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Spotlight on Twisted Magic

Published September 29th:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HHC299M5

Book 2 in Many Kinds of Magic

In a Regency world where magical gifts mean power and status, they struggle to find a place…

Persephone Thornton is in her cousin’s house to spy on him, for he is England’s dragon lord and her father died while on a mission for Wales. Sephie does not expect to actually like her Cousin Jasper and his wife Delia. Nor does she expect her Welsh contact, one of Jasper’s gardeners, to give her the secret to using her mage gift without it twisting into something undesirable.

Taliesin Ddraennen was raised by the Welsh resistance, and has been spying for them since he was sixteen. He has never before been partnered with a lady from the English aristocracy. Seeing past her thorny nature, Taz quickly comes to admire her resilience and intelligence.

When a spell to eavesdrop on the dragon lord’s meetings is discovered and blamed on Sephie, he refuses to leave her behind. Their escape leads them into England’s ancient forests and the arms of the fae, where they discover the true nature of their mage gifts, which have always twisted to give flawed results.

On their return to the outside world, their newfound connection will be immediately put to the test, when Taz is asked to choose between Sephie and Welsh freedom.

With war all around them and peace seemingly impossible, they must find the path that allows them to choose one another.

Meet Taz and Sephie

Sephie

What a prickly woman! Not that prickles bothered Taz. Some of the prettiest plants had them. Take roses, for example. Miss Thornton reminded him of a rose. A lovely face, petal-soft skin—or so he imagined—and a graceful form. She was a little shorter than him, with a slender but shapely figure, hair of a sort of flaxen gold tied carelessly in a bun, and bright blue eyes.

Taz

It was a nice face, too, now that she came to really look at it. Handsome, if thin. In fact, he was an attractive man. Dark hair with a slight curl, grey eyes with a hint of green, the broad shoulders of a man who did physical labor, but not so broad as to be out of place on a slender man of medium height.

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Finding My Way to You in Moonlight Madness

Finding My Way To You: by Sherry Ewing

The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time (Book Seven)

When a ghost meets a determined lady, can he convince her to leave the past where it belongs?

Sir Rolf Norwood has been alone haunting Berwyck Castle for centuries. He is bound to the estate after vowing to watch over its descendant throughout time. A chance encounter with a lady who can actually see him makes him wonder if love has possibly found him, although to love her is inconceivable.

Lady Leonora Beckwith is not your typical lady. Her mother has all but disowned her for her ability to see ghosts. Leaving London to live near the Scottish border may give her younger sister a chance to find a suitable match. But upon her arrival, how could Leonora have known that one look at the ghost who resides at Berwyck, would change her fate… and his.

When an impossible opportunity reveals itself, Leonora willingly leaps at the chance to change Rolf’s history because sometimes you to need to follow where you heart leads.

An excerpt from Finding My Way to You

Rolf… his name being called out in a breathy whisper made him rush forward as though God Himself carried Rolf to a room without his consent. Aye! He appeared in his ghostly shape in the bedchamber of who he assumed was Berwyck’s latest visitor to the castle. But he had not appeared here willingly. Nay… ’twas done by a power not of his own making. What kind of magic did this woman possess?

He hovered near the bed to gaze down upon the vision before him. He had seen many women come and go over the centuries from Berwyck’s walls but none had ever had such an effect on him. His heart raced within his chest and he realized he had reached out his hand to stroke her brown hair that had come loose from her coiffure. He closed his fingers to resist the temptation before him. No woman had ever made his heart flutter as though he had found love accept one and even then he had known the lady was destined for another. So why now? Why would the good Lord above send a woman that could make him actually feel something for a lady not of his own world?

“Rolf.” His name repeated aloud once again made him smile to hear the sound of her voice.

He continued to watch the woman before him as she apparently dreamed of him but how did she know his name? He frowned as though trying to remember her from another visit to the castle but he swore he had never seen her before this very moment. Something flashed in his memory of gazing at her standing at the entryway to the great hall but she had not been from the present day. ’Twas improbable that he had met her before now. Or was it?

Meet Sherry Ewing

Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. An award-winning and bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.

