Cerise DeLand's Blog, page 11

Today's bon bon: In 1888, how much did a writer earn from a publisher to whom she sold her novel?

Buy Link:
 https://amazon.com/dp/B096PQTJQDPierce Hanniford and Camille Bereston in RAVISHING CAMILLE discuss what she earns writing gothic novels. This is 1888 and in England, a publisher could buy the rights to a book outright. Pay a small fee, such as 500 GBP. The book was usually on the stands for 6 months at which point, it went to a “railroad edition” that sold for less. An author would not make much money, unless he/she wrote quickly—and published another book!

Today's bon bon: How to get a job in Regency Britain? Post an advert!

 If you wanted a position in Britain in the Regency period, you might apply to a registry in your home town. Registries took applications from those who wished to work as servants, companions, groomsmen or more. Any kind of servant in a household might register with the firm, the owners of which examined the applicant for references for good character and experience.

But another way to find a job was to take out an advertisement touting your capabilities. In these, you could declare how prim, proper, educated and eager you were for such a position.

Advertisements cost little. They also worked well because newspapers had wide circulations and they too cost as little as three pennies per copy.

Here is a sample of two ads, one taken by a lady and another by a man!

Today's bon bon: Chambord, a dream or a nightmare?

My husband and I outside famous Chambord! The French king, Francis the First, spent enormous amounts of money building chateaux and palaces for himself. The most lavish was famous CHAMBORD...and also the most useless. 
After he had it built (and its cost bankrupted Francis yet again), those who attempted to live in it complained of how difficult it was to go up or down or even from one end to the other. 
Why?
Francis insisted on the most wide rooms, the most wide passages or none at all, in the vein of rooms that were en filade or one leading into another. he has a glorious inner spiral staircase, treacherous to walk in good shoes. Trust me, I know! And the outer staircases, built for servants to use to run errands and bring dinner etc., are even more dangerous. 
Why? 
Because they are open to the elements, rain and snow and sleet can enter and...well, you know how difficult that is to navigate in snow shoes.  The elaborate roof line of Chambord! The Long Hall in Chenonceau, seen in THE SERPENT QUEEN!
The truth is that Chambord was inhabited fewer than 30 days because of its very nature. Hard, cold, fearsome, it is. No matter how idyllic it may seen from the outside.
Do go visit. See for yourself.
And while you are there, visit Amboise and Chenonceau and Blois. All of these are far lovelier and more romantic.

Today's bon bon: What's factual in this newest novel of mine, aka GUY IN TUB!

Available now at https://amzn.to/3bc6ri3
🍒Authors of historical romances have a duty, I believe, to make their stories as factual as possible. This is not to say we must make our flights of fancy read like history books! But to take advantage of those records which come to light with increasing frequency, we can create stories that thrill as well as educate.

Here in THE LYON'S SHARE, I was able to convey quite a few bits of reality.

First, our hero was a cavalry officer who was promoted through the ranks by his continued actions in the Napoleonic Wars. 

He had quite a few friends who were wounded or killed. One of those wounded was a friend of his who lost the use of both legs when his horse fell on him.

Because of this the friend was sent home, unable to serve. But he also received a compensation for the loss of use of both legs. The amount was not much. But it did allow the man and his wife to continue to live, but alas, not in any luxury. And because the man gave up his commission, he did not receive any severence pay nor continuing pay for what we would call disability.

Thus, the man's widow did live in poverty. As many other widows did.

Another feature of THE LYON'S SHARE is the detail of the purchase of a special marriage license. These could be purchased from Doctor's Commons in London if the buyer had the fee, and the names and dates of birth of those to be wed. By using a license such as this, couples could be married before noon in any facility including a home and not necessarily a church.
 

Today's bon bon: A glimpse of how French carriages and roads improved in the 18th century and made travel livable!

My photo of 18th century Chaises a Mules taken at Carriage House in Vaux le Vicomte!

🍒Traveling along rough unpaved roads, carriages of old—no matter their silken splendour inside—could hardly offer comfort, speed or healthy conditions.

During the 18th century, many improvements to coaches improved the chances of a person living long enough to tell the tale of having been there and done that!

One fine video to show the changes in carriage construction is this one offered by the Palais de Versailles. Do watch it. Only six minutes long, you will enjoy the discussion, the English translations and learn much from the explanantions of improvements to coaches and to roads.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbV9zYNWB_0&t=137s

A Diamond of the Season in search of a Diamond of a husband! How difficult can it be?

