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Monthly Archives: February 2017

Boy, it’s been a tough several months for me, in case anyone was wondering. In fact, I’ve essentially missed making this post, too, because I thought I was supposed to post the 10th.

Hopefully things right-size in a bit. I’ve had my head down working on Surrender to Ruin, book 3 of my Sinclair sister’s series. It’s back from my editor and I’m going through and revising. I’m so, so close to being done!

I’ll keep this short, I have to get back to work. Everyone take care, and I promise I will have something of actual interest next time.

 

Teaser image for The Return of the EarlLast evening I finished the first draft of my new Regency story, and I’m still in that finished-the-book stupor that makes you feel as if your head is stuffed with wool. So instead of attempting to write something clever about mummers’ plays (which I mention in The Return of the Earl – and I mention them with SO MUCH GLEE because it’s a topic I did some research on for my PhD thesis, and to me, it’s always such a delight when I can make use of some of my older research 🙂 )…

Sooooo, instead of trying to write something clever about mummers’ plays, I’m going to give to you an excerpt from the new story. With a grumpy earl!! (See picture above)

The Grumpy Earl has come home after some years of absence and is majorly disgruntled when he finds his former lover has become his stablemaster. So, of course, Grumpy Earl is even grumpier than usual, but he will not give anybody the satisfaction of staying away from his own stables & thus goes to said stables the next morning & bellows for a horse. Which makes the stablemaster come over.
____________________

And now, finally, for the first time in thirteen years, Con could clearly see those two-toned eyes—muddy-green and stormy-blue—and for a moment, he felt quite dizzy at the familiarity of them. He could almost hear his memories battering at their cage. If he left them out, now, here, in front of this man, he would disintegrate and shatter into a million pieces.

He would be damned before he gave the stablemaster that satisfaction.

“You want to ride?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

The stablemaster’s brows rose. “Have you had any practice in the past years?”

Con compressed his lips and thought about snapping some reply about a stablemaster’s proper deference to his employer. But he wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of letting him rile him either. Oh no!

Thus, Con just gritted his teeth and forced out, “Of course, I have.”

Bryn’s lips twitched briefly as if he had to hold back a smile. At that tiny movement, Con felt an unexpected tightening of his stomach.

How he had loved to kiss those lips when he had been younger! He had loved chasing Bryn’s smiles with his lips and tongue, had particularly loved sucking on that slightly plumper lower lip.

No!

Angry at himself, angry at his damned stablemaster, Con pushed those unwanted memories aside.

Lifting his chin, he gave Bryn his haughtiest look.

But was had proved to be such an effective weapon in the ballrooms and drawing rooms across the continent, turned out to have very little effect on his stablemaster.

“If you say so.” Bryn’s tone was easy, and he didn’t give any indication that he was in any way greatly perturbed by his employer’s demeanor. Instead his eyes briefly flicked down Con’s body, assessing him as if Con were a blasted horse at Tattersall’s.

“What?” Con snapped.

Bryn’s gaze was thoughtful. “You used to have a good seat.” His eyes twinkled, before he turned and began to walk across the yard. “I hope you didn’t forget everything you’ve been taught,” he threw over his shoulder.

Con spluttered with outrage, a hot flush blooming in his cheeks.

How dared he?

Bryn threw him another glance over his shoulder—and Con’s outrage mounted as he spotted the grin on the man’s face.
“Are you coming, my lord?” Bryn called. “I have a few horses you might find suitable.”

Grimly, Con stomped after him. By Jove, how he wanted to throttle the man!

He tried to imagine it: Putting his hands around Bryn’s throat and—

His hands on Bryn’s skin.

Touching Bryn again.

Running his fingers over the strong neck down into the soft, vulnerable hollow at the base of his throat…

This time, it wasn’t just his stomach that tightened, and Con cursed himself, cursed the Fates, but most of all, he cursed his stablemaster.

Damn the man!

