Month: March 2025

07
Mar
2025

A Suitable Match, Serial Story Section 7 and a Chance to Win

To kick off our second year of celebrating Inspirational Regency fiction, we are presenting the serial story, A Suitable Match. At the end of the month we’ll be giving away a fabulous prize package filled with items tied to the story. For a chance to win, find the item mentioned in this section and leave a note in the comments. Details and a list of prizes can be found here.

Missed an earlier section? Read it here: 1 2 3 4 5 6

On the road somewhere between Somerset and London
April 1818

“No. Yes. I mean . . .I . . .” She clamped her lips together before they could get her into anymore trouble. But the silence filling the space between them didn’t stop her heart’s rhythm from rivaling the quick clomp of the horses’ hooves against the road.

Of course she wasn’t reapplying for the position as his wife. That would be ludicrous.

Insane.

Absurd.

Chard stared at her from where he sat across the carriage, those somber gray eyes waiting patiently for an answer.

“I’m sorry. I was only trying to protect you. I didn’t mean to hurt you when I left.”

“Not mean to hurt me?” he thundered, his eyes turning from patient to murderous faster than she could blink. “You left in the dead of night, and gave me naught more than a note. What was I supposed to do? Whistle as I headed to the vicar’s to tell him the wedding had been cried off? Shrug and say, ‘No bother, I shall simply find another wife at the musicale tonight?’”

Her hands fisted on the edge of the seat. “My father had lost his fortune, and you needed money.’Twas why we were betrothed in the first place.”

“Money.” The word, drenched with bitterness, shot from his mouth. “If you think money my only motive for marrying you, then perhaps it was best you left as you did.”

Cressida swallowed and glanced at her maid. Knighting’s face had grown paler with every mile they travelled. Then she looked out past the road and into the green fields and leafy woods, idyllic as a painting. Finding a husband wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. She’d intended to swoop into London, attend a handful of balls, and make her choice. Or rather, let the man think he was making the choice. Then they would marry and move to Bath, occupy separate wings of the house and be apart more than they were together. That’s how these types of marriages were supposed to work.

But now she sat across from the man she’d once loved, the space around her shrinking with each second she was near him. “You were supposed to marry me for money. Money for you and a title for me. Love should not have been a factor. Just convenience.”

“A convenience.” The muscles in his jaw worked back and forth. “Was that all I was to you?”

Her throat was suddenly too thick to speak, not that she knew how to answer him. She could tell the truth, that she’d once loved him, that it had broken her heart to leave. That she’d had to leave so as not to bind him to her once she’d lost her money. But they were three years removed from those days. He should have married someone else the next day, the next week, the next month, the next year.

She’d told herself she didn’t care when or whom he married.

But he hadn’t married at all, and now she was confined to the same conveyance as he, frustration radiating from his taut body and his gray eyes churning as he awaited her answer.

Perchance she should lie to him. It would be the easiest path, and he’d leave her alone if she told him she’d never loved him.

But then she’d break his heart yet again.

“No.” She whispered into the tense air between them. “You were more than a convenience. I had feelings for you. I loved you.”

“Loved.” He annunciated the d at the end of the word. “As in, something that happened once. Something that’s over and done. You no longer love me.”

She shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Did she love him? She didn’t know. Hadn’t let herself consider the possibility. She’d locked that part of her heart away, squirreled those memories into a place so dank and gloomy she’d not visited them in three years. And if she were to go back and open the door to that forgotten part of her life, would she find her feelings unchanged? Did she want to find out? “I don’t know.”

He gave a thud on the top of the chaise, and the conveyance slowed to a stop.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air. And it looks as though your maid is in need of a stop as well.” Chard hopped down from the chaise and headed into a quiet patch of woods, no offer to escort her down, no backward glance over his shoulder, just the sharp, jagged movements of an angry man.

And he had every right to be angry

Cressida ushered Knighting from the carriage, and by the time her feet finally touched the road, Twiford and Ross had appeared.

“What is the meaning of this?” Twiford barked. “There’s a coaching inn a quarter hour down the road. Why stop now?”

“Ask your friend.” Cressida jutted her chin toward the brush Chard had trampled as he entered the woods. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

She helped Knighting into the woods. “Perhaps you’ll feel better after you stretch your legs a bit.”

Or so she hoped, though if her maid’s slow movements and deathly pallor was any indication, nothing but a bed would help her.

Knighting shuffled through the brush beside her. “I’m sorry, Miss Cressida. I’m of no use to you this sick.”

Cressida rubbed her back with soothing, circular motions. “Don’t worry yourself. We’ll reach London tonight and you can get the rest you need. There will be others to attend me.”

Knighting nodded, and the simple movement made her face tint slightly green. “I best return to the carriage. I’m not much for walking at the moment.”

“Let me help you.” Cressida assisted Knighting back, then stood outside the conveyance and tilted her head up, letting the sun touch her skin. Though the air about her was cool, the soft rays felt light, relaxing. She glanced back at the woods, in the direction Chard and the others had headed.

“I don’t like you riding with Chard.”

She whirled around. Evidently Ross hadn’t followed Chard and Twiford into the woods. “Why not?”

“You’ve not a proper chaperone for one, and—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. We’re hardly doing anything inappropriate.”

A shadow crossed Ross’s face. “He was your betrothed, Cressida. And he’s never married. That must still mean something.”

Ross had kept track of her former fiancé? She stared up at his dark, penetrating eyes, his wide shoulders, and the scar that marred his otherwise handsome face. Ross hadn’t even been in England three years ago. Yet he somehow knew of her broken betrothal. Was his objection to her spending time with Chard now because of it?

She swallowed. “I don’t see why it should matter.”

“Because . . .” He looked helplessly down at her, as though he had words to say, thousands and thousands of them. His hands thrummed at his sides, and he shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh, blast it, Cressida.”

Then those big hands came up to her shoulders, and he kissed her. It was everything a kiss should be, not soft, not hard, but that perfect melding of somewhere in between. His lips tasted of warmth and honey, tenderness and caring. Her mind emptied as she shifted closer to him, then filled with memories.

She broke the kiss and pulled back. The memories churned through his eyes as well. The childhood fishing trips and races through the fields. The time they’d pulled their stockings off and waded into the pond, only to fall and return to the house soaked.

The time they’d said goodbye. He’d been twenty-one and certain to find adventure on the seas . . . Except he ended up in Paris making a mockery of his godly upbringing. That had been the true end of their friendship. She’d not seen him again until her great aunt’s funeral. The funeral that had given her access to an inheritance at his expense because his grandmother held a grudge to the end.

She shifted away from him. “Ross, I can’t . . . that is . . . you shouldn’t . . . I mean, we—”

“I love you, Cressida. I always have, ever since we were little.” He reached out and drew a hand softly down her cheek. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” she whispered, the word barely more than a breath.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her again. And fool that she was, she sank into the warmth, the feel of his mouth on hers and constant thud of his beating heart, the strong arms that wrapped around her and familiarity of—

“What is the meaning of this?”

Cressida jerked away from Ross and turned to face Twiford, his eyes burning with rage and his fists clenched into hard balls at his side.

But it wasn’t Twiford that made her heart stumble and stop beating. It wasn’t Twiford who caused the moisture to leech from her mouth and heat to sear her cheeks.