BUY LINK: https://amzn.to/3uKpdC    Sitting beside him, Addy held his hand, no matter propriety. He needed her. She knew enough of his malady to sit for many minutes without a word between them. He recovered himself, but slowly. And when a footman approached with a tray of wine or whiskey on offer, Gyles would have taken one.

“Do not,” she admonished. 

He stared at her. “No?”

“Spirits will only aggravate your condition.”

He looked away, but grimaced at the bright light of candles in a nearby sconce.

“Close your eyes. Turn toward me.” She stroked his hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist and counted. “There. Your heart beat slows. You will be well. Give this a few minutes.”

He did as she bade him and in his time, he opened his eyes to consider her with quiet appreciation shining there. “You know my condition.”

“Bold sounds. Bright lights. Alcohol. Late nights. Exertion. They all contribute to your headaches. How long have you suffered them?”

He exhaled. “Since I was imprisoned by the French when I was young.”

“I see.” She squeezed his hand in sympathy. About that, she would learn more but not tonight. He had to recover first before he relived the cause of his distress. “You should not be at balls, sir. But home where you can be quiet and untroubled.”

“But if I did not attend here tonight, I would not have found you again.”

She bobbed her head to and fro. “We might have met in more sedate gatherings.”

“Perhaps. I would have chanced missing you.”

She had never been so sweetly entranced by a man who confessed to his liking for her in so unique a manner. “My sisters and I are in Brighton specifically to enjoy the Season. We will be…” she said as she circled a hand in the air, “everywhere.”

“Addy, how may I press my advantage?”

“You made an impression on me yesterday, Gyles. I will not soon forget you.”

He grasped her hand tightly. “Don’t forget me at all.”

“I won’t. How could I? You like my syrup.” She had to tease him and make him smile.

“I do. Among other things.”

She nodded, compassion in her heart for so afflicted a darling man. “Perhaps my dancing, too?”

“Indeed,” he said. “I’d like to kiss you for it.”

She gave a shocked little laugh. Since Grandpapa died and she knew she’d have to find a husband soon, she’d taken to kissing any man who appealed. Alas, she’d found none. But now, she was not only complimented but tempted to kiss this man. “Not here.”

“No. But somewhere and soon. With my thanks for the syrup, the dance and the laughter.”

Oh, my. Was he much too chivalrous? Was he a rake of no morals? A man who complimented women? Women like her? Young and naive. For all her good looks, for all her pride in them and understanding of them as a tool to attract men, she was still untried, uninformed of much of the physicality of mating. She could be all too easily influenced by a practiced man’s charms. Of that she had always been on guard. 

“A kiss for relief from a headache? Oh, surely that would be—”

“Bliss,” he vowed. “I will try for it tomorrow.”

“When you come for tea?”

“I come for you, Addy.”

He lifted her hand and pressed his firm lips to her glove in a stunning kiss. Had he blessed her bare skin with his mouth, she would have taken him to an alcove in the hall and tasted the flavor of his desire and called herself barely satisfied.

“Tomorrow then,” she whispered and longed to taste his lips on hers.

Want to have Fun, fun, fun til Your Daddy takes your phaeton away?

Remember that famous song by the Beach Boys?

Here is my version!  A part of this wonderful funny box set this summer!

Well, she got her papa’s phaeton. 

And she crashed the village vegetable stand, now

Seems she forgot all about the library

Like she told her old man, now

And with the villagers yelling

She goes cruising just as fast as she can now

Til her papa takes her phaeton away.

The younger ladies can’t stand her

Cause she drives like an ace now

She makes the drive thru town look like a chariot race now.

A lot of men try to catch her

But she leads them on a wild goose chase now.

She vows she’ll have fun fun fun, but no husband’ll ever take her phaeton away!

Years later, she knew all along

That her marquess was getting wise to her, now

And when he eyed her set of horses

She’s been thinking that her fun was all through now

But he’s caught her and his kisses say

They’ve got alot of loving to do now

They’ll have fun, fun fun as her husband drives her and her phaeton away!

***

The Preorder is LIVE! 

Amazon – https://amzn.to/3qL8vBt

B&N - https://bit.ly/32OUM4D

KOBO – https://bit.ly/3pYSBV7

Apple - https://apple.co/3JD4cka

How big is your dowry? Can we afford to get married?

