Lyn Cote's Blog, page 58
May 4, 2014
What’s Your Earliest Memories of Your Mother?
“What’s Your Earliest Memories of Your Mother?” is part of my sixth annual MEGA MAY celebration of mothers and daughters.
Not all of us have been mothers
but all of us have been daughters. My mother passed away in 2007 but a mother is someone that never really leaves your life IMHO. And I’ve always believed that the mother-daughter relationship is the most complex and complicated of human relationships.
My earliest memory of my mother
takes place in a kind of golden afternoon setting. I’m lying on my stomach on my parent’s bed. I’m only wearing panties. The window by my head is open and I feel the warm breeze. But my back itches terribly. My mother is sitting beside me and stroking my back with something soft and talking to me.
That’s it. Just a glimpse of time.
From telling this to my mother years after, I know that it is a snapshot of my having chicken pox when I was four years old. All diseases are unpredictable and my chicken pox chose to appear only on my back.
Emotionally I remember the tenderness of my mother talking softly to me and gently stroking my back that itched so terribly. A sweet memory.
So What’s Your Earliest Memory of Your Mother? Please share. I will be giving away a copy of
to one commenter. So leave a comment to be entered into the drawing. I’m really interested in your memories and how the memories make you feel Let’s Remember, Mama.–Lyn
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April 30, 2014
April 29, 2014
Author Beth White & When a Tsunami Hits!
Today’s guest is author Beth White, who is a personal friend. Beth is another sweet Southern belle like Lenora Worth. I was fortunate enough to visit her in her home church in Mobile, AL. And this story of a tsunami or storm surge is amazing. Here’s Beth:
“Storm Surge
I would like to tell you about a young woman I have come to know quite well over the last six or so years. Nicole is the product of a large, close-knit family, a link in a long line of strong women. Her great-grandmother, still active in her nineties, was one of the first computer-operators for the defense department in the 60’s. Both her grandmothers are still teaching weekly Bible studies, and her mother is a respected English teacher in the public school system.
Nicole married my son in 2008 and found herself a Navy wife, subject to the whims of the U. S. military in terms of location, housing, and myriad other details affecting everyday life. When she and Ryan were assigned to Misawa, Japan, they said goodbye to family, church and friends, and moved to a foreign culture. It wasn’t long before Nicole, ever resourceful, found employment as an English language tutor. She familiarized herself with churches, markets, currency and anything else that would make life easier for her hard-working young husband. And on those long days and nights when she was alone, she connected with neighbors. Mutual dependency, as in old pioneer days, was a means of not just surviving but thriving.
A couple of years into the tour, two events collided like trains heading toward each other on a single track. Ryan and Nicole became pregnant with their first child, two days before Ryan received orders to Iraq. Taking a deep breath and burying her own anxieties, Nicole prepared for the separation. Fortunately, Ryan’s duties allowed him to stay in touch via Skype, and the pregnancy went smoothly. Ryan was even able to return to Japan, briefly, for their son’s birth.
Then, a few weeks after Ryan returned to Iraq, the day after Nicole’s mother returned to the States, the century’s most devastating earthquake and tsunami on that side of the world hit north Japan. Nicole tells of driving off base with baby Judah asleep in his car seat, feeling the tremors underneath the car, and stopping to check on him. The world literally shifted on its axis, knocking out power lines, tumbling huge buildings, washing away whole villages. Nicole and the baby found safety in the fire station on base, and neighbors reached out to help one another. It was a frightening time for family on the other side of the world, who could do little except pray, and communication with Ryan in Iraq was sketchy.
Eventually the Navy airlifted dependents from Japan and brought them home. The day we welcomed Nicole and Judah in the Mobile airport is a time I’ll never forget.
To purchase, click here. Pelican Bride, The (Gulf Coast Chronicles Book #1): A Novel
Women have always been survivors. Such is the heroine of my new book, The Pelican Bride. In 1704, Genevieve flees religious persecution in France with her younger sister, sailing to the colony of Louisiana on the frigate Pelican. As Geneviève falls in love and makes a life for herself, she grows into one of the women who made America a great nation under God.”–Beth
Wow. Now that was a story! And I read and reviewed Beth’s book too and will post it SOON. Really an interesting and unusual historical romance. I loved it.–Lyn
Beth’s website and blog are at booksbylyncote.com.
