was so young. “Tell me of your dovecote. You keep doves and pigeons, I expect?”
“Mostly,” he admitted, “though I have encouraged a few wild varieties to roost as well. And I also enjoy training birds.”
He nodded. “Also pigeons, doves, and an African parrot. Enough about me though, Miss Grenfeld. I fear I am boring you. I would love to learn more about you.”
Louisa smiled at him. She was far more intrigued by him than she had bargained for, and more interested in birds than she was willing to let on to the rest of the ton. High society was not kind to bluestockings, and she had noticed that men did not like women to be too talented. Drawing a pretty bird or flower was all that was required. A perfectly accurate rendering seemed to only make gentlemen look at her strangely. She’d very quickly learned to hide her talent.
But this Mr. Brougham certainly did have nice eyes—of a soft gray-green hue. The color went nicely with the chestnut of his hair, which curled on the edges in a fashionable style that parted to the side and fell into his forehead.
“Oh, there is not too much interesting about me, I’m afraid,” she said dismissively. “Like all young ladies, I enjoy attending balls and parties and the theater, and I’m no more accomplished than most young ladies can boast.” She had learned, while still in her first season, that the more she encouraged others around her to speak instead of herself, the more attractive she would be, and the more gossip she would overhear.
Mr. Brougham nodded. “Are you musical?”
“A very little,” she said. “I sing, when pressed, and I play the piano only enough to accompany my song. My artistic talents lie in a more visual direction.”
Mr. Brougham raised his eyebrows. “Do tell me more. What do you most like to draw?”
Scientific drawings of birds, she thought. But she would never actually admit to that. She smiled innocently. “When did I say that I drew, sir?”
He was taken aback. “I beg your pardon! I only assumed . . . is it needlepoint? Do you cover screens?”
She laughed. “I was only quizzing you! Yes, I do enjoy drawing. And painting, too.”
“And what sorts of things do you draw?”
She cleared her throat and turned her attention for a moment to a passing gentleman. “Mr. Saunders, I did not know you would be here this evening!”
The man smiled. “I would not miss it, knowing you were likely to be here, Miss Grenfeld.” He bowed over her hand. “Perhaps you will join my table for a hand of cards as the evening continues?”
“I should be delighted to.”
As Mr. Saunders left, Louisa turned her attention back to Mr. Brougham. “Now, Mr. Brougham, you were telling me more of the sights you were able to see while in the north country.”
Mr. Brougham frowned curiously. “I believe I was asking you, Miss Grenfeld, about the sorts of things you enjoy drawing.”
Louisa’s jaw grew tense. He’d remembered! He was a far better listener than most young men she’d met.
She laughed lightly. “Indeed I was. How clever of you to remember, sir,” she said, embarrassed her attempted change in subject had not gone unnoticed.
Mr. Brougham smiled at the carpet. “I . . . don’t much like talking of myself.”
Louisa brightened at the opportunity. Flattery was one of her favorite talents. “But a gentleman of such address and consequence as yourself really ought to put himself forward!”
Mr. Brougham looked back into her eyes, and the warmth she saw there surprised her. “I would like to speak with you more, Miss Grenfeld, but I would hate to bore you at a party such as this when there are so many others who wish to claim your attention. Might I make a morning visit to your home during the course of the week?”
His sudden shyness was not unbecoming. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” she said encouragingly, unable to hide a genuine smile at the thought of winning her bet.
He smiled. “Excellent. Now . . . we are at a card party.” Mr. Brougham said. “I see Mr. Saunders is part of a new whist table being formed. May I escort you to the table?” He held out his arm.
“Of course! I should like that very much,” Louisa said, taking his arm.
They hardly spoke during the rest of the evening as they played cards at separate tables, and since Mr. Brummell left early, after demonstrating clear frustration at the low stakes offered at his table, she was not able to make a full report to him, either.
She passed an enjoyable evening feeling every bit the bright young socialite she was. And it only added to her delight that every few minutes she caught Mr. Brougham watching her curiously from across the room only to quickly glance away whenever he was caught.
Anything for You, my Lady now has a cover!
I decided to try my hand at making my own cover and was swiftly overwhelmed by the chasm between professional cover designers and myself, but I am still pleased, overall, with the results. I put the design up in a Facebook group, thinking I would get 3 or 4 ideas of how to improve it, and instead I got around 30 comments and MANY things that ought to be fixed! I fixed some of the most pressing, and for now, with my deadline rapidly encroaching and with more edits left to make, I am happy with it, and grateful that it will be self-published. That way, when I manage to fix the cover and get it *precisely* the way I want it, I will be able to upload a new cover.
Without further ado, here is the cover!
And without further ado, here's a little teaser to introduce the antagonist! As one (male) beta reader put it, "Harbottle is wonderfully creepy. His lines are exceptionally well-written. Do guys like him actually exist?"
“Mr. Thomas Harbottle.”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Harbottle. I do hope you are enjoying the party this evening.”
“Indeed I am,” he said. His cheeks were flushed and his forehead shimmered in the overly warm, humid room. “Delightful way to spend an evening.”
Virginia gave a tight smile. It was a terrible way to spend an evening, in her opinion. But she remained as pleasant as she could. “Thank you very much for coming,” she said. “I hope that you enjoy yourself.” She curtsied again and began to walk away, only to hear him mutter something under his breath.
“Too high in the instep to do the pretty for a guest.”
Her cheeks flushed and she turned back toward him, stung by his words. “Did you need something, sir? Can I help you find some suitable entertainment?”
He lifted his chin. “I had hoped that you might provide me with a bit of entertainment, as you are easily the prettiest young lady in the room.”
She blinked a couple of times at his bald request. “I am no court jester, sir.”
He laughed aloud. “Go on,” he said. “Don’t you ever like to get yourself into a bit of trouble now and then?”
She almost smiled at how accurate his assessment was, though clearly not for the reasons he seemed to think. “Trouble? No,” she said. “But I do precisely as I please.” Her heart pounded at this little falsehood, but her bold rendezvous with Mr. Clifton that morning had granted her more courage than she usually felt.
“Oh, the mouse has grown some claws, has she?” the dandy said with a smirk.
She took an involuntary step backward and made contact with someone’s shoulder in the crowded room. “I do beg your pardon!” she told the lady, before stepping to the side to maintain her distance from the impertinent Mr. Harbottle.
“Mr. Harbottle, I am not certain what you are attempting to goad me into doing, but it will not work, whatever it is,” she said.
Far from seeming put out, the fire in his eyes only seemed to glow brighter. “Such spirit,” he said. “I do like a young lady who puts up a bit of resistance. Makes the reward at the end of the chase that much more delightful.”
Virginia could not hide her grimace. “I beg your pardon, sir. I am afraid I must be elsewhere.”
She turned and hurried away, looking about for her mother. He would never dare provoke her in such a manner with her mother in hearing distance.
“Oh, there you are, Virginia,” her mother said. “I see you were talking with young Mr. Harbottle over there. I am very pleased! I have just been speaking with his mother, Mrs. Harbottle.”
An older blonde woman wearing bright pink silk bobbed a polite greeting to Virginia and Virginia responded with a curtsy and a tight-lipped smile.
“We were just speaking of arranging a visit together,” Mrs. Harbottle said. “Perhaps for a walk near the water, if you would like? I am sure my son would love to provide an escort for you.”
Virginia’s smile stiffened further. “How very . . . lovely,” she said.
Excited for this book to be released NEXT WEEK, and again--it will be available to read for free! I hope you enjoy reading it!
Heyer is the grandmother of Regency romance, the inventor of the genre, and the queen of period-accurate research to pepper her books with the charming minutiae of the time period. I was introduced to her work by a college roommate who loaned me a copy of The Grand Sophy, and once I managed to slog through the first few chapters of period-accurate prose (no one ever said her books were light, easy reads for people in our day!) I was HOOKED. She crafts delightful characters that spring off the page and pull you into their immersive historic world. I don't know a single Regency author who doesn't have intense respect for Georgette Heyer.
I admit I borrowed heavily from Georgette Heyer's dictionary of charming Regency slang when writing the companion to A Stage for Harriet that will be published next. Green as Grass tells the story of a fashionable London socialite, and its drama is far quieter and more realistic than my first book's, with no villains beyond those everyday sorts of people who make steam come out of our nostrils.
This is one of my favorite little scenes of witty banter between our charming heroine and a (non-romantic!) friend of hers in Green as Grass, my next book from Cedar Fort (Release date TBD):
Thinking of Lady Margaret for even a moment was enough to sour her expression, so when she went to the punch table, Robert Dalton greeted her by saying, “Well, good evening, Miss Grenfeld—who’s set up your bristles?”
Louisa laughed lightly. Robert Dalton was a delightfully ineligible young bachelor of eight-and-twenty who gambled heavily, flirted freely, and made easy friends wherever he went. “It is as good to see you as ever, Mr. Dalton. Whatever leads you to believe I’m angry?”
Robert gave her such a skeptical expression she almost had to laugh again. “Tell me, then, Miss Louisa. Who is responsible for that look on your face? Need I call someone out?”
She giggled once more. “Call out a widow? I should think not!”
“Is she a wealthy, young widow? Because I just might pay her a call. None too plump in the pocket at the moment, you know.” He winked.
Her eyes sparkled with her smile. “You never seem to be, Mr. Dalton.”
He accepted the rub with a grin. “What is the latest on-dit, then, Madam? From what little I’ve heard, that Brougham newcomer seems set to make you an offer already!”
She could feel her cheeks flush, but only smiled. “I don’t know about that.” She glanced about to be sure she wouldn’t be overheard before saying, “His mother asked that I introduce him to some more eligible young ladies, and even suggested that I set my cap at her nephew, Alfred Stanley.”
His mouth fell open and he shook his head. “You cannot be serious,” he said.
“I’m afraid I am serious, Mr. Dalton,” Louisa said, taking a sip of punch.
“Alfred Stanley? Does she know who you are?”
Louisa flushed with pleasure at the implied compliment. “Far too respectable for the likes of Mr. Stanley?” she said hopefully.
“I should say so! You are a diamond of the first water! He’s a . . . a loose screw too short on blunt for the petticoat line!”
One or two older ladies looked over at him when he made this exclamation, clearly scandalized. He nodded a brief apology to them before shaking his head at Louisa. “I should lower my voice, but ‘tis a shocking outrage. What did you say to the woman?”
Louisa looked heavenward. “What could I say, Mr. Dalton? I am a young, unattached woman of no consequence in her mind, and she the widowed daughter of an earl who refuses to recognize me as a respectable young lady, let alone as someone to be emulated. It would’ve been useless to contradict her.”
Mr. Dalton shook his head. “You didn’t answer my question, though, Miss Grenfeld. Are you setting your cap at that Brougham fellow? He’s said to be full of juice and very well-born, but I’ve never seen him at Watier’s! You never really know a man until you play a game of Faro at his side.”
“Let us hope, for the sake of his fortune, that he is never seen at Watier’s,” Louisa said with a smile, her mind flashing to their friend Mr. Brummell’s embarrassing gaming debts.
Robert narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine then, Miss. You keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine.”
She laughed at this. “When have you ever kept a secret, sir?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “If I told you, it’d never be a secret now, would it?”
Click below to purchase a beautiful paperback copy of A Stage for Harriet for only $4.99!
Surprise! (Well, not a big surprise if you've interacted with me in the last month or so) I have a novella coming out this summer! It's in the hands of some amazing beta readers right now and I can't wait to dive in and turn that sweet little baby rough draft into a polished novella ready to brighten a reader's day.
I've been playing around with the idea of making my own cover in Canva. This is my first attempt, and I can assure you it won't be the last! If I can't make it better than this, I will invest in a professional cover designer, never fear. ;)
Without further ado, I give you the first (unedited, and therefore subject to change) chapter of this sweet little story. Cheers!
June 1, 1813
Virginia made sure her mother was not looking at her and then took and buttered a second scone for breakfast. She was not exactly in danger of losing her girlish figure, but her mother would’ve criticized her had she noticed. As she ate, she stared out the window and ignored her mother’s never ending monologue recounting all of the juicy society gossip she was supposed to crave.
But she found she craved only scones and freedom.
“And Lady Fitzgibbon’s granddaughter is getting married to a tradesman!” her mother, the Duchess of Dorset, said with relish.
Virginia blinked a couple times. Her mother was looking at her expectantly now, waiting for a response. “Really?” she managed.
“Yes, I know! We never thought she of all people would stoop so low, but everyone knows her father was a bit too speculative and lost half their fortune on some harebrained scheme or other. One cannot be too surprised that she has had to forego respectability in favor of a fortune. But I could never bear to shake hands with a tradesman, let alone marry one.”
“Then it is fortunate that you are already married, Mother,” Virginia said.
“What was that?” her mother snapped.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. Her mother never let a flippant remark go unpunished.
Her mother squinted at Virginia before nodding approvingly at her respectful silence. She set down the paper she had been reading, and Virginia set her scone down--her appetite was gone.
“Virginia, have your maid set your hair to rights. It looks a bit untidy. Then let us go out walking. Everyone of import will be out on the promenade at this hour. Must you wear that horribly plain blue morning gown? At least put on a necklace. Five minutes, darling!”
Virginia obediently stood and walked upstairs to her room. As she opened the door, she heard a slight shuffle in the corner.
“Oh, it’s only you, milady,” her maid said with relief. She had a biscuit in one hand and a novel in the other. “I came up here to clean your fireplace.” She took another bite of her biscuit. “And have a bit of breakfast,” she said with her mouth full.
Virginia smiled. “You’re welcome to escape here as often as you feel you need to, Mandie. You know that.”
Mandie grinned and finished the rest of the biscuit in a hurry, standing from her chair. “Sit,” she said, her mouth still full of crumbs.
Virginia obediently sat before her dressing table and Mandie dusted off her hands before unpinning the messy bits of Virginia’s coiffure, combing them, and neatly repinning them. Too soon, the duchess was calling up the stairs for Virginia and Virginia rose to her feet.
“Chin up, milady,” Mandie reminded her. “You never know but you might meet a handsome new beau out along the promenade!”
Mandie gave a wink and Virginia could not help but smile. She wished she could remain at home with Mandie all day, but when she first came out into society four years ago she had become an unwilling extension of her mother. The duchess had been eager to parade her daughter before the haut ton and revel in their approval of her. Virginia had hated every moment of it.
Her first season she had been determined to enjoy herself, but her nerves had made her giggle a bit too loudly once and made her the subject of ridicule. She had misstepped while dancing and had been teased for weeks afterward. Two or three suitors had initially caught her interest before she realized they were only fortune hunters who found her a dead bore. It had seemed that all of the young ladies in society were eager to feign friendship with her, due to her father’s rank, but even those she befriended inevitably spread vicious gossip about her.
It had now been over a year since she had willingly gone out in society without being commanded or coerced. She had been blessed with beauty and a wealthy, titled family, but it had been far more of a curse than a blessing to her. It seemed that others around her were always either determined to tear her down or to tolerate her presence only to profit from her in some way. She had learned not to trust anyone but Mandie.
As she was about to walk out the door to meet her mother, Virginia paused. “Come with us, Mandie,” she begged. “Please. Then perhaps we can go off on our own for a spell.”
Mandie smiled. “You don’t need to ask me twice!” Mandie hurried out of her apron and into a light spencer well suited to the brisk late spring weather and followed Virginia out the door.
The duchess did not mind having Virginia’s maid accompany them. After all, who else would carry their purchases should they find something lovely in a shop window?
As her mother prattled on beside her, Virginia turned to Mandie and made a face. Mandie snorted with laughter and the duchess frowned disapprovingly at her, which made Virginia swallow a laugh too.
“Oh!” Virginia said. “Look there, Mother. I see your friend Lady Stanfield. Would you not like to visit with her while Mandie and I walk along the marina just over there?”
The duchess hardly listened. “All right, Virginia. Lady Stanfield! Have you heard the latest news?”
Virginia hurried away with Mandie’s arm in hers. “Come, Mandie! If we hurry she will not be able to keep up with us.”
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere she isn’t,” Virginia muttered, determined to get a bit of breathing room from her mother before playing her favorite game of make-believe. Once they were out of sight and in the midst of the main bustling market crowd at the marina, Virginia let out a sigh.
Mandie tried to pull her arm out of Virginia’s but Virginia held tight. “Milady?” Mandie asked.
“Mandie, call me Virginia,” Virginia said.
“What? Last time I did that the cook heard me doing that she threatened to box my ears.”
“Well, the cook isn’t here, is she? Please?”
Mandie shook her head. “What has gotten into you, my la--er, Virginia?”
Virginia smiled. “Do you ever dream of being ordinary, Mandie? If we were not lady and maid but simply friends?”
Mandie chuckled. “We are already friends, Virginia. We have been for quite some time.”
“I know that, but sometimes I like to play pretend that my mother runs a boarding house and my father sells fish.”
Mandie shook her head. “And most little girls dream of being a princess in a tower like you.”
Virginia wrinkled her nose. “That’s only because they don’t know how miserable it is.”
Mandie smiled and patted Virginia’s hand comfortingly. “There, there. At least you have me. You could have ended up with someone far less interesting than I.”
“In truth, I don’t know what I would do without you, Mandie!”
“Nor do I,” her maid answered cheekily. “Oh, don’t look now, but there’s a handsome stranger giving you a look. Just over there to your right. Wait a moment. Don’t look. Wait. There! Did you see him?”
Virginia laughed and shook her head. “What are you talking about, Mandie?” she asked. Virginia cast her eyes about to see who Mandie could’ve been talking about and saw that a tall, handsome man with dark hair was smiling a crooked grin at her. She looked away from his face, her cheeks pink from his obvious admiration, and noticed that he was favoring one leg and used a crutch. She frowned when she saw the crutch. Was he a cripple, begging? She reached into her pocket to see if she carried any coins and found she only had a spare shilling or two. But perhaps it would help him.
“What are you doing?” Mandie hissed as Virginia began walking toward him. “You haven’t been introduced!” she teased.
Virginia cleared her throat as they drew nearer to the young man. When there were only a few feet between them, Virginia stopped. He carried no container for spare coins, and looked quite clean and well-kept upon closer inspection. He was quite obviously not a beggar. Her face flamed as she realized her mistake, but it was already too late.
“Hello there, Miss. I’m afraid we’re unacquainted, but I’d love to remedy that,” the man said.
Virginia smiled shyly. There was a certain gentleness in his tone that put her at ease despite the natural awkwardness of the situation. “My name is Virginia,” she said. “Virginia . . . Sowell. And this is my friend Mandie Heron.”
Mandie shot her a look briefly, but nodded politely to the young man.
“Ralph Clifton,” the man said. “It is very nice to meet you, Miss Sowell. Miss Heron.”
“It is nice to meet you too!” Virginia said with a smile. And it was. It certainly wasn’t every day she was able to meet a handsome stranger without the burden of his first knowing her father, title, and lineage.
He surveyed her curiously. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Virginia’s cheeks flushed as she remembered her mistake. “I . . . I saw your crutch,” she admitted. “And I was going to ask you the same.”
He looked mildly ruffled, but after a moment he laughed. “It serves me right,” he said. “I injured myself a few weeks ago and the navy doesn’t want me at the moment. I’ve been out of commission for a spell now. I am begging, after a fashion, but for honest work, not coins. I ought to be able to walk on it again soon without the aid of this blasted thing,” he said, gesturing to the crutch, “but for now I must seem pathetic, for no one has hired me.”
“Pathetic! No,” Virginia insisted. “Never pathetic.”
He smiled at her in a way that made her feel warm to her toes, but she told herself it was only the June sunshine.
“We were just out walking,” Mandie said. “If you would care to join us, Mr. Clifton?”
Virginia shot her a look, but Ralph agreed quickly and walked alongside Virginia. “You haven’t happened to hear of any work for a man like me, have you?” he asked.
Virginia shook her head. “No, I can’t say that I have. But if I hear of something I will be certain to let you know.”
Mr. Clifton’s answering smile was filled with mischief. “Oh, you’ll be letting me know, will you? And how will you be finding me again, exactly?”
Virginia felt a sudden shock of courage and a smile crept onto her face. “You’re going to tell us your direction, of course!” she said.
“My lady,” he said, formally, “is that proper?”
who am I?
My name is Mary-Celeste, but my friends call me M.C. I am a writer, wife, mother, amateur gardener, sourdough bread baker, n00b video gamer, Austen enthusiast, tabletop gamer, Trekkie, and generally cheerful human being. I write Regency romances and I post about it here (among other things). Thanks for stopping by!