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Magic for children in WIP Wednesday

Today, I have an excerpt from Small Magic, which I expect back from the editor late this week or early next. It is book 3 in Many Kinds of Magic, and sends my hero and heroine to join Napoleon’s army as it advances into Russia. But in this excerpt, my heroine is using her very small gift of magic to coax compliance out of two reluctant pupils.

Clara gave in first. The temptation of the paper parrots proved too much for her, and she wrote three misspelled paragraphs about kittens. The writing showed promise. The sentence that described kittens as “tiny tigers that prowl the stables and are death to mice” was remarkably mature for her age. And Hannah was rather taken by the phrase “warm, sweet, and fierce,” which was perfectly true, even if “fierce” lacked an “i”, an “r” and a “c”, and had an extra “e” and an “s” in their place.

As her reward, Clara chose to learn how to make paper parrots rather than go out for a walk. Hannah assured her she could have both, but Clara cast a glance at her brooding sister and politely said, “Just the parrots please, Miss Prendergast.”

That being the case, the pair of them sat folding paper, Clara copying Hannah as closely as she could, and Hannah helping her to correct any mistakes. Before long, they had a little row of parrots waiting on the table.

Next came the spell. This time, Hannah said the animating rhyme out loud as Clara brushed the salt and ginger mix on one parrot after another, until a flock of them were fluttering around the room, with Clara dancing beneath them, laughing and trying to catch them.

Agnes stared at them with her mouth open, her eyes filled with longing, but when she saw Hannah watching her, she scowled, picked up a book, and began reading.

The parrots didn’t last long. They had a habit of crashing into walls or furniture, shedding some of the spelled mix and softening the paper. Hannah had already warned Clara that the effect of the spell would be temporary, and the little girl made no complaint when the last parrot crash landed on the carpet.

“Let us tidy up,” Hannah said, “and I shall ask for cheese and bread to toast for a treat.”

“For Agnes, too?” Clara asked. What a sweet child she was.

“I’m not hungry,” grumbled Agnes.

On the following day, Hannah once again talked about the benefits to both her and her pupils of cooperation, and the costs of a continued war. “For today’s treat after lessons, I propose the walk I suggested yesterday. I have another spell I should like to show you. Have you ever heard bluebells singing?”

Once again, Clara was excited to comply. She and Hannah went through her cat essay, discussing spelling and grammar. Once she had written a fair copy, they worked through a few sums. After seeing the essay, Hannah had formed a positive opinion of Nanny’s teaching abilities. Clara’s arithmetic put an end to it.

Still, the girl was bright and willing. She would learn.

Agnes, who had been watching from her seat by the nursery fireplace, said, “Nanny said we do not need to learn our numbers. Arithmetic is for men, not ladies.”

“Oh?” Hannah replied. “I think perhaps your mother would disagree with that. If you do not know your numbers, how will you manage your dress allowance. Will you just keep spending until your father growls? And when you are married, how will you know whether your cook and housekeeper are cheating you? Will you expect your husband to keep your household accounts?”

Agnes lapsed into silence, but she did not join in, so when Clara and Hannah left for their walk, Hannah asked the nursery maid to sit with Agnes.

Clara was bubbling over with excitement when they returned, eager to tell Agnes all about the wonderful singing of a forest full of bluebells. Agnes turned away and refused to listen. Clara told the nursery maid, instead.

It had been a single clearing, and the bluebells sang a simple nursery rhyme. Hannah, after all, only had small magic. But Clara had been delighted, and that was the main thing. Now Hannah had to think of something for tomorrow. Something that Agnes could not resist.

She would need to pull out her book of spells tonight, and go through it looking for ideas.

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Spotlight on “The Haunted Hoyden” in Moonlight Madness

Here is the next in my series of spotlights on the novellas in Moonlight Madness. Preorder for October 15th at the low preorder price for eight wonderful stories. https://books2read.com/u/4Dwnjr

The Haunted Hoyden

By Barbara Monajem

War-weary Lord Felipe reluctantly returns to England, obliged to marry and provide an heir for his father’s marquisate. He has barely stepped off the boat when he’s shot as a suspected smuggler.

Stuck in the country with a strict, elderly cousin, Lily rescues the handsome, wounded Felipe with the help of two friendly ghosts. Felipe is just what she needs to avoid not only boredom, but a wicked plan to curb her scandalous behavior once and for all.