April 28, 2014
Reminder: Lady Sarah, Have You Subscribed?
Over the past two weeks, I have posted the Prologue and Chapter One of Lady Sarah. This is my newest independent novel. I am sending it out chapter by chapter to my newsletter subscribers. Tomorrow CHAPTER TWO will be delivered via email. But only to those who have subscribed. If you want to receive this original novel in serial form, be sure to enter your email address in the top right in the lime green border.
To catch up, here’s the link to the Prologue:
April 27, 2014
Best-Selling Author Roxanne Rustand & Mother’s Day is Coming
Today I’m happy to welcome as my guest, author Roxanne Rustand who is one of my dearest friends. She and I wrote and critiqued and helped each before publication and still help each other in this crazy business, callled publishing. Roxanne is offering copies of some of her best-selling novels to a couple of commenters, so read to the end and leave a comment to be entered into the drawing.
BTW, Mother’s Day is coming and as many of you know MEGA May is the way I celebrate that special day honoring women. Even if you haven’t been a mother, we’ve all been daughters. Be sure to drop by often in May, I have some great guests, gifts, and topics ahead for you. Here’s Roxanne:
“Lyn’s theme–
in her books and on her blog–has always been about strong women. It’s a theme that resonates with me and with multitudes of readers who admire the strength and resilience of women who persevere despite the toughest odds, and succeed no matter what obstacles are in their way. And not just fictional characters, but everyday, heroic women who struggle to keep their home together despite financial challenges, and who raise their children well, with deep moral fiber, faith, a strong work ethic and a positive outlook.
In Your Own Life
Who are some of the strong women? I’ll bet we can all think of some–whether they are a mom, a grandmother, a beloved aunt, or someone else in our lives. What about those who lived through the Depression–or soldiered on despite crippling health problems, or loss?
My Mom
Mother’s Day is just a few weeks away, and each year, it reminds me of how blessed I am to have two daughter’s-in-law who are wonderful, loving mothers. It also is a poignant time for me, because my own sweet mom has been gone for over three years. It was devastating to lose her.
But I’ll never forget the wonderful times we had, her staunch loyalty and protectiveness for her family, and the fact that despite her health problems and some other daunting challenges and tragedies in her life, she always had a twinkle in her eye, a charming sense of humor and a zest for living. She continues to be an example of the kind of person I want to be for my own family.
QUESTION: Who are (or were) some of the people in your life who mean the most to you in your own life…and why? I would love to hear about them!”–Roxanne
Roxane is the author of over thirty traditionally published novels. She now has two self-published novels available: Comeback Cowboy and Summer at Briar Lake, and a third, A Montana Legacy, will be available in May.
For more about Roxanne and her books:
Catching up on Announcing Winners!
Sorry! I’m behind on announcing winners.
Here they are:
Charity L and Sunnie won copies of Pat Simmon’s NO EASY CATCH.
Valri Western won a copy of Lenora Worth’s Bayou Sweetheart.
Helen Clouse won a copy of my Dangerous Season reissue in Larger Print.
CONGRATULATIONS, LADIES!!-Lyn
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April 22, 2014
Lady Sarah, Chapter One, Last Installment Here
Lady Sarah, CHAPTER ONE, Last Installment to appear here. After this, if you wish to receive a chapter a week of this new American Regency romance, please go to the top right to subscribe to my enewsletter and enter your email address. Then you will receive a chapter a week. Now for this week’s installment…
Three years later
Chapter One
December 24, 1796
New Jersey
Alone on the bleak afternoon sitting in her parent’s rear parlor, Sarah suddenly felt buried alive. She cast her uninteresting book aside and drew in air. She’d seen no one but family for months now. The December gloom swallowed her up and she gripped the arms of her chair, holding in all the despair that clamored to be released.
