Riana Everly's Blog

All The World’s A Stage

Here is my latest post on Always Austen. Shakespeare, theatre, the roles we play, and oh yes, a new novel about our favourite solider, Colonel Fitzwilliam!

We just returned home from our second visit of the summer to the Stratford Festival here in Ontario to end the summer with a celebration of theatre. This time, it was all Shakespeare! The festival—being in a place called Stratford, which is most conveniently on the River Avon—concentrates on The Bard’s works, and has a commitment to performing all his plays over the course of several years. This year, they had three on stage: As You Like It, Macbeth, and The Winter’s Tale. We went to all three.

The Stratford Festival is also dedicated to putting on world-class productions of whatever they do, and these three plays were no exceptions. I was not crazy about this season’s interpretation of Macbeth, set as it was in a series of motorcycle gang wars, but I can’t fault the production values or acting. The Winter’s Tale, a play I didn’t know at all, was magical, hilarious, and heartbreaking all at once, and As You Like It is now a strong contender for my drama-loving kid’s Favourite Shakespeare Ever.

A Scene from ‘As You Like It’ by William Shakespeare
William Hamilton

It was also an emotionally full weekend in a lot of ways.

It was my daughter’s last weekend at home before returning to the UK for another year of university, and I’m going to miss her dreadfully. An elderly relative is not doing well and things came to a bit of a crisis while we were away, one which will take a great amount of time and mental energy to resolve in far too little time. And—for some great news—my son got engaged.

So not all the drama was taking place on the stage.

This got me thinking about Shakespeare’s famous line from As You Like It:

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players…
(Act II Scene VII Line 139-40)

How true this is. In the play, the speaker goes on to examine how we all play different parts through our lives, from children to adults and back to second childhoods, which is rather where our elderly relation is now. But even at any one time in our lives, we have different roles and put on different masks for different circumstances.

For example, I don’t know if I wear the same mask as a writer as I do when I’m a frustrated mother complaining that my kids aren’t washing the dishes, or when I lend a sympathetic ear to a friend going through a rough time.

Literary characters wear different masks as well.

The first to come to mind is Mr Darcy, whose mask of arrogance and cold disdain masks a kind and loyal friend. Willoughby from Sense and Sensibility plays the part of the dashing beau, when he is really a cruel seducer. We won’t talk about Wickham. He makes a whole career of playing to his audience.

I have also just finished the latest round of edits on my upcoming Pride and Prejudice variation. There is still work to be done, but I have a wonderful cover already and I hope to release A Soldier’s Tale by the end of the year.

This novel stars our favourite colonel, Darcy’s cousin Richard Fitzwilliam. And as I thought about the plays we’ve seen, I came to realise that he also plays different roles in his world.

He is a son, striving to be free of his father’s control. He is a soldier, desperately wishing to serve his country where he is needed, but tethered to England’s soil by his father’s machinations. He is a good friend to his cousin Darcy and a loving guardian to Darcy’s sister Georgiana. And he is a man, nursing a broken heart and faced with a perplexing antagonist on a piece of paradise in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

After so many struggles to be sent to a posting overseas, Richard finds himself not on the Continent fighting Napoleon, or in the New World where tensions are simmering, but in Bermuda, with its crystal blue waters and shimmering pink sands. It is far from the heart of battle that he wants, but the Dockyard in the protected harbour is key to Britain’s naval power, and it is an important position.

Beautiful Bermuda

Nor is Richard ignorant of Shakespeare. Bermuda is thought to be the inspiration for Prospero’s magical island in The Tempest, and this is at the forefront of his mind as he starts to explore his new home.

Here is an excerpt from A Soldier’s Tale, hopefully coming out later this year.

***

This was the unnamed magical isle of Shakespeare’s Tempest, a place of wonder and illusion, where great things might happen in a land of fruitfulness and plenty. It was beautiful, exotic, and up to now, safe.

Richard hated it.

This posting had been the only one to which his commander had the authorisation to send him. No matter how much he had pleaded to be sent to some theatre of war, his father’s influence was too strong. Other men of his rank and higher had somehow found themselves in perilous places; marquesses and dukes sent their sons off to fight Napoleon’s brutal forces, and took pride in their service to King and Country. His old schoolmate Ackley’s father, Lord Aysthill, was almost eager to see him go. But Richard’s own father and Aysthill were very different men, and the Earl of Matlock had his fingers deep within the workings of the Home Office. No, the Earl of Matlock had spoken, and this was as close as he would allow his son to come to battle.