Felipe can’t help but love Lily, but he doesn’t consider himself good husband material. How can she persuade him that he’s precisely what this hoyden needs?

Meet Lily and Felipe

Lily Transom is lively, clever, fun-loving, and curious—and it’s her curiosity about things a maiden shouldn’t know that leads to her banishment to the Dower House in the care of an unpleasant, conniving old lady. Fortunately, two friendly ghosts keep her company and help her rescue a wounded man who can keep her safe.

Lord Felipe Swanheld is the war-weary son of a marquess. He is an excellent impersonator, speaks several languages fluently, and served for years as a spy in France and Spain. He is considered a disgrace by society, but when he ends up wounded and in Lily’s care, he proves that he’s actually the soul of honor.

Excerpt:

“My parents have gone to London, while I’ve been banished here to ponder my sins,” Lily said.

“Sins?” The wounded stranger grinned. “Tsk, tsk.”

She blushed. “Nothing very dreadful—only disrespect and disobedience.”

“Ah. A girl after my own heart,” he said.

There I go again, being bad, Lily told herself. A respectable lady wouldn’t enjoy the innuendo in his voice. A sensible one would send him on his way. Fortunately, though, he was in no condition to go anywhere.

“We’d best get out of here, for they’ll search the ground floor first,” she said. “We’ll take the servants’ stairs. If you go up on your derriere, step by step—”

He snorted.

“What?”

“Ladies have derrieres. Men have arses.”

She huffed. “Up on your arse, then.” She fashioned him a sling from her shawl and helped him to the servants’ stairs. It was touch and go—he was weak and in constant danger of falling—but somehow, they both reached the landing. She peeked into the passageway.

“Can you walk a few steps?” she whispered. “We’re almost there.”

“For my gallant rescuer, I can do anything,” he said, and surprisingly, he did. A minute later, they reached her bedchamber. She unlocked the door, hurried him in, and shut and locked it again. She set the key on the lintel and sagged with relief against the door, her forehead against the cool, smooth wood.

When she turned a few seconds later, the stranger was flat on his back on her bed, fast asleep.

 

 

 

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Deathbed promises on WIP Wednesday


I wrote this preface to Within the Heart last week. I’ve moved on. It’s not going to be in the final book. But it is still part of the work in progress, so I thought I’d share it with you.

The rain drummed on the roof above the tiny attic room, making it hard for Ruth to hear her brother’s thready voice. She leant closer to the bed, which was just a thin mattress on the floor, not even the mean bed that she had in the maid’s quarters where she should be, except that the butler had permitted her into this part of the attic to nurse her sick brother.

“Promise me, Ruth,” Ricky said. “Promise me you’ll go to London in my place. The streets are paved with gold in London, so they say. You’ll be rich, just like I always promised.”

Ruth clung to Ricky’s hand. “You’ll get better,” she said. “You’ll get better, and we’ll go together. That’s what we planned, Ricky. I can’t do it on my own.”

“You can,” Ricky said. “You have to. I’ll be in heaven watching you, Ruth. I’ll watch you every step of the way.”

“No, Ricky.”

“Yes. You can do it, twin. Do it for me.”

That wee bit of conversation had exhausted him. He fell back on his pillow and lapsed back into sleep.

The doctor wouldn’t come for a scullion, said the butler, but he sent for Mrs. Brown, the wise woman. She examined Ricky and said it was the ague. She suggested a mustard plaster, and Ruth made it with her own hands and applied it. But it didn’t help, and nor did the ginger tea that Ruth had to pay for with a few coins from the twin’s meager store.

Mrs. Brown came again and shook her head. “Prepare yourself for the worst, girl,” she advised Ruth, but how could Ruth prepare oneself for the loss of the only person that was hers in the whole world?

Ricky woke again a few more times, and in one of his lucid periods, he asked Ruth to read the letter. She was carrying it in her apron pocket, for it was too precious to leave with her possessions or his.

Ricky had made a posset for a London gentleman who was staying in the house, and the gentleman had been so impressed that he had offered Ricky a job. Ricky had asked for a letter to show the gentleman’s cook, and the gentleman had laughed and given it to him.