The holiday season always brought memories of New Year’s Eve three years ago, the last time she’d seen Eliot Farraday. That dragged back to mind all the repercussions from that night and finally, the foolish and disastrous decision she’d made. If I hadn’t been just a callow, foolish girl, none of this–
The butler entered with the mail on a silver plate. She composed herself, thanked him and he left her again alone. She shuffled through the few missives. One letter caused her a jolt. Moving to her mother’s secretary in the corner, she inserted the cool silver opener at the wax seal. And then stopped.
She studied the worn, creased and smudged letter which had traveled so far. The most recent letter from their London solicitor had cast her life, cast her once again into the murky shadows outside of society. Could she expect good news from this letter sent from the same law office?
She steeled herself, gripping the silver opener. Yet she could not bring herself to open it, here alone in this empty house in the scant daylight. Her parents were delivering baskets of holiday food and gift to the needy and it would be hours before they returned.
No, she couldn’t face more bad news alone. And she couldn’t stay here alone with her upsetting fears and memories. Her brother Jean Claude should be home and in his sympathetic presence she could bear to open this.
After tucking the letter into her hidden pocket in her simple blue dress, she went quickly to the back hall where her heavy gray wool shawl, lined bonnet and matching woolen gloves were kept. She slipped off the elegant slippers she wore inside and slid her feet into fleece-lined wooden clogs.
She hurried down the frozen lane to the neighboring farm that had belonged to the Richardsons, a Quaker couple who had been like grandparents to her. They were gone now and her brother and his wife had inherited the property.
When she reached the house–one of the few where she still felt welcome–she found no one home. Bereft, she stood in the kitchen, gazing at the plain furnishings, smelling the scent of dried apples, feeling the pressure of the letter in her pocket, the gray emptiness closing in on her. She turned and fled.
The cutting December wind swooped around the corner of the house and nearly snatched her breath away. She hurried out onto the lane, heading for home like a swimmer heading for the shore.
Then she saw a man walking briskly toward her. Something about him struck her as familiar. “Good day?” Sarah called.
“Bonjour, madame,” he replied with evident holiday spirit, and in a voice she recognized.
“Your grace!” Sarah greeted Louis Phillipe, Duc de Orleans.
“Yes, madame, it is I.” A somewhat portly man of medium height only a few years older than she, he wore a thick navy blue great coat and white muffler and a fashionable beaver hat.
Though surprised, she was delighted to see him again. The previous dreadful letter from England had coincided with their first meeting. In the painful weeks that had passed since, his kind note, sent soon after, had meant so much to her. In this man she’d found a friend. She hurried toward him. “But where are you bound, sir?”
“To your home.”
“My home?”
“Yes, your parents invited me to spend the holidays with your family.”
Thinking she should have expected her mother to issue this invitation, Sarah merely nodded, tucked in her chin against the wind and started walking beside him over the packed snow.
“When I received the invitation, I was unable to communicate my acceptance. But I have been able to come after all. I hope I am still welcome,” he said.
“Certainly.” Since the announcement of her divorce, she had avoided all but the closest friends and family, not wishing to experience the humiliation inflicted on her during this man’s last visit. Perhaps that was why her mother had not mentioned inviting him to her.
She was heartened by learning that he would be their guest. So many guests that usually came during the holidays would not be coming this year. Because her parents had not invited them. This was their way of protecting her and at the same time, not causing their prominent friends distress over refusing their usual invitations, all because of her blackened reputation. The letter in her pocket nudged her.
“I’m sure my mother would have sent a carriage for you.” she said, picking up the thread of the conversation.
“I know she would but I was able to secure transport myself nearby. And I will walk the last miles myself. And I find you as my companion, a pleasant boon.”
In spite of her heavy mood, Sarah smiled then at the incongruity of the exiled man, only a few years ago an heir to the French throne, now walking to her mother’s house.
“I see your smile,” he said jovially. “You laugh to see a duke out walking. Dukes are not supposed to walk on a common lane in December.”