Lord Chard stood beside his friend, eyes dark with hurt. “Cressy?” his voice broke on her name. Then he shut his eyes and turned away.

* This section contributed by Naomi Rawlings, www.NaomiRawlings.com *

Did you find the hidden item? It’s a tricky one today! Note it in the comments below for a chance to win.

Don’t forget that the readers will ultimately choose who truly loves Cressida, and whom she loves in return. Already have a favorite? Go vote for him! Want everyone else to vote for him too? Grab a voting badge from the Suitable Match Extras page.

There’s no denying that these three men are playing to win. But who just wants the money? What should Cressy do next? Read the next installment!

THE CONTEST AND POLL ARE NOW CLOSED. Feel free to continue to enjoy and share the story.

Originally posted 2013-02-20 10:00:00.

07
Mar
2025

A Suitable Match, Serial Story Section 6 and a Chance to Win

categories: A Suitable Match, Contests

Missed an earlier section? Read it here: 1 2 3 4 5

The George and Pelican Inn, somewhere between Somerset and London
April 1818

“I should have known.” Twiford rolled his eyes heavenward but hesitated to move, seemingly content to stand for a moment and marvel at Miss Blackstone’s usual craftiness.

Chard on the other hand, had no intention of allowing her the formality of wheedling her way out of the slight. Why, she’d fairly convinced the group of them that she’d taken it upon herself to travel to London on foot, and in the dead of night no less. That took some doing. Yes, and it also took about ten years off of his life when he thought of her traipsing around a toll road at night, with a sick maid and not enough sense to have known better.

He turned and stared up at the door, feeling that his eyes narrowed unconsciously. Cressy had better be in there, he thought. Now that he knew she was safe, he’d kill her.

Appearing all too jovial at the prospect of catching her in the makeshift lie, Twiford reached out and took the befuddled servant girl’s tray in hand.

“Allow me.” He cut over to the stairs. And though Ross was quick to take two steps up the stairs behind Twiford, Chard immediately side-stepped them both and bounded up to the second floor without looking back.

Muffled voices and creaking floorboards shifting behind the door signaled she must have known what – or who was coming.

Chard pounded on the door without any sense of decorum. “Open, Cressy. Now.”

Silence.

The three men stood outside the door, Twiford doing his best to balance the tray in his hands and Ross, with his usual glower, staring back at the men as if extremely bothered by the very air they breathed. Chard matched him scowl for authoritative scowl and stood tall despite the bristling.

“I am her cousin.”

“Driver.” Twiford corrected immediately.

“I have just as much right to be here as either of you,” Ross protested as if he actually believed what he said. “And you will not enter that room.”

“You lost the right to voice any concern when you up-turned her chaise in a bog.” Chard’s retort was hardly a whisper and he didn’t care. She was what mattered, the bull-headed beauty behind the door that he’d have to convince to go along with them. That thought was uppermost in his mind.

He tapped his foot impatiently and stared back at the door, willing it to open.

“Open up Cressida, or I am coming in after you.”

“I’d listen to him, Miss Blackstone,” Twiford urged, his tone sarcastic to a fault. “The Viscount Chard seems a mite put out at present.”

That threat seemed to hold some weight, as it was but a moment more of the muffled noises before rusty hinges began their telltale squeaking. The door finally opened wide and there she stood, the most maddening beauty in the world, with her hands clasped demurely and a quite angelic look painted upon her face.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“Here,” Twiford said, offering the tray to her. “We thought you might fancy the orange marmalade.”

Chard didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even take the time to wave the tray off. Instead, he stormed into the room and slammed the door back in his friend’s face.

“Must you always pick up and leave in the dead of night?”

To the rather direct comment, Cressida took several steps backwards and sent a woefully helpless glance over at Knighting. The maid shrugged from the corner. She did not appear ready to contradict his authority.

Good, he thought. She’ll have no choice but to face me. “Yes, Miss Blackstone. I am speaking to you.”

“I didn’t leave in the dead of night.”

“Could have fooled me,” he muttered under his breath, both of them knowing full well that he referred to the last time she’d packed up her belongings and slipped out of his life. He didn’t intend to give her a second chance to attempt the same.

He crossed the room and in a veiled fury, began tossing things into her bags. A hair comb. A small, leather-bound Bible. Were those stockings? It wasn’t until he began wadding up dresses that Knighting lurched forward in response, the strict dictations of propriety too much to allow him to be up to his elbows in a lady’s linens. She took up the duty of properly folding her lady’s wares instead, freeing him to turn and face his problem once again.

“Can you give me one good reason why you shouldn’t be accompanied on the road to London? And before you try to pass another sweet-smiled lie on us poor, unsuspecting men, I’d caution you to think twice.” He stood before her with his legs braced apart and arms folded across his chest. When she didn’t answer but twisted her hands and furrowed her brow rather nervously, his anger began to dissipate.

“This is not the time or place to discuss it, Chard.”

Her whispered declaration cut to the heart immediately.

Though he’d been furious at the thought of her venturing out on her own, he had to swallow a bit of guilt at his attempt to reproach her for it. But how could he tell her? How would he find the words to explain that while Twiford and Ross had been arguing over who was at fault for their current predicament, his heart had climbed clear up to his throat and set to beating rather wildly.

He stood then, staring into those eyes he’d once known so well, and caved under her spell again. You fool, he thought. She’ll only hurt you again.

“I’ll be waiting downstairs. Be packed and ready to depart in ten minutes.”

***

Cressida didn’t much take to being hoisted into a traveling coach and plopped down on the seat like an errant toddler, but that’s exactly what had happened. After barging into her room, her former fiancé had insisted that not only was he accompanying her on the trip to London, but that she and Knighting would be riding in his coach for what remained of the journey.

Chard now sat across from her and peered out the window, his head bobbing as the vehicle sailed over the bumps and numerous ruts of the road.

Cressida watched him in silence, noting that he seemed quite austere and …older somehow. As if the past years had treated him coolly. As if he’d changed beneath the familiar façade that was taking such care to ignore her completely. It was off-putting that they had an opportunity to talk and yet he now seemed to earnestly avoid it.

Was he still so very angry with her? Could she believe that anything mattered to him once? That perhaps… she may have mattered to him more than a cache of money to line his pockets?

Cressida broke the silence before she could talk herself out of it. “Is there is no Viscountess Chard?” Her voice cracked slightly, causing her cheeks to warm with a blush.

He turned and stared back at her, the pointed gaze making her feel like melting down into her boots.

“No. There is not, Cressida. Were you planning on reapplying for the position?”

* This section contributed by Kristy L. Cambron, paris-mom.blogspot.com. *

Did you find the hidden item? Note it in the comments below for a chance to win.

How do you think Cressida should respond? What do you think the other gentlemen think of Chard’s monopolizing Cressy’s attentions? Read the next installment!

THE CONTEST AND POLL ARE NOW CLOSED. Feel free to continue to enjoy and share the story.

Originally posted 2013-02-18 10:00:00.

06
Mar
2025

A Suitable Match, Serial Story Section 4 and a Chance to Win

categories: A Suitable Match, Contests

Missed an earlier section? Read it here: 1 2 3

The George and Pelican Inn, somewhere between Somerset and London
April 1818

Cressida was momentarily stunned. Lord Twiford was the only one who knew she was here. Had he decided to finally give her a piece of his mind? She rose and went to the door, opening it slowly with one hand, holding her night rail close to her neck with the other. She felt the pearl necklace she always wore there.