Battle might still happen, of course. The Atlantic was no safe place for ships of either British of French flag, and the Americans to the west were rattling the sabre as well. It would not be long until the war crossed to the New World, and then this green and enchanted isle might well be stained red.

Britain was prepared for this. With the Dockyards to this end, and Fort St. Catherine and the nearby Gates Fort at the far eastern end of the colony, the entire colony was protected. There was little question about why this should be the great harbour for the British fleet in middle of the Atlantic.

The more Richard considered this, the more he was reconciled to his posting. This was no useless role, after all, not like his commands in England had been, training boys to walk in straight lines. He would soon be martialling not only soldiers, but scores of workers as well, coordinating training exercises, sending out scouting missions, advising on strategy, and leading real soldiers in a location that might very well soon see war. Perhaps this would be a tolerable place to build his career after all.

Nor could it be ignored that this posting had come with the added stripes and braids of a promotion, and Lieutenant Colonel was not a rank at which to sneer. Even Miss Ingalls, cruel and overreaching as she was, must be impressed by it. Not that she would have the chance to congratulate him. Richard was quite finished with her and her ilk.

He tossed these musings aside and pulled his hat low over his eyes. It was not quite sufficient to shield him from the bright sunshine, but it would do for now. Perhaps in his wanderings, he might find a place to purchase one of the wider-brimmed sort he saw many of the local men wearing. Light in colour and made of straw, they would serve this climate better than what he had brought with him from England.

Yes, that was a grand purpose for this foray out along the string of islets, and the village of Somerset would surely be his proposed destination. He took his leave at the gate that was so nearly complete, and started down the path to the village. It was not yet noon, and the day promised to be warm but not too hot, especially under the canopy of trees. After the enforced confinement of the ship, and then his days lurking about the fortifications, he revelled in the exercise. Each stride loosened muscles that had long been protesting, and the caress of the sun on his back warmed more than his limbs.

He was here, further from England than ever he had been before, finally out of his father’s reach. He had his colonel to answer to, of course, but now, at this moment, he was entirely independent, going wherever he wished to direct his steps, needing to heed nobody. It was a fine thing, indeed, and he was pleased to allow his mind to wander as freely as his feet.

As he walked, bright sparkles of sunlight drew his attention from the water, snatches of which he could spy through the surrounding foliage, casting the day in a sort of mystical aura. He laughed at himself; for a moment, he could even believe that Prospero himself, Shakespeare’s sorcerer of the magical isle, were commanding the elements, such was the startling effect. In his mind’s eye, he pictured lovely Miranda floating before him through the bushes, waiting to command some spirit to do her bidding.

He could almost see her, slim but with a woman’s form, not too tall, neither too short, her hair hidden beneath a flower-trimmed bonnet, her dress pale and light and suitable for the clime as she traced the path far ahead of him. What a fancy! Once more, he chuckled to himself as another glint of bright reflected sunlight flashed into his eyes.

Then the image stumbled on a fallen branch and exclaimed something Richard could not fully hear. It seemed, however, that the image had a good salty vocabulary. Such was the peril of living in a military base.

“Miss Barrow!” Richard called to her across the separating gap. She spun about to see who was calling.

Miss Barrow was the daughter of the commanding colonel at the Dockyard. Richard had been introduced to her and her mother shortly after his arrival, but he had, thus far, no cause to engage in any sort of conversation beyond, ‘How do you do?’ and ‘Very well thank you.’ The lady was not very young—perhaps two or three years younger than himself—and seemed, by her residence at the fort, to have resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood.

If she had aspirations of marriage, surely she would have found an aunt or cousin with whom to live in England, where she might meet some eligible gentleman in want of a wife. Here, in Bermuda, and despite the wealth of officers, such that were seeking a spouse were few.

Miss Barrow looked back at him, her expression unreadable. This was their first encounter out of doors, and she looked different in the sunshine. In the dappled light under the trees, Richard saw the sun pick out hair of medium brown, and when he got closer, he could see her eyes were a bright greenish hazel. She was not beautiful, not in that heart-stopping manner, but neither was she plain. Her features were regular and not unappealing, and her lashes thick and dark. But he could no longer look at a woman’s face without the unwitting comparison with that of Honoria Ingalls, callous thought she might be, and every other such face paled in contrast. Miss Barrow held no candle to that cruel beauty.

