Elizabeth Ellen Carter's Blog, page 34

Meet the Real Elizabeth

Those who know me in real life have asked why I’ve used the pen name Elizabeth Ellen Carter.

I’d like to introduce you to my mother Elizabeth Ann – everyone knew her as Ann.

She raised my sister (that’s Louise on the left) and me on her own after our father abandoned the family and she did so with a resilience and grace that was life changing for everyone who met her.

After her family, her great love was books.

The blessing that has been King’s Christian College encouraged her at the age of 29 to transition from a stay-at-home mum to teacher’s aid and then provided invaluable support for her to get a degree in library management.

My mother was the first in our family to attain a tertiary qualification.

And spending 25 marvellous years instilling the love of books and reading to the students who came through her doors, it was her special delight to see the second generation of children come through that library.

After my sister moved out of home, her bedroom became mum’s at-home library but the books didn’t stay their either. Mum’s second husband indulged her (and his interest in woodwork) by building shelves in the living room too and they quickly overflowed with books (and a family photo or three).

My mother read all types of titles – fiction and non-fiction – but her special love was romance. I’m pretty sure that she had every title  Catherine Cookson ever produced.

Mum’s grace and resilience would be tested again when, out of the blue in 2006, she was stricken with rare and aggressive form of muscular dystrophy that robbed her of mobility, independence, speech and eventually her life.

On October 8, 2008, she passed away aged 59.

I picked up the last book she started only days before her passing. Family and the in-home carer would turn the pages for her.

I read Francine Rivers’ Redeeming Love from cover to cover in her memory.

From that moment there was nurtured in me the desire to tell a story, one that my mother might have enjoyed reading. However, the drama of real life intervened, so it was only last year that work started on Moonstone Obsession.

Five years since her passing, Moonstone Obsession is nearly ready for release. The book is dedicated to her.

Her friends assure me that mum would be proud. I hope so.

Late at night I wonder what she would make of the story, then I close my eyes and smile.

She already knows.

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Moonstone Obsession Cover Reveal

Such a beautiful cover needs to be enjoyed full size.

Moonstone Obsession to be published October 18 through Etopia Press.

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They Seek Him Here…

Eagle-eyed readers will notice a familiar name in Moonstone Obsession – Sir Percy Blakeney.

If his name is not immediately familiar, then certainly the name he took for secret adventures is known to most – The Scarlet Pimpernel:

We seek him here,

Weseek him there,

Those Frenchies seek him everywhere

Is he in heaven? Or

Is he in hell?

That demmed elusive

Pimpernel

Baroness Emmuska Orczy’s famous hero – now in the public domain – is a fascinating character and actually credited as being the world’s first superhero – a masked crusader who uses his wit and guile while in disguise to effect justice.

A skilful blend of romance and adventure, The Scarlet Pimpernel’s timeless appeal comes from the complex relationship between Sir Percy and his wife. This is no first bloom of love, romantic tale – it is one of hope and love triumphing over disappointment and false expectations.

I’ve had the conceit of creating a little bit of a back story for Sir Percy through Moonstone Obsession so those who already know him might enjoy the homage, and those who don’t might discover a new reading pleasure.

While many film critics consider Leslie Howard’s 1934 portrayal as the definitive – with the luminious Merle Oberon as Margeurite St Just – as a child of the 1980s, I have to admit to a soft spot for Anthony (Brideshead Revisited) Andrew’s performance (with Jane Seymour as his Margeurite).

And because  I love cinema trivia, did you know that played two different Pimpernel’s in his career? In 1941 he starred in ‘Pimpernel’ Smith as a mild-mannered professorial type who rescues people from the clutches of the Nazis.

While his film character was able to outwit the Nazis, the Luftwaffer got him in the end – shooting down the passenger plane in which he was travelling – killing Howard, 12 passengers and four crew in 1943.