Her shock was palpable. “Chard!”

At the same time she heard him say, “Cressy!”

Why hadn’t Lord Twiford warned her that Lord Chard was included in his party? “I beg your pardon, Lord Chard. I am afraid in the surprise of seeing you my manners fled.” She bowed her head, feeling ridiculous, following drawing room protocol while in her night clothes in an inn. “I did not expect . . . know you were here.”

“What are you doing here, Miss Blackstone?” he asked, more reserved now.

“There was an accident with my carriage and Lord Twiford was kind enough to take us up and bring us here.” Funny, after missing Chard for so long, she could think of no other words to say.

***

What the devil was Cressida Blackstone doing at the George? He had rehearsed and rehearsed what he would say to her if he ever saw her again, yet here he stood dumbfounded. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. No! He would not think on that. She had ended their engagement without one thought for his feelings: he would not fall prey to her just because her beautiful hair hung loosely around her shoulders and she stood in a thin night rail ready for bed.

“Lord Chard, is there something that you wished to say to me?”

Indeed there was, but now was not the time. “I beg your pardon, Miss Blackstone, I thought this was Lord Twiford’s room.” Blast! but he was as nervous as a schoolboy.

“My lord, we left many things . . . unsaid when I . . . left London three years ago.” Her voice was small and questioning, the opposite of her normal confident air. “If you would give me a few moments to dress, perhaps we should talk.”

“I assure you, Miss Blackstone, we have said all we need ever say to each other.” He bowed and turned back toward the stairs. He skipped most of the steps in his hurry to get to their private drawing room downstairs. He fought hard against his instinct to turn back and see if she remained in the doorway. He needed to think.

He had needed to marry money, but he had not expected to fall in love with her. He knew she would have been given the cut direct by the highest sticklers of Society. But he believed when they saw her gentle kindness and ladylike manners, they would come around. He would not have thrown her to the wolves, even had he not fallen in love for the first time in his life.

But she left him; disappeared, leaving only a note saying she knew he would not want her without the dowry she was supposed to be bringing to the marriage. She had not cared enough to face him, to hear his views on the matter. And he thought he was over her; he told himself so often that he was.

But the shock at seeing her also affected his heart and he realized he was not over her at all.

He turned around at the sound of footsteps. “Twiford, what is the meaning of this? What is she doing here?”

“My, my, word travels fast. What was I to do, leave her on the side of the road with an overturned carriage and a wounded driver? She wishes to make her own plans from here. I asked her to join our party, as London is her direction, but she seems quite adamant about not going with me. I don’t think I made a good impression on the chit.”

“Stow it! You did nothing but malign her at every turn.” He thought he noted a bit of hesitation before Twiford had switched to irony. What was afoot? “Well, she should not hire a carriage and ride all of the way to London on her own. You will need to convince her.”

Twiford went to the table and poured himself a brandy and downed it in one swallow. “I must convince her?

“You know I cannot. She made her feelings for me quite clear when she left me in. . . London.” How fortunate he now remembered all of the things he wanted to say to her for breaking his heart. “What is she doing traveling to London alone in any event?”

“I have not come to any conclusions about that myself. She seems inordinately interested in the coachman who was driving her carriage. He was injured; mostly cuts and bruises and a wonderful lump on the side of his head. She needed to hear that he is now sleeping peacefully in the quarters over the stable. It did not seem to ease her mind.”

“Leave him or bring him, I care not, but we leave for London after breakfast and you make sure she is with us.” He stomped out of the room, hoping he hadn’t let the feelings he now knew were not gone show in his manner. What would he do?

***

After a fitful night’s sleep, Lord Chard prepared himself to be cool and distant to Cressy . . . Miss Blackstone during the drive. Indeed, he intended to ride next to the carriages so he would not be put in a situation where he must be in close confinement with her.

“Twiford, we must push on if we are to reach London today. Can you not hurry the party along?”

“Yes, I will tell Godfrey he must not worry about how his cravat looks, when we all know it takes him two to eight neckcloths each and every time he gets dressed.”

Chard was immune to his sarcasm.“What about the ladies?” He looked off in the distance, trying to be nonchalant. “Is Miss Blackstone convinced to go with us?”

“I have only now sent a servant up to her asking her to join us in the breakfast parlor. Perhaps between the two of us we can overpower her scruples.”

Lord Chard noticed the servant approaching, but placed no importance on it until he heard him mutter “Blackstone.”

The man bowed and stepped back from Miles in subservience.

“I am sorry, Chard, but the landlord informed my servant that the lady is gone.”

*Section 4 was written by Mary Moore, www.marymooreauthor.com *

Did you find the hidden item? Note it in the comments below for a chance to win.

Where do you think Cressida has gone? Read the next installment!

THE CONTEST AND POLL ARE NOW CLOSED. Feel free to continue to enjoy and share the story.

Originally posted 2013-02-13 10:00:00.

06
Mar
2025

A Suitable Match, Serial Story Section 3 and a Chance to Win

categories: A Suitable Match, Contests

Missed an earlier section? Read it here: 1 2

The George and Pelican Inn, somewhere between Somerset and London
April 1818

Pretending to be groggy, Cressida let her eyes fall closed. ‘My dear’ indeed. She’d take him to task later for disobeying her wishes when she didn’t feel as though her head was full of cotton. Allowing him to assist her down from the carriage, she gave her clothes a few half-hearted swipes, and when she woke a bit more, she raised a gloved hand to her nose and mouth. The inn yard reeked above the scent of her spilled perfume.

Twiford held his arm out toward her, and she leaned on it a bit heavier than she’d been willing to in the aftermath of the upset on the road. No need to reveal her hand. He’d find out soon enough her antipathy toward him would not be discarded with ease. He’d conducted himself today in a manner that she couldn’t find fault with, but she’d not forgotten the way he’d tried to befoul her engagement. The whispers, the disapproval, the outright snubs, and insults.

The door opened as they approached and the small group of travelers moved into a narrow hall. Twiford rapped out a series of instructions and the servants flew into action. Wraps were taken, bandboxes were swept up the stairs.

“I’d like my maid to share my room. Her health has been delicate, and I’d not have her in some drafty attic room.” Cressida lifted her chin, half fearing this request would be ignored as well.

“I’ll make sure the innkeeper has a truckle bed moved into your room. It will only be a short wait. Meanwhile, I’ve ordered a private dining room. Will you join me?” The brow above one blue, sparkling eye lifted in inquiry.

“I must rid myself of travel dirt, my maid is ill, and the hour is late. I must forego that pleasure for another day.” The day pigs fly, she thought to herself. If only she’d been less groggy, she’d have swept up the stairs and avoided this convenient invitation. How she longed to reach Great-Aunt Ainsworth’s townhouse. Her own house for now, and longer if she managed to wed in the three months remaining before the will would be null and void.

She turned toward the stairs and without warning, the shock of the carriage accident swept down on her. A sob escaped her throat. Tremors shot through her chest and tears slipped down her cheeks. How could God allow this to happen? Her mind protested against the reality that brought her to this place in the company of a sworn enemy. And Ross. She must ascertain his condition.