🍒TALES FROM MY RESEARCH and TRAVELS WITH CERISE!

Dowries! How big could they be? How small?

As large as a father’s generosity and prosperity or as tiny, a bride’s dowry was a moveable feast. A few, such as that of the daughter of the Duke of Marlborough (c. 1719), could be as large as 6,000 pounds with a yearly jointure of 800 pounds. This plus property could signal quite an alliance that kept control of large swaths of land in the extended family.

A tiny dowry could mean the difference between life and death, providing food and clothing for an impoverished couple—and little for a daughter of that union.

Usually a father paid for the wedding, the party or breakfast if any, and the trousseau, if any. Wealthy fathers often gave their daughters ample new wardrobes and accoutrements for their new home. Less prosperous fathers gave little or nothing. 

But the settlement of money and any other items such as land was negotiated by the bride’s father with the groom’s and perhaps the groom, himself.

After the wedding, the (hopefully happy) couple were to take a few days or weeks in a honeymoon. Afterward, they were to return and call upon certain others in town or in their social sphere.

So much of weddings then are so similar to ours now!

Here, the drawing of Princess Charlotte's wedding to the Prince Leopold of Belgium (1816) and her actual wedding gown!

How to turn a friend into a lover!

Friends for a decade, Camille Bereston and her step-brother, Pierece Hanniford suddenly discover they ant more from their relationship. Here in their first kiss, they learn that more means a new way of thinking too.

They go on to a glorious few weeks discovering more than kisses in this family saga series, THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS!

EXCERPT, RAVISHING CAMILLE. Copyright, 2021, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved, 

“How would you kiss a woman you loved?” Oh, yes. She was a fool to ask.
But in her curiosity, she knew power. Because he blinked and yet he did not pull away, she had the control. Instead, he stood immobile as she stepped against him. She lifted on her toes, for he was so tall. And she slanted her head to one side, her gaze fastened on his, her mouth a heartbeat away from his. “How would you?”

“Camille.” Her name was not a sound.
She heard it as a warning, but took it as an appeal. One she’d waited for nearly half her life. One she would take advantage of now. For if anything, she was a woman of action. And in regard to him, she’d always been a woman of desire.
She sought purchase with her fingers going round his upper arms. “Shall I kiss you on the cheek?”
He gave a small shake of his head.
Accepting his feeble answer, she put her lips to his nose. A peck. An acknowledgment of affection. “Like one gives a child.” Or a brother.
He seemed to vibrate beneath her hands. 
Beneath her fingertips, he went still as death. Her time grew short and so she pulled away ever so slightly and said, “But I would want more from a man I cared for. Much more.”
Her education in the art of kissing was poor. She’d had weak precedents. A wet thing from a twelve-year-old boy who’d come to visit with his parents. A grasping thing from an Eton lad who petted her with clammy hands before he tried to stick his tongue down her throat. A ravenous thing from a sullen lord who should have known better than to seize her as if he were a pirate and she his booty. Only once had she been swept away by the artfulness of a man who knew his way around a bedroom and a woman. She’d enjoyed the kiss…or rather kisses, but later, refused the man his suit.
So it was her imagination and her eternal curiosity about Pierce as a lover that led her on. A frantic seizure of the minute, the night, the topic, led her to brush her lips on his and stifle the moan that rose in her throat.
She took his broad firm mouth with her own in a grand claim that had him drawing her near and allowing her the range of his lips. He was hers, faintly groaning in objection or passion, she did not know. But he pulled her flush to his torso and she surged with triumph at the rigid expression of his lack of control.
Surrendering to what she wanted, she slid her hands up his shoulders and cupped his nape. Her fingers wound through his satin hair. He hauled her closer, his cock harder, slipping against the hollow between her thighs as he kissed her.

