Grandon Hall – an excerpt
Beaumont looked in the drawing room for Louisa. She must be outside. The doors to the terrace were ajar. She stood by the mermaid fountain her blue dress silhouetted against a bed of white roses. His pulse began to race. If only she could be his! When he was close enough the feel the fine mist on his face she turned toward him.
“Miss Mayville,” He bowed, then took her hand and kissed it. Her hand was soft and fit perfectly into his. She was so lovely. “Moonlight becomes you.”
She smiled, “I had hoped to speak to you, my lord.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“My cousin, Thomas is alive today thanks to you.”
“He was just a confused lad,” he said.
“Yes, and you understood that.” She gave him a tender look which eroded his crumbling defences.
“You are not going to be a countess,” he said still holding her hand. What would her lips taste like?
“That was never my dream. It was my mother’s.”
“Are you returning to little Ealingsford?”
“Yes. Tomorrow morning.” So soon.
An Orchid for Penelope – an excerpt
“Oh no!” she cried. She grasped the lip of the vase as the water poured down on her head and the front of her dress. The flowers began raining down on her. “Someone please help me!” She heard the sound of running feet and then someone lifted the urn out of her hands.
“It’s all right. I’ve got it. You can let go now,” said a deep masculine voice in her ear.
Penelope looked up into the dark eyes of the stranger she had seen, riding by, on her first day at Brambley Court. Wiping the water from her face she gasped, “Thank you” as a hot flush coloured her cheeks. This was not how she had hoped to meet the man, soaking wet and standing in a puddle of water.
I was born in the magical city of Prague, in the Czech Republic, once known as the Paris of central Europe. I love old architecture, opera, classical music and vintage clothing. Perhaps latent memories of my early childhood are responsible. I have a degree in history and enjoy ferreting out obscure details of the lives of men and women who lived in centuries past. Writing about the Regency is my form of time-travel.
I would love hear from you. You can email me at firstname.lastname@example.org