She blushed warmly. “I’m sorry–”
“Do not apologize. I laugh myself, but I enjoy to walk freely here. In Paris I am not permitted to walk the everyday streets. In New York I walk at will. The Revolution succeeds! I am liberated!”
Considering all this man had endured–fleeing the overthrow of the French monarchy and the guillotine that had claimed his father’s life, Sarah pushed away her doubts about her own future. She turned back to him. “How is your career as French tutor proceeding?”
“Excellently. Your mother has suggested many fine contacts for me. I am quite busy, enjoying myself and living comfortably in New York City.”
“Good. I am glad.”
“And I am glad of your mother’s invitation to spend Christmas with your family. I had others, but they merely wished to show my off like a prize lap dog. ‘See the tame heir to a vanquished throne.’ Your mother invited me out of friendship or should I say, kinship?”
“Oh!” His frankness startled her. She slipped on the snow.
He caught her arm and steadied her. “Yes, do not worry. I will not reveal our tenuous family connection. A Federalist family with such a Gallic tie! It would be much more appropriate to a Jeffersonian family.”
Sarah smiled ruefully. Louis was referring to her family’s ties to the conservative Washingtons who had been opposed to the Revolution in France when it had taken an ugly turn. And only family knew that her grandmother had been a courtesan at the royal court at Versailles so the two families were distantly related by blood. “I see, you are in a devil-may-care mood today, aren’t you?”
“I am. It must be the anticipation of a week’s holiday. Yet there is something I must settle with you.”
“Yes?” She avoided a patch of ice.
“You use my title, but you also are titled, Lady Sarah, the granddaughter of an earl.”
That title and the wealth her grandfather had left her had ensnared her with a fortune hunter, not a happy thought. She kept her gaze lowered.
“This is why I bring it up. I ask a boon of you, dear cousin. From now on I will be to you Louis and will you allow me to call you Sarah?”
“Of course, if you wish to. But I warn you again, don’t tell anyone we are related.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
The letter made itself felt again. “I apologize. That is not how I meant it, your grace-”
“Louis,” he substituted.
“Louis,” she amended. “I was afraid more for you than me. I would not want anyone to use our relationship to your disadvantage.”
“I see, Sarah. In that case my lips are sealed.” His tone became more serious. “Since we are alone and you have referred to your difficulties, may I ask how you are since I last saw you?”
“Thank you so much for your note.” In a way she was relieved that he had brought up the topic. “It helped me a great deal.”
“Bon. I was much moved by your father’s explanation of your predicament. Not many women would have been as resolute as you. To leave a husband who dishonored you in such a blatant manner, showing you no respect.” He shook his head. “Many women would have preferred to hide under the mantle of respectability in spite of all they suffered from an unfaithful and foolhardy husband.”
Sarah had been unable to do that. Remembering her former husband, his infidelity and complete disregard for her and his wanton dissipation of her inheritance from her grandfather still filled her with outrage. But now she paid the price for her honesty. Her mother said God forgave all sins, but society never forgave a woman who divorced. “Poor father,” she said, turning back to Louis’s reference to her father. “He still wishes I had let him go to London and challenge my husband to a duel.”
“I can understand both your positions, but what is done is done, n’est ce pas?”
“Too true.” In the social upheaval caused by the revelation that she’d been baseborn, she’d been duped into marriage by a man without honor or even common sense. If he’d had a shred of either, matters could have turned out so differently. But what was done was done. Still her hand strayed to press against the troubling letter in her pocket.
They walked in companionable silence then, the a few inches of snow crunching under their feet. As the sun lowered to the horizon, the wind quieted but the late December day brought thoughts of the warm fire waiting for them and they quickened their pace.
“Sarah, may I be bold and speak more on this matter?”
She glanced at his face which still appeared serious. “If you wish,” she said faintly.
“I thought much of your dilemma in the past weeks. At first I wondered why it should intrigue me so. Then I realized that you and I are not so different–we exiles.”
Sarah pursed her lips and he allowed her time to think. “I see. We are both exiles, aren’t we?” she said at last.
