Special Offer, Tangled Love, Historical Novel, Prologue

 

Tangled Love by Rosemary Morris

Prologue

England -1693

 

Nine year-old Richelda Shaw sat on the floor in her nursery. She pulled a quilt over her head to block out the thunder pealing outside the ancient manor house while an even fiercer storm raged deep within. Eyes closed, she remained as motionless as a marble statue.

Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, yanked the quilt from her head. ‘Stand up child, there’s nothing to be frightened of. Come, your father’s waiting for you.’

Richelda trembled. Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while servants spoke in hushed tones.

Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire lilies of the valley in a Delft bowl.  Only yesterday, she picked the flowers to welcome Father home before arranging them with tender care. Now, the bowl stood on a chest, beneath a pair of crossed broadswords hanging on the wall.

Elsie opened the great massive door of the great hall where Father stood to one side of an enormous hearth. Richelda hesitated. Her eyes searched for her mother before she walked across the floor, spread her skirts wide and knelt before him.

Father placed his right hand on her bent head. ‘Bless you, daughter, may God keep you safe.’ He smiled. ‘Stand up, child. Upon my word, sweetheart, your hair reminds me of a golden rose. How glad I am to see roses bloom in these troubled times.’

Richelda stood but dared not speak for she did not know him well.

Putting an arm round her waist, he drew her to him. ‘Come, do not be nervous of your father. Tell me if you know King James II holds court in France while his daughter, Mary, and William, his son-in-law, rule after seizing his throne?’

‘Yes, Mother told me we are well rid of King James and his Papist wife,’ she piped up, proud of her knowledge.

With a sigh, Father lifted her onto his knee. ‘Richelda, I must follow His Majesty for I swore an oath of allegiance to him. Tell me, child, while King James lives how can I with honour swear allegiance to his disloyal daughter and her husband?’

Unable to think of a reply, she lowered her head breathing in his spicy perfume.

Father held her closer. ‘Your mother pleads with me to declare myself for William and Mary. She begs me not to return to France, but I am obliged to serve King James. Do you understand?’

As she nodded her cheek brushed against his velvet coat. ‘Yes, I understand, my tutor explained why many gentlemen will not serve the new king and queen.’

‘If you remain in England, you will be safe. Bellemont is part of your mother’s dowry so I doubt it will be confiscated.’

If she remained in England! Startled, she stared at him.

Smiling, he popped her onto her feet. ‘We shall ride. I have something to show you.’

*****

Before long, they drew rein on the brow of a hill. Father pointed at a manor house in the valley.  ‘Look at our ancestral home, Field House. The Roundheads confiscated it soon after the first King Charles’ execution.  Richelda, I promised my father to do all in my power to regain the property.’ Grey-faced, he pressed his hand to his chest.  ‘Alas, I have failed to keep my oath,’ he wheezed.

Richelda not only yearned to help him keep his promise to her grandfather, she also yearned to find the gold and jewels legend said her buccaneer ancestor, Sir Nicholas, hid.

She waited for her father to breathe easy before she spoke. ‘If we found the treasure trove you could buy Field House.’

 ‘Ah, you believe Sir Nicholas did not give all his plunder to Good Queen Bess,’ he teased.

 ‘Elsie told me legend says he hid some of his booty in Field House,’ she said excited by the thought of a treasure trove. ‘In his old age, when Sir Nicholas retired from seafaring, is it true that he put his ship’s figurehead, Lady Luck, in the great hall?’ she asked by now less shy of him.

‘Yes, for all I know she is still above a mighty fireplace carved with pomegranates, our family’s device.’

‘I would like to see it.’

 ‘One day, perhaps you will. Now, tell me if you know our family motto.’

‘Fortune favours the brave.’

‘Are you brave, my little lady? Will you swear on the Bible to do all in your power to regain Field House?’

To please him, she nodded.

 

* * * *

 

Tangled Love, is on special offer for £1.84 OR $3.05.

 

Available from:-

https://museituppublishing.com/bookshopwww.amazon.com.www.amazon.co.uk kobo, nook, barnes and noble and elsewhere.

 

View the book trailer and read the first three chapers at:

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nasty Review. Help Please.

Vicious Attack.

 

I am not the only novelist to have received a distressing, vicious review of one or more novel.

Another novelist suggested we should take action by replyitng and readers cab support us by replying No to amazon’s query “was this review helpful to you?”

Unfortunately, in spite of other 5***** reviews, two people replied Yes to the question re:my novel Tangled Love which currently on special offer.

If it is not against your conscience, I would be grateful if you would visit www.amazon.co.uk search the