New Cover Alert!

The cover for my November release, The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding, is finally here!  And, even though it's about 90 degrees in the shade here, it reminds me Christmas is just around the corner:

A country Christmas at Barton Park 

Plain, sensible Rose Parker is a self-proclaimed wallflower, but she's always dreamed of dancing with Captain Harry St George… 

Once, Harry wouldn't even have noticed Rose. But now, after a hard war, Harry knows he's a different man. Shy, sweet Rose intrigues him more than any gregarious young lady—but he must marry a rich bride to save his mortgaged estates…and Rose is no heiress. Now, more than ever, Harry needs the magic of a mistletoe kiss…

(If you're already feeling in the holiday spirit, it's up for pre-order here!)

Tiara of the Weekend

Instead of a heroine this weekend, I'm taking a look at a tiara that has belonged to several queenly heroines, Queen Alexandra's kokoshnik.  The Order of Sartorial Splendor site (one of my my very favorites, and a must-read for anyone obsessed with royalty like I am!) called it a "straight-up wall of diamonds."  If you know me at all, you know how much I am bound to LOVE that!  In fact, I loved it so much I had to put it in a scene of my new WIP last week, when Alexandra has a walk-on role.  (the new book is set in Paris during the Exposition of 1889, when the Prince and Princess of Wales made an "incognito" visit to take in the sites.  She only has a cameo role, but of course that required an afternoon of heavy research to decide on her jewels!)

In 1888, Queen (then Princess of Wales) Alexandra and her husband celebrated their Silver Wedding anniversary, which called for some heavy-duty gifts.  A committee called the Ladies of Society, led by 2 marchionesses and 2 countesses, raised a collection for a present of jewels, and Alexandra requested a tiara in the style of a kokoshnik, like those worn by her sister, Empress of Marie of Russia.  The Ladies commissioned royal jeweler Garrard, who designed the tiara, like Marie's, in a style of individual pave-set bars of diamonds (77 bars, with 400 diamonds in total), which could also be worn as a necklace.  The cost was 4400 pounds, and the royal family has since gotten their money's worth out of it.  It's been a favorite piece of 3 queens, with hopefully many more to come.

The tiara had its first big outing in 1893, when Alexandra wore it to the wedding of her son George to May of Teck.  When she passed in 1925, May became Queen Mary, and inherited her mother-in-law's gems.  She didn't often wear pieces from Queen Alexandra, being a first-class jewel magpie of her own, but the kokoshnik was a favorite of hers, too.  In 1953, the current queen inherited her grandmother's collection, and has often worn the kokoshnik to state banquets, foreign tours, and the theater (it's second only to the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland tiara in terms of wears).  I would love to see it on the Duchess of Cambridge one day!  It's a "wall of diamonds," but it also has a lightness and elegance about it, a timelessness, that's hard to beat.

Heroine of the Weekend: Edith Cavell

(I'm currently at the Historical Novel Society conference--more on that next week when I am home and over Conference Fatigue, lol!  But today we have a Heroine for a belated Memorial Day tribute, Nurse Edith Cavell, who lost her life in WWI)

Edith Cavell (1865-1915) was a vicar's daughter, educated at Norwich School for Girls, who started her working career as a governess in Belgium (which gave her a lifelong love for the country, where she could indulge in interests in art and her facility for languages) before returning for nurse's training in London and jobs in various hospitals, where she as always seen as a compassionate and efficient medical professional.  She was recruited to be matron at a new nurses' training school in Brussels, and by 1910 had launched nursing journals, recruiting nurses for over 3 hospitals and 24 new branches of the school, just in time for the huge demand of World War I.

The Red Cross took over the hospital when the war started, and Cavell became a war nurse.  She also helped wounded British soldiers out of occupied Belgium into the Netherlands, becoming part of a large network of underground escape routes.  She was arrested by the Germans on august 3, 1915 and charged with harboring Allied soldiers.

She was held in prison for 10 weeks, confessing to sheltering 60 British and 15 French soldiers, as well as French and Belgian civilians before being condemned to death.  The British diplomatic service could do nothing for her, despite the fact that she was a British national and should not have been charged with treason.  On the night before she was executed, she wrote "Patriotism is not enough.  I must have no hatred or bitterness toward anyone."  (the words now carved on her statue in Trafalgar Square).  She was executed by firing squad on October 11, and her death was a huge propaganda tool for the Allied cause.

After the war, she was taken back to England for a service at Westminster Abbey and laid to rest at her family home in Norwich.

Heroine of the Weekend: Frida Kahlo

One of the things I missed about doing this blog was finding Heroines to feature every weekend--women in history both famous and not-so-famous (and sometimes not even very heroic!), but who I found to be interesting.  Today I'm taking a look at the artist Frida Kahlo, because I just happened to go to an exhibit last week centered around her life.  ("Mirror, Mirror: Photographs of Frida Kahlo" at the Spanish Colonial Arts Museum).  I've always been fascinated by her (as so many people are!) and loved getting a closer look at her life and style.

Frida Kahlo (1907-1954) was born Magdalena Carmen Frieda Kahlo y Calderon in Coyocoan, Mexico City, to a Mexican mother and German photographer father, and had 3 sisters, growing up in the Casa Azul (now a museum, and on my bucket list).  At age 6, she was stricken with polio, bedridden for months and emerging with a pronounced limp.  Her father encouraged her to get into sports, and she enrolled in 1922 at the National Preparatory School (one of the few female students), and took art classes.  But her new life didn't last long.  On September 17, 1925, she was horribly injured in a trolley crash, spending months in the hospital and then facing a lifetime of surgeries and constant pain.  But she took that pain, that suffering, and used it in an art never seen before, one that was deeply personal, graphic, and often surreal.  She also became radical in her politics, joining the Mexican Communist Party.

In 1928, she met the famous mural painter Diego Rivera, and married him the next year.  They spent much time on the move for his work, living in California, New York City, and Detroit for many years.  Affairs by both partners (including one by Rivera with Frida's sister), as well as several miscarriages and professional complications (Rivera was famously fired from a mural project at Rockefeller Center for sneaking in a portrait of Lenin to the image).  They divorced in 1939, Kahlo then moving for a time to Paris, but remarried the next year and stayed together for the rest of Kahlo's life, though living in separate but conjoined houses/studios.