“Yes, but I think in a way your road is more difficult.”
“How so, Louis?”
“I am in a foreign land among strangers, but you are in your own country and yet separated from all you knew…” he began.
She stopped suddenly. A giddy feeling passed through her making her feel faint.
He halted. “Are you unwell, Sarah?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head as though to clear it. “It is just hearing it put into words. You are very perceptive, Louis.”
“I have much solitude and time to think,” he said wryly.
Her smile was wry. “I have, too.” They began to walk again and she tucked her free hand into the crook of his arm companionably.
“So what are your plans, Sarah?”
“Plans?” Her life had been altered forever. What could change that?
“Indeed. You have one advantage over me. I must spend my life always prepared, always hoping to return to Paris or to my estate in Orleans. But you have a whole world in which to find a place to begin a new life,” he said.
“I had not thought of it like that.”
“Well, you must think! Will you spend your life cloistered here like a nun?” He winked at her and patted her gloved hand. “A beautiful woman such as you?”
“Mother was right. You are a flatterer–”
“No, never.” They both laughed as though it felt good to laugh and hurried up the sweeping approach to Westhaven, her parent’s estate.
Just as they glimpsed the butler, holding the door wide for them, a carriage on runners bowled up the drive and drew to a halt. A footman helped Janine down. Sarah’s friend, a very petite pretty blond, wrapped in a modish blue woolen shawl and wearing a hat of exquisite design, Janine’s own design. “My lady, walking in the snow?” she exclaimed. “And le Duc.” She curtseyed deeply to Louis.
Louis lifted her hand and kissed it. “The lovely la femelle styliste. Have you finished dressing the ladies of New York society for the holiday balls?”
“Oui, your grace.” Janine blushed, keeping her gaze lowered in the presence of one she would never have approached in France.
Louis insisted on offering both young women his arms and led them into the house, singing a French melody.
Remembering when and how she and Janine had met on the docks of London three years ago, Sarah felt again the weight of the letter from London in her pocket. What news did it bring? And should she share it now and perhaps spoil her parent’s holiday as well as her own?
#
That evening all alone in her bedroom with one candle on her bedside table, Sarah at last inserted the letter opener under the wax seal of the London letter. She could no longer leave the letter alone yet did not want to worry her parents, especially during the holiday.
7 November, 1796
Dear Madam,
I regret bringing up an unpleasant subject, but I thought you should be informed. your former husband Gerald Frathing committed suicide eight days ago by hanging himself. After your divorce he opened his own law office, but unfortunately his income did not keep pace with his gambling debts. His suicide was precipitated by his imminent arrest on the charge of debt to creditors. Again I apologize for sending such dismal tidings. Your servant,
Charles T. Graham, esq., Solicitor
Overwhelmed by the news, she rested her heavy head in her hand. “How awful,” she whispered. She rose, allowing the to letter flutter from her lap to the carpet. Now the man she’d divorced was dead and what of her? Her world was limited to her parent’s home and a few farmhouses nearby where she was still welcome. Each day blended with each other day till time meant nothing but covering dreary endurance with a false smile.
She had married the Englishman Gerald Frathing the day after her sixteenth birthday. The next September 28 in the coming year 1797 she would be nineteen years old. She rested her forehead against the cool window pane, rattling gently with the wind. What was she to do with the rest of her days? Was her whole life going to be squandered living in seclusion? She wanted to scream, “No! No! No!”
*******
if you wish to receive a chapter a week of this new American Regency romance, please go to the top right to subscribe to my enewsletter and enter your email address. Then you will receive a chapter a week. Also please tell your friends, mention it on twitter and Facebook. Thanks!–Lyn
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April 20, 2014
Lyn Reviews NY Times Author Lenora Worth
I count NY Times Best-selling author Lenora Worth as a dear friend. But I promise I was honest with my review of her latest Love Inspired Romance, Bayou Sweetheart. She gave it to me when I visited her right after New Years during that January cold snap that followed us down to her home on a bay near the Gulf shore of Florida. I will giveaway a copy of Bayou Sweetheart so be sure to leave a comment
Part-1 Here’s my review.