***

What roles do you play? Do you agree with Shakespeare? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

A Trip To Italy

The following is from my December 24 post at Always Austen.

Aren’t I the lucky duck! I’ve just returned from a 12-day trip to Italy, and oh, the history geek/art-lover in me is still in raptures.

My kid, who is studying in the UK, finished classes right when my husband was able to take a bit of time from work, and we decided to meet up in Rome before all flying back to Canada for the Christmas break. Ah, the things we do for our children.

The Canopus Pool at the Villa Adriana in Tivoli
Photo by Riana Everly

We certainly made good use of our time, exploring Ancient Roman sites, Medieval cathedrals, Renaissance villas, and Baroque palaces. We wandered through the amazing ruins of Pompeii, explored the fabulous Villa d’Este and gardens in Tivoli, gawked at the Leaning Tower of Pisa (yes, it really does look like it’s about to fall over), and wandered through the beautiful streets of Florence.

Florence, from the Piazzale Michelangelo
Photo by Riana Everly

Ah, Florence. Florence is wonderful.

Back when I pretended to be an academic, my dissertation was on music written for the city of Florence at the end of the Middle Ages, celebrating the emergence of a new humanistic world view, and the city makes my soul sing. That cathedral, the beautiful Duomo, with its magnificent eight-sided dome, is beyond anything I can put into words.

Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, also known as the Duomo
Photo by Riana EverlyThe facade of the Duomo
Photo by Riana Everly

(If you’re interested, this is the motet that launched me into my studies, all those years ago, Salve flos tuscae gentis, by Flemish composer Guillaume Dufay (1397-1474).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJGVFOA-eG8)

And then there’s the art. All that glorious art! We lost ourselves at the Uffizi and Accademia Galleries, gawking at masterpieces you never think you’ll see in real life.

Inspired by all this, I wondered what our favourite characters would think of Florence. I had an image of Darcy and Elizabeth wandering through the beautiful spaces we visited, and this story emerged. It’s a vignette more than anything, and I hope you like it.

The Enlightening Elements of Art on the Unhappy Gentleman at Leisure:
A contemporary Pride and Prejudice-inspired short story©Riana Everly 2024

“I hate guided tours.”

William Darcy glared, not for the first time, at his friend, who stood beaming on the museum steps. No, not beaming. Practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Despite the cold nip in the December air, the Florentine sun was shining bright and at the moment, a stray beam had slipped through some architectural niche to gild Charles Bingley’s short curls in gold.

For his part, and also not for the first time, Charles rolled his eyes and laughed.

“It’s not a guided tour. Not that sort, anyway, with a million people. It’s an unofficial and private walk through the gallery with an expert. Come on, Will, how often do you get to go through the Uffizi with someone who really knows about art? I had to work hard to pull this favour.”

William exhaled something between a puff and a snort and thrust out his jaw, but that real knot of annoyance had loosened a while ago. Charles was right. As a well-educated and sophisticated man, William knew enough about art that he could really enjoy a personal guide through one of the world’s greatest galleries, but not so much that he wouldn’t also learn a huge amount.

“And who is this esteemed expert again?” he asked.

“Oh, a friend of a friend.” Charles shrugged nonchalantly, which made William nervous. Something was up. “Oh, I see her now!”

Charles bounced even higher, waving his arm up above the heads of the meagre crowds gathered near the entrance.

This really was the ideal time to be in Italy, William considered. The weather was cool but clear, and while Florence was hardly deserted, it was nowhere close to as crowded as during high tourist season. Christmas lights adorned the picturesque twisting streets, giving fairy-tale glow to an already magical city. After the dreadful year he’d just had, spending the holidays here had been an excellent idea.

Or not.

William’s eyes narrowed as he saw a familiar head weave through the smattering of people in the courtyard.

“No, Charles! Not her. I thought you meant a real expert.”

Whatever his friend might have replied, it was interrupted by an exclamation of joy and as a young woman rushed through the last bystanders to catch Charles in a quick hug and place a kiss on his cheek.