One of my favorite Georgian novels is The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (and not just because I also adore the movie with Albert Finney!). I own a Victorian copy in two volumes that I found at a used bookstore in Berkeley when I was in grad school. It was far too expensive for my scholarly pockets, but I had to have it (mostly because it had been signed by the original owner when he finished reading it in 1868 and again by a subsequent owner in the 1930s). All of this is a long way of introducing one of my favorite bits of triva about the novel. Ignatius Sancho (the famous black abolitionist and the first black man known to have voted in a British election) wrote Sterne, the author or Tristram Shandy, a letter asking him to write something opposing slavery. Sterne not only replied, but he kept the letters and they were both published posthumously in 1775. [Note: Tristram Shandy was originally published in nine volumes over seven years, this exchange took place before the final volume was published in 1767; the scene Sterne refers to in his reply in in the final volume.] It seemed fitting to share this exchange for Black History Month.

Ignatius Sancho

Sancho to Sterne
REVEREND SIR,
It would be an insult on your humanity (or perhaps look like it) to apologize for the liberty I am taking.—I am one of those people whom the vulgar and illiberal call “Negurs.”—The first part of my life was rather unlucky, as I was placed in a family who judged ignorance the best and only security for obedience.—A little reading and writing I got by unwearied application.—The latter part of my life has been—thro’ God’s blessing, truly fortunate, having spent it in the service of one of the best families in the kingdom.—My chief pleasure has been books.—Philanthropy I adore.—How very much, good Sir, am I (amongst millions) indebted to you for the character of your amiable uncle Toby!—I declare, I would walk ten miles in the dog days, to shake hands with the honest corporal.—Your Sermons have touch’d me to the heart, and I hope have amended it, which brings me to the point.—In your tenth discourse, page seventy—eight, in the second volume—is this very affecting passage—”Consider how great a part of our species – in all ages down to this—have been trod under the feet of cruel and capricious tyrants, who would neither hear their cries, nor pity their distresses.—Consider slavery—what it is—how bitter a draught—and how many millions are made to drink it!”—Of all my favorite authors, not one has drawn a tear in favour of my miserable black brethren—excepting yourself, and the humane author of Sir George Ellison.—I think you will forgive me;—I am sure you will applaud me for beseeching you to give one half hour’s attention to slavery, as it is at this day practised in our West Indies.—That subject, handled in your striking manner, would ease the yoke (perhaps) of many—but if only of one—Gracious God! – what a feast to a benevolent heart!—and, sure I am, you are an epicurean in acts of charity.—You, who are universally read, and as universally admired—you could not fail—Dear Sir, think in me you behold the uplifted hands of thousands of my brother Moors.—Grief (you pathetically observe) is eloquent;—figure to yourself their attitudes; hear their supplicating addresses!—alas!—you cannot refuse.—Humanity must comply—in which hope I beg permission to subscribe myself,
Reverend, Sir, &c.
I. SANCHO

Sterne’s Reply to Sancho
There is a strange coincidence, Sancho, in the little events (as well as in the great ones) of this world: for I had been writing a tender tale of the sorrows of a friendless poor negro—girl, and my eyes had scarse done smarting with it, when your Letter of recommendation in behalf of so many of her brethren and sisters, came to me—but why her brethren?—or yours, Sancho! any more than mine? It is by the finest tints, and most insensible gradations, that nature descends from the fairest face at St James’s, to the sootiest complexion in Africa: at which tint of these, is it, that the ties of blood are to cease? and how many shades must we descend lower still in the scale, ‘ere Mercy is to vanish with them?—but ’tis no uncommon thing, my good Sancho, for one half of the world to use the other half of it like brutes, & then endeavour to make ’em so. For my own part, I never look Westward (when I am in a pensive mood at least) but I think of the burdens which our Brothers & Sisters are there carrying—& could I ease their shoulders from one once of ’em, I declare I would set out this hour upon a pilgrimage to Mecca for their sakes—[which] by the by, sancho, exceeds your Walk of ten miles, in about the same proportion, that a Visit of Humanity, should one, of mere form—however if you meant my Uncle Toby, more—he is [your] Debter,
If I can weave the Tale I have wrote into the Work I’m [about]—tis at the service of the afflicted—and a much greater matter; for in serious truth, it casts a sad Shade upon the World, That so great a part of it, are and have been so long bound in chains of darkness & in Chains of Misery; & I cannot but both respect and felicitate You, that by so much laudable diligence you have broke the one—& that by falling into the hands of so good and merciful a family, Providence has rescued You from the other.
And so, good hearted Sancho! adieu! & believe me, I will not forget [your] Letter. [Yours]
L. STERNE.