April 15, 2014
Lady Sarah, An American Regency, the Story Begins
An American Regency, set in Creole New Orleans
The Story Begins
****
Prologue
New York City
December 31, 1793
President Washington leaned over Sarah’s hand. “Happy New Year, Sarah, you look lovely tonight. Is that a new gown you’re wearing?”
“Yes,” she stuttered as she curtseyed. Her heart raced like a run of sixteenth notes. With her mother and father behind her, she stood in the receiving line in the presidential mansion on Broad Way. She wore a light blue satin dress in the latest, slimmer silhouette.
The president smiled indulgently. “It is charming on you. It brings out your eyes.” Yes, she did have her father’s ice-blue eyes and straight, walnut brown hair. For the millionth time she wished she had instead inherited her mother’s luxuriant chestnut waves. But to the president, she only smiled tremulously in return.
“Christiane!” Washington exclaimed and embraced her mother. “You will always be the belle of any ball! You become more beautiful with each year!”
Sarah pursed her lips.
“Flattering as always.” Her mother smiled and shook her head at him.
“Not at all, my dear,” Mrs. Washington put in. “John, good evening.”
“My lady,” John replied as he bent over her hand. “Thank you for having us tonight.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be a celebration if we didn’t have our dear friends with us,” the president’s wife said.
“Yes, Christiane,” Washington said, “I was just thinking this evening of the little party we had at Valley Forge on New Year’s Eve. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, Mr. President, that was the year….” Christiane stopped suddenly. Then she said quickly, “Our circumstances are certainly different tonight.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Washington picked up the thread.
Sarah stood and tried to appear as though she had not understood her mother’s slip.
President Washington had innocently touched the topic that her family had avoided all fall, the fact of Sarah’s own illegitimate birth.
Fifteen years ago at Valley Forge her mother had been expecting her while in Philadelphia her father had served with the British army. Didn’t they think she could figure it out herself? After the ill-fated day this had become public knowledge, her father had explained patiently to her that she became legitimate when he and her mother had finally married. He seemed to think that made everything all right. Her fingers turned white and cold as she tightened her grip on her beaded reticule.
After Christiane promised President Washington a dance of his choosing, they made their way down the line. Sarah wondered if it were her imagination that the greetings they received after the Washington’s were perfunctory in the extreme. But no one dared to snub those welcomed by the Washingtons.
Then Sarah saw Hester across the room and smiled. Her friend was talking to a few acquaintances of theirs from finishing school, the finishing school Sarah had been expelled from after the scandal. For a fraction of a second Sarah had the awful premonition that Hester might snub her. But Hester, dressed in a pink frilled gown, caught Sarah’s glance, made a quick apology and moved elegantly, but swiftly to her side.
“Sarah,” Hester breathed and then she greeted Sarah’s parents.
“You young ladies, don’t want to be troubled with parents tonight,” her father said with forced gaiety. “Go on and join your friends.”
Sarah, still feeling uncertain, allowed Hester to lead her away. They paused at the edge of the ballroom near two tall potted plants. Not yet sixteen and “out,” they were still more observers, then participants here. Hester touched her friend’s arm in a delicate gesture, she had obviously practiced well. “Eliot will be here tonight.”
“Eliot Farraday?” Sarah said, her lips brittle.
“Of course, and he will speak to you.”
Sarah was lifted up and terrified at the same time. “How could you–”
“His cousin Lavinia told me. He thinks the scan…,” Hester faltered here.
Sarah felt her face grow tighter.
“Anyway,” Hester went on, “he will speak to you.”
“Well, he needn’t do me any favor–”
“Oh, don’t be so difficult. You want him to, don’t you?”
“We will see,” Sarah replied calmly, but her pulse skipped a beat.
The two girls joined the other of Miss Harper’s young ladies that had been fortunate enough to be invited. Sarah exchanged civil greetings with each of her former classmates. She also noted the schoolmistress Miss Harper across the room glaring at her. Feeling acutely out of place, she averted her eyes and listened to the other girls chatter politely.