“Elizabeth! You found us,” Charles burst out, beaming even wider. “I was thrilled when you agreed to this. It’s been far too long.”

“I was surprised when you contacted me.” The young woman grinned back. “We all thought you’d left for good. But—”

She stopped short as she noticed William, standing off to the side. Her grin faded.

“William.” She sounded as pleased to see him as he was to see her.

“Ms Bennet.”

“Honestly, William, if you can’t be polite, at least call the lady by her proper title.” Charles was shaking his gold-auraed head again.

Her proper title? What did that mean? Did she wish to be referred to as Miss or Mrs? That seemed rather precious. And she’d never protested before, during their short and unpleasant period of acquaintance on that afternoon last summer. She was just a paint-spattered hippy, lumbering around with a sketchbook and pile of canvases, blobs of burnt sienna or cadmium red obscuring whatever he could see of her face beneath that ridiculous hat she had worn.

After that near-disaster with his sister and the ensuing confrontations with his aunt over the whole miserable affair, the last thing he had needed was to play nice to some hack pretending to be an artist at the beach. And now, here she was in Florence (looking surprisingly good, he had to admit), supposedly to show him around an art gallery. With her proper title. Whatever that was.

Charles spoke again before William could put any of these flickering thoughts into words, which was probably a good thing.

“She’s better known in the right circles as Professor Bennet. You know, from the Art History department at the university? She’s one of the experts in Renaissance Art. We’re really lucky she’s in Florence now and willing to take some time from her research.”

Professor.

Professor Bennet.

So, just perhaps, not a hack.

This changed things.

Not that William was a snob or anything—well, perhaps he was, he had to admit to himself—but maybe she did have something to talk to them about. He would try to be polite.

“…colleague wanted to visit family in Toronto, so we decided to swap homes for the Christmas holidays, till after New Years, in fact.”

William caught the last bit of Professor Bennet’s speech. It seemed they would be in Florence together for a few weeks, and would probably see each other again. He really should try to be polite. For Charles’ sake, if nothing else.

Elizabeth, as she insisted he call her, proved to be an excellent guide. If he had only met her now, dressed smartly if casually in loose grey trousers, a thin white pullover, and an elegant brightly patterned scarf, he would have started the acquaintance quite differently. She was well-spoken and funny, and her knowledge about the art and artists alike was exceptional. And, William now realised, she was also rather attractive, with her dark wavy hair, expressive hands, and bright eyes. How had he not noticed this before? It must have been the cadmium red on her nose.

Their exploration of the galleries lasted over three hours, but to William, it felt like twenty minutes. Never had Botticelli and Caravaggio been so fascinating; never had he understood the subtleties in the classical statues or the magnitude of Gentileschi’s talent. Her masterpiece of Judith and Holofernes now resonated with him in ways he had never thought possible.

Primavera (Spring) by Sandro Botticelli

No wonder she was a valued faculty member at the university. Perhaps he should pay more attention to art.

Charles had suggested they go somewhere for lunch afterwards, and Elizabeth suggested a small place she knew on the other side of the river. Just a few dozen steps off the busy main street, it was quiet and intimate. The proprietor seemed to know her, for he greeted her with a wink and asked after her research, to which she replied in what sounded like excellent Italian.

There was clearly more to Ms—Professor—Bennet than William had thought.

“How did you know I was going to be here?” she asked Charles once their bottle of wine had arrived. She swirled some in the large bowl of her wineglass with practiced motions, and William found his eyes fixed on the motion of her wrist.

Charles raised his own glass in an echo of a toast. “A little bird told me. Well, to tell the truth, Caroline said something.”

Elizabeth’s face hardened at the mention of Charles’ sister, and William felt his own jaw tighten. Caroline could be a hard person to like at times.

“Indeed.” Elizabeth placed her glass on the table. “Dare I ask what she said? I imagine it was not complimentary.”

A glimmer of a memory flashed through William’s mind. Caroline! Was that why he had formed such an immediate antipathy to Elizabeth when they first met? It had been on a bright summery day down at the beach in Toronto. William had agreed to join Charles and Caroline for a walk to take his mind off that mess his sister had got herself into, not for one moment expecting Charles to spot a woman painting, or to head over to admire her work, or to be captivated by the artist’s admittedly stunning sister.