Turning back toward Twiford, she made inquiry, “What arrangements have been made for the injured driver of my coach?” She hated the way she sounded. Like a whimpering schoolgirl. But it couldn’t be helped. The combination of exhaustion and shock had taken a toll on her composure.

“He’s been lodged in the stable living quarters. He’s in good hands.” Twiford moved over to Cressida’s side and put a tentative arm around her shoulders, and began to guide her toward the stairs. Knighting shambled along behind, clutching two disheveled bags.

Now that his arm was hovering around her shoulders, she was taken aback by the feeling of protection that washed over her. This enemy, this man who’d done everything he could to discourage Chard’s ardor, now gave her the soothing sense of being shepherded up the stairs. At the door to her room, down a dim hall, he bowed to her.

“Good night, sweet lady.” He turned away and strode down the hall.

The shock of being bereft of the unwanted anchor he’d been shot through her and she sagged against the door frame.

“Miss Blackstone, let’s go in now.” Knighting’s maternal instincts were well-known to her and she complied, not wanting to cause hurt feelings in the faithful retainer. After all, in her orphaned state, Knighting was her closest companion. Cressida roused herself to enter the low-ceilinged room, and the maid closed the door after them.

The maid, though suffering a cold, offered her mistress needed comfort. Knighting helped Cressida out of her cloak and took her hand, guiding her to the pitcher and bowl on a side table. “There you are, miss. That’s right. Warm water does do wonders. Ooh, that bed looks like heaven to me, and here they already brought up a steaming pot of tea.”

As she poured the tea, Cressida told her maid, “Open the bags, let’s get our nightgowns on and go to sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with tomorrow’s problems.” It didn’t seem fair. Departing the cottage this morning, all had seemed so clear. They’d get to London, she’d secure a husband, she’d come into her inheritance. But then Ross had arrived, forcing her to accept his escort. Next, the accident, and being in essence made off with by Miles, Lord Twiford, her nemesis from the days of her engagement to Chard.

She sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her bowed head. Lord, please guide me. I need Your fatherly hand. In Jesus… Her prayer was cut off by a sharp series of taps on the door.

*Section 3 was written by Susan Karsten, graciouswoman.wordpress.com *

Did you find the hidden item? Note it in the comments below for a chance to win.

Who do you think is outside the door? Read the next installment!

THE CONTEST AND POLL ARE NOW CLOSED. Feel free to continue to enjoy and share the story.

Originally posted 2013-02-11 10:00:00.

05
Mar
2025

A Suitable Match, Serial Story Section 1 and a Chance to Win

categories: A Suitable Match, Contests

Somerset, England
April, 1818

With his black hair drawn back in an old-fashioned queue and a scar running from his ear to his chin, as though someone had tried to slit his throat and missed, all her prodigal cousin needed was a cutlass swinging from his belt to complete the impression that Ross Ainsworth was really a pirate. Then again, Miss Cressida Blackstone decided, with his eyes as black as obsidian and possessing a gaze as penetrating as tempered steel, he didn’t need a cutlass to skewer his prey.

A shiver racing up her spine and out to her fingertips despite the mild April morning, Cressida narrowed her eyes at her childhood nemesis and swallowed so her voice would not croak with the dryness of her throat. “What are you doing here? I was told your grandmother’s coachman would arrive to drive me to London.”

“He cannot drive with a broken wrist. But since I enjoy driving and am headed to London, I assured him I would do the honors.” The smooth, aristocratic drawl issuing from a man with Ainsworth’s piratical visage never failed to startle Cressida.

Since he arrived in Bath for the reading of his grandmother’s will three months ago, a great deal about Ainsworth surprised her—surprised her and raised her suspicion hackles. They had been best friends as children. Then, when she grew old enough to let her hems down and put her hair up, he grew formal and distant with her and departed for foreign parts soon afterward.

He had returned to England in time for the reading of his grandmother’s will–the will that left him with nothing and Cressida, her great-niece everything. The only stipulation was that Cressida must marry within six months. And now Ross Ainsworth was anything but formal and distant with her. No doubt he was attracted to the money, like all the gentlemen who had courted her upon her come-out at eighteen, wanting to wed her for her father’s fortune regardless of the fact that fortune came from trade.

Money made up for a number of flaws in one’s birth if an old family needed an infusion of wealth.

Target for fortune hunters or not, Cressida needed to find a husband. With wealth at her fingertips, she was not about to live her life in the poverty in which her father’s error had left her. In a way, she, too, was marrying for money. Marrying for love was a childhood dream left behind with a broken betrothal, a damaged reputation, and no childhood friend to tease her out of her doldrums.

That childhood friend, Ross, now looked about him as if puzzled. “But I expected you to have a chaperone.”

Cressida flicked a glance at her middle-aged maid standing purse-lipped beside her on the steps of the cottage they had called home for three years. “Knighting is quite enough of a chaperone until we reach London.”

“Not when you are traveling with your cousin distant enough to make me eligible,” He purred, his dark eyes raking over her.

Cressida refused to be intimidated.“Why, Ross, I never knew you were such a high stickler.” She clutched her bulging reticule in one hand and her great-aunt’s jewel case in the other, and headed for the carriage. “Enough of this. We must be on our way.”

Ainsworth threw up an arm to bar her way. “My dear cousin, I would not wish to place you beyond the pale of respectability before you reach town.” He smiled. “Further beyond the pale than you already placed yourself, that is.”

“You.” Cressida ground her teeth. “You are scarcely one to be bringing up the past, Ross Ainsworth.”

Which wasn’t fair to him. He said he had repented of his behavior in Paris after Napoleon’s defeat. His grandmother must not have forgiven him for embarrassing her, though. But if he had truly set aside his scandalous behavior, she should be a lot kinder to him.

She held out her hand to him. “I am sorry. I should not have–”

Muttering something that sounded like, “You may walk to London for all I care,” he spun on his booted heel and stalked to the front of the carriage.

Her apology rejected, Cressida waited until he had climbed onto the box before she called out, “Cousin, you cannot take the coach and team without my permission. They belong to me now.”

He looked at her, and lightning flashed through his dark eyes. “Very well then. Get in. “You win. . .this time.”

Another one of those odd shivers raced along Cressida’s limbs, and she stood rooted to the flagstones with the scent of apple blossoms too strong in her nostrils and her mouth tasting of a copper penny. An invisible hand seemed to pluck at her, trying to draw her back to the haven of the cottage.

“I’ll get the steps down for you, Miss Blackstone.” Knighting’s quiet voice, roughened from a bad cold, snapped Cressida out of her momentary stupor.

“Let me help with the bandboxes since my cousin has not the courtesy to do so.” She set her jewel case inside the coach, then returned to the steps to retrieve one of the small cases that made up her luggage.

She must buy new clothes in London. She must purchase a number of things in London—like a husband if she wanted to keep her inheritance.

A face flashed through her mind, as she tossed boxes into the boot, the visage of the man her deceased father had thought his trade-earned wealth could buy. It would have been a suitable match all around, if Papa had not lost most of his money. Tristram, Lord Chard, needed her money at the time, and Cressida. . . Her heart had needed him.