The 1950s were a time of increasingly bad health, and Kahlo became almost completely bedridden, especially after a leg amputation (though she had an easel installed above her bed and continued working!).  In 1953, she had her first solo exhibit in Mexico, and was taken to the opening party by ambulance, where she drank and partied from a specially installed bed.  She died July 13, 1954 at age 47, at Casa Azul.  In 2002, a movie of her life was made with Salma Hayak nominated as an Oscar for her main role.

I've always been in awe of her strength, her uniqueness, her great talent, her fearlessness, and her ability to know and be true to herself.  She's really a Heroine.

What Amanda Is Doing Now

So, what have I been up to while this blog has been on (too long) hiatus???  It turns out, a lot.  Some back to back deadlines, a little illness, husband's new job, and just enjoying living in my favorite place on earth, Santa Fe, has been sucking away energy.  But now I am VERY pleased to announce there are many, many projects in the pipeline here.

I've just finished the first title in a new mystery series, written by a whole new persona--Amanda Allen!  Santa Fe Mourning, book one in the Madeline Alwin 1920s Mysteries, will be out from Crooked Lane Books in the summer of 2018.  Maddie is an artist and heiress from New York, widowed too young by World War I, who lands in sunny Santa Fe to pursue her artistic career, solve some murders, and (maybe) even find some new romance.  Look for a pre-order link soon!

Amanda McCabe is also still at work.  I've started the first in a whole new historical romance series, "The Grantley Girls Go To Paris," a trilogy centered around 3 heroines who become BFFs at Miss Grantley's School For Elegant Young Ladies, and are now off to the Paris Exposition of 1889 to find adventure and love.  Miss Diana Martin, the heroine of the first book (title TBA) is a fashion journalist, so I am forced (forced, I tell you!) to research many Worth gowns and get out my scrapbooks of Paris trips of my own.  In the meantime, my next historical romance, The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding, (the latest in the Bancrofts of Barton Park Series) is going to be out just in time for the holidays in November.  (you can pre-order here)

Here are a few Worth creations to enjoy for the moment (I also have a House of Worth page on Pinterest, where I spend way too much time!), and I promise I will be back here very soon, with more Heroines, more cocktails, and more lovely summer patio reviews!

Heroine of the Weekend: Emily Wilding Davison

I've been much too neglectful of this blog lately (thanks, deadlines and medical non-fun things!) but with Election Day coming up on Tuesday (finally!) I've been thinking a lot about the sacrifices so very many people have made so I can go to the polls in peace.  Some of them gave literally everything.

Emily Wilding Davison (1872-1913) was an English suffragist, a woman of immense intelligence and dedication.  She was arrested 9 times, subjected to the notorious method if force-feeding 49 times, which weakened her health considerably.  She was very well-educated for the times, attending Kensington Preparatory School and St. Hugh's, Oxford, where she took first-class honors but women were not allowed degrees at that time.  She went on to work as a governess and teacher.  Later she took a degree in Modern Foreign Languages at the University of London.

In 1906, she joined Emmeline Pankhurst's WSPU and dedicated her whole life to its cause of winning the vote for women, becoming one of the most dedicated and passionate of its members.  Her most famous exploit came on census night, April 2, 1911.  She hid in a cupboard in the Palace of Westminster, so she could list her official residence as the House of Commons.  A plaque placed on the cupboard door in 1990 marks the occasion.  In 1912, in Holloway Prison, she threw herself down an iron staircase to protest the brutal practice of force-feeding hunger strikers.  She survived, but was in pain for the rest of her life.

On June 4, 1913, she bought a train ticket to attend the famous Epsom Derby.  King George's horse, Anmer, far back from the leaders, came around the corner, and she stepped out in front of him, being knocked down and fatally injured.  She died four days later.  Her true motivations that day are unclear.  She probably did not intend to commit suicide, though she would of course have known the great risks.  She had a return rail ticket, as well as a ticket to a suffrage benefit dance and plans for a holiday in France with her sister.  Film of the event shows something in her hand,, perhaps a suffrage banner later found near her, and she might have intended to throw it over the horse's bridle.  Eyewitnesses nearby stated they thought she merely meant to cross the track, thinking the horses had all passed.  Whatever the intention, her sacrifice was a terrible sadness and brought much attention to the cause she so loved.

Her funeral was attended by thousands of suffragists, accompanying the coffin to her hometown of Morpeth, Northumberland in their white gowns and sashes.

In her memory, and in that of thousands of others who fought and died for this basic right of any human being, please, please vote.




https://www.theguardian.com/society/2013/may/26/emily-davison-suffragette-death-derby-1913

Abigail's Patio Review: 315 Restaurant

Happy summer, everyone!  It's been a busy one here (hence the much too long lag time on this blog!), and a scorcher, but there's been time for outdoor music, poolside reading, and best of all--summer patio dining!  Living in Santa Fe has been great for Abigail, since she is welcome on almost any restaurant's patio (a very dog-friendly town!)

Last month, we spent Memorial Day at Abby's favorite place, 315 Restaurant and Wine Bar (be sure and check out their website here!)  Why is her favorite, you ask?  A spacious, shady patio, very friendly waitstaff (who always remember her name and ask about her when we dine there without her), extensive wine list (though it's been an almost all rose, all time summer for me), classic French bistro food and interesting specials (go right now--it's squash blossom season!), yummy desserts.  Tuesdays are half-price wine night (any bottle is half off, so a good time to splurge a bit!), so that's our 315 night of the week.  Nothing better than some steak frites, some chilled rose, and a Santa Fe sunset.  Take a little walk around the plaza after and indulge in some summertime people-watching!

Abby gives it 4 out of 5 barks (because sometimes the service is a little uncoordinated, and Poodle perfection is hard to find...)