Caroline had been the one to take umbrage, turning up her nose and snorting. “Ugh! Look at her, all covered in paint and dressed like a clown. Who does she think she is? Renoir? That painting is dreadful. She obviously doesn’t know a thing about art.”

And his head still whirling from the mess with his sister and his heart heavy after his aunt’s diatribe, William had agreed with her.

And when Charles and Jane had wandered down to the water, clearly besotted with each other, leaving Elizabeth and her cadmium red nose with William and Caroline, he had said and done nothing to improve matters, other than to agree when Caroline had made a disparaging comment about her use of perspective.

He groaned into his Chianti. What an ass he had been.

Charles was now laughing at Elizabeth’s comment. “No, Caroline had nothing much to say at all, only that Jane had mentioned something on social media about visiting her sister in Italy. It got me thinking, and I decided to reach out to you. You don’t mind, do you?”

Elizabeth laughed and picked up her wineglass again. “Not at all. But when you just disappeared…”

“It was badly done.” Charles shook his head. “I was called back to the Montreal office with no warning, and when Caroline said she’d organize things for the move, I thought she’d explain to Jane as well. When I didn’t hear from her, I thought she was too angry with me, and didn’t want to make things worse. She was angry, wasn’t she? I don’t blame her.”

“You can ask her yourself, if you like. She’s arriving tonight. Her flight should be landing in an hour or so, and then she’s taking the train from Rome. Give her a day to get over the worst of the jet lag, and I think she’ll be willing to hear your side of things.”

Charles’ face lit up. “I would like that. I have some explaining and grovelling to do.”

“As do I.” It was one of the first things William had said since they’d ordered. “I misjudged you, Professor. I’d like to make up for it. Perhaps, if you have time to spare from your research, would you care to join me at the Accademia? I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the pieces there.”

And also for the first time, Elizabeth looked directly at him with a genuine smile on her face, which was growing prettier by the second.

“I think I can arrange that, Mr Darcy. I would like that very much. It seems we’ll all be here over Christmas. That gives us lots of time. There’s also a Christmas Market by Santa Croce, and some lovely decorations at the Piazzale Michelangelo, if you don’t mind such plebian activities.”

Her words were a bit harsh, but there was a teasing sparkle in her eye that he found he did not mind at all.

He nodded, and she grinned, and then the food arrived and the general mood became one of merriment and pleasure.

“It appears,” William said after a moment, “that my perspective on things seems to have changed quite completely.”

However you celebrate the season, may your festivals be perfect.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, a Joyful Everything Else… and Happy New Year!

Guess Who I Met! Travel, friends, and P&Pursuit!

I had the great pleasure of meeting Rita, whose blog From Pemberley to Milton delights us so often.
How did it go? Read on, dear friends, read on.

Pride and Pursuit by Riana Everly – Guest Post, Excerpt & Giveaway

Austenesque Reviews Blog Tour

I’m visiting Austenesque Reviews today on my very short blog tour for Pride and Pursuit. Why so short? Pop over and see!

Guest Post + Giveaway with Author Riana Everly!!!

Wandering Through Wales

I’ve been away, and oh, what a time it’s been. Where have I been? Here’s my most recent post at Always Austen.

Wandering through Wales

Making Lemonade

First, the good news.

I have a new novel coming out soon! Yay! It’s a classic, full-length, Regency, Lizzy-and-Darcy novel, with sidekicks and bad guys and more than a dash of adventure and romance. I’ve been working on this for nearly two years, and I’m thrilled it’s finally ready to greet the world. My beta readers have loved it, and I hope you will too.

Now, the bad news.

I went to my cover artist to ask her to work her usual magic, and she told me (sniff sniff) that she was closing down that part of her business. She recommended someone else, and I’ll certainly speak to that person for the rest of my mystery series. But now, whatever was I do to?

But there’s more good news.

I decided that this was a great opportunity to strike out in a new direction and try something completely different. I was chatting about this with my daughter, who is an artist and who knows her way around a graphics program, and she asked if she could try some idea.

Of course, I told her. Have fun.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this! Wow, but she’s designed a beautiful cover. It’s classy, it’s classic, it’s elegant, it’s oh-so-romantic, and I love it. I love it so much, she’s doing to redo my whole historical romance collection, so there’ll be new covers for that whole set soon. I can’t wait to show that to you.