She shook off the memory and settled herself in the carriage, preparing for a long, tedious journey with her quiet maid and her embroidery. She half expected Ainsworth to refuse to drive the vehicle, but once Knighting closed the door, the carriage lurched forward, then pulled out of the lane and onto the Bath to London road.

It was the best maintained road in England, thanks to the tolls. Ainsworth, however, drove so swiftly the coach swayed and bounced too much for Cressida to ply her needle without pricking her fingers. Nor could she read. Knighting engaged in a brief dialogue about how many gowns Cressida must order for her husband-hunting expedition, then fell asleep deeply enough for her snores to fill the coach. At their infrequent stops to change horses or collect some refreshment, Ainsworth did not speak to her at all.

As twilight drew near, Cressida tried to rest after weeks of sleeplessness. Each time she drifted toward sleep, Knighting’s snorting exhalations startled her awake. When she reclosed her eyes, Chard’s face swooped before her eyes, with its hurt accusation solidifying into anger when she broke their betrothal three years ago.

Then another face joined his, the cold contempt of his friend Miles, Lord Twiford. He had always been against her marriage to Chard, thinking the daughter of a cit was not good enough for a viscount.

A crack like a snapped tree branch resounded through the carriage. The vehicle pitched to one side, sending Cressida slamming to her knees. Pain shot up her thighs, through her body, and into her skull. She gasped and grappled for a handhold. Her fingers scored silky velvet, and she fell against the wall of the carriage. Knighting sprawled across her calves, pinning her in place.

That stupid knock-in-the-cradle of a cousin had landed them in a ditch. And her precious vial of violet scent had broken, soaking through her reticule and clouding the carriage with a choking haze of perfume.

“I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You.” Cressida gasped out each word. “If. I. Ever. Get. Out.”

And, of course, if Ainsworth had not fallen from the box and injured himself beyond repair.

Outside, the horses whinnied, and a number of male voices shouted. Inside, Knighting groaned.

“Are you all right?” Cressida asked her maid in a more temperate tone.

“Yes, ma’am, but I seem to be stuck.”

Not as stuck as Cressida. Her legs were going numb. Her left arm was already numb. And the carriage rocked and tilted further, threatening to turn turtle at any moment. Or worse, it could keep rolling and land them in the River Kennet.

Cressida could not swim. She doubted Knighting could swim. She doubted they could get out of the carriage before they drowned even if swimming were an option.

“Knighting, I apologize if I hurt you, but I must get us out of here.”

Since the men outside seemed more interested in shouting than being useful, Cressida rallied her strength and grasped one of the hand straps dangling from the canted roof above her. With supreme effort, she hauled one leg from under her maid. The leg felt like a wooden peg for all the sensation she experienced. She stomped her foot to bring back some life to the limb, and her heel smashed through the window.

The shouting outside ceased. The carriage door yanked open hard enough to send it crashing against the side and the vehicle tilting another five degrees down the embankment.

“No one told us there were passengers inside.”

The voice sent Cressida’s heart dropping through her stomach and onto an icy bath in the river. Head reeling, she brushed amber curls out of her eyes and stared into the countenance she had feared never to see again, and hoped she would encounter so she could prove him wrong about her.

* Section 1 written by Laurie Alice Eakes, www.LaurieAliceEakes.com *

Did you find the hidden item? Note it in the comments below for a chance to win.

Who do you think Cressida sees outside the carriage? Read the next installment now.

THE CONTEST AND POLL ARE NOW CLOSED. Feel free to continue to enjoy and share the story.

Originally posted 2013-02-06 10:00:00.

05
Mar
2025

An Anniversary, a Regency Story, and a Scavenger Hunt Prize Package

categories: A Suitable Match, Contests

Regency Reflections turns one this month and we couldn’t be more excited.

Since we’re a blog for readers of Inspirational Regencies, we thought we’d give you something to, well, read!

The serial story A Suitable Match starts Wednesday.

What is a serial story you ask? It’s one continuous story with sections contributed by our bloggers. You won’t want to miss any of it, but in case you want to know when your favorite author is coming up, here’s the schedule:

MatchCover February 6 ~ Laurie Alice Eakes
February 8 ~ Vanessa Riley
February 11 ~ Susan Karsten
February 13 ~ Mary Moore
February 15 ~ Kristi Ann Hunter
February 18 ~ Kristy L. Cambron
February 20 ~ Naomi Rawlings
February 22 ~ Ruth Axtell
February 25 ~ Laurie Alice Eakes with the conclusion that YOU choose!

More About A Suitable Match

Cressida Blackstone has three months to do something she thought she’d never do – get married. Three years earlier, her merchant father lost his money, forcing her to abandon her plans of marrying an aristocrat in need of an heiress. Now her aunt has changed everything, leaving her vast fortune to Cressida but only if she marries within six months.

Only three months remain until her deadline and Cressida has decided to travel to London and land herself a husband, but her past waylays her on the road.

Ross Ainsworth expected Cressida’s aunt’s wealth to come to him – he was her grandson after all. Now he’s offered himself as an escort to take Cressida to London. But does he actually want her to arrive?

Cressida left Tristram, Viscount Chard when she no longer had the funds to refill his coffers. Breaking off their impending marriage was the only way to free him to find another heiress. But is he thankful or desirous of revenge?

Lord Twiford never approved of Cressida’s relationship with Chard. But was it because he didn’t like Cressida or because he liked her too much?

Now Cressida must decide who wants her heart and who wants her money.

And you get to help her, because…

You, the Readers are choosing the end!

GuyChoice Read the story, get to know Cressida and her bevy of potential suitors. You’ll have to discern who Cressida loves – and who loves her in return.

Vote for your favorite beau in the Suitable Match Poll. The winning man will be revealed in the story conclusion on February 25.

Once you’ve picked a favorite, why not encourage everyone to vote for him? You can get badges for your website or blog encouraging people to pick your man. See the badges and more on the Suitable Match Extras page.

Win an amazing prize package… if you can find it.

One lucky reader is going to win the Suitable Match Prize Pack containing eight items from the story. How do you win? You find them!

Each day, one item from the prize pack will be hidden in the story. Find it, mention it in the comments, and you will be entered in the drawing for the prize. Find all eight items and you’ll earn eight entries.

The contest will close at 5:00PM EST on February 26, 2013.

Suitable Match Prize Package Contents

PrizeCollage So what are you looking for? The following items, in no particular order, are found within the story. Sometimes, they’re pretty creatively thrown in.

~ Pearl hair pins
~ Leather Bible
~ Embroidered Bookmark
~ A Silk Hand Fan
~ Painting of the English Countryside (Print)
~ Pearl Drop Necklace
~ Filigree Locket
~ Earl Grey Tea

Get Ready, Get Set, Read!

Settle in with your tea and get ready to read. A Suitable Match starts this Wednesday.

Originally posted 2013-02-04 10:00:00.

04
Mar
2025

Catching up with Regency Reflections Authors

categories: Announcements, Author Interview, New Release, Writing

It’s hard to believe that we’ve been sharing our inspirational Regency world with you for an entire year now. And what a year it’s been! We’ve seen so many wonderful books published, several of our blog authors have been preparing their debut novels for release, and many tidbits of history have been uncovered.

We’ve got some great fun starting next week for our one-year anniversary, but today we wanted to let you know what’s going on in the lives of some of your favorite Regency Reflections authors.