Heroine of the Weekend: Queen Elizabeth II

This year is all about the queen!  With her Diamond Jubilee so recently behind us, and her 90th birthday this year, we're seeing a lot about Queen Elizabeth, and I love it.  She is certainly a great heroine, who has devoted her long life to hard work and service, and long may she reign.  We all know the details of her life, so I thought it would be fun to take a look at a few trivia facts...

 She speaks fluent French and often uses the language for audiences and state visits. She does not require an interpreter.

She's received over 3.5 million items of correspondence during her reign.

Since 1952, she has conferred over 404,500 honors and awards.

Queen Elizabeth II is Britain's 40th monarch since William the Conqueror was crowned.

About 1.5 million people have attended garden parties at Buckingham Palace or the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Scotland since Elizabeth has been on the throne.

Over the course of her reign, she has given regular Tuesday-evening audiences to 12 British Prime Ministers, starting with Winston Churchill

She is patron of more than 600 charities and organizations.

In the past 60 years, the Queen has undertaken 261 official overseas visits, including 96 state visits, to 116 different countries.

In 2005, she claimed ownership of 88 cygnets (young swans) on the River Thames. They are looked after by a swan marker. The first royal swan keeper was appointed around the 12th century.  Technically, the Queen still owns the sturgeons, whales and dolphins in the waters around the U.K. A statute from 1324, during the reign of King Edward II, states, "Also the King shall have ... whales and sturgeons taken in the sea or elsewhere within the realm." This statute is still valid today, and sturgeons, porpoises, whales and dolphins are recognized as "fishes royal"

The Queen joined Facebook in November 2010, with a page called the British Monarchy, which features royal news, photos, videos and speeches. (I doubt she will play Candy Crush, though)

Elizabeth was the first British monarch to celebrate her diamond wedding anniversary.

 Elizabeth has sent more than 175,000 telegrams to centenarians in the U.K. and the Commonwealth, and more than 540,000 telegrams to couples in the U.K. and the Commonwealth celebrating their diamond wedding anniversary.

 In an average year, the Queen hosts more than 50,000 people at banquets, lunches, dinners, receptions and garden parties at Buckingham Palace. The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh have sent over 37,500 Christmas cards during her reign and she has given out approximately 90,000 Christmas puddings to staff, continuing the custom of King George V and King George VI. In addition, the Queen gives her entire staff gifts at Christmastime

Elizabeth learned to drive in 1945, when she joined the women's branch of the British army. Both she and Winston Churchill's daughter were members of the group, which was called the Auxiliary Territorial Service.  She was a Girl Guide (1937), a Scouting movement for girls and a Sea Ranger (1943), a section of the Girl Guides focused on sailing.

An important innovation during her reign was the opening in 1962 of a new gallery at Buckingham Palace to display items from the royal collection. The brainchild of the Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen's Gallery occupied the palace's bomb-damaged private chapel. It was the first time that parts of the palace had been opened to the general public.

 The only time the Queen has had to interrupt an overseas tour was in 1974, during a tour of Australia and Indonesia. She was called back from Australia when a general election was announced suddenly. The Duke of Edinburgh continued the program in Australia, and Elizabeth rejoined the tour in Indonesia.

She has opened Parliament every year except 1959 and 1963, when she was expecting her children Prince Andrew and Prince Edward, respectively.

She went on her first state visit as Princess Elizabeth to South Africa with her mother and father, then King and Queen, from February to May 1947. The tour included Zimbabwe, Bechuanaland, Swaziland and Basutoland (now Lesotho). The Princess celebrated her 21st birthday in Cape Town. Her first state visit as Queen was to Kenya: her father King George VI died, and she acceded the throne during the tour, which had to be abandoned.  Her first Commonwealth tour began on Nov. 24, 1953, and included visits to Bermuda, Jamaica, Panama, Fiji, Tonga, New Zealand, Australia, the Cocos Islands, Ceylon, Aden, Uganda, Libya, Malta and Gibraltar. The total distance covered was 43,618 miles (70,196 km).

Elizabeth has owned more than 30 corgis during her reign, starting with Susan, who was a present for her 18th birthday in 1944. A good proportion of these have been direct descendants from Susan. Elizabeth currently has five corgis: Emma, Linnet, Monty, Holly and Willow.  She takes a keen interest in horses and racing. Her first pony, a Shetland called Peggy, was given to her by her grandfather King George V when she was 4 years old. Elizabeth continues to ride at Sandringham, Balmoral and Windsor. The Queen also takes interest in horse breeding. Horses bred at the royal studs over the past 200 years have won virtually every major race in Britain. Elizabeth has about 25 horses in training each season.

As a young girl, Elizabeth acted in a number of pantomimes during World War II, including playing Prince Florizel in Cinderella in 1941. The productions took place every year in the Waterloo Chamber at Windsor Castle..

The last and only other British monarch to celebrate her Diamond Jubilee was Queen Victoria in 1897, at the age of 77. At 86, Queen Elizabeth will be the oldest monarch to celebrate this occasion.

Heroine of the Weekend: Madame de Sevigne

This weekend we take a quick look at one of the most famous and erudite letter-writers in history, Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, the Marquise de Sevigne, who died on April 17, 1696.  She's known now as one of the most representative figures of the Enlightenment.

Born February 5, 1626 to an old, aristocratic family, she found herself an orphan by the age of 7, and was raised by her maternal grandparents and uncle, who gave her an excellent education.  She was married on August 4, 1644 to another scion of an old family, Henri, the marquis de Sevigne of Brittany, who had an ancient name but not much fortune.  The marriage produced two children, Francoise (b. 1646), who would be the recipient of most of her mother's famous letters, and Charles (b. 1648), but her husband died in a duel over his mistress in 1651.  Marie never remarried, devoting herself to her children and the intellectual life of the Paris salons.

In 1669, her beloved daughter married the comte de Grignon, who was soon appointed governor of Provence, and in their separation the stream of letters began, where the two discoursed about religion, philosophy, government, and the arts as well as family matters.  Buy 1673, the letters were being circulated and widely read.