I do love Leslie’s Pimpernel, but that performance will always be overshadowed by Ashley Wilkes, the conflicted Southern plantation owner in Gone With The Wind.

Bonus Snippet – Moonstone Obsession

“So, so glad you didn’t wait the game on my account, dear chaps,” Sir Percy announced loudly to the table.

James was the first to stand and shake the hand of their tardy guest.

“I’m looking forward to replenishing my purse before I leave for Cornwall, Percy.”

“Aha! You might find that easier said than done, James. I don’t recall losing last time we played! It’s good to see you again.”

Percy gave an almost imperceptible raising of one eyebrow at the last of his greeting to James, a subtle acknowledgement of a change in their relationship as occasional fellow gamblers from overlapping social circles to newly identified co-conspirators.

Sir Percy was, without a doubt, the contact in the envelope of information given James by Pitt at the opera.

The dandy acknowledged the other men at the table with a nod and, with a flourish of his wrist, he summoned the footman waiting patiently by the curtain, and ordered champagne for all.

After the sixth round of cards, the footman had been instructed to refill glasses, refresh napkins and replenish the whisky decanter, and his further services were dismissed. Another round was dealt.

Then, during a quiet moment, and as if sensing the impatience of the American seated to his right, Sir Percy suddenly dropped the affected voice of the dandy and addressed the group in a low voice designed to carry no further than the table.

“William sends his regrets,” he said as he shuffled the deck and dealt. “He’s playing Rumplestiltskin and trying to turn straw into gold.”

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Hump Day Hook Up: Warrior’s Surrender WIP

I’m taking part Hump Day Hook Ups this week, with a snippet from my current work in progress Warrior’s Surrender.

This has been a much more difficult story to write than Moonstone Obsession (to bereleased on October 18 through Etopia Press), because the hero and the heroine have emerged as conflicted and complex people who are not very comfortable talking about their emotions.

The heroine, Frey, the daughter of a dispossessed Saxon Earl, in particular has emerged as being very involved character.

Warrior’s Surrender is a historical romance set in Northumbria in 1074 in the years following William The Conqueror’s infamous Harrying of the North that destroyed 360 square miles of English countryside as retribution for rebellion by the Saxons.

In order to protect and secure treatment for her seriously ill younger brother, Frey has volunteered to be hostage to Baron Sebastian de la Coix, Baron of Tyrswick, appointed by William The Conqueror to control the lands her father once possessed.

In this scene Frey confronts Sebastian with news about the man she once loved, Drefan,  who now poses a threat to them all.

I hope you enjoy:

Frey remained in the shadows of the solar, a cloak and hood thrown over her night gown against the chill of the night. Its dark colour allowed her to remain undiscovered in the shadows.

Sleep would not claim her, not when Drefan lurked like a spectre outside. With the arrival of Baron Villiers, this was her only opportunity to speak with Sebastian alone.

She had overheard the low murmurs of conversation through thick timber wall that separated this room from the Baron’s bedchamber and knew that Sebastian talked late with Rosalind’s husband still, so she huddled in the dark corner, hugging her knees and waited for the man to leave.

After a period of time he did and Frey listened intently until the sound from the floor below, of his chamber door opening then closing, echoed up the stairs, before she edged across to the entrance and glanced through the crack left between the door and the jamb.

Perhaps Sebastian slept and that is why Lord Rhys left.

If that were so Frey would have reconsider her plans. By the light of the fire she could see the abandoned chair. To see the second chair she would have to peer around the door.

It too was empty.

Frey frowned. Did she doze and Sebastian slip past her unseen? She took a further step or two into the room and looked.

The bed was…

Before Frey could process the thought, she was grabbed roughly from behind and held firmly against a firm warm wall. A large hand covered her mouth and suppressed an involuntary scream.

The wall softened, recognising its captive.

“You picked the wrong night to slit my throat while I slept, princess.”

Sebastian’s whispered voice filled her ear and heat shot between her legs. He held her still for long moments before speaking.