Laurie Alice Eakes

laurie and nick and water — Laurie Alice and her dog, Nick, at the beach.

Laurie Alice has been a very busy woman! She recently celebrated the release of her twelfth full length novel called Choices of the Heart. It is set in Appalachia in 1842, but still has a Regency connection. The heroine’s father, who was an English nobleman’s son, came to America in 1809, fell in love, and stayed.

Other things that have happened for Laurie Alice this year include the release of her third Regency, A Flight of Fancy, which won the Clash of the Titles contest. She also celebrated the re-release of Family Guardian, her first Regency, in paperback and Kindle versions. Family Guardian won the National Readers Choice Award for Best Regency in 2007.

And she’s not stopping any time soon! The third book in The Daughters of Bainbridge House series will release later this year. She also sold three more Regencies to Zondervan. The first one will release in 2014.

You can also find Laurie Alice at her personal webpage (www.LaurieAliceEakes.com) and on twitter (@LaurieAEakes).

Susan Karsten

SusanAndSister — Susan (in red sweater) with her sister-in-law on New Year’s Eve.

Susan has been busy getting her personal blog up and running. At graciouswoman.wordpress.com you’ll find a range of topics having to do with Susan’s interests. Lately, she’s been working on an estate sale (a side business she has). If that pique’s your interest, she’d blogged about it. 😉 Not yet published, she continues to improve her writing, getting an excellent average score for her latest work-in-progress, A Refuge for Rosanna, in the ACFW First Impressions contest.

Vanessa Riley

Preparations for Vanessa’s debut release have kept her busy this year. In addition to posting on Regency Reflections, Vanessa keeps up the website ChristianRegency.com – a great source for Inspirational Regency books and history.

Her debut book, Madeline’s Protector, is just around the corner. Keep reading Regency Reflections after the anniversary party so you don’t miss her big launch party and give-a-way in April.

Kristi Ann Hunter

Kristi and her husband at the M&M conference for the Maggies announcements.

This past year has been amazing for Kristi. Currently unpublished, Kristi has spent the year learning from her fabulous writer friends – including the lovely ladies of Regency Reflections – and improving her craft. She semi-finaled in ACFW’s Genesis competition for unpublished authors and came in third in the Georgia Romance Writers Maggies competition in the Inspirational romance category.

Recently, she’s been working on revamping her website and blog. Currently the blog is at AmeliasDrawingRoom.blogspot.com. Within the next couple of weeks it will be moving to the brand new www.KristiAnnHunter.com. Technical issues kept the site from being up and running at the time of this post. You can also find Kristi on Facebook.

Ruth Axtell

mmcomingsoon If you love reading Ruth Axtell books (who doesn’t?) get excited. Ruth’s been busy preparing for her newest release which will be launching right here at Regency Reflections in March.

Ruth writes historicals outside of the Regency period as well. Her historical romance set in Maine, Her Good Name, released last year.

You can find out more about Ruth by visiting her webpage, RuthAxtell.com, or her blog.

Kristy L. Cambron

Cambron Pics 210 As if having a third child weren’t enough to keep a woman busy, Kristy has been pushing on with her writing and blogging career. Though currently unpublished, she and her agent, Joyce Hart, are working hard to change that. Winning the FCRW Beacon award in the Inspirational category last year and expanding her writing into other areas of history are just part of her efforts.

She’s also moved into a new position as a Learning Consultant for a Fortune 100 Company. Working with emergent leaders has brought her the privilege of being invited back as a three-time Participant Leader Guide at the Disney Leadership Institute, Perfect Service Experience program at Walt Disney World, Orlando.

Want to read more from Kristy right now? Check out her blog, Paris-Mom.blogspot.com.

Naomi Rawlings

Naomi is excited to have contracted for two sequels to Sanctuary for a Lady. The first novel is set during the French Revolution and the second during the Napoleonic Wars. You can check out more of what Naomi has going on by visiting her website, NaomiRawlings.com or her blog, MakingHomeWorkBlog.blogspot.com.

Coming in 2013 to Regency Reflections

Now that you’ve caught up with your favorite bloggers, here’s a look at what’s ahead this year right here at Regency Reflections.

MatchCover

Starting Monday, February 4

Our one-year anniversary party! You will not want to miss the fun. We’ve put together a serial story, but you will get to choose the end! We’ll have a scavenger hunt to keep you intrigued as you read with a wonderful prize pack to give away to one lucky reader.

Book releases galore

If you love Inspirational Regencies, clear your bookshelf because this year we have a lot of amazing new releases to feature on the blog. Look for releases from Ruth Axtell in March, Sarah Ladd and Vanessa Riley with their debut releases in April, and Laurie Alice in October. And those are just a few of the books from our own authors! Look for special guests and give-a-ways throughout the year.

Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice Celebration

Pride and Prejudice turned 200 years old this year. We couldn’t possibly ignore that! Be sure to stick around the blog, because we’ll be celebrating this much loved story in August. We’ll look at the movies, the book itself, and the impact Jane Austen and her story have on life today. You won’t want to miss it.

Whew! It’s hard to believe all of that has happened in the past year. We have loved building this blog and bringing it to life while getting to know some of you through comments and discussions. This blog would be nothing without our fabulous readers.

So you tell us… what would you like to see on Regency Reflections this year?

Originally posted 2013-02-01 10:00:00.

04
Mar
2025

Write of Passage: The Sensitivity of Sensitivity Reads

categories: Podcast - Write of Passage, Politics, Recommended Reading, Syndication, Technology, TV and Film

The Sensitivity of Sensitivity Reads

One of my first essays on Substack, when I was testing out what I wanted to do, was about my editing process. Before I began podcasting, I was exploring my platform and had just gone through a brutal but necessary copyedit, and I wanted to talk about the lessons learned.

Write now in the ethos of publishing is a bit of a scandal about a writer when given feedback about an offensive bit of dialog in their novel, decided to keep it in to show the main character as “flawed.” Yes, racism is a flaw. Expressions of racism in a main character, a romantic hero is a flaw. I really do like my romance novels, well all novels without a side of microaggressions.

Some people argue that everyone is too sensitive or “too woke.” Others seem to long for a time when publishing was less scrutinized, less inclusive. You know, when inflammatory content could be published without consequence. Some long for the so-called “good old days” when most books catered to a dominant perspective reinforcing loud stereotypes, atmospheric patriarchal notions, or subtle supremacy.

Words are powerful. They can expand imaginations and help build better societies. When an author is not sensitive to the needs of others, that author will be found arguing with reviewers on social media, making faux apology videos, and getting publishers in trouble. If the scandal arising from publishing microaggressions, stereotypes, cultural appropriations, or racist and ableist sentiments is big enough, that author may face bans or delays in publication. If they have a fan base, they’ll be alright. I just don’t think it’s not worth it. No insensitive hill is worth dying on.

I’m 27 books into this process—twenty-five published, with number 26, A Wager at Midnight, set to release March 25. I value opinions, especially those different from mine or from perspectives and backgrounds unlike my own. I actually get nervous when an editor gives little to no feedback—I want it all. Iron sharpens iron. Critiques are how writers improve.

So let me pull back the curtain and share my process and how edits and sensitivity fit in the writing process.