According to the Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Sevigne's moral psychology explores the amatory structure of human desire and the difficulty of accepting one’s mortality. Representative of neoclassicism, her philosophy of art privileges the values of harmony, proportion, and balance. An avid reader of theological and philosophical works, she provides a running commentary on the theories of her favorite contemporary authors. Her letters reflect the intellectual sophistication of the period’s salon culture, where the philosophical controversies spawned by Cartesianism had become the object of everyday discussion.

For more info on her fascinating life, I like Francis Mossiker's Madame de Sevigne: a Life and Letters (1983)

Abigail's Patio Reviews: Upper Crust Pizza

Last night, Abigail visited one of her favorite casual spots around Santa Fe (and very near her beloved Plazaland, for walking off some of the pizza and wine after!), Upper Crust Pizza.  She gives it 4 barks out of 5, for the excellent pizza with a wide array of premium ingredients (faves include kalamata olives, sun-dried tomatoes, and goat cheese), and their lovely whole wheat crust.  It doesn't hurt that they have (very) full pours of wine, including her mama's beloved Gruet Chardonnay.

The location is lovely, with a long portal fronting Old Santa Fe Trail where there is great people (and dog) watching, in a portion of "the oldest home in America" (built in the 17th/18th century), with twisty little adobe rooms.  Live music and fun employees make it even better.  (and it's very dog friendly).  Abby especially recommends the great lunch specials (3.99 for a slice, drink, and salad??!!)

Check them out here, and join Abigail for pizza and wine some night soon....

Abigail's Patio Reviews: The Teahouse

There are so, so many things we've loved about Santa Fe since moving to Santa Fe last year!  Beautiful weather, the mountains, art and music, interesting people, great food.  One of the best is the way so many restaurants have patios, and thy don't just allow dogs, they love them!  Our little Poodle fur-baby, Abigail, loves it now that the weather is getting warm again and she can visit her favorite spots.  It's especially good for her now that she has a stroller, and can see the table and be part of the party!

She started the season today, with a walk up Canyon Road and lunch at The Teahouse.  Abigail gives them 3 out of 5 Barks.  Pluses: a pretty garden that welcomes dogs (there were at least 6 other puppies for her to meet!), an extensive tea menu (dozens of teas, all varieties--we tried an Imperial Grade Sencha, light and delicate, and a nice, smoky Lapsang Souchong, I like it the stronger the better), and tasty food (a simple lunch, a panini and a beet/goat cheese salad).  Minuses: a very long wait and slow service, which seems par for the course there.  If you have time for a leisurely meal, and just want to sit around with your dog in the shade, it's great.  If you're on a quick work lunch, not so much.

Abigail says she now looks forward to sharing all her favorite patios with you this spring. :)

The website for The Teahouse

Heroine of the Weekend--Empress Marie Feodorovna

Happy Easter, everyone!  I am taking a small break from stuffing myself with Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs (the most perfect food in the world) to take a look at another heroine, the vivacious and courageous Dowager Empress Marie of Russia (owner of the gorgeous Winter Egg).

She was born, as all fairy princesses should be, in a palace, as Princess Dagmar of Denmark, second daughter of King Christian IX (the first being the future Queen Alexandra of England, Dagmar's lifelong best friend).  The family was relatively poor as far as royal families went, but were very close to each other, and had a lighthearted time together.  Dagmar loved to swim and ride, play cards, and collect dogs.  In 1864, she became betrothed to the Tsarevich Nicholas of Russia ("Nixa") a handsome and sensitive young man, whom she sincerely loved.  Sadly, he died in April of 1865, leaving Dagmar broken-hearted.  She was comforted by letters from Nicholas's brother, Alexander, and in June 1866 she accepted his proposal.  They were married in a lavish ceremony at the Winter Palace on November 9, after she converted to Orthodoxy and was named Marie Feodorovna.  Of the wedding night, her new husband wrote, I took off my slippers and my silver embroidered robe and felt the body of my beloved next to mine... How I felt then, I do not wish to describe here. Afterwards we talked for a long time

Welcomed by her new win-laws, the new Grand Duchess quickly made herself very popular in Russia.  Pretty, outgoing, fashionable, she became a leader of Society as well as renowned for her charitable activities (especially the founding of new hospitals and orphanages, as well as patronizing the arts), she was exactly what the country wanted.  She also quickly did her foremost duty of heir-producing.  Nicholas was born in May 1868, followed by Alexander in 1869 (who died in infancy), George, Xenia, Michael, and Olga (1882).  She proved a loving if slightly commanding mother (much like her sister Alexandra).

In March 1881, tragedy struck.  Her father-in-law, Alexander II, was assassinated, leaving Marie with sharp, lifelong anxieties for her family--Our happiest and serenest times are now over. My peace and calm are gone, for now I will only ever be able to worry about Sasha.

She was crowned with her husband on May 27, 1883, in a lavish ceremony at the Kremlin, attended by over 8000 guests, including her sister, who stayed for many weeks.  After, the Imperial family moved to Gatchina, a 900-room palace a few miles outside St. Petersburg for security reasons.  Marie missed the lively city life, the balls and theaters, though her husband preferred the quieter, more spartan life of Gatchina.  Despite their different temperments, they loved each other all their marriage, and had a very successeful union.

But it wasn't one that last as long as she would have liked.  By 1894, it was clear that the formerly robust tsar was very ill,   The choice of wife by their son Nicholas also had them worried.  Alix of Hesse-Darmstadt, granddaughter of Queen Victoria, was beautiful, but also shy, retiring, and in poor health most of the time, not strong enough for the challenges of life in Russia.  But Nicholas was in love, and reluctantly his parents agreed to the engagements.  Marie would never have much in common with her daughter-in-law, and often disapproved of her behavior, but the couple were married a week after Alexander's funeral.