“There’s Eliot,” Hester whispered into Sarah’s right ear. “He’s being received.”
Without turning her head, Sarah cast her gaze toward the receiving line. She saw him. The top of the young man’s head came up to the president’s chin. His wavy, black hair was pulled into a sedate club at the back of his neck. He was wearing a well-tailored suit of brown. For a moment Sarah let her eye focus on the smooth line of his spine and almost stopped breathing.
“Students, please come with me. You need to visit the withdrawing room,” Miss Harper said, startling Sarah. The three discomfited girls including Hester trailed after their guardian like chicks following a hen.
Sarah’s face burned. The spinster’s message had been clear: they should not be socializing with Sarah Eastham. The nearby dancers walked through another minuet. Eliot Farraday was partnering his mother.
Glancing over at the grandfather clock, she saw that midnight was nearing. In a way it would be a relief since then the tension of this pins-and-needles evening would be nearly over. In another way, she hated for the party to end. How long would it be till she were invited to another? She realized she needed was a few minutes away from the suffocating presence of so many disapproving faces.
She was well acquainted with the mansion and found her way down the hall to an alcove with a window seat. For a few seconds she hid amid the bouffant sheers of the bay window. The candle sconce glimmered across from her against the ivory wall.
“Miss Eastham, good evening.” The sound of Eliot Farraday’s subdued voice raced through her, making the hair on the back of neck prickle.
She turned slightly and curtseyed automatically. “Mr. Farraday.”
He kissed her hand, but did not release it. “I have been hoping for an opportunity to speak to you this evening–privately.”
She stiffened at his last word.
“Not because I hesitate to show my admiration of you to all,” he hurried to say.
The moonlight on the cold, clear night poured over them. His handsome face was so close, winged eyebrows, strong chin, and luminous eyes. She could hear him breathing and his larger hand still gripped hers, making it feel small and so feminine.
He continued, “But because I wished for a few moments with you–alone.”
Again his last word affected her. Abruptly she sat down, pulling her hand from his.
“I hope I have said nothing amiss.”
“No, of course not. Please sit,” Sarah said, taking herself in hand. “I was merely startled.”
“Certainly.” There was a pause while he pulled up his tails and sat.
Sarah was grateful for their isolation and dimness of the light. She could feel herself blushing.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Eastham, I feel so much the slight shown to you by Miss Harper. I feel it especially, since I am responsible, I fear.”
“Responsible?”
“Yes, you see, I don’t know if you noticed but I often visited my cousin Lavinia at Miss Harper’s home.”
“Yes.”
“Well, after the day of the debate when your…,” his voice faltered. “Anyway my mother said that she thought perhaps she ought to remove Lavinia from Miss Harper’s because of you. I am afraid, I allowed myself to become a bit heated in my response. I let her know of my admiration for you and how unjust it was for you to be held accountable for something that happened so long ago–especially something in a time of war.”
“Oh?” She touched her neckline and under her hand, she felt her heart pounding.
“In any case, it had just the opposite effect I wished for. I fear my mother stirred some of the other mothers and you know the outcome.”
She sighed in reply.
“Miss Eastham, I am sincerely sorry. I wish to make a further confession, if you will permit me?”
“If you wish,” she whispered, short of breath.
“I did not visit Miss Harper’s to see my cousin. I came to see you.”
Now Sarah could not breathe at all. Without thinking, she touched his arm as though to reassure herself that he was really next to her.
Eagerly he clasped his hand over her frozen fingers. “I have watched you all evening. Your proud chin has not dipped as your so-called friends deserted you.” With his other hand he lifted her chin toward him. “You are a noble woman in the finest sense of the word.”
Sarah inhaled suddenly.
“And I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What?” she murmured, smiling at him in the moonlight and candleglow.
Still grasping her fingers, he stood up. “Miss Eastham, will you please grant me the last dance of 1793?”
