A handful of historical authors brave the wilds of unusual settings and times to create distinctive, exciting novels just outside of the mainstream. Join us as we chronicle the trials and rewards of our quest--from research and writing to publication and establishing lasting careers.
Thursdays on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! Today we're welcoming Diane Whiteside as she promotes the latest of her delicious Devil series from Kensington Brava, KISSES LIKE A DEVIL. She'll be joining us on Sunday to chat, so make sure you stop back to learn more and enter for a chance to win. This scene picks up after the escape she's posted on her website.
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His wicked desire could free her...
Strikingly handsome, wealthy, and accomplished, Brian Donovan has succeeded in everything he puts his mind to—except marriage. Now, as a favor to his former military commander Teddy Roosevelt, Brian is investigating a powerful new weapon invented in the small European country of Eisengau. The task carries prestige, danger, and an enticing complication in the lithe form of Meredith Duncan. With her deliciously candid approach to all things sensual, Meredith is unlike any woman Brian has known. In fact, she wants him to ruin her reputation—and Brian eagerly obliges, initiating a passionate, playful, and wildly erotic affair...
Or enslave her...
A feminist who believes in free love, Meredith has always battled convention. When her parents urge her toward an odious marriage, Meredith turns to the dashing, thoroughly masculine American who could be her only hope of escape. But nothing is as simple as it seems, and as competition to acquire the new weapon turns deadly, two lovers are drawn into a treacherous game where the stakes run as high as their raw, mutual desire, and the greatest risk of all may lie within an untested and all-consuming love...
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Brian looked out across the park edging the stables behind the Grand Hotel, Eisengau's greatest hostelry. The great linden trees were heavily leafed for high summer, veiling the horses' quarters. Flowerbeds and stone paths meandered through the garden. The distant hotel was brilliantly lit, with a brass band inside belting out enough dance music to deafen anyone within pistol shot. Beyond it stood the long green ribbon of the waterfront parks and promenade, where Eisengau's finest enjoyed watching their great river.
If he and his girl could get that far, who could stop them?
The trees were very close together here between the stables and the Old Town's streets. Dense enough that nobody inside the hotel could see what was happening in the dark. Unfortunately, this was also where the city's less enchanting prostitutes gathered to ply their trade--as demonstrated by the couple only a few feet away.
The man and woman behind the hotel were hardly paying attention to the magnificent vista, though. Given that the fellow's hands were under the slut's skirts and her hand was in his back pocket--plus their grunts and moans--Brian would wager their motives were less than artistic.
He leaned back against the wall beside his girl, striving to keep a safe face. "They probably won't take long," he said soothingly.
Their pursuers' whistles shrilled again, making her flinch.
How much time did they have before the police caught up? Next to none. Crap.
Her dog growled, making Brian glance down. "Be quiet," he ordered sharply in Gaelic.
The dog's bushy eyebrows drew together but he stayed silent.
"What are you--"
Brian wrapped his arm around her waist and whipped her out of their hiding place. A couple of steps--half dragging, half carrying her--brought them to a separate linden tree from the amorous couple. He backed her against the solid wood, the sweet fragrance sifting around them.
"They'll see us," she hissed.
BRRRRRR!!!
The police whistle sounded from the alley they'd just left. No time now for long explanations.
He kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers to cover any objections. She had a delicate frame to support all the courage she'd shown and her lungs were still heaving from their desperate race, lifting air into his mouth.
She stiffened. Her hands clawed at him, pushing him away. Her knee came up, hard and fast to unman him, and he blocked it quickly. Pity he couldn't allow her any games now. Steady, milady, steady. Play along with me and they won't take you.
BRRRRR!
A moment later, her fingers loosened, curved, and curled around the nape of his neck. Her mouth moved to meet his.
Feet ran back and forth, urged on by shouting. He should be concerned about them. But it was hard to worry much, when his girl was warm in his arms at last.
From shop to store: prêt-a-porter sales have been a long time coming. In the Middle Ages and Renaissance, clothiers' guilds limited the mass production of clothes, but by the 1700s, the US, China, and Europe could all boast flourishing clothing industries.
In 1820, the measuring tape was invented, which helped make consistent sizing methods. And in 1846, Elias Howe's sewing machine further increased the availability of clothes made en masse.
During the American Civil War, the demand for mass-produced uniforms was high. Sizes became standardized so that soldiers order uniforms to fit without much, if any, tailoring. After the war, men's clothes retained the standard sizing, making it easy to buy ready-made clothes. Department stores grew in popularity. The first of these stores, Le Bon Marche ("the good deal"), opened in Paris in 1838. In New York, Alexander Turney Stewart opened his own store, aptly named AT Stewart, also called The Marble Palace, on Broadway (pictured). The Marble Palace officially became a department store in 1858, and by 182, it was linked with Macy's, B. Altman, and Lord & Taylor to form "The Ladies' Mile" on Broadway. In 1869, Stewart became a millionaire.
Other stores followed. In 1872, Bloomingdale's opened, and Bergdorf-Goodman opened its swanky doors in 1906.
Isaac Singer's electric sewing machine, which had come out in 1889, was another catalyst for ready-made clothing. Clothing factories popped up all over the world, since garment making had never been easier. Using an electric machines in an assembly line, even the most unskilled seamstresses could be of use, as they only had to learn how to make a single piece of clothing. This also created a way for clothing manufacturers to branch out into women's clothing, starting with shirtwaists, which are long, tapered blouses worn with flowing skirts.
Sears, Roebuck & Co., which had begun as a mail-order service in 1839, took on clothing manufacturer Julius Rosenwald as part owner in 1895. With the addition of ready-to-wear clothing available in standard sizes, the catalog grew from 320 pages, to more than 530. In 1925, Sears opened its first retail store. By the end of 1929, 319 stores had popped across America.
Ready-to-wear clothing had found a place in the middle-class, where people were too busy to make their own clothes but not wealthy enough to hire someone to custom-sew them. After World War II, haute couture ready-to-wear began to pop up in Europe from designers like Dior and Givenchy, names still expensive today.
Chivalric orders have been around since the dawn of time it seems. Such honors were the order of knights created by European monarchs mimicking the military orders used in the Crusades. Idealized and romanticized as a symbol of high respect and integrity, they reflected the medieval notion of chivalry and devotion as see in Arthurian romances.
A prevalent order during the Victorian ear was the illustrious Order of the Golden Fleece. The most renowned of all collared orders it was divided into two sects—that of the Spaniards and that of the Austrians. Awards of the Order for Austria, or the Habsburg Order, were made for "important personal achievement in the furtherance of the Christian ideal." The Collars of the Golden Fleece had to be returned after the death of a knight, and were worn at ceremonies of the Order, in processions accompanying the Holy Sacrament and at Pontifical affairs. The badge of the Order is worn from a red ribbon with the ornate enameled B and fusil. Those granted knighthood were required to keep a miniature, blessed reproduction of the fleece in an honorable spot on their persons at all times.
Few things convey the individuality of a culture as effectively as fashion. From the towering, often vermin-infested hairstyles worn by women in 18th century France to the leather buckskins worn by Native American Indians, the clothing we wear depicts the era in which we live and, as the advertising slogan says, forms the "fabric of our lives."