Marie was still the leader of Society, since Alexandra seldom cared to take precedence, and she also often traveled abroad.  In 1906, she and her sister bought a danish villa, Hvidore, which would prove to be her last home.  In 1914, she was in England when war broke out, and rushed back to Russia.  There she threw herself into the war effort, becoming president of the Russian Red Cross and outfitting hospital trains.  In 1916, concerned about the evil effects of Rasputin on her son's family and unable to reason with him, she moved to Kiev, and it was from there that she fled to the Crimea when revolution exploded.  At first, she refused to leave Russia, sure that rumors her son was dead were not true, until her sister persuaded her to come to England.  King George sent the warship "Marlborough" to fetch his aunt, and she left with other relatives, carrying one Faberge egg with her, in 1919.

She made her home in Denmark, a leader of the Russian exiles, and always hoped her son would prove to be alive.  She still believed that when she herself died, October 13, 1928, and was buried at Roskilde Cathedral.  In 2006, her dearest wish was finally carried out, and she was reburied next to her husband in the Cathedral of Peter and Paul in St. Petersburg.

I love Marie for her energy, style, and level-headed intelligence, and also feel heartbroken for her in all the sorrow she had at the end of her life.

A great source for more about her is Coryne Hall's Little Mother of Russia: A Biography of Empress Marie Feodorovna (2006)

Happy Easter! And A New Blog Day

It's been much, much too long since I've visited this little blog of mine, and I've found lately that I really miss it (especially getting to discover and research some heroines in history).  It's a great break from deadline writing, so I am back here again, hopefully starting out with a couple posts a week, and maybe a giveaway or two in the near future.

To start out--happy Easter weekend, everyone!  I love this time of year, when the flowers start to peek out, the trees start to bud, and little girls wear their fluffy holiday dresses and white shoes (I always insisted on getting my spring clothes Easter weekend, even if it was still 40 degrees outside!).  To celebrate, here's a little look at my very favorite Easter egg of all--Faberge's Winter Egg of 1913.

From 1885 to just before 1917, the workshops of Faberge created two Imperial Easter eggs every year, one each for the tsar's mother, Dowager Empress Marie, and his wife, Empress Alexandra.  (There were a handful of non-royal eggs, as well).  Out of about 50 made, 43 are known to survive, and each one is an exquisite masterpiece.  My personal favorite is the Winter Egg, made for Empress Marie in 1913.  At the time, it was the most expensive of the eggs, costing 25,000 rubles (about $12,000); it vanished for many years, only to be bought in 2002 by the Emir of Qatar for 6.4 million pounds.

The Winter Egg was designed by Alma Pihl, the only female designer at Faberge, and was created from rock crystal fashioned to look like ice patterns, on a crystal base that appeared to be melting.  It used 1660 diamonds to create a snow-like sparkle.  The "surprise" inside the egg was a basket of flowers made of quartz on a bed of gold moss, made with 1378 more diamonds.  It's very elegant, just like the Dowager Empress herself (who is a favorite of mine!)

Here's a great overview of all the known Easter eggs.  Which is your favorite??

Sunday Giveaway!

One last giveaway for this week!  Today I have two copies of one of my out-of-print titles from 2005, Lady Midnight.  I loved writing this one--it was very influenced by all the Gothic novels I gobbled up when I was a kid.  (and watch for it in e-book later this year!)

This one was an RT Reviewer’s Choice Award nominee (Best Historical Mystery/Gothic) and a Bookseller’s Best Award finalist/winner, Long Historical

. 

A courtesan in training...

Everyone that Katerina held dear has perished in a tempest off the coast of Italy.  With not a penny to her name, she knows she must travel far to forge a new life.  No one would ever accept her if they learned that her mother was Lucrezia Bruni, the infamous courtesan who was breeding young Katerina to fill her shoes someday...

A governess in hiding...

Still mourning his late wife, Michael Lindley knows life must go on--and that his little sister and daughter need a woman's nurturing.  When a dark-eyed beauty alights on his doorstep, claiming to be a widowed governess, Michael feels a fire rekindle in him that he thought snuffed out long ago.  And in Katerina, who thought her capacity to love had gone down with the ship, there flares a yearning only Michael can subdue....

Giveaway Day 2!

Every day this week to re-launch this blog, I am going to be giving away a copy of some of my backlist books!  (also in a quest to at least somewhat clean out my garage...)  Next weekend, I will announce winners for each day.  Comment every day for a chance to win!

Today's giveaway--two books from the "Diamonds of Welbourne Manor" series!  The original anthology, and a copy of The Shy Duchess....

What are your very favorite connected series????

It's Alive! And Giveaway Week

I have just woken up from my winter hibernation to see that there are lilacs in my backyard!  And sun, and green grass!  At last!  I have also just realized I have been a terrible blogger, not even visiting here since (gasp!) January.  So much is happening, though, that I have decided to revive this blog and post at least once a week about life and love, chocolatinis, books, Sleepy Hollow--y'know, all the important stuff.

To get started (and because I also just cleaned out my garage and found boxes and boxes full of old copies of my books), I am going to launch a week's worth of giveaways.  Every day a different book.  Today, we'll start with signed copies of my "Muses of Mayfair" trilogy!

The Chase Muses!  Three adventure-loving sisters find dashing rakes to wed!

Meet Calliope (the sensible one), Clio (the intellectual one), and Thalia (the beautiful one--and the one her sisters always underestimate!), three daughters of a famous antiquarian in Regency England, and their three handsome suitors.  I loved writing these books, since I always wanted a sister of my own (and always had a fascination with archaeology!)

I'll be giving away a complete signed set of the Muses trilogy to one commenter today!!!  What have you been doing since spring has finally sprung??  If you could visit any archaeological site, where would it be?  (I have a dream to visit Pompeii--or Sicily, like Clio Chase...).  What have you been reading lately???


Also, a very happy Mother's Day to the best, loveliest, and wisest of moms!   

New book!!!

I am so excited!  Just got some ARCs for my second Kate Haywood Elizabethan Mysteries, Murder at Westminster Abbey!!  If you have a review site (mysteries, historical fiction, Tudor interest, whatever), and would like a copy for review, send me an email at Amccabe7551 AT yahoo...






For more info, it's up for pre-order on Amazon!

Excerpt Monday

Running From Scandal, sequel to The Runaway Countess, is now available!  I loved writing Emma and David's story.  See it here at Amazon...)