“Are you recovered? You will not scream?”

Frey nodded and shook her head in answer to each question and she was released, but her heart still pumped furiously.

“Do you suggest I pick some other night then?” she said, wiping her mouth to rid it of the sensation of his hand.

Sebastian ignored her barb and poured a small measure of spiced wine into his goblet and handed it to her, watching as she drank it.

“Why do you assume the worst of me?” she asked.

“Habit,” he answered, arms folded across his chest.

“Now tell me what you’re doing in my chambers while others sleep.”

“I have to speak to you.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose in surprise, it might have been scepticism, Frey couldn’t be sure.

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

All of a sudden Frey’s courage left her and with it wondered if her senses had taken leave of her too.

She was an unmarried woman, alone, late at night in the bed chamber of a man whose mere presence made her feel powerful sensations that she struggled to understand. What on earth was she doing?

She shook her head softly.

“This was a mistake.”

As she turned to leave, Sebastian grabbed her wrist.

“It’s a mistake to not finish what you start.”

Frey tugged the wrist, but Sebastian held firm, looking at her with a mistrust that she hadn’t seen since after the battle with the wolves.

“Sit down,” he ordered. “It seems your past returns to haunt us, princess.”

Frey gave him her most implacable stare and defied him for long seconds before slowly and deliberately lowering herself onto the chair left by Lord Rhys, but despite her show of external bravado, her chest tightened as she watched Sebastian slowly reclaim his seat.

“Drefan,” she stated.

The word dropped like a lead weight between them.

“You’ve been less than forthcoming about what this man is to you and I’ve run out of time and patience,” he told her.

“You want to know what he is to me,” she echoed bitterly.

The banked coals of emotion long suppressed, glowed and burst into flame with this breeze of change, they heated Frey’s temper and stoked her courage.

“I hate that man more than I hated you Normans,” she told him.

“He kept my father angry and drunk while he drained his purse and fed him fantasies of reclaiming our home. He promised great and mighty armies to march victoriously into England, he wormed his way into my brother’s affections and pretended he was a friend.”

Frey paused and chanced a glance at Sebastian. A single slow blink was the only reaction he showed.

“That still doesn’t tell me who he is to you.”

“He’s nothing to me. He’s a dog,” she sneered. The warmth of Sebastian’s chambers receded as memory of Drefan’s flattering words and his cold-hearted deception played itself in her mind’s eye.

“Drefan claimed to have contracted marriage and my father was rarely sober enough to ask but that didn’t stop him from taking…” Frey’s voice caught and long repressed tears of bitterness, shame and anger breached the embankments of her lids and fell in rivulets down her face.

“He used me, he used all of us and now he’s back.”

Thank you for reading!

Don’t forget to hop onto the Hump Day Hook Up blog for other great reads from other outstanding authors.

The post Hump Day Hook Up: Warrior’s Surrender WIP appeared first on EE Carter.

EXCLUSIVE! Moonstone Obsession snippet and final chance to win Love Botanical Perfume!

UPDATE: Congratulations of Kew Gibson, winner of this beautiful prize!

I promised a fresh snippet of my upcoming debut, the historical romance Moonstone Obsession, for Saturday and here it is!

What could be more lovely than the first kiss between my heroine Selina and hero James:

As they walked, twilight cast long shadows through the street and painted the sky in pastel hues of rose, apricot, and lilac as the sun disappeared over the tallest of London’s buildings.

Ahead of them, bright pinpoints of light burst into life in the hands of the shadowed figures of servants tasked with the job of lighting the front of their masters’ residences before full night fell.

The front of the Rosewall’s townhouse was shrouded in shadow. It seemed her brother was not yet home and the servants were still busy in other areas of the house. James stopped Selina’s hand as she reached for the elaborate brass door knocker. She looked at him with a questioningly.