The Roma began their migration from India to Europe and beyond many centuries ago, picking up Persian, Greek, and other influences along the way. Their travels across distant lands exposed them to the use of dyes to color cloth, making them appear like colorful peacocks dressed in hues of blue, green, pink, burgundy, orange and yellow, in sharp contrast to peasants of the era who wore earth tones created from affordable, available vegetable dyes. Not all colors were acceptable, however. The bright shade of red associated with the color of blood was considered back luck, and the color white was linked to mourning and death and was also unlucky.
To this day, mention the word "Gypsy" and most people picture dark-eyed, raven-haired women garbed in brightly colored blouses accented with braid and lavish embroidery, swirling, multi-layered skirts, and the requisite gold hoop earrings. Historically, this image is not inaccurate. A 19th century Roma woman would wear her long hair braided until she married, and once wed, she would cover her tresses with a head scarf, called a diklo, when in public. Puffed sleeved blouses with low necklines were worn, and bodices would often be made of tapestry material or heavily embroidered fabric decorated with ribbons and sewn-in or tied on bells.
While bodice necklines might dip low enough to reveal a scandalous amount of cleavage, strong beliefs surrounding the concepts of cleanliness and modesty dictated the length of the skirts worn by Roma females during this era, and women were expected to keep the lower half of their bodies--including their legs--concealed at all times. And because the Roma did not trust the safety of the financial institutions of the gadjo world, their wealth was converted to gold and worn on their person, hence the profusion of gold earrings and gold necklaces.
While both sexes wore vibrant colors, the clothing of the Roma man was less distinctive than that of his female counterpart. Standard of Romany male dress might include a mustache, a neckerchief, and a large hat. Roma men wore loose-fitting, brightly colored shirts with buttoned or tied collars, and some outfits might be customized to reflect the profession of the wearer, such as a poacher wearing a vest festooned with bits of fur or feathers. Rings, sashes, leather pouches, amulets and gold earrings would provide the finishing touch.
Contact Jennifer to give her your address. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!
This week we're welcoming author Jack Woodville London whose romantic historical fiction debut VIRGINIA'S WAR is set in 1944 Texas, the first of his "French Letters" trilogy.
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Jack Woodville London, tell us about this, your first release.
VIRGINIA'S WAR is the first of three novels that make up the "French Letters" trilogy. It is the story of Virginia Sullivan who, in small town Texas in 1944, is told by the family doctor that she is pregnant four months after her boyfriend shipped off to war. No one notices the rather long interval between his leaving and her news but she can't wait to defiantly tell her father, Poppy, the town's newspaperman. Instead of fury or shame, he is delighted. The intended shock becomes hers when Poppy publishes a completely phony announcement in the local paper that she and Will eloped just before he shipped off. Like the consequences of Poppy's hand in local draft dodging and black marketing, the impending baby and utterly false marriage are time bombs waiting to go off.
When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?
At a very early age, perhaps when I read Gone With the Wind in fourth grade. By high school I was in deep. It wasn't until university that I discovered it was important to make enough money to actually support the habit; the Age of Patronage seems to have been several centuries ago.
Where do you get your information or ideas for your stories?
I am a lawyer by career and a historian by training; conflict is sort of endemic to my life. I am fascinated by the people side of war, not the dates and generals side but the "what happened to the ordinary people" side. For example, I knew in a general way that unlucky soldiers received Dear John letters from girls back home who decided not to wait for them, and I knew that the letters were packed in boats headed for the war, and that some of the boats were sunk. It doesn't take much logic to figure out that some soldiers didn't get their Dear John letters until they got home and found babies who weren't there when they left. The shipping loss figures, the number of babies born in the US in the absence of soldiers, and the number of prosecutions for black market sales of everything from tires to chickens during the war bear that out.
So, this particular book arose from the confluence of those bits of data. For information I use original sources, such as records about the ration program from the wartime Office of Price Administration and naval shipping loss records. I researched a lot of the source data for the sequel to VIRGINIA'S WAR by going through the document collection at the Imperial War Museum in London.
What would you say is your most interesting writing quirk?
I create maps of the scenes, then print them and use them for reference. Virginia's hometown is sitting in my manuscript, completely drawn out, as is the village and chateau in France where Will does his service.
What was one of the most surprising things you learned while creating your book?
Each character became a real person, to me and to the early readers.
What authors or friends influenced you to become a writer?
Evelyn Waugh, Donna Tartt, Anthony Powell, Harper Lee, and Larry McMurtry are the authors who inspire me. I would give anything to write just one sentence as effectively as Evelyn Waugh wrote "Good, that's prayer. What's next?" As for family and friends, I was well-tolerated by my high school English teacher. My mother enrolled in university as a widow at age 54 and then wrote and produced a play at 60. My Aunt Helen was a well regarded poet in the Texas Panhandle. And the elephant in my room is, of course, the other Jack London, the one who wrote dog and Alaska stories, a distant relative.
What does your family think about your career as a published author?
Extremely supportive (see note above re: Age of Patronage). I hope Mom, Aunt Helen, and Great Great Great Uncle Jack are beaming down.
What is coming up next for you writing-wise?
Finishing the sequel to VIRGINIA'S WAR. It is tentatively titled WILL'S PEACE. Can you tell I like plays on words? I have completed the second draft of the manuscript and, once I get it to a point where it is a well-written companion to VIRGINIA'S WAR, I will begin my third novel, CHILDREN OF A GOOD WAR. And, because I think I should, I am attempting a short story about a young man who mistakenly believes that his carelessness caused the death of a migrant farm worker.
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REVIEWS:
"Everything comes to a head in an exciting, and somewhat surprising, conclusion. I'm looking forward to the continuation of the French Letters Trilogy. This is Mr. London's debut novel, and it’s an excellent beginning!" -- Jane Bowers, Romance Reviews Today
"Author Jack London has given his readers a great opening salvo in VIRGINIA'S WAR, something to sink their teeth into--a town worth exploring, interesting and complicated relationships, power struggles, and overshadowing it all, a world war." -- Book Pleasures
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Thanks for stopping by today, Jack!
Readers, if you would like to try for a free copy of VIRGINIA'S WAR, let me know what you think of WWII-set romances and romantic historical fiction. Are you eager to read them? Do you have recommendations to share? We here at Unusual Historicals would love to know your thoughts. I'll draw a random name next Sunday, so good luck!
Michelle Styles is a must-read for readers who are bored to tears of reading hackneyed, cliched and highly unoriginal wallpaper historical romances. In Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife, her writing is crisp and effortless, her evocation of Regency England superb, her characters believable and authentic, and her ability to tell an emotionally satisfying love story absolutely breathtaking.
IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE is not your typical run-off-the-mill Regency, but a beautifully rendered tale of hope, sacrifice, tragedy and the everlasting power of love. 5 stars!
The Pink Heart Society said, "Michelle Styles' latest is a beautifully-told, wonderfully written and utterly absorbing historical Regency that I defy anyone to put down once they've read the first page. Imbued with so much style, emotion, humour, charm and intense romance, IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE is outstanding historical romantic fiction at its best!"