Prologue—England, 1814

Emma Bancroft was very good at holding up walls. She grew more adept at it every time she went to a party, which was not very often. She was getting a great deal of practice at it tonight.

She pressed her back against the wall of the village assembly room and sipped at a glass of watery punch as she surveyed the gathering. It was a surprisingly large one considering the chilly, damp night outside. Emma would have thought most people would want to stay sensibly at home by their fires, not get dressed in their muslin and silk finery and go traipsing about in search of dance partners. Yet the long and narrow room was crowded with laughing, chattering groups dressed up in their finery.

Emma rather wished she was home by the fire. Not that she entirely minded a social evening. People were always so very fascinating. She loved nothing better than to find a superb vantage point by a convenient wall and settle down to listen to conversations. It was such fun to devise her own stories about that those conversations were really about, what secret lives everyone might be living behind their smiles and mundane chatter. It was like a good book.

But tonight she had left behind an actual good book at home in the library of Barton Park, along with her new puppy Murray. Recently she had discovered the fascinations of botany, which had quite replaced her previous passions for Elizabethan architecture and the cultivation of tea in India. Emma often found new topics of education that fascinated her, and plants were a new one. Her father's dusty old library, mostly unexplored since his death so long ago, was full of wonders waiting to be discovered.

And tonight, with a cold rain blowing against the windows, seemed a perfect one for curling up with a pot of tea and her studies, Murray at her feet. But her sister Jane, usually all too ready for a quiet, solitary evening at home, had insisted they come to the assembly. Jane even brought out some of her fine London gowns for them to wear.

“I am a terrible sister for letting you live here like a hermit, Emma,” Emma remembered Jane saying as she held up a pale blue silk gown. “You are only sixteen, and so pretty. You need to be dancing, and flirting, and—well, doing what young, pretty ladies enjoy doing.”

“I enjoy staying here and reading,” Emma had protested, even as she had to admit the dress was very nice. Definitely prettier than her usual faded muslins, aprons, and sturdy boots, though it would never do for digging up botanical specimens. Jane even let her wear their mother's pearl pendant tonight. But she could still be reading at home.

Or hunting for the lost, legendary Barton Park treasure, as their father had spent his life doing. But Jane didn't have to know about that. Her sister had too many other worries.

“I know you enjoy it, and that is the problem,” Jane had said, as she searched for a needle and thread to take the dress in. “But you are growing up. We can't go on as we have here at Barton Park forever.”

“Why not?” Emma argued. “I love it here, just the two of us in out family home. We can do as we please here, and not worry about...”

About horrid schools, where stuck-up girls laughed and gossiped, and the music master grabbed at Emma in the corridor. Where she had felt so, so alone. She was sent there when their mother died and Jane married the Earl of Ramsay, and Emma had never wanted her sweet sister to know what happened there. She never wanted anyone to know. Especially not about her foolish feelings for the handsome music teacher, that vile man who had taken advantage of her girlish feelings to kiss her in the dark—and tried so much more before Emma could get away. He had quite put her off men forever.

Emma saw the flash of worry in Jane's hazel eyes before she bent her head over the needle, and Emma took her other hand with a quick smile.

“Of course we must have a night out, Jane, you are quite right,” she'd said, making herself laugh. “You must be so bored here with just me and my books after your grand London life. We shall go to the assembly and have fun.”

Jane laughed, too, but Emma heard the sadness in it. The sadness had lingered ever since Jane brought Emma back to Barton Park almost three years before, when Jane's husband the earl hadn't appeared in many months. Emma didn't know what happened between them in London, and she didn't want to pry, but nor did she want to add to her sister's worry.

“My London life was not all that grand,” Jane said, “and I am not sorry it's behind me. But soon it will be your time to go out in the world, Emma. The village doesn't have a wide society, true, but it's a start.”

And that was what Emma feared—that soon it would be her turn to step out into the world and she would make horrid mistakes. She was too impulsive by half, and even though she knew it she had no idea how to stop it.

So she stood by the wall, watching, sipping her punch, trying not to tear Jane's pretty dress. For an instant before they left Barton and Emma glimpsed herself in the mirror, she hadn't believed it was really her. Jane had put her blonde, curling hair up in a twisted bandeau of ribbons and let her wear their mother's pearl necklace, and even Emma had to admit the effect was much prettier than the everyday braid and apron.

The local young men seemed to agree as well. She noticed a group of them over by the windows, bluff, hearty, red-faced country lads dressed in their finest Town evening coats and cravats, watching her and whispering. Which was exactly what she did not want. Not after Mr. Milne, the passionate school music master. She turned away and tried to pretend to be studiously observing something edifying across the room.

She saw Jane standing next to the refreshment table with a tall gentleman in a somber dark blue coat who had his back to Emma. Even though Emma was not having the very best of evenings, the smile on her sister's face made her glad they had ventured out after all.

Jane so seldom mentioned her estranged husband or their life in London, though Emma had always followed Jane's social activities in the newspapers while she was at school and knew it must have been very glamorous. Barton Park was not in the least glamorous, and even though Jane insisted she was most content, Emma wondered and worried.

Tonight, Jane was smiling, even laughing, her dark hair glossy in the candlelight and her lilac muslin and lace gown soft and pretty. She shook her head at something the tall gentleman said and gestured toward Emma with a smile. Emma stood up straighter as they both turned to look at her.

“Blast it all,” she whispered, and quickly smiled when an elderly lady nearby gave her a disapproving glance. But she couldn't help cursing just a little. For it was Sir David Marton who was talking to her sister.

Sir David—who had been visiting at Barton more often of late than Emma could like. He always came with his sister, Miss Louisa Marton, very proper and everything since his estate at Rose Hill was almost their nearest neighbor. But still. Jane was married, even though Lord Ramsay never came to Barton, and Sir David was too handsome by half. Handsome, and far too serious. She doubted he ever laughed at all.

She studied him across the room, trying not to frown. He nodded at whatever Jane was saying, watching Emma solemnly from behind his spectacles. She was glad he wasn't near enough for her to see his eyes. They were a strange, piercing pale gray color, and whenever he looked at her so steadily with them he seemed to see far too much.