His lips were warm, reverent. At once, he pulled back and stared at her, shock his first emotion. But need was his next as he cupped her cheek, sighed her name and took her mouth once more. This time, he savored her mouth in lazy caresses. She clutched him closer and he darted the tip of his tongue between her lips. But with one touch, he gasped and was gone. 
She hung in his arms, triumph rushing through her veins. 
He stared down into her eyes. 
She swallowed.
He searched her expression. Of course, he did. 
He searched for himself. For his motivation. For definition of his own desire.
She let him do as he wished, but regarded him with languor, for she had no such query.
She knew what she wanted.
Him. Always him. Ever him.
And she had him in this moment. As she had always wanted the fullness of his passion. The madness of his attentions. 
“Forgive me.” He stepped back even as he braced her arms to ensure she stood upright.
Well. Just barely. But gentleman that he was, and lady that she had been born to be, she would stand and she would forgive.
He cleared his throat. “That was…”
Exquisite.
“I apologize, Camille. That should not have happened.”
I wanted it to. “I’m the one who started it.” And I won’t apologize.
He gave her a watery smile. “We will forget this.”
Not if I can make you remember.
“Good night.”
With a few quick steps, he strode away.
https://books2read.com/u/bMRvzG

The youngest member of the Hanniford family finds love with another! RAVISHING CAMILLE on pre-order now for 99 cents!

Books2Read links!   A nibble of my new cherry! All rights reserved. Copyright, Cerise DeLand. 2021.

“How would you kiss a woman you loved?” Oh, yes. She was a fool to ask.

But in her curiosity, she knew power. Because he blinked and yet he did not pull away, she had the control. Instead, he stood immobile as she stepped against him. She lifted on her toes, for he was so tall. And she slanted her head to one side, her gaze fastened on his, her mouth a heartbeat away from his. “How would you?”

“Camille.” Her name was not a sound.

She heard it as a warning, but took it as an appeal. One she’d waited for nearly half her life. One she would take advantage of now. For if anything, she was a woman of action. And in regard to him, she’d always been a woman of desire.

She sought purchase with her fingers going round his upper arms. “Shall I kiss you on the cheek?”

He gave a small shake of his head.

Accepting his feeble answer, she put her lips to his nose. A peck. An acknowledgment of affection. “Like one gives a child.” Or a brother.

He seemed to vibrate beneath her hands. 

Beneath her fingertips, he went still as death. Her time grew short and so she pulled away ever so slightly and said, “But I would want more from a man I cared for. Much more.”

Her education in the art of kissing was poor. She’d had weak precedents. A wet thing from a twelve-year-old boy who’d come to visit with his parents. A grasping thing from an Eton lad who petted her with clammy hands before he tried to stick his tongue down her throat. A ravenous thing from a sullen lord who should have known better than to seize her as if he were a pirate and she his booty. Only once had she been swept away by the artfulness of a man who knew his way around a bedroom and a woman. She’d enjoyed the kiss…or rather kisses, but later, refused the man his suit.

So it was her imagination and her eternal curiosity about Pierce as a lover that led her on. A frantic seizure of the minute, the night, the topic, led her to brush her lips on his and stifle the moan that rose in her throat.

She took his broad firm mouth with her own in a grand claim that had him drawing her near and allowing her the range of his lips. He was hers, faintly groaning in objection or passion, she did not know. But he pulled her flush to his torso and she surged with triumph at the rigid expression of his lack of control.

Surrendering to what she wanted, she slid her hands up his shoulders and cupped his nape. Her fingers wound through his satin hair. He hauled her closer, his cock harder, slipping against the hollow between her thighs as he kissed her.

His lips were warm, reverent. At once, he pulled back and stared at her, shock his first emotion. But need was his next as he cupped her cheek, sighed her name and took her mouth once more. This time, he savored her mouth in lazy caresses. She clutched him closer and he darted the tip of his tongue between her lips. But with one touch, he gasped and was gone. 

She hung in his arms, triumph rushing through her veins. 

He stared down into her eyes. 

She swallowed.

He searched her expression. Of course, he did. 

He searched for himself. For his motivation. For definition of his own desire.

She let him do as he wished, but regarded him with languor, for she had no such query.

She knew what she wanted.

Him. Always him. Ever him.

And she had him in this moment. As she had always wanted the fullness of his passion. The madness of his attentions. 

“Forgive me.” He stepped back even as he braced her arms to ensure she stood upright.

Well. Just barely. But gentleman that he was, and lady that she had been born to be, she would stand and she would forgive.

He cleared his throat. “That was…”

Exquisite.

“I apologize, Camille. That should not have happened.”

I wanted it to. “I’m the one who started it.” And I won’t apologize.

He gave her a watery smile. “We will forget this.”

Not if I can make you remember.

“Good night.”

With a few quick steps, he strode away.