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Danielle Thorne's unusual historical, THE PRIVATEER, has been released from Awe-Struck Books. Julius Bertrand secretly privateers for the British Crown. The former pirate thinks a wife will complete his masquerade, until a bounty is put on his head. Adventure, romance, and intrigue, are intertwined with Caribbean history circa 1729.
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Have a good day! If you have an announcement to make for next week, email Carrie. See you next week...
Thursday on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! This week we're featuring our new blog contributor, Lindsay Townsend, and her latest release from Kensington Zebra: A KNIGHT'S CAPTIVE.
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Battle-weary knight Marc de Sens has never encountered a woman like Sunniva of Wereford: beautiful, brilliant, and miles above the curs who call themselves her kin. Alas, she is promised to another and Marc's obligation is to his three orphaned nieces. But when Sunniva's circumstances suddenly change, Marc learns the truth about her 'betrothal'...
A rough-hewn knight so gentle with children intrigues Sunniva, who never knew a kind word or caring touch from any man until Marc rescued her from the grimmest of fates. When her loutish father and brothers are killed, Sunniva is finally free, but her troubles are far from over. Although Marc has appointed himself her protector, he has a dark secret--as well as an uncanny ability to disarm her completely.
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This excerpt is based on true events, when the Norman Duke William was crowned King of England in Westminister Abbey on Christmas Day, 1066. The heroine Sunniva has come to the coronation with the hero, Marc.
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So intent was she on her prayers that she paid little heed to what was happening further inside the church. Eventually, through the puffs of incense and the tense standing knots of armed, fidgeting men she noticed a muscular, clean-shaven, middle-aged man standing close to the high altar. Beside him were the bishops in their heavy, embroidered robes--she was too anxious to take notice of the needlework on their clothes. Beside them were a few monks, singing gamely into the not-quite-silence, and on either side of the nave, the Saxon lords and William's Normans.
They made a contrast, Sunniva thought. The Normans, clean-shaven and crop-haired, some sweating in chain mail. The English, long-haired, with full beards or moustaches, and short riding cloaks, many stained by travel. To a man they stared at the altar, not quite looking at the king--for that was certainly who it was.
William was speaking, repeating something, prompted by an elderly cleric.
"That is Aldred, Archbishop of York," Marc said in her ear. "I have it on good authority that he has anointed William and--look!"
Sunniva swung her head and saw the lean, hawk-featured Aldred place a gold diadem upon the stocky William's balding head. The Normans, standing on the right side of the nave, began to cheer, the sound lost in the great church. A few of the English, standing on the left side of the nave, joined in, and Sunniva thought that she heard the accents of her own homeland, coming from the lips of a tall, elderly Englishman who reminded her of someone... She felt homesick for an instant, missing her mother, and then the moment was gone.
Now the archbishop of York stood back and asked the English if William was acceptable as King. A French bishop, whom Marc did not recognize, asked the same question to the French-speaking Normans.
Both sides agreed and their acclamations grew louder, each side seeming determined to outdo the other. With every shout, those waiting outside the abbey joined in until suddenly one of the guards burst back into the church, yelling something in French that spurred the whole company, Normans and English, into an unseemly stampede for the door.
Frozen into a shocked stillness as the ominous smell of burning gushed into the church and she heard screaming outside, she was conscious of being roughly bundled behind Marc. "Keep your back always to the pillar!" he hissed, tugging a monk behind him and drawing his sword to defend them all.
Outside the tumult increased. Sickened to hear the running panic, Sunniva realized that most of the congregation had fled, including the tall, bearded stranger who had put her in mind of her homeland. Like scurrying ants in a broken ant-hill, the clergy were hastening to complete the consecration of the king. William, paler than spun flax, seemed to be trembling. All this--on Christmas Day!
In my story "The Mountaintop," set in ancient Greece, there were so many things to research, but as far as clothing goes, the Greeks made it an easy time.
The Ancient Greeks were not fussy about their clothing. Ancient Greek clothing was typically homemade, and the same piece of homespun fabric could be used as a type of garment or blanket. The garments were made for function, and they were made simply. For every member of the family, except for infants who often wore nothing at all, an outfit usually consisted of a square or rectangular piece of fabric, pins for fastening, and sometimes shoes and/or hats. The style and type of the garment depended on who wore it, and the job or function required of the person. There were several types of garments, all derived from a basic tunic. The tunic was worn by both men and women, varying in length according to gender. And with Greek summers being brutally hot, the less fabric and complicating seams to deal with, the better.
From Greek vase paintings and sculptures, we can tell that the fabrics were intensely colored and usually decorated with intricate designs. The colors used during this period were brightly-hued, such as green, indigo, yellow, violet, dark red, dark purple. The white ideal comes from paint that had once covered the marble statues wearing off by the time they were found.
Clothing for women and men consisted of two main garments--a tunic (either a peplos or chiton) and a cloak (himation).
The peplos was a large rectangle of heavy fabric, usually wool, folded over along the upper edge so that the over fold would reach to the waist. It was placed around the body and fastened at the shoulders with a pin or brooch. There were armholes were on each side, and the open side of the garment was either left that way, or pinned or sewn to form a seam.
The chiton was made of a much lighter material, normally linen. It was a very long, very wide rectangle of fabric sewn up at the sides, pinned or sewn at the shoulders, and usually girded around the waist. Often the chiton was wide enough to allow for sleeves that were fastened along the upper arms with pins or buttons. Both the peplos and chiton were floor-length garments, usually long enough to be pulled over the belt, creating a pouch known as a kolpos.
Under either garment, a woman might have worn a soft band known as a strophion, around the mid-section of the body. Men in ancient Greece customarily wore a chiton similar to the one worn by women, but knee-length or shorter. An exomis (a short chiton fastened on the left shoulder) was worn for exercise, horse riding, or hard labor.
The himation worn by both women and men was essentially a rectangular piece of heavy fabric, either woolen or linen. It was draped diagonally over one shoulder or symmetrically over both shoulders, like a stole.
A few other pieces still based on the general shape were also used at times. Women sometimes wore an epiblema (shawl) over the peplos or chiton. Young men often wore a chlamys (short cloak) for riding. Greek babies wore cloth diapers when it was hot and when it cold, they were wrapped up in blankets. Most of the time children wore only cloth (resembling shorts) wrapped around their middles.
The silhouette of a woman is formed by her lingerie. What is beneath the three piece suit can affect a woman's mood, behavior and set the tone of the events that follow.
Lingerie can be traced to the ancient civilizations. Purely functional, not used to create a fashion statement, tomb paintings show Pharaohs wearing socks to keep sand out of their toes, Minoan vases depict women athletes strapping their breasts for support. In Roman times, the early prototype for a bra was named strophium. Still, what we consider foundationwear is a relatively modern invention. Underwear (panties) were not invented until the late 19th century. Before it was considered unhealthy for a woman to wear anything underneath her petticoats!
In the Middle Ages, nobility began to wear simple linen clothes under their richly decorated dresses. It protected the expensive outer dress from their dirty body and provided a layer or warmth. Then the purpose of foundationwear slowly transformed into providing a particular shape and form--molding a woman's shape into the fad of the century.