I know there are reasons why college financial aid paperwork and income tax paperwork have to done at the same time, but I don’t have to like it!

When I am up to my eyeballs in Things I Don’t Enjoy, I take the odd moment to fantasize about travel. Lately I’ve been dreaming about a trip back to the UK.  I lived there for three years while on international assignment, but that was twenty years ago. I am really longing to go back and hoping it may be possible in a few years.

Of course I will want to revisit London and perhaps other major cities. But my heart is really in the countryside. Since I don’t have a lot of time to write about my favorite locations (have to get back to that annoying paperwork), I hope you will enjoy some pictures from some of my places I’d revisit in my dream tour.

I would definitely go back to Sussex and revisit favorite walks and pubs there.

Countryside in Sussex

I couldn’t miss Cornwall—so craggy and romantic.

Lands End in Cornwall, UK

The Cotswolds are how I imagine as the Shire, from The Lord of the Rings. 

Evening time near the pretty Cotswold village of Ilmington, Warwickshire, England

The Yorkshire moors—breezy and other-worldly.

View from the top of Hasty Bank into Bilsdale, North Yorkshire Moors

I think my favorite area may be the Lake District.

Stone Barn overlooking Ullswater in the English Lake District

Where would you most like to go, whether in the UK or elsewhere?

Elena

In Bound By A Scandalous Secret, (December, 2016), my hero, Ross, surprises aspiring artist heroine, Genna, with a special visit to view the Elgin Marbles, which (to the best of my research abilities) were housed in a shed behind Burlington House in 1816, when my story takes place.

The Elgin Marbles are Classical Greek marble sculptures that once decorated the Parthenon and other buildings on the Acropolis of Athens. Originally the Earl of Elgin had obtained a permit from the sultan of the Ottoman Empire who then ruled Greece to make casts of the sculptures, but he noticed that the marbles were being burned for lime to use in other buildings. He decided to rescue them and send them to England. At the time, his acquisition of the marbles was met with mixed support. Some, like Lord Byron, were appalled at their removal. He wrote about it in Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage:

Dull is the eye that will not weep to see
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed
By British hands, which it had best behoved
To guard those relics ne’er to be restored.
Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,
And once again thy hapless bosom gored,
And snatch’d thy shrinking gods to northern climes abhorred!

1822 Engraving

Elgin suffered financial reversals and hoped to sell the marbles to the British Government, who eventually exonerated him from acquiring the sculptures illegally. Parliament purchased the marbles in 1816 but at a much lower cost than Elgin had desired. After the purchase, the marbles were housed in the shed behind Burlington House, which held the collections of the British Museum.

Because my hero Ross is the heir to a dukedom, he was able to arrange a private viewing for Genna. Here’s a snippet of that scene:

Huge slabs of marble lined the sides of the shed. Scattered around were ghostly figures. Headless. Armless. Standing. Reclining.
Genna stepped inside reverently. “Oh, Ross!”
She walked along the perimeter where the long slabs of marble that used to decorate the frieze of the Parthenon. The sculpted figures depicted all sorts of figures, men on horseback, on foot or racing chariots, women carrying items, for sacrifice to the gods, perhaps? Everything seemed in motion. Rearing horses, figures interacting, no two the same.
“It must tell a story,” Genna said. “I wish I knew what it was.” She dared to touch the sculpture, almost surprised the figures were not as warm as flesh they were so realistic.
“Here is a Centaur fighting a Lapith,” he said.
It was one segment, not a part of the long procession of figures that had been part of the frieze. Had there been more Centaurs? Did they tell a different story?

Lapith and Centaur

The marbles are now in a special room in the British Museum where I’ve been lucky enough to view them three times. They are massive and impressive!

Diane and pal Julie – photo taken by Risky, Amanda McCabe

The debate continues as to whether the UK should return the marbles to Greece. All I know is that the British Museum has taken excellent care of them and that there is no guarantee that they would even exist if Elgin had not seen to their preservation.

What do you think? Should the marbles go back to Greece or stay in the British Museum?

By the way, the last book in my Scandalous Summerfields series, Bound By Their Secret Passion, now has a cover and is available for preorder. It will be released in paperback March 21, in ebook, April 1.