“Before you go in…”

James drew her further into the shadow of the porch and snaked his hands around her waist, drawing her to him. With a certainty, Selina knew he was going to kiss her. She watched his eyes before being drawn to his lips, moving ever closer to hers.

The first contact was exquisite, soft and gentle—quite at odds with the firm muscled shoulders she found herself holding onto.

The pressure of their kiss deepened, his mouth encouraging hers to open for a languorous exploration.

A restless yearning only hinted at the ball ignited in Selina full force and the feeling that she recognised in herself as arousal was given its moment in the pressure of his lips, the feel of his tongue, and the rasp of late day stubble as it grazed her cheek.

Tentatively at first, she used her own tongue to explore the contours of his mouth, eliciting from him a groan which only fuelled her own desire.

But it was James who first pulled away.

At first Selina thought she had done something wrong, but seeing in his eyes a naked desire, she knew it was not that.

With both hands he touched her cheeks, stroking them gently.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the night of the ball,” he confessed.

The winner of the Miessence Botanical Perfume, Love will be announced on Sunday. Click here for your chance to win – it’s not too late!

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Can’t Buy Me Love (But You Can Win It)

Now that I have a release date for Moonstone Obsession (October 18 through Etopia Press), I’m really keen to let everyone know.

I’m holding a special preview of Moonstone Obsession on Saturday, September 7 and you could win a limited edition Miessence Love Botanical Perfume valued at $148.

Love is a lovely light, romantic floral perfume and it’s the real deal – not an eau de parfum or an eau de toilette.

Love has:

Top notes – Indian frangipani and Italian mandarin

Heart notes – Egyptian jasmine, Italian orange blossom, Bulgarian damask rose, Madgascan ylang ylang

Base notes – Vanuatuan vanilla bourbon, Indian Ambrette seed

All you have to do to win is head on over to my Facebook page – facebook.com/ElizabethEllenCarter – and let me know in 50 words or less:

What you would do for Love?

About Moonstone Obsession:

For Sir James Mitchell, Lord of Penventen, it was a toss of a coin between which was more dangerous – being a spy or being considered husband material by the Ladies of the Ton.

With high stakes political machinations threatening to draw England into the violent wake of the French Revolution, the last thing James expected was to fall in love with Selina Rosewall, daughter of an untitled seafaring family.

From the privileged world of London society and the wild, dangerous beauty of the Cornish coast to the seething heart of revolutionary Paris, James reluctantly draws Selina deeper in a world of secrets, lies and scandals that threaten England itself.

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When Real Life Intrudes

It’s been a long and lonely time for this humble little blog over the past few months.

Not only did it suffer neglect at the hands of the muse who decided any writing time would be better served by adding more words to Warrior’s Surrender, my second historical romance (it’s about four chapters away from completion!), but also real life intruded with the very sudden and very serious illness of my husband (fortunately he is very much on the mend).

Only today a very dear family friend gave both of us a big hug and said that when he heard the news about the stroke he said his immediate thought was ‘that’s not right, after everything the Carters have been through!’.

It’s true enough that the past five to seven years have not been good to us. They have been wilderness years.

So, what does this have to do with writing – let alone romance?

Well, potentially without them I wouldn’t be here today with Moonstone Obsession just six weeks away from its publication date. Without those challenges I would never have sat down and written the story – for everything there is a season.

Life’s setbacks are designed to force you to reassess priorities, re-establish boundaries, forge individual strength and resolve. Events dating back more than five years set me on a course from the comfortable and predictable to the fresh and exciting.

It hasn’t always been a pleasant journey but it has always been a valuable one.

It has provided an open window to the soul and what makes us human – the emotions, the choices and the perspectives that go with it.

Writers need it because readers need it:

A Time For Everything

There’s an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:

 A right time for birth and another for death,

A right time to plant and another to reap,

A right time to kill and another to heal,

A right time to destroy and another to construct,

A right time to cry and another to laugh,

A right time to lament and another to cheer,

A right time to make love and another to abstain,

A right time to embrace and another to part,

A right time to search and another to count your losses,

A right time to hold on and another to let go,

A right time to rip out and another to mend,

A right time to shut up and another to speak up,

A right time to love and another to hate,

A right time to wage war and another to make peace.