It had one sentence, the one Ricky had built his dream on. “Give this boy a job.” Then the man’s signature. That was all.

“See, Ricky,” said Ruth. “I cannot go. They’re expecting a boy.”

“Pretend to be me,” said Ricky. “Promise, Ruth.”

And in the end, Ruth promised.

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Spotlight on “Always With You” in Moonlight Madness

Today, the first in a series of introductions to the stories in Moonlight Madness, the new collection from the Bluestocking Belles, now on preorder at a special introductory price of only $1.99

Buy Link:  https://books2read.com/u/4Dwnjr

Always With You

By Elizabeth Donne

Jessie and Florrie Dobbs live a simple, happy life selling fish at Weymouth docks. That is, until the Royal Navy press-gangs Jessie into service, forcing husband and wife apart without any idea of where he will be going, how long he will be away, or whether he will ever return.

Each must cope with their new challenges alone, bolstered only by memories of each other and the hope that they will be together again. All the while, the silence between them stretches on interminably.

Can Jessie keep his promise to return to Florrie? Or will they only be reunited in the next life?

An excerpt from Always With You

The hatch opened for the first time. The bright noonday sun blinded them. Perhaps another tactic to keep them on the back foot.

Jesse only knew that he could breathe again. The fresh salt air filled his nostrils. His lungs had hungered for it as his belly had for food and his parched lips had for water.

He closed his eyes, helping them grow accustomed to the blazing light. It still shone pink through his eyelids, and his head pounded with the needs his body wanted met. But he could inhale deeply, expand his chest, sip again a little of real life beyond the hellish hold. These small moments must be savored. They would be his salvation when dread threatened to overcome him.

“All right, you lot. Get up here!” called a voice from above.

The two youngsters were first up the laddered steps. The older men were not as keen to find out what awaited them.

One by one they surfaced onto the deck. It was manned by uniformed sailors and officers with swords. Beyond the gunwale, the coastline receded. This, more than anything, hit Jesse hard. His life had been on that strip of land. And it was slipping away.

Meet Elizabeth Donne

Elizabeth Donne’s writing is a natural outpouring of a lifelong love affair with English literature. Although she has spent most of her life in Cape Town, South Africa, she now lives in the American Midwest, where she enthusiastically introduces her visitors to the joys of drinking rooibos tea. With a biscuit, of course

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My September sales books

This month, I have my usual monthly sale, plus my quarterly sale of one series. You’re welcome!

Monthly sale

My September sale books are A Most Excellent Adventure (a novella in The Golden Redepennings series), the novel The Realm of Silence (book 3 in The Golden Redepennings series), and Paradise Triptych (a collection of two novellas and a memoir in The Return of the Mountain King).

A Most Excellent Adventure https://books2read.com/u/4DrxLO

The Realm of Silence https://books2read.com/TheRealmofSilence

Paradise Triptych https://books2read.com/Triptych

Quarterly sale

For two weeks in September, I have the series The Return of the Mountain King on sale, plus all the novellas for secondary characters who appear in the series.

The four novels are usually $4.49: the first novel is reduced to $0.99 and the other three to half price.

  1. To Wed a Proper Lady  https://books2read.com/CMK-ProperLady
  2. To Mend the Broken Hearted https://books2read.com/Broken-Hearted
  3. To Claim the Long-Lost Lover https://books2read.com/CMK-Claim
  4. To Tame a Wild Rake https://books2read.com/CMK-ToTame

The six other books are Paradise Triptych, which is two novellas and a memoir reduced from $2.49 to $1.49, and five other stand alone novellas, each reduced from $1.49 to $0.99.

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Spotlight on The Duchess Curse

Shadows rule the darkness. She must embrace them to find the light.

A transcendent daughter’s life should be carefree, but Guinevere’s life has always been a curse. Loving any man could kill him, so she swears to remain a spinster. And when her parents force her into an arranged marriage, she knows the only way to save the mysterious duke she could love, is to break his heart by leaving.

No matter how much Guinevere pushes him away, the Duke of Braxton knows she’s the only woman for him. His magic allows him to hide his identity and follow her wherever she goes. As she cultivates the reputation of the most notorious potion maker in England, he abandons the role of duke for that of Guinevere’s bodyguard Bran.