What does this new cover look like? Feast your eyes on this brand-new look, gracing the cover of my upcoming release, Pride and Pursuit.

I hope you love it as much as I do!

Here’s the blurb and an excerpt from Pride and Pursuit:
https://rianaeverly.com/pride-and-pursuit-a-pride-and-prejudice-variation/

Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

Tea with Austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that any hot-blooded reader must be in need of a hero in a wet white shirt…

What’s better than one Austen-inspired story on a sultry summer evening? What about a whole collection of them? The Romance Cafe’s newest historical romance fundraiser anthology is almost here, with enough swoon-worthy heroes (wet shirts optional) to keep you reading long past tea time. But never fear, when Jane is around, the tea is always hot and the crumpets and scones fresh and tasty.

My contribution is a humour-filled short story called A Mistaken Impression. Here’s the blurb:

Fitzwilliam Darcy had the day, and his life, all planned out. He was going to ask Elizabeth to marry him, and of course, she would accept him. What sensible young woman would not? But the fates had something else in mind, and Darcy’s day was about to take a turn he could never imagine.

Uh oh… sounds like poor Mr Darcy is going to have a bit of a rough time of it. What happens? You’ll have to get a copy to find out!

So grab your fans and parasols and join our party of Austen-inspired ladies and gentlemen for tea, scones, and the latest on-dit, in this collection with part of the proceeds going to Breast Cancer Research.

This amazing collection goes live on Wednesday, Sept 26, but you can pre-order now, so it’s waiting in your library first thing on Wednesday morning.

https://books2read.com/tnrc2024teawithausten

Includes stories by authors:

Heather ScarlettJeanine LaurenCarrie DiRisioSharon MichaloveAngela KadyFrannie HolmesRiana EverlyDiana LloydEmma BradyGabbi GreyKathleen RyderCecilia ReneBianca WhiteClyve RoseLisabel ChretienGrace Hartwell
MaryAnn Clarke

The Importance of Location in Fiction

Today is my day at Always Austen, where I talk about a recent trip to Halifax and muse about the importance of Place in fiction. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
https://alwaysausten.com/2024/01/23/6971/

Here’s what I wrote:

I’m writing this as I sit in a hotel room in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I’m here for a writing workshop, something I’ve never done before. The topics of discussion are amazing and I’m looking forward to developing my craft as well as meeting people at all stages of their writing careers.

This isn’t my first trip to Halifax. I was first here as a teenager, passing through on an exchange program and taking advantage of a few hours between flights to do a very quick visit. I’ve since been back three of four times, and each time this city has left a lasting impression, so much so that I set a good chunk of my novel The Assistant here, back when the place was still so new, it was still in the box. Even when I arrived yesterday, walking from the airport bus stop to my hotel, I looked for landmarks I mentioned in that book. The Citadel, the erstwhile cathedral (long story), the busy waterfront and the massive natural harbour, Barrington Street…

Georges Island, Halifax Harbour

The hotel I’m staying in was built in 1809, not ten years after Edward Gardiner was here, searching for his lost love. I can almost imagine my characters walking down this street during their sojourn here, or taking rooms at the even older inn a few blocks away. I still feel them everywhere, even though they only exist in our imaginations.

But that’s what a place can do. It’s so much more than streets or buildings. In fact, writing “place” was one of the workshop topics. We discussed the importance—or not—of situating a story in a specific place. When is it vital to the narrative, and when is it less important? How much detail should we provide? When is setting almost a character, and when is it a vague watercolour backdrop? It was a fascinating conversation.

And, of course, when we discuss historical fiction, the time becomes part of the place. People’s clothing and social expectations are as important as geography. Details like methods of transportation, food, and current social, cultural, or political events make up that “place” even more so than streets and villages and buildings. This temporal “location” adds, in a sense, the fourth dimension to physical space.

If you’ve read Preludes, which came out just over a year ago, you’ll know that it’s set in modern-day Toronto, with the parks and concert halls, waterfront and huge buildings. Again, in my mind’s eye my characters are dashing down Queen Street, or popping into my favourite Chinese restaurant for a meal very now and then. People who know the city will think, “yes, that street,” and hopefully, people who don’t will still get the impression of a large, vibrant city with a thriving music scene.