The first corsets were invented in the 15th century. There was a rigid center called a basque, usually very decorated and even given as a love token, to be worn close to the heart. Also popular were farthingales, hooped petticoats, and bustles, a framework for the robes worn as outer garments. The farthingale was essential in creating the wide-hipped Elizabethan fashion. Exaggeration was the key fashion word for the 17th century, the women's frame achieving extraordinary proportions.
As the 19th century rolled in, the style of underwear and quantity reached its peak. The female body was wrapped in layers and layers of clothing--the bustle skirts, pantaloons, tightly laced corsets and bodices. The corset reached its extreme, literally reforming the women's body, dangerously so. They were designed to constrain and shape the body, some made of tortuous steel.
The 20th century ushered in a new age for women. They saw their clothing as a way to control them in every aspect of their lives. It was during and after WWI, that lingerie became linked with sexual politics and female emancipation. A looser, more androgynous style emerged as women had to take on more and more jobs usually held by men. Never again would women go back to being 'constrained and molded' by their lingerie.
Having a heroine adopt male guise has been a staple of the historical tale for quite some time. Shakespeare did it in Twelfth Night, and Georgette Heyer in The Masqueraders and These Old Shades. Kathleen Woodiwiss brought this device to the modern historical romance with Ashes in the Wind. Susan Elizabeth Phillips also had her heroine in male guise for part of her only solo historical, recently reissued under the title Just Imagine. Several romances have adapted or borrowed from the lives of pirates Anne Bonny and Mary Read. As of this writing, there are four newly-released books that have heroines in male disguise in my to-be-read and just-finished-reading piles.
Whether our heroine is out for a lark or running for her life, the heroine disguised as male device is one that can be used in several different settings and eras and for a variety of reasons. In many historical eras, a lone woman would have endured challenges and restrictions that a man, even a young one, would not. Prior to the twentieth century, a heroine who wished to serve in the military had no option but to adopt a male identity, and maritime superstition about women being bad luck aboard a ship (though some captains were allowed to bring their wives) revealed many a cabin boy to be a girl. A heroine who needs to elude captors would be wise to alter her appearance, and altering her perceived gender can throw even the wiliest villains off the track.
The specifics of this will of course vary on geography, era, culture and common dress, but the phrase "If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's probably a duck" applies to disguised heroines. In most historical eras, male and female dress were distinct from each other, and if some form of uniform was involved, the gender of the person in it couldn't be readily assumed.
A woman adopting male guise would have a few things to consider. Her hair would likely have to be cut or at least concealed, and the lack of any form of facial hair would turn even a twenty-something heroine into an assumed adolescent. If she can avoid bathing, a natural patina may have formed, hopefully obscuring a more feminine bone structure as well as smooth cheeks and jaw. Breasts would need to be bound with long strips of cloth such as bandages, unless the heroine has a naturally boyish figure, in which case she might have an extra advantage. Beg, borrow or steal a shirt, breeches and jacket from a likely male compatriot and the transformation is...not yet complete.
Depending on where and when our heroine found herself, she'd need to alter not only her appearance but her speech, vocabulary, movement and social skills. A sailor, for example, would have a different air about him than a gently reared miss of the upper class. If the disguise persisted for an extended period of time, she'd have to find a way to deal with menstruation, and once the hero entered the picture, possibly pregnancy.
Though many women throughout history did choose to live out their lives in male garb, in a romance, at some point, our heroine would resume her feminine appearance. Still, as with when our heroine adopted her disguise, the outer appearance wouldn't always tell the whole story. Whatever she wore, our heroine would have seen life from a different angle, giving her insight into any adventures yet to come.
Contact Erastes to give her your address. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!
Jennifer Mueller is celebrating the release of two new books this month: A RUINED SEASON, which is a hardcover Regency from Robert Hale, and HISTORY LESSONS, a contemporary e-book that collects multiple historical stories, published by Phaze.
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Ayda Rogers can't believe her luck. She's been invited to a Scottish castle for the summer to research her doctoral thesis. When she gets there she finds that with 800 years of history to contend with, the past is always present. Steamy tales of previous castle owners meld within the modern story as she learns all she needs for her paper. And sometimes it's not the past but the present which makes you change your whole way of thinking, especially when it comes in the form of the future duke named Hunter.
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Today Elise Sinclair, Dowager Duchess of Cairnmuir, has stopped by to tell a little about the family that lives in Am Binnean Castle. Inhabited since 1252 by the Sinclair family, there are tales enough to entertain many a cold Scottish night.
Now, Elise, I see here you live in Scotland. Were you part of the British effort in the war, then?
Elise: (a bit of laughter) No, I was one of those odd Americans who were caught in Paris as it fell. My college roommate's boyfriend was quickly part of the resistance, and he recruited me for a special purpose. There was a German general in Paris who needed a secretary, and with my degree in languages and having been a model, he figured I would be a shoe-in for the position.
What is he up to now? This boyfriend that snagged you into the job?
Elise: Unfortunately, he was killed in the same betrayal that sent me into hiding. If not for that, I never would have ended up on the shores of Am Binnean castle. Marie, my roommate, was killed as well, and who knows what happened to his family. I put the marker for his grave up myself when I realized there was no one to do it.
I suppose the readers would like to know if you ever fell in love with the enemy. If so, how did the relationship end?
Elise: (real laughter) No, I was able to keep my skirt down when it came to Germans. Pretending I was one, working in an office with them, yet not sleeping with them was about the only way I could keep some bit of me reminded I wasn't German. I guess I knew that getting involved with any of the resistance members, even just civilians, would put me in a position I didn't want to have to explain to my German bosses.
So you were part of the Special Operations Executive then?
Elise: No, the Resistance group I belonged to just reported to them. François didn't want there to be any leaks with the group, so he was the only one I was in contact with. The SOE had my name; it was supposed to be safer that way. I was at the doctor's sick when the Germans started killing everyone on the SOE's ranks. Someone had given up the names. You know that all the details of that time in my life were written down in a story called "Once Upon a Spy." Ayda Rogers, who came to conserve the family art collection, seems to be collecting all the stories the family knows. I have a feeling that she'll make a story of her own to add, what with the way my grandson looks at her every time she's in the room.
Stories? You mean there's more than one? Tell me about those.
Elise: With a castle inhabited since 1252, how could there not be stories? There are more stories than hard fact. A lot can be forgotten in 800 years.
Which ones has she found out then? The ghost perhaps? I've heard talk of a castle ghost.
Elise: Heavens, which ones has she heard? I'm certain she's seen the ghost, actually. She jumps now and then when there is a noise. I know the cook, Mary, let loose about the naughty "Unexpected Relatives," such as Eaduin Sinclair who rebuilt the castle after it was regained from the English. He fought with Robert the Bruce, you know.
The family has long been involved in politics. "Politics of Marriage" is another she's collected. The castle might look picturesque after centuries of quiet, but in 1714, it was embroiled in the beginning of the Stuart claims to the throne. It was a sad day when so many men were killed that it kept the family from the risings.
Hunter has told her of our "Rose Among the Heather," a favorite story of mine, perhaps because it mirrors my own circumstances--a commoner catching the eye of the duke. Edward had just returned from fighting Napoleon only to find a house party that kept him from forgetting the horrors of battle. Heavens, I just realized all of those are rather naughty! My own, of course, I could never tell such details, and I think she's researching a new one come to light only recently.