Years later, a Queen’s command forces them to meet once more as man and wife, duke and duchess. But he can’t keep his secrets forever, and when Guinevere finds out Braxton and Bran are the same man…

He’ll do anything to atone.
And she’ll do anything to keep him safe, even break her own heart.

Book 3 in this historical romantasy series has:
~ Gaslamp fantasy
~ hints of steampunk and witchery
~ a marriage in trouble
~ spicy open door scenes
~ love potion revenge
~ all the groveling
~ women in magical STEM
~Bridgerton meets magic

EXCERPT:

His eyes were golden and glowing, intense, and they’d caught her, trapped her until he stood right in front of her and took her jaw in his hands. A gentle touch that contradicted the angry angle of his jaw, the thin, disapproving line of his lips. Not a single waver in his glamour. It was entirely opaque, almost entirely real but for the sparks of gold around the edges.

Beneath the glamour, he wore no gloves. How odd that what she felt—warm, rough skin—put a lie to what she saw—the finest gloves of an almost blinding white wrapped around elegant fingers.

He brushed his thumb over the curve of her cheek, and something like a growl rippled past the glamour. “What is this?” Voice low and controlled, every word clipped and precise.

“Wh-what is what?”

“I assume he’s objecting to the scratch,” Queen Victoria suggested. “You never did clean up the blood.”

“Who do I have to kill?” he asked, voice low as the rumble of a storm in the distance.

“It was nothing,” Guinevere said. “A small attack on my way here. My guard and I made short work of the fellow.” She stepped to the side, away from his touch and sat back at the table, whipping up the serviette and dipping it into her tea. Uncouth, but she needed desperately to wipe away the mark that drew her husband’s gaze.

He sat roughly beside her and yanked the serviette out of her hand, caught up her chin again and pressed the cloth to the scratch. He cleaned it gingerly, his glamoured face passive.

Queen Victoria clapped. “Oh, wonderful! I knew I was right. No one better than a husband to protect his wife.”

Meet Charlie Lane

Charlie Lane traded in academic databases and scholarly journals for writing steamy Regency romcoms like the ones she’s always loved to read. When she’s not writing humorous conversations, dramatic confrontations, or sexy times, she’s flying high in the air as a circus-obsessed acrobat.

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A lost soul in WIP Wednesday

In my story for the next Bluestocking Belles anthology, my hero meets my heroine in unexpected circumstances.

Barney had been staring into the library fire, trying to come to terms with his own death. Perhaps it would have been easier if he could remember it, but he had a blank space in his memory, between riding toward Farrington Grange and finding himself at the house party.

He heard someone enter the room, but he hadn’t bothered to react. After all, whoever it was wouldn’t see him.

The newcomer was the lady who had been playing pall mall with Feltonworthy. He had heard others in the party call her Miss Williamson. He had watched her playing charades partnered with that idiot Melville. They had mimed climbing up, and then climbing down again carrying something between them. After that, first Melville and then Miss Williamson fell down. Barney had guessed “Jack and Jill.” What else could it be?

Had he made it to the house party alive, he would have won the game. Did today’s experiences sum up the rest of his existence? Watching other people living while unable to communicate with anyone? Alone? Always alone?

His shudder was violent, and Miss Williamson turned around just as suddenly. And stared at him. Barney stood. “Can you see me?” he asked. “Can you hear me?”

Disappointingly, she did not respond. But she did raise her lamp to shine the light on the chair where he sat, and she did narrow her eyes in thought.

She cast a quick glance around the library and then focused on him again. At least, he thought she was looking at him, and in the next moment, she confirmed it. “Are you a ghost?” she asked. “Why are you here? Can I help you?”

No scream. No fluster. Three sensible questions. Why didn’t Barney meet ladies like that when he was alive? Clever and composed, as well as pretty.

“I think I must be,” he told her. “I don’t know why I am here or why no one else can see or hear me. Could you tell my parents and my sister? I’ve tried to talk to them, but you are the first person I’ve met that I’ve been able to talk to.”

Miss Williamson shook her head. “I am sorry,” she said. “I can see that you are talking, but I cannot hear a word you say.”