Emma unconsciously smoothed her skirt, feeling young and fidgety and silly. Which was the very last thing she ever wanted to be in front of Sir David.

He nodded again at Jane and gave her a gentle smile. He always spoke so gently, so respectfully to Jane, with a unique spark of humor in those extraordinary eyes when he looked at her. He never had that gentle humor when he looked at Emma. Then he was solemn and watchful.

Emma had never felt jealous of Jane before. How could she be, when Jane was the best of sisters, and had such unhappiness hidden in her heart? But when Sir David Marton was around, Emma almost—almost—did feel jealous.

And she could not fathom why. Sir David was not at all the sort of man she was sure she could admire. He was too quiet, too serious. Too—conventional. Emma couldn't read him at all.

And now—oh, blast it all again! Now they were coming the room toward her.

Emma nearly wished she had agreed to dance with one of the country squires after all. She never knew what to say to Sir David that wouldn't make her feel so young and foolish around him. That might make him smile at her.

“Emma dear, I was just talking to Sir David about your new interest in botany,” Jane said as they reached Emma's side.

Emma glanced up at Sir David, who was watching her with that inscrutable, solemn look. The smile he had given Jane was quite gone. It made her feel so very tongue-tied, as if words flew into her head only to fly right back out again. She hadn't felt so very nervous, so unsure, since she left school, and she did not like that feeling at all.

“Were you indeed?” Emma said softly, looking away from him.

“My sister mentioned that she drove past you on the lane a few days ago,” Sir David said, his tone just as calm and serious as he looked. “She said when she offered you a ride home you declared you had to finish your work. As it was rather a muddy day, Louisa found that a bit—interesting.”

Against her will, Emma's feelings pricked just a bit. She had never wanted to care what anyone thought of her, not after Mr. Milne. Miss Louisa Marton was a silly gossip, and there was no knowing what exactly she had told her brother or what he thought of Emma now. Did he think her ridiculous for her studies? For her unladylike interests such a grubbing around in the dirt?

“I am quite the beginner in my studies,” Emma said. “Finding plant specimens to study is an important part of it all. When the ground is damp can be the best time to collect some of them. But it was very kind of your sister to stop for me.”

“I fear Emma has little scope for her interests since she left school to come live here with me,” Jane said. “I am no teacher myself.”

“Oh, no, Jane!” Emma cried, her shyness disappearing at her sister's sad, rueful tone. “I love living at Barton. Mr. Lorne at the bookshop here in the village keeps me well-supplied. I have learned much more here than I ever did at that silly school. But perhaps Sir David finds my efforts dull.”

“Not at all, Miss Bancroft,” he said, and to her surprise she heard a smile in his voice. She glanced up at him to find that there was indeed a hint of a curve to his lips. There was even a flash of a ridiculously attractive dimple in his cheek.

And she also realized she should not have looked at him. Up close he really was absurdly handsome, with a face as lean and carefully chiseled as a classical statue. His gleaming mahogany-brown hair, which he usually ruthlessly combed down, betrayed a thick, soft wave in the damp air, tempting to touch. She wondered whimsically if he wore those spectacles in a vain attempt to keep ladies from fainting at his feet.

“You do not find them dull, Sir David?” Emma said, feeling foolish that she could find nothing even slightly more clever to say.

“Not at all. Everyone, male or female, needs interests in life to keep their minds sharp,” he said. “I was fortunate enough to grow up living near an uncle who boasts a library of over five thousand volumes. Perhaps you have heard of him? Mr. Charles Sansom at Sansom House.”

“Five thousand books!” Emma cried, much louder than she intended. “That must be a truly amazing sight. Has he any special interests?”

“Greek and Roman antiquities are a favorite of his, but he has a selection on nearly every topic. Including, I would imagine, botany,” he said, his smile growing. Emma had never seen him look so young and open before, and she unconsciously swayed closer to him. “He always let us read whatever we liked when we visited him, though I fear my sister seldom took him up on the offer.”

Emma glanced across the room toward Miss Louisa Marton, who was easy to spot in her elaborately feathered turban. She was talking with her bosom bow, Miss Maude Cole, the beauty of the neighborhood with her red-gold curls, sky-blue eyes, and fine gowns. They in turn were looking back at Emma and whispering behind their fans.

Just like all those silly girls at school had done.

“I would imagine not,” Emma murmured. She had never heard Miss Marton or Miss Cole talk of anything but hats or the weather. “Does your uncle still live nearby, Sir David? I should so love to meet him one day.”

“He does, Miss Bancroft, though I fear he has become quite reclusive in his advancing age. She still sometimes purchases volumes at Mr. Lorne's shop, though, so perhaps you will encounter him there one day. He would find you most interesting.”

Before Emma could answer, the orchestra, a local group of musicians more noted for their enthusiasm than their talent, launched into the opening strains of a mazurka.

“Oh, I do love such a lively dance,” Jane said. Emma saw that he sister looked toward the forming set with a wistful look on her face. “A mazurka was the first dance I...”

Suddenly Jane broke off with a strange little laugh, and Emma wondered if she had often danced a mazurka with her husband in London. Surely even though she never mentioned her husband she had to think of him often.

“Jane...” Emma began.

Sir David turned to Jane with one of his gentle smiles. “Perhaps you would care to dance, Lady Ramsay? My skills at the mazurka are quite rusty, but I would be honored if you would be my partner.”

For a second, Jane seemed to hesitate, a flash of what looked like temptation in her eyes, and Emma felt an unwelcome pang of jealousy. Jealousy—of Jane! Loathing herself for that feeling, she pushed it away and made herself smile.

“Oh, no, I fear my dancing days are quite behind me,” Jane said. “But books are not the only thing Emma studied at school. They also had a fine dancing master.”

A horrid dancing master. Emma didn't like him intruding on every moment of her life like this. Would she ever forget him?

“Then perhaps Miss Bancroft would do me the honor,” Sir David said politely. He turned to Emma and half-held out his hand.