Toronto is also the setting for my newest book, The Second Ending, which is out tomorrow! This is the third of my Austen Echoes series, and like the other two, it’s based around the members of the Eglinton Echoes concert choir.

In this case, the protagonist is Ashleigh Lynch, whose family managed to break up her relationship with Marcus Fredericks eight years ago. Now they’re on opposite sides of a legal dispute over a plot of land. Yes, it’s based on Persuasion, and yes, Ashleigh is my singer.

This novel is a bit grittier than the others, and is still firmly located in the city I call home. I don’t have an exact building in mind for Marcus’ refurbished house near downtown, but I could drive you down a couple of streets that would fit the bill perfectly. Ashleigh’s little flat is on that street just north of the Danforth. The parks, the office buildings, the land that’s under dispute… I could point them out on a map.

Again, I hope this clear image in my head gives the reader the sense of reality and immediacy when reading about Ash and Marcus’ unexpected reconnection.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on Place in fiction. Do you like it specific, or more ambiguous? What details do you want or dislike? Let’s chat!

In the meantime, here’s an excerpt from The Second Ending. I’ll include a map, because I have an exact spot in mind for this encounter! It even suggested the illustration on the cover. Happy reading!

***

“Come for a walk?” Marcus asked when the dishes lay empty between them. “It won’t be dark for hours, and tomorrow’s the weekend.”

Ashleigh agreed at once. “I have another summons from my parents, but if I’m late, what can they do? Yes, I’d enjoy a walk.” She wiggled her toes. “Good thing I wore my comfortable shoes today.”

They strolled through the neighbourhood as Marcus told her, in broad strokes, about the looming demise of his development project. There was little Ashleigh could say beyond what his own lawyers had surely told him, but her sympathetic murmurs and responses seemed helpful. Up this street and down that one they walked, wending their way into one of the many ravines that decorated the city, eventually northward to a lovely set of gardens just off the busy thoroughfare.

Here, in this little oasis in the middle of the city, you could hardly believe you were in the centre of one of the largest urban areas on the continent. Gone were the cars and the crowds and the noise, to be replaced by trees and paths and the glorious kaleidoscope of freshly opened blooms.

“That project can go to hell for the moment. Let’s just enjoy this.” Marcus led her to the balustrade at the edge of a terrace overlooking the main garden.

“It’s lovely,” Ashleigh murmured. “I don’t come here often enough.”

“Mmmm,” was all Marcus had to say. He stepped a bit closer as they took in the lovely vista, standing side by side. Ashleigh closed the gap further, and leaned into him, letting her weight gently press along his side. It was an invitation, and one he accepted. He lifted his arm ever so slightly and wrapped it about her waist, pulling her closer still.

This slight contact, the chaste sidelong embrace, shook her world. It was the first real physical connection between them in nearly a decade, beyond the cautious touch of a hand. The gesture burst open the floodgates of memory: Leaning against him as they looked out a window, kissing him, curling up against him in bed after they made love on a summer evening… oh, how could she ever have let him go?

She shuddered against her will, and Marcus pulled back. It was barely perceptible, but enough to break that magical connection and stem the tide of recollection. The sunlight dimmed, and the flowers lost a bit of their glory, until she realised the shadow that came across the setting sun was him.

His eyes, deep and dark, peered into hers, and his finger touched the underside of her chin, tilting her head up towards his.

“If I didn’t think you’d hate me for it, I’d kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“I wouldn’t hate you,” was her answer.

***

You can read the whole Austen Echoes series on KU, or purchase ebooks or paperbacks at Amazon.
https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B0CLSYGZSM

The Social Side of Music-Making at From Pemberley to Milton

Please join me at Rita’s fabulous blog today for some thoughts on the after-rehearsal fun, an excerpt, and some info on a give-away!

All The Wrong Notes by Riana Everly – Guest Post, Excerpt & Giveaway

Austen Echoes

I am thrilled to announce the publication of All the Wrong Notes, the first book in my Austen Echoes series.

All the Wrong Notes is available at Amazon, and is free to read on KU.

https://books2read.com/AllTheWrongNotesAustenEchoes1

I’ll certainly go on and on about this series, since I’m just so excited about it, but today I’d love to direct everyone to another blog, Interests of a Jane Austen Girl, where I introduce my characters.

Who are these modern incarnations of Austen’s favourites? Head on over to find out!

Austen Echoes