Barney was, as he could confirm by looking down at his own arms and legs, composed of something that resembled mist, but apparently that mist included a heart and guts, or the ghost equivalent, for his heart fell and his guts churned. Now what?

It transpired that Miss Williamson was equal to the challenge.

“I shall ask you some questions, sir, if you wish. Nod for ‘yes’ and shake your head for ‘no’.”

Excellent thinking. Barney nodded like a mad marionette, exaggerating his movements so there would be no possibility of confusion.

She had a rather adorable crease between her eyebrows when she was thinking, and a way of pursing her lips that set Barney thinking about kissing. Which reminded him he was dead, and presumably wouldn’t be kissing anyone ever again.

Unless he met a nice lady ghost. He supposed a single day, however long it seemed, was not evidence there were no other people stuck in spirit form wandering around the world.

“Have you been dead for long?” Miss Williamson asked.

Barney shook his head. His family and his friend looked no older than they had been when he last saw them, and they were at the house party where he was meant to meet them. A couple of days might have passed since his last living memory, but not more than that, surely?

“Did you die in Farrington Grange?” asked his pretty questioner.

He started to shake his head again, but had to pause. Though he thought he had been thrown from his horse, he wasn’t certain the fall had killed him. If he had died recently, and in this house, his parents would know and would be in mourning. Certainly, his mother would not be sitting in her finery calmly playing piquet with her friends.

On the other hand, he had no idea how much time had passed. Perhaps he had been dead for a year, and his family had already put off mourning? He put his hands out to the sides, holding them up and open, and gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

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The Assassination of Spencer Perceval

The novel I’ve recently sent to the publisher is set against the background of civil unrest in 1812, and the assassination of Spencer Perceval, the only Prime Minister of England ever to have been killed while in public office. Here’s what I wrote in the Author’s Note about those circumstances.

The assassination of Spencer Perceval is an historical fact. He is the sole British prime minister ever to have been assassinated. He was killed at about 5.15pm on May 11th 1812 by a Liverpool merchant with a grievance against the government.

Perceval’s determination to continue the war against Napoleon had led to harsh measures that added to the poverty and unrest already besetting the country, but that wasn’t what upset Bellingham. He blamed the government for his financial losses over a business deal gone sour in Russia. The Russians took the side of merchants who had Bellingham arrested over a debt owed by a business associate. The British ambassador refused to intervene, as the point at issue was a civil debt. Bellingham refused any compromise, and made such a nuisance of himself that the Russians imprisoned him, and it was not until 1809 that he returned to England, determined to seek compensation for his imprisonment and financial losses.

After spending more than a year petitioning every level of government, Bellingham apparently decided that he had only one recourse. By killing Perceval, he believed he would have a chance to put his case to a judge, and be vindicated at last.

It is true, as I show in the novel, that there was widespread rejoicing on the part of hungry workers when Perceval was killed, and widespread grief amongst his friends and colleagues. The ruling classes initially feared that Perceval’s assassination was part of a revolution, or might cause one, and the government responded by calling out the Foot Guards, mounted troops, the City militia, and the local watches.

It is also true that his trial was held a few days after the shooting, on Friday 15th May. His execution followed on the following Monday. A week after Perceval died, Bellingham was hanged. While justice delayed is justice denied, justice rushed so fast that the accused has no time to prepare a case must also be flawed.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Andro Linklater, author of the book “Why Spencer Perceval Had to Die.” It was from this book that I learned many of the details that form the background of the story. I am particularly indebted to Linklater for pointing out that Bellingham suddenly found a source of income in the weeks immediately prior to the assassination. He paid his rent, purchased two guns and ammunition to go with them, bought new clothing, and took his landlady and her child out sightseeing.

Linklater’s theory is that powerful merchants on both sides of the Atlantic resented Perceval’s continued fight against the slave trade. He makes a good case for his choice as Bellingham’s paymaster, and perhaps he is correct. Read the book and see what you think.

For my purposes, I chose another historical character, General Isaac Gascoyne, who apparently knew the identity of the victim without being told, claimed not to recognize Bellingham though he had met him several times, and changed his testimony several times.

All the other members of my conspiracy and their opposition are fictional.