And she suddenly longed so much to know what it felt like to have his hand on hers. To be close to him as he led her in the turns and whirls of the dance. Surely he would be strong and steady, never letting her fall, so warm and safe. Maybe he would even smile at her again, and those beautiful gray eyes would gleam with admiration as he looked at her. She wanted all those things so very much.

She hadn't felt such romantic yearnings since—since Mr. Milne first arrived at her school. And look at what disasters that led to. No, she couldn't trust her feelings, her impulsive emotions, ever again.

She fell back a step, shaking her head, and Sir David's hand dropped back to his side. His smile faded, and he looked solemn and inscrutable again.

“I—I don't care to dance tonight,” Emma stammered, confused by old memories and new emotions she didn't understand. She had made a mistake with Mr. Milne, a mistake in trusting him and her feelings. She needed to learn how to be cautious and calm, like Jane. Like Sir David.

“Of course not, Miss Bancroft,” Sir David said quietly. “I quite understand.”

“David, dear,” Miss Louisa Marton said. Emma spun around to find that Miss Marton and Miss Cole had suddenly appeared beside from them from the midst of the crowd. She'd been so distracted she hadn't even noticed them approach. Miss Cole watched them with a coolly amused smile on her beautiful face, making Emma feel even more flustered.

“David, dear,” Louisa said again. “Do you not remember that Miss Cole promised you the mazurka? You were quite adament that she save it for you, and I know how much both of you have looked forward to it.”

Sir David gave Emma one more quizzical glance before he turned away to offer his hand to Miss Cole instead. “Of course. Most delighted, Miss Cole.”

Emma watched him walk away, Miss Cole laughing and sparkling up at him with an easy flirtatiousness Emma knew she herself could never match. She felt suddenly cold in the crowded, over-heated room, and she rubbed at her bare arms.

“I know you think Sir David is rather dull, Emma,” Jane said quietly, “but truly he is quite nice. You should have danced with him.”

“I am a terrible dancer,” Emma said, trying to sound light and uncaring. “No doubt I would trod on his toes and he would feel the need to lecture me on decorum.”

Jane shook her head, but Emma knew she couldn't really put into words her true feelings, her fears of what might happen if she got too close to the handsome, intriguing Sir David Marton. She didn't even know herself what those true feelings were. She only knew David Marton wasn't the sort of man for her.

**

Emma Bancroft was a most unusual young lady.

David tried to catch a glimpse of her over the heads of the other dancers gathered around him, but the bright glow of her golden hair had vanished. He almost laughed at himself for the sharp pang of disappointment at her disappearance. He was too old, too responsible, to think about a flighty, pretty girl like Miss Bancroft. A girl who obviously didn't much like him in the bargain.

Yet the disappointment was there, unmistakeable. When she was near, he was always intrigued by her. What was she thinking when she studied the world around her so closely? Her sister said she studied botany, among other interests, and David found himself most curious to know what those interests were. He wanted to know far too much about her and that couldn't be.

He had no place for someone like Emma Bancroft in his life now, and she had no room for him. She seemed to be in search of far more excitement than he could ever give her. After watching his seemingly quiet father's secret temper tantrums when he was a boy, he had vowed to keep control over his life at all times. It had almost been a disaster for his family and their home when he did briefly lose control. Once, he had spent too much time in London, running with a wild crowd, gambling and drinking too much, being attracted to the wrong sort of female, thinking he could forget his life in such pursuits. Until he saw how his actions hurt other people, and he knew he had to change.

As David listened to the opening bars of the dance music and waited for his turn to lead his partner down the line, he caught a glimpse of his sister watching him with an avid gleam in her eyes. Ever since their parents died and he became fully responsible for their family estate at Rose Hill and for Louisa herself, she had been determined to find him a wife. “A proper wife,” she often declared, by which she meant one of her own friends. A young lady from a family they knew well, one Louisa liked spending time with and who would make few changes to their household.

Not a girl like Miss Bancroft, who Louisa had expressed disapproval of more than once. “I cannot fathom her,” Louisa had mused after encountering Miss Bancroft on the road. “She is always running about the countryside, her hems all muddy, with that horrid dog. No propriety at all. And her sister! Where is Lady Ramsay's husband, I should like to know? How can the earl just let the two of them ramble about at Barton Park like that? The house is hardly fit to be lived in. Though we must be nice to them, I suppose. They are our neighbors.”

David suddenly glimpsed Lady Ramsay as she moved around the edge of the dance floor, seeming to look for someone. Her sister perhaps? Miss Bancroft was nowhere to be seen. David had to agree that the Bancroft sisters' situation was an odd one, and not one his own highly respectable parents would have understood. The two women lived alone in that ramshackle old house, seldom going out into neighborhood society, and Lord Ramsay was never seen. Lady Ramsay often seemed sad and distant, and Miss Bancroft very protective of her, which was most admirable.

David thought they also seemed brave, and obviously devoted to each other. Another thing about Miss Bancroft that was unusual—and intriguing.

Suddenly he felt a nudging touch to his hand, and glanced down in surprise to find he still stood on the crowded dance floor. And what was more, it was his turn in the figures as the music ran on around him.

Miss Cole smiled up at him, a quick, dazzling smile of flirtatious encouragement, and he led her down the line of dancers in the quick, leaping steps of the dance. She spun under his arm, light and quick, the jewels in her twists of red-gold hair flashing.

“Very well done, Sir David,” she whispered.

Miss Cole, unlike Miss Bancroft, was exactly the sort of young lady his sister wanted to see him marry. The daughter of a local, imminently respectable squire, and friends with Louisa for a long time, pretty and accomplished, sparkling in local society, well-dowered. The kind of wife who would surely run her house well and fit seamlessly into his carefully built life. And she seemed to like him.

Miss Bancroft was assuredly not for him. She was too young, too eccentric, for them to ever suit. His whole life had been so carefully planned by his family and by himself. He almost threw it all away once. He couldn't let all that down now. Not for some strange fascination.

Miss Cole, or a lady like her, would make him a fine wife. Why could he not quit searching the room for a glimpse of Emma Bancroft?