Sarah’s lips opened in amazement. She was hardly able to believe her ears. He wanted to dance with her. But she had not come out yet. It was not done. “Yes, I will dance with you.”
“Miss Eastham,” he responded in a rush, “you are wonderful. Come quickly. It has already begun.”
Hand-in-hand, they swept toward the music. Sarah flushed with excitement. They entered the hall and Eliot took her in his arms. As they danced, Sarah was only conscious of his deep blue eyes on her, his hand at the small of her back, the exciting, almost risque music of the Viennese waltz. The glowing candelabras and sconces seemed to twirl by her; though she was moving, not they. The music ended and the church bells all around the mansion began tolling, chiming.
Still in a haze, Sarah curtseyed deeply and didn’t rise.
Eliot bent over her hand, his eyes glowing. “Thank you, Miss Eastham. Happy New Year.”
“And you, Mr. Farraday,” she replied with her whole heart. Around them there were many hurrahs, some kissing, and the singing of “Auld Lang Syne”. Eliot and Sarah remained frozen, in tableau, till finally Sarah remembered herself and rose. Still holding hands, they stood quietly amid the frivolity.
Then disapproving and thin-lipped Miss Harper was beside them. “Mr. Farraday, your mother is ill and needs you to escort her home.”
Eliot looked stricken with acute embarrassment, but gave the correct reply and excused himself.
Then Sarah was alone, hollow and humiliated.”
So the story begins. If you’ve read La Belle Christiane, you know all about the scandal of Sarah’s illegitimate birth. But you don’t need to know anything about the first book to enjoy and understand the second book, Lady Sarah.
Today I’ve posted the Prologue that sets the story in motion. Next Wednesday I’ll post Chapter One, but after that if you want to receive a chapter a week, you need to go up to the top right of this page (look for the lime green border) and enter your email so you will receive as a subscriber. I’m hoping you will enjoy the story and give me feedback along the way! I think it will be a lively ride! Don’t miss getting onboard!–Lyn
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April 14, 2014
Lady Sarah, a New Book in a New Way
My newest, one of my oldest manuscripts, Lady Sarah.
An American Regency Novel Set in Creole New Orleans
In the early days of the new American nation, fifteen year old Sarah Eastham has all the advantages of social position, wealth and influential friends till an old secret is revealed and plunges her into scandal, one not of her making. Her whole life is upturned and she makes a crucial and disastrous decision to marry the wrong man. In 1796 in the aftermath of that misjudgment, she decides to leave the Eastern seaboard and travel to the Spanish colonial port of New Orleans to begin her life afresh, accompanied by her friend Janine LaFleur, a talented exiled Parisian who has family there.
Sarah’s parents Christiane and John Eastham try to persuade her to stay with them but when this fails, they hire as her escort and protector, Douglas McKuen, a young Scottish immigrant, who also wants a fresh start. When Sarah meets him, she feels he would be more suited to the classroom as a professor, but he has set his course on trading with the tribes on the northern Mississippi and making maps. So the three set out together to begin their new lives. None of them is prepared for the challenges of pirates, the British Navy impressing American seaman, and adjusting to a completely different world, Creole New Orleans. Will they find what they seek? And can Sarah’s wounded heart take another chance on love?
*****
This is the back cover blurb of my new independent novel, Lady Sarah, the sequel to my Revolutionary War novel, La Belle Christiane. Not long ago I asked if my readers of this blog would like me to post this book here as I did La Belle Christiane. I have over 2000 subscribers to this blog and I got 8 votes. So I decided that the vast majority weren’t interested in reading another book on this blog.
So I came up with a new idea, a new way!
Would you like to receive a chapter a week by email?
If you haven’t already done so, go to the top right of this page (see the lime green border?) and enter your email address. Then you’ll receive a new chapter once a week via email.
Tomorrow I will post the Prologue and next week the first chapter. After that, the installments will only come to my newsletter subscribers. I hope you’ll decide to subscribe to my enewsletter and receive every chapter!
BTW, can a Regency romance take place in America?–Lyn
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