First, I write the worst draft in the world. ➡ Revise ➡ Then Revise Some More ➡ Developmental Edits ➡ More Revision ➡ Sensitivity Review ➡ Copyediting ➡ Proofreading ➡ (And Pray—throughout!)

Worst Draft in the World

Every writer has to know how they write. I know my first draft needs to be between 25-30% of the final book’s word count. Any more than that and I’ll overwrite the book when I revise. That first draft is naked. I spend time, revising adding mood, colors, setting, historical touches, and emotional depth. I usually revise the awful-no-one-will-ever-see-it draft three times before going to the next stage.

Developmental Edits

Developmental editing tackles the big-picture elements: story structure, pacing, plot, character arcs, and themes. This stage addresses questions like: Does the story flow logically? Are the characters well-developed? Are there plot holes or inconsistencies? What’s the message? What’s the theme?

For every book I write, I hire a freelance editor. My Felicia gets the manuscript before my acquiring editor. Why? I want to turn in the best possible version of this book. So that editor won’t have to spend time plugging plot holes, catching redundancies, etc. One time, Felicia caught when I’ve changed character names mid-story. She knows me—and more importantly, she knows what I’m capable of delivering. I can confidently hit send to my acquiring editor knowing the manuscript is good. My editor gets it, and with their input, we can make a great book.

Back to Revisions

Back in my hot hands with my editor’s notes, it’s time to revise the manuscript again. This is my chance to refine it. I will rewrite sections and cut stuff. I’m rarely asked to expand—such is the happenstance of being a wordy, word-loving author. But I’m brutal at this stage. No word, storyline, or character is safe. I will cut. I will cut with abandon. In my next historical fiction coming January 2026, I cut 55,000 words. Let me say that again. Fifty-five thousand. Yes, it sucked. It hurt. It’s not like I can just put these words into another book but it was the best call. The book is better for. I believe in my editor’s feedback. I’ll do what’s necessary to send readers the best book.

At this point we’re in good shape. Let’s get back to being sensitivity.

The Sensitivity Touch

Sensitivity readers are supposed to review the manuscript to ensure your beautiful words doesn’t offend, get you sued, or put you on a watch list. Every one of my historical fictions—Island Queen, Sister Mother Warrior, Queen of Exiles– has been subjected to sensitivity reviews. My editor, publisher, and I want to make sure these books are accurate and respectfully represent cultures, identities, and historical events.

It’s a crucial step. It can’t be overlooked when tackling diverse characters or sensitive topics. Look, I am Black. I’m of Caribbean descent. Dad was Trini and Ma was Southern Baptist Black. I don’t get a pass to say I can automatically write about Haitian or Jamaican cultures. I do meticulous research about the most minute details, because I take my responsibility very seriously to represent these cultures and ancient peoples with respect. But I’m not perfect. I want the help. I need someone to kick my manuscript and put it through the emotional-cultural wringer before I get lit on fire by putting something out that’s wrong or, worse, offensive.

Sensitivity readers provide essential notes on areas that may inadvertently cause harm or perpetuate stereotypes. Writers, we are not supposed to do harm. Stories have power. They have a life and energy of their own. Authenticity and inclusivity elevate your writing. Don’t you want positive impact?

Copyediting and Proofreading

We’re not done. Copyediting and proofreading take our writing to the finish line. Copyediting hones in on the finer details and examines grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, consistency, and clarity. The previous edits have messed with the story a lot. A copyeditor should identify errors and flag inconsistencies. A good copyeditor will highlight blocking (the entering and exiting of characters from a scene) repetitive words or phrases—those dreaded echoes! A great copyeditor will teach you something. I recently learned that “hubris” wasn’t used until the mid-19th century—a fascinating tidbit for a proud historical fiction writer trying to write a 17th century novel.

Proofreading

A proofreader does a final pass before publication. They catch lingering typos, formatting issues, and minor errors that slipped through earlier stages. Even the most seasoned author can’t catch every mistake, not on their own. Proofreading ensures your book meets top quality standards.

My Mantra for Edits

All the hard work in crafting a story means nothing if you neglect editing or decide on a whim to leaving in something “flawed” for kicks. Welcome to my Ted talk:

* Absorb the critique: It’s not an attack—it’s insight. Sensitivity edits aren’t judgments on you, but your characters. Listen to the wisdom.

* Weigh the Critique: There’s a difference between personal preference and a flashing red light—know which you’re dealing with.

* Have Your Sources Ready: Have your references handy to support accuracy. Include them in your author’s note. Someone is bound to have the question. (PSA: Always add an author’s note.)

* Query, Don’t Assume: Never make a decision to revise—or not—based on assumptions. Challenge both your own and your editor’s perspectives. Make sure neither is rooted in a colonizer’s lens—unless you’re literally writing about Christopher Columbus. (Example: A copyeditor once tried to tell me the Khoe people were incorrectly addressed. That I shouldn’t call them by that name or “Khoesans” because it was created in 1928. The Khoe have existed since 2300 BC. My book was set in 1675. I think Khoe is good. Source documents are in the author’s note.

* Question Dialogue and POV: Read the editors notes. Sometimes they are right about things sounding “too formal or stilted.” Read actual correspondence from the period. It will surprise you about how informal things can be. Make sure you read James by Percival Everett or Lady Tan’s Circle of Women by Lisa See, two masterful uses of dialog entwined to tell ancient stories for the modern audience.

* Be Humble: Negative feedback stings, but it’s a tool for growth. Questions and queries are opportunities to clarify, refine, and strengthen your work.

* Avoid Harm: Represent cultures with authenticity and respect. Sensitivity edits help you sidestep pitfalls that could undermine your credibility.

* If someone flags an issue, fix it: Even if you don’t see it as a problem, take it seriously. If one reader finds something harmful or offensive, chances are others will too. If you are dealing with fictional characters, you can change stuff. If real people are jerks, that’s harder—see A People’s History of the United States” by Howard Zinn to learn or debunk ideas about the horrid exploits of Christopher Columbus. I don’t believe in whitewashing or hiding the truth. Dismissing concerns as “not a big deal” is a failure. It is a big deal. Rise to the moment.

Editing is an investment—not just for your benefit but for your readers. Every stage—developmental edits, revisions, sensitivity reviews, copyediting, and proofreading—are needed to make your novel the best it can be. Your story, your readers, and your publisher deserve that effort. Don’t be defensive. Do the right thing.

Show Notes:

This week we are linking to FoxTale’s Bookshop through Bookshop.org.

Books by Vanessa Riley:Riley, V. (Year). A Wager at Midnight. [Publisher].Riley, V. (2021). Island Queen. William Morrow.Riley, V. (2022). Sister Mother Warrior. William Morrow.Riley, V. (2023). Queen of Exiles. William Morrow.

Other Fiction & Nonfiction Books:Everett, P. (2024). James. Doubleday.See, L. (2023). Lady Tan’s Circle of Women. Scribner.Zinn, H. (1980). A People’s History of the United States. Harper & Row.

(Bonus) Writing & Editing Book:Browne, R., & King, D. (2004). Self-editing for Fiction Writers: How to Edit Yourself into Print (2nd ed.). William Morrow.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

04
Mar
2025

New Inspirational Regency ~ Mystery of the Heart ~ Win the book!

categories: Author Interview, Contests

Author Jillian Kent We are so pleased to once more welcome Jillian Kent to Regency Reflections. Her latest release, Mystery of the Heart, is the last of the Ravensmoore Chronicles books. The love story of these two strong-willed individuals is wrapped in adventure involving a foreign religion, an expensive artifact, and Jillian’s vast knowledge and love of the historic practice of medicine.