 But in the end, does it really make a difference what anyone does?

I’ve had a good look at what God has given us to do—busywork, mostly.

True, God made everything beautiful in itself and in its time—but He’s left us in the dark, so we can never know what God is up to, whether He’s coming or going.

I’ve decided that there’s nothing better to do than go ahead and have a good time and get the most we can out of life.

That’s it—eat, drink, and make the most of what you do.

It’s God’s gift.

Our readers have experienced love and laughter, pain and tears – it would be dishonest to not have our characters experience these things too.

In the case of romance we also provide the ‘happily ever after’ – the promise of the hope of a brighter tomorrow with more more laughter than tears.

These last few weeks have taught me about the threat of loss, the deception of fear and the strength of love.

I hope I’ve captured these things sufficiently for my characters to experience them and through them, my readers – not simply for the purpose of taking them on an emotional rollercoaster but for them to end the ride as I do – optimistic, cheerful, full of love and laughter.

It’s God’s gift.

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Napoleon Out For A Duck

The world’s first cricket tragic John Frederick Sackville – the third Duke of Dorset.

One of the great things about being a historical romance writer is, of course, the history.

Just like the ad for a prominent genealogy company, one click leads to another and then all of a sudden your historical fact check – just who was the British Ambassador to France in 1790? -  leads you to the fascinating story of the cricket tragic John Frederick Sackville the third Duke of Dorset.

Like his father and grandfather before him, John was cricket mad and made is amongst his life’s mission to spread the great game to the four corners of the world.

But for the pesky interruption of the American War of Independence and the French Revolution, the world game could very well have been cricket instead of soccer – er sorry, the should be football.

Considered the quintessentially British game, cricket has flourished in just about all of England’s former colonies – Canada being the only noted exception.

But long before baseball got a toe hold, cricket was the game to play – and to watch.

Cricket broke down class divides – it might have been played by aristocrats but it was watched and enjoyed by people of all social classes who made a day out of hooting, hollering, drinking, betting and admiring the physical prowess of batsman and bowler alike.

Interesting fact. It wasn’t until 1775 that the third stump was introduced to the game.

But not everyone was appreciative of Sackville’s efforts to bring the civilising game to America. In 2010 Christies sold for nearly $22,000 a 1778 a pamphlet criticising Sackville’s dedication to the game while England lost the American colonies:

‘Far from the Cannon’s Roar, they try at Cricket, Stead of their Country, to secure a Wicket’. The anonymous poet’s lines were directed against the Duke of Dorset and Earl of Tankerville as Britain was embroiled in the third year of a disastrous war with her own colonies in North America. A facetious dedication to the two aristocrats expresses dismay at their preparations for a new cricket season. ”Tis said that Nero fiddled whilst Rome was burning. — The conduct of your Lordships, seems nearly similar. — for Godsake, fling away your Bats ….’ The couplets that follow continue to emphasise how wrong it is for members of the ruling class to participate in a lower class sport which ‘beardless Boys with Beggars share’.

Not that such criticism affected Sackville any. His appointment as British Ambassador to France in 1784 was a golden opportunity to introduce the game to France, and it seemed he was having a bit of success, even organising a game along Paris’ famous thoroughfare The Champs-Elysees!

The Times reported on one such match in 1786:

His Grace of Dorset was, as usual, the most distinguished for skill and activity. The French, however, cannot imitate us in such vigorous exertions of the body, so that we seldom see them enter the lists.

So keen he was on the game that he was all ready to stage the world’s first international test match against France. Leading English cricketers of the day ready to make the trip from Southampton when they received the news on August 10, 1779 that Paris had fallen to Revolutionaries.

There the hopes cricket becoming the world game died.

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