Five? That's all there is in 800 years?
Elise: (more laughter) She's only been here a few months, and she's been busy with a painting she's found. If it's what she thinks it is, that will be quite the coup for us--a missing Titian hidden for who knows how long. It is a working visit after all. I do know that she's found a most intriguing story set long before the Sinclairs and even the Vikings invaded the area. Romans and Picts! It's hard to believe this little part of the world far from everything has had so much history. She posted it online with an author friend of hers. I'm sure more stories will come to light, especially if Hunter is able to woo our guest. I'm certain his heart is lost already. Ayda's is harder to guess.
Then you know of more stories yourself?
Elise: Well, of course, my dear. So many years in the castle without a television leave many an evening to hear them all. I suppose you'll ask what? "A Faire Lass" is a short little tale of one of our ancestors falling in love at first sight. It's a most unusual problem when she sells iron goods in the market. "In Search of the Picturesque" brings a little scandal into the family. It's not the lack of title, either, nor is it without other misunderstandings. I'm getting tired though. I'm not as young as I once was when I survived a shipwreck and found my way to these shores. Perhaps another time.
Of course. I'd never want to tire you. I don't suppose Ayda would ever tell these tales though you have me quite intrigued.
Elise: (a vague smile) She's had help from that author friend of hers. They've written all the stories down and they'll even be published on April 27th. I think Ayda's even confided her decision of how she feels about my grandson Hunter. Now I really should have a nap before the nurse comes with my medication. She'll never be happy if she finds me worn out.
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Thanks for stopping by today, Elise. I'm sure Jennifer is pleased to have you speaking about HISTORY LESSONS on her behalf. If you're intrigued by a story that takes you through the history of a great Scottish castle--and all the mischief and romance that takes place--then leave a comment or question for Jennifer. Next week, I'll pick a random name and that person will win a copy of HISTORY LESSONS. Good luck!
Please join me in welcoming Lindsay Townsend to our ranks of regular Unusual Historicals contributors! She's in the sidebar and everything! Lindsay writes ancient historicals for Bookstrand and medieval historicals for Kensington, the latest of which is A KNIGHT'S CAPTIVE. Her titles can be found on our collected book list. Welcome, Lindsay!
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Carrie Lofty and Jacquie Rogers are participating in the 10-week "Ask an Author" feature on Ingela Hyatt's website, where 22 authors answer all manner of questions. Readers are encouraged to comment and ask questions of their own for a chance to win a gazillion prizes. Check back every Monday for new entries.
Carrie also posted on her agent Caren Johnson's blog about unusual historicals, a condensed version of the article she wrote for the November issue of RWR.
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Join us Sunday when Jennifer Mueller will be here to talk about her newest releases. Jennifer takes her readers far and wide, so be sure to see what she's been up to lately!
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We'll also draw the winner of Erastes' TRANSGRESSIONS. There's still time to leave a comment for your shot at winning!
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Have a good weekend! If you have an announcement to make for next week, email Carrie. See you next week...
Thursdays on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! This one is from the April 30 release A RUINED SEASON by our long-time contributor, Jennifer Mueller. Her April is shaping up to be very busy! We'll be featuring Jennifer on Sunday, so stop back for your chance to win a free book.
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Sophie Greenwood went to London to have her season hoping to find a husband. If only they had told her that her father had lost all his money, but gossip spreads quickly around London and everyone knew Baron Canmore's scandal. Now two years later, will Sophie ruin another season? No one seems to want to make staying scandal-free an easy task. Almost everywhere she turns, someone is trying to make her the laughing stock. "Fleeing London" once more seems to be her only option. What hope is there for a life of her own?
***
How many times had she been told in the last weeks she couldn't go for a walk as she had in the country? Not without a chaperon at least. Even now, Anjanette walked alongside her just to visit three doors down. Riding in the morning was about the only time she had alone, all else was in accompaniment of her host and cousin. They were fine, it was all the visiting they did that wore on her. Not being talked to, all but snubbed while they gave her just enough attention to not label it a cut. They dare not provoke the displeasure of Lady Sandbourne. Her censure would not be advisable.
Anjanette's cry was the only warning Sophie had before powerful arms closed around her throat. Sophie could do nothing as she watched Anjanette hitting the ground hard. A nasty voice filled her ears. "Tell me where to find Greyfriars and you'll stay alive."
The smell of the man was bad enough, something good came from being choked so she couldn't breathe. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me, I've seen you wearing your finery. Tell me where to find him." His hands tightened. "I've seen the letter. Tell me where he is."
Just as she was about to run out of air, Anjanette finally found her tongue and started yelling. Sophie sank to the ground when she could suddenly breathe while the sound of heavy uneven footsteps ran quickly away. Strong hands helped her up as Lady Sandbourne and Mariah came at haste, along with most of the other residents of the street. Their manservants at any rate.
"Get away from her, you blackguard," Roberts, Lady Sandbourne's butler, ordered.
Sophie's voice strained, the words unable to form.
Anjanette spoke instead. "He's the one that saved her."
Turning to look at her savior, it was no wonder Roberts was skeptical. The man's strong jaw was covered in stubble, tanned as few gentlemen are in England making his piercing blue eyes stand out all the more. Sun had bleached his dark hair and she could smell the sea on him. Somehow, she couldn't pull her eyes away from his.
"Thank you." Sophie was finally able to whisper.
"You're sure he isn't the one?" Lady Sandbourne pressed.
Sophie shook her head forcing the words to come. "The man that attacked me stank. I'm sure you can smell it even now on my clothes. It was not the sea I smelled."
Her rescuer smiled faintly. "Are you quite well? Nothing was stolen?"
A neighbor's servant sniffed disdainfully. "Not from her, nothing to take." The group broke up without orders, she was certain, so they could go report to their ladies how she made a spectacle of herself by being attacked.
Lady Sandbourne slipped in at her side fretting and clucking like a hen as Mariah helped Anjanette. "I can't believe you were attacked outside my own home. Mayfair is supposed to be above that sort of thing." She was escorted away from her mystery rescuer before she could find out his name to thank him properly.
"Did you see the one that saved her? He looked as disreputable as the man that attacked her must have," Mariah announced once the door was closed.
Sophie saved her throat though Mariah's disdain was unfounded. Sophie would stake the last of her reputation on that fact. A long sea voyage perhaps and he had just docked by the smell he carried. Not yet had time to shave.
"Fearful handsome, though." Lady Sandbourne commented leaving Mariah to be scandalized, never expecting such a thing from her aunt.
All Sophie could think of in order to forget almost being strangled was the look in the man's eyes. Even after it was mentioned she had nothing, those eyes kept smiling at her.
"Oh, you push it up here, You pull it down there. You tighten up the middle till you're gaspin' for air. Oh, a corset can do a lot for a lady, Cause it helps to show a man what she's got."
This little ditty, from an old movie called The First Traveling Saleslady, says it all. Women have been wearing corsets for hundreds of years--think Queen Elizabeth I and her cone-shaped figure. The style has changed according to fashion, but the basic construction remains the same, as well as the main reason for wearing the contraption (see the above ditty).
Corsets are typically made of a flexible material, like cloth, and stiffened with boning, also called ribs or stays, inserted into channels in the fabric. In the 19th century, steel and whalebone were favored for the boning. Featherbone was used as a less expensive substitute for whalebone and was constructed from flattened strips of goose quill woven together with yarn to form a long strip.
Corsets are held together by lacing, usually at the back. Tightening or loosening the lacing changes the firmness of the corset. In the l800s heyday of corsets, a well-to-do woman would be laced by her maid. However, many corsets also had a buttoned or hooked front opening called a busk. Once the lacing was adjusted comfortably, it was possible to leave the lacing and take the corset on and off using the front opening. Self-lacing is also almost impossible with tightlacing, which strives for the utmost possible reduction of the waist. How could we forget Scarlett O'Hara hanging onto the bedpost while Mammy yanked her laces?
In the 1830s, the corset was thought of as a medical necessity. It was believed that a woman was fragile, and needed assistance from some form of stay to hold her up. Even girls as young as three or four were laced up into bodices. Gradually these garments were lengthened and tightened. By the time they were teenagers, the girls were unable to sit or stand for any length of time without the aid of a tightly laced corset. The corset deformed the internal organs making it impossible to draw deep breath, in or out of a corset. Because of this, Victorian women were always fainting and getting the vapors.
The practice of tightlacing reached its apex in the 1890s. It was the ambition of most girls to have, at marriage, a waist measuring no more inches than the years of their age--and to marry before 21.
Working-class women, except when dressed for special occasions, usually wore looser corsets and simpler clothes, with less weight. The higher up in class a lady was, the more confining her clothes were. This was because she didn't need the freedom to do household chores.
The corset is still very much with us--just open any Victoria's Secret catalog. Women no longer cinch their waists to wasp proportions, but some current practices I could name are just as drastic. What do you think?
"The Queen of Fashion." New York: McCall Co., 1895. Pam ff#140, v.22 no.7. This serial contains fiction and fashion tips, as well as social commentary: "The American woman, by her reading, is developing marvelously in a political way and attaining such knowledge as will make her a power in influencing the home circle even if it has no effect on helping her to obtain suffrage."
Haweis, Mary Eliza Joy. The Art of Beauty. London: Chatto & Windus, 1878.
This beauty manual notes that mothers in particular should work to maintain an attractive appearance: "A Mother may often have more influence with her child by being a graceful and pleasing woman, than by the most admirable virtues combined with a dowdy or slovenly dress."
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Let's face it, women were supposed to look beautiful, graceful, stylish. We were expected to do the work of three men in a corset and bustle in heat and snow, and not complain. We paragons of virtue and epitomes of fashion were also expected to know things. You know what things I mean...not that we ever talked about these things. But we had to know them anyway.
In 1880s America, we were supposed to stay at home looking very posh in our dresses, or work hard at factories and millineries, and yet still cook, clean, feed everyone, have babies, take care of drunken husbands, and even if we were rich, there were households to run, accounts to see to, servants to oversee, and kids, husbands, etc.
In the Late Victorian Era, mostly 1880-1901, styles rapidly changed with, yes, technology. One couldn't very well ride a bicycle or ice skate in a dress where the bodice reached mid thigh could one?
The cuirasse bodice of 1880 reached the hem actually becoming the princess panel dress. It made an exceptionally form fitting draped sheath dress which was elongated even further by the train.
And then came the bustle. In 1880, it was shown in Paris, but this reappearance proved longer lasting: the hard shape gave women a silhouette "like the hind legs of a horse" as shown in this picture. I'm inclined to agree. Later bustles (1884 and onward) weren't as dramatic but still built a woman up on her derriere. Yes, dearie, it does make your butt look big.
With more fitted gowns, slimmer sleeves, less, ah, drastic designs in dress styles, eventually the tailored suit came into fashion. Power dressing at its height.
By 1893 the bustle was out. Large swaths of fabric draped over the back of the gown made up for the bustle. In my opinion, it looked classier--less 'yup, there's a bustle" and more elegant.
I was recently gratified to write a novel set in 1827 simply for the hats. Folks, tired of wars and social upheaval, began reflecting on the romance of past monarchies to set their styles. Sitters of portraits in the 1820s were sometimes barely recognizable for the pretty gloss the artists imbued them with. The romantic past was a treasure chest of adornments for womens' finery. Like the hairstyles, hats burgeoned in width and height. Indeed, some of these articles of dress seem to us now to have been imaginary, but paintings by Ingres or Devéria and existing costumes prove they were real.
Hats grew during the decade until about 1824 when they exploded with an uproar of decoration surpassing anything else in the century. Flowers of all manner, tartan ribbons, sometimes four inches wide and "depending as low as the knees," and ostrich feathers were loaded upon hats,--and hats of this sort were worn to dinner and the theater. One giant structure even had two mounted birds of paradise perched artistically on the crown, for evening dress. Branches of shrubs shot out at every angle, and flowing vegetation ornamented the heads of the fashionable.
I got up early and proceeded with Henney to the milliner's rooms...You never saw such curiosities as these Paris hats... Mine, which is very moderate, measures three feet across, and has a suit of embellishments, bows, puffs, points, feathers, flowers, and wheat sheaves, that make it look almost twice as large. The rule is here, for the smallest ladies to wear the largest hats, so that my uncle insists they look like toad stools, with a vast head and a little stem. Mine was the cheapest thing ever offered for sale in New York, as madame assured me; it only cost twenty-eight dollars. It would not go into the bandbox, so Henney paraded it in her hand. A man on horseback met her just she was turning a corner, and the horse was so frightened that he reared backwards and came very near throwing his rider.
My head is now full of finery, and all my senses in a whirl...It is neither fit for summer or winter, rain or sunshine. It will neither keep off one or the other, and so plagues me when I go into the street that I hardly know which way to turn. Every puff of wind nearly oversets me. There are forty-two yards of trimmings, and sixty feathers to it. I am so beflounced that my uncle laughs at me and declares that a fine lady costs more to fit out nowadays than a ship of the line.
-- Lucia Culpeper to Maria Meynell, New York, 1827
I laughed so hard that I was inspired to write this:
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A hat was thrust between them, white crepe ornamented with ribbon and trimmed with heads of corn and branches of the tulip tree in blossom. Izaro shoved the tulips in Dagny's face, making as though he built a great wall in New York to keep the Indians away from the Dutch.
The count only chuckled, gently moved the enormous hat away from them, and stood. "These hats are known to scare horses and dogs on the street. Please come up to my house, I'll have my housekeeper make sure you're all right. I won't rest until I know you're much improved from your sleep upon that extinct fish."
"Aiiieee!"
Izaro leapt almost into her lap. Clutching each other, they both nearly jumped out of the filanzana when a monstrous fluffy brown bear clambered into the conveyance with them. It was a large and friendly dog, and the bearers paid the critter no mind as they sprinted athletically up the sandy trail, but Dagny had a damnable time getting her "man-servant" off her lap.
"Mandehana! It's a devil!" Izaro shrieked in an oddly feminine tone, wringing the corncobs of the leghorn hat Dagny clutched in her lap.
"It's a dog, you old woman! See? He smiles at us like a giant toy bear!"
Indeed, it was a fleecy creature, whose golden agate eyes faced them down innocently, its tongue lolling from its smiling mouth, its square, cocked ears like fox-fur muffs and its paws like enormous snowshoes.
Izaro breathed a bit more freely, clambering down from Dagny's lap. He even attempted a few unconvincing chortles to display his bravery, but suddenly the dog commenced a roaring barking directly at Dagny, the entire fur of its spine standing up toward the heavens, and when it backed away from her, the poor bearers nearly collapsed under the sudden shift of ballast, and they trended toward a grove of traveler's trees.
Still, they didn't halt at the racket, and Dagny felt no fear, for the fetching dog was clearly only barking at a strange white woman. But now Izaro lunged for her, wresting the tulip tree from her fingers and heaving the entire hat over the side of the chair.
Dagny bore cutlasses into him with accusing eyes as he lounged back into the seat, wiping sweat from his brow as though he'd just endured a keelhauling and lived to tell the tale. "You," she seethed. "You've always hated that hat."
"Mademoiselle!" Izaro cried in a falsetto, displaying an explanatory palm at the dog who was now once again sitting placidly like a cuddly toy, its ruff of bronze and vermilion streaked like a lion's mane.
Contact Elizabeth to give her your address. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!
It's Sunday on Unusual Historicals, which means it's time to meet another author and win a book! This week our author is Erastes and her new release is TRANSGRESSIONS, an M/M romance set in the English Civil War. She's giddy about the release of the book which, together with Alex Beecroft's FALSE COLORS, are the first gay romances to be released in the mainstream. Both novels can be found in the romance section of bookshops across the US.
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David Caverly's strict father has brought home the quiet, puritanical Jonathan Graie to help his dreamer of a son work the family forge. With war brewing in Parliament, the demand for metal work increases as armies are raised.
The indolent and deceitful David Caverly is bored by his father's farm and longs to escape, maybe to join the King's Army, mustering at Nottingham. David finds himself drawn to Jonathan, and after a passing cavalry trooper seduces the beautiful David and reveals his true nature, he determines to teach Jonathan what he's learned.
When David is forced to leave the farm, and the boys are separated by mistrust and war, they learn the meaning of love and truth as they fight their way across a war-torn country, never thinking they'll ever see each other again.
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Tell us a bit about TRANSGRESSIONS.
It's the story of two very ordinary young men who just happen to live in Kineton, Warwickshire, England.
The story begins in the summer of 1642, David Caverly is bored of living in a place where nothing exciting happens. War seems inevitable and--as there hasn't been a major war in Britain since the Wars of the Roses 200 years previous--people were MUCH interested in it. Unbelievably, people actually went along as sightseers to watch the battle of Kineton, treating it as a day out. I deal with this in the book, although it's not quite the jolly day out that my characters expect, but rather carnage.
The story deals with David and his new friend Jonathan, who has been brought to the forge has an apprentice, their burgeoning friendship (which turns to love) and the consequences of that. Needless to say it doesn't all take place on a farm in Warwickshire, but spreads out across England, as does the war.
How do you deal with the fact that homosexual love was illegal at this time?
Obviously in 17th century England, a homosexual love affair was never going to be tolerated. Buggery was made a felony by the Buggery Act in 1533, during the reign of Henry VIII. The punishment for those convicted was the death penalty right up until 1861. Not only was it prohibited by law but by the church too--an abomination. The title "Transgressions" applies to this, and everything else that is going on in this fascinating, bloody time.
What is the main theme of the book?
It started out as David's story, as David was the character who came to me first--but after a while it really warped into Jonathan's story, as I think he has the longest journey to take. He's such an innocent in many ways, and while David finds his father's ways and the church's restrictions easy to side-step, Jonathan battles against every misdemeanour and truly suffers for it. When he finds himself falling in love with another man, it almost breaks him--and his journey becomes harder for it. What he seeks is the truth, and after a while he thinks he's found it in Matthew Hopkins' Witchfinders, but he eventually finds out that he's been looking in the wrong places.
Where do you look for inspiration?
I don't really look for inspiration. Writing is generally on my mind all the time, like an undermining sickness. And it can strike at any time--seeing a lighthouse on the horizon, hearing an author talk about her own book on the radio and where she got her inspiration from, or in conversations with people, or overheard from people. A painting, a song...I'll suddenly think--Oh, that's an idea...
The inspiration for TRANSGRESSIONS was simply the title and the concept. My mother, having read and loved STANDISH, said, "For your next one, how about the English Civil War?" That sort of set sparks off in my head, I could immediately see a summer, blissful, warm and safe, all about to be turn to pieces by a war that would tear families to pieces. The idea of two young men ending up on different sides of the war isn't an original one, of course, but it hasn't been done in gay romance before. I do highly recommend Maria McCann's "As Meat Loves Salt" though, if anyone wants to know more about the era. It's a wonderful book about this era, and again, another gay love story. I can't say that it's a "romance" though, but a stunning read.
Why do you like to write gay historical?
I don't think I'd be interested in general historical. The reasons why I am fascinated with gay historical is that it's generally wide open. When you look at the list on Speak Its Name, there's a tiny amount of books available in the genre. I'd like to see anyone try and list all the heterosexual historical fiction there is out there! Every period is ripe for writing about. There might be a top-heaviness of Regency for example, but there's so many stories yet to be told. It's an exciting time to be in the genre--a genre that no-one even acknowledged as existing a few years ago. Now it's going mainstream.
Unusual Historicals...right up your street. Do you think you could ever write a usual historical?
No, definitely no. Although I hope that gay historical will soon become non-unusual!
What's been the single most difficult thing to research?
Gah. Not the war itself in fact, because there are hundreds and hundreds of sites and books about the war. You can find out who all the main players were, what everyone was wearing, flags, munitions, how to load a musket, how to fight with a pike, how to do wheeling and counterwheeling in formation, but there's very, very little about the everyday life of a man keeping his family fed. In the end I had to approach living history groups who were hugely helpful. They helped with food and clothing and all the little things needed for this kind of book.
What was the closest you came to committing a 'great historical clanger'?
I've yet to hear what I've done wrong in TRANSGRESSIONS, but I'm sure I've made historical errors. The worst one I know of is in STANDISH. Ambrose is reading a book that wasn't published at the time. The annoying thing is that I researched it when I was writing, realised it was anachronistic and took it out--or at least I thought I'd removed all mention of it, because if you read on later in Standish, he refers to Polidori's Vampyre, which was published at the time. but I missed one reference to Dracula...Oh, the shame! The readers soon let me know! I hope to goodness that I haven't done something similar in TRANSGRESSIONS, but I'm sure that if I have, the re-enactors will let me know!
How do you research the fighting?
That was pretty easy, actually. There are so many resources about that. There must have been battle geeks even back in the 17th century because there are painstainking illustrations of the battles and descriptions of what happened during each battle.
Something inevitably seemed to go wrong, though, which struck me as very human. In the battle of Edgehill, for example, which was the first official pitched battle of the ECW, the entire cavalry charged after a retreating brigade and to loot the Parliament's baggage train. This blunder left the infantry unprotected and could have caused an inconclusive result, which in turn caused the war not to be decided on that one day.
Here's a previous post I did on the subject, which shows some of the munitions and fighting research I had to do.
How do you deal with endings? It's not like your characters can get married.
No, and that's the quandary that the gay romance author faces. I hope that this is a more satisfying ending for the reader than STANDISH, which was open ended in the same way Gone with the Wind is. But I haven't "cheated." There's the obligatory HEA, but I think that the ending will still make the reader think and that's the point. One has to worry about how any gay romance will work, especially in this bloody century.
There are further snippets on her website, together with free bookmarks and lots more. Here's the book trailer:
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Thanks so much, Erastes, for joining us today, and good luck launching this new subgenre of historical romance!
Readers, if you'd like to win a copy, simply leave a comment or question. Have you read any M/M romances? Are you curious? I'll draw a name at random next Sunday. (Some patience may be required as Erastes has not received her author copies yet!) Good luck!
Carrie Lofty is featured in the May '09 issue of RT BOOKreviews for their profile on Robin Hood-based romances. You can read the entire article here.
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Stacey Kayne, author of westerns for Harlequin, has a new trailer for her July release MOUNTAIN WILD. Also, MAVERICK WILD, the second book in her "Wild" series, is up for an RT Reviewers' Choice award for Best Historical KISS Hero.
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Join us Sunday when Erastes will be here to talk about TRANSGRESSIONS. Don't miss it!
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We'll also draw the winner of Elizabeth Lane's HIS SUBSTITUTE BRIDE. There's still time to leave a comment for your shot at winning!
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Have a good weekend! If you have an announcement to make for next week, email Carrie. See you next week...
Today on Excerpt Thursday we have the opening to chapter one of Erastes' TRANSGRESSIONS, which will be released next week. We'll be doing a Q&A with Erastes on Sunday when you'll have the chance to win a copy. Here's the skinny:
In 1642 England, David Caverly's strict father has brought home the quiet, puritanical Jonathan Graie to help his dreamer of a son work the family forge. With war brewing in Parliament, the demand for metal work increases as armies are raised.
The indolent and deceitful David Caverly is bored by his father's farm and longs to escape, maybe to join the King's Army, mustering at Nottingham. David finds himself drawn to Jonathan, and after a passing cavalry trooper seduces the beautiful David and reveals his true nature, he determines to teach Jonathan what he's learned. When David is forced to leave the farm, and the boys are separated by mistrust and war, they learn the meaning of love and truth as they fight their way across a war-torn country, never thinking they'll ever see each other again.
***
David was not where he should be. He rarely was. He was supposed to be in the shed, milking the four cows and then cleaning the barn, but he had not even started. The beasts were at the gate lowing insistently, but David was sprawled in the tall grass on the side of the river, ignoring them and the work to be done.
He was comfortable. He had all day, and the warmth of the sun on his naked body gave him no inclination to move. The day was perfect; the grass gently grazed his flanks and his skin tingled deliciously as the water dried upon it.
Jacob, his father, had left early that morning and had given David tasks enough to keep him busy for the remainder of the day. Dutifully, David had completed the morning milking, but after he let the gentle beasts back out into the water meadow, he had sauntered down to the river and had done nothing since. It was too hot for chopping wood, and he felt his father was being somewhat overzealous by demanding such a stockpile made ready in this heat when September had not yet arrived. He planned to do it later, before his father returned.
His father had informed him that he was going to be away from the forge all day, although he not told his son where he was going, and David had not particularly cared. He liked being alone.
David chafed against hard work. He hated the forge and he loathed the smallholding. His natural state of being was one of cheerful indolence, and he would find any way of avoiding work he could, unabashed by his father's speeches on the merits of toil. Therefore in keeping, he did not spend more time than he could avoid worrying about the inevitable, such as the threat of his father's censure on his return when he found David's work undone.
The sun was scorching his flesh and getting too hot at last, David rose; a berry-brown perfection of immature muscles and rounded boyish pertness. He was not particularly tall for his sixteen years, but he was still growing; his hands and feet seeming larger than they should be as his body caught up. His body was sun-dried after his bathe, but his hair, startlingly white blond and so long it reached halfway down his back, clung damply to his skin like a white-gold horse's tail. It was David's private glory and his father's public shame. David was careful to keep it tied back and appearing to be shorter than it was when his father was about, for if his father knew that David was prideful over his hair, he would surely insist on having it cut as short as his own chin length bob.
Resentfully, David dressed and let the cows in from the fields for milking. He slapped their silken rumps a little too hard in unjust punishment for the work they were making him do, tugging at their teats and growling in annoyance when he paid the price for it, losing a whole bucket of milk to an angry kick. He knew his father would react more strongly to the loss of the milk than the chores he had not accomplished, for the milk was money. It was not that they were poor, but it was waste, and waste was sin.
David frowned; everything was sin with his father, who reproved David daily for failing to defeat the demons of the seven sins and being unable to master any of the cardinal virtues.
A joy of food was sinful, getting angry with the cows for stepping on him was sinful, wasting money was sinful, even taking a pride in his own handsomeness was somehow wrong in the eyes of the Lord. David knew he was beautiful; he did not own a looking glass, (another sin) but he had a river in which, Narcissus-like, he would gaze at his reflection. He knew that his face was changing as he matured, becoming more lean, accentuating his cheekbones and his straight dark brows. He knew too, that his eyes were unusual, for his friends had remarked on them. Not quite brown and yet not hazel; in some lights like amber honey, and in others lit with a greenish fire. He never let his father see him looking at his reflection because that, of course, was a sin.
Singing--frowned upon, dancing--forbidden. This did not prevent David doing any of these things, but it did mean that most of everything that he enjoyed he was forced to do in secret in his attempts to keep his father from being disappointed.
Such subterfuge meant that when his father did find out, he was even more disappointed by the deception more than the act. Trammelled in this way, David felt caged and trapped; his joy of life and of living spoiled, and everything he took pleasure in was tinged with guilt.
He'd become used to the guilt; his constant rebelliousness inured him to it, and the more he broke his father's rules the less he worried about it. He could not help but resent it, however, even though his father never beat him for his transgressions, never got angry with him. He simply sermonised or prayed to God to ask him to intercede, and David had long ago learned to look penitent, beg forgiveness, and promise to pray for strength to change his ways; his father accepted it, every time.
He was chopping his fifth log when he heard the return of Jacob's wagon, and he pretended to ignore it, applying himself to the task before him, not looking forward to the speech he was likely to receive for the endeavours left undone. As the horse rounded the barn he straightened up as he noticed that his father was not alone. Sitting beside him was a young man clad in sombre clothes, overshadowed by a large black hat. David's eyes narrowed; he glared openly at the stranger as he jumped down from the wagon and took the reins of the horse whilst Jacob descended.
David didn't much like what he saw. The newcomer was a tall youth about his own age or possibly a little older. Brown straight hair, pale suspicious and unhappy eyes, plain of face with flat cheekbones and a defiant scowl under his wide-brimmed hat. A plain black coat, black breeches and a high collar confirmed David's worst suspicions. A Puritan.