Be sure to leave a comment after reading the interview for a chance of winning a copy of Mystery of the Heart. And now give a warm Regency Reflections welcome to Jillian Kent!

Last time you were here, you told us about Chameleon. When is this book set and how is it linked to your previous one?

I’m thrilled to be back here with the lovely ladies from Regency Reflections. Thanks for inviting me back. Mystery of the Heart begins in Northumberland, England in 1819 and primarily takes place in London. It’s the third book in my Ravensmoore Chronicle series and also the last book. This is Devlin’s youngest sister’s story and it will take you on an adventure similar to what you might experience in an Indiana Jones movie but more romantic.

Was there any fun fact about the Regency period that you stumbled upon while researching this book? Any tidbit that sparked your imagination and inspired a plot point of cool character moment?

Yes. I discovered that the Royal College of Physicians had burnt down prior to the one that was rebuilt and present in my story. Via Wikipedia, “The College was based at Amen Corner near St Paul’s Cathedral, until it was burnt down in the Great Fire of London of 1666. The first Harveian Librarian was Christopher Merret.

Both Mystery of the Heart and your previous book Chameleon contain a great deal about period medicine. What sort of struggles did you face writing about two hundred year medical practices in such a way that modern day readers would be able to accept them?

The most difficult thing is making sure the research is accurate and then tell it in an interesting way that makes readers wonder how people in that day and age survived, if in fact they did. I also have thirty-three years of social work experience in psychiatric hospitals, medical hospitals and out-patient facilities. I’ve worked as a counselor for nursing students for the past 17 years in a hospital based college so I’m around medical stuff all the time. I hope I have a knack for pulling readers into the medical practices of the day that keeps them coming back for more. I think it’s fascinating. Maybe that’s why readers accept the telling of those medical practices.

What is your favorite thing about your hero, Lord Eden?

I love his adventurous spirit. He’s not a man to stay in any one place long. He wants to be on the go, but after his journey to Austria he’s tired. And when he returns to England it’s one adventure after another and that includes falling in love with Mercy and dealing with her over protective family.

What drew you to your heroine, Lady Mercy Grayson?

Mercy is the most independent of the women in my three stories. She’s seen and experienced a lot including caring for her sister, Victoria as she was growing up. Then when her brother refused to give up his desire to be a physician when he inherited his estate she desperately wanted to find a way to contribute to society that made use of her talents.

Without giving away some of the key plot points of the book, can you share a little about the vodun that play such a large part in the book?

Interesting that you asked. I never had any desire to write about vodun until I was going through the typical brainstorming phase of getting ready to write the novel. And of course it wasn’t until I sat down and wrote that the men on the ship with Eden took on an entirely different role than what I’d planned and it just kind of bloomed from there. I really think I must have been influenced by all the zombie books and stories I’d been hearing that others were writing. Most probably because my mentor, James Scott Bell, was writing zombie legal thrillers. What a hoot! Zombies and voodoo always seemed to go together. Just goes to show how we writers can come up with strange ideas and make them work to our stories advantage.

What can we look forward to next from you?

I have an idea for a new book and possibly another series that I am running past my agent. I can tell you that it is set during the regency. I’d also like to write some short stories as an addition to The Ravensmoore Chronicles and sell them as e-shorts. I’m thinking of a Christmas story set at Ravensmoore and a short about how Lazarus was found.

Where else on the web can our readers find you?

www.JillianKent.com
JillianKent.blogspot.com
JustTheWriteCharisma.blogspot.com
Twitter @JillKentAuthor
www.facebook.com/JillianKent
www.ChristianFictionOnlineMagazine.com

Thank you for being here, Jillian! I would also like to thank Charisma for an advance copy of the book.

Want to win your own copy of Mystery of the Heart? Leave a comment below letting us know what you find fascinating about the medical practice 200 years ago or how much you’re looking forward to reading Jillian’s book. You must live within the United States to win. Entries will be accepted through Saturday, February 2, 2013.

The contest is now closed, but you can still purchase Jillian’s book and enjoy her story!

Originally posted 2013-01-30 10:00:00.

03
Mar
2025

Curing the Cough and Soothing the Sniffles

categories: Health, History

Kristi here. If your home is anything like mine, there have been plenty of sniffs and snuffles passing through this winter. The headaches, congestion, and overall achiness can range everywhere from the annoyance of the common cold to the seriousness of pneumonia.

Today, we know the difference between the flu and a cold, bronchitis and a sinus infection, and a tension migraine and a sinus headache. Or at least, our doctor knows the difference and can help us with the right concoction of pills and vitamins to get us through the discomfort.

The suffering Regency inhabitant was not so fortunate.

Treatment Page from Cookbook — Beginning of the treatment section of a cookbook

The scientific study of medicine was just coming into existence as the Regency rolled around. Knowledge of germs and nutrition and the importance of cleanliness were mere inklings of ideas in the heads of the most advanced medical minds of the time. And these men (for they were almost exclusively men) were often scoffed at for their new ideas and practices.

Because medicine was still working to organize and legitimize itself, healthcare fell on the shoulders of the people, or more specifically the women. Cookbooks of the day would contain recipes for home remedies that could be mixed or cooked to aid the ailing.Mothers would also pass down time-honored practices for various diseases, leaving people at the time with a mix of rudimentary science, folk remedy, and medieval traditions. Physicians were so rare and costly that one had to be very rich or near death to call upon one.

So how did they handle the fevers and the sniffles?

Woman sick in bed reading — Michael Ancher, via Wikimedia Commons

Without decongestants and pain relievers, they were forced to take to their beds for however long it took the body to overcome the bacteria or virus. Because many congestion related disorders were thought to be brought on by cold or damp conditions, sick rooms were often kept warm and dry, with little to no air circulation.

The old axiom “Feed a cold, starve a fever” was also prescribed to, with some ailing patients being restricted to diets of bread and water in the hopes of purging the bodies of the disease.

Some households would have knowledge of herbs and be able to ease the pain with concoctions of willow bark tea while others preferred to drink themselves into oblivion until the worst of the illness had passed.

Other interesting treatments of the time included inducing copious amounts of sweating, stuffing orange rinds up the nose, and colonic irrigation, or cleansing of the bowels.

The second half of the 1800s showed the beginnings of the cold remedies that resemble what we see today. While medicines involving heroin and chloroform have been eradicated, the Vicks Vapour Rub introduced in 1890 is still pretty much the same.

Want to learn more about the history of medicine in England? Check out the online museum from the Royal Pharmaceutical Society. You can link directly to the paper on the common cold here.

Be sure to come back Wednesday, when Jillian Kent will be here at Regency Reflections sharing about her latest book, Mystery of the Heart, which incorporates the quickly changing field of medicine during the Regency time period. Stop by and enter to win a copy of her book.

Other sources used for this article include All Things Austen: An Encyclopedia of Austen’s World, The House-keeper’s Pocketbook, and Compleat Family Cook, LiveStrong.com, and DukeHealth.org.

Originally posted 2013-01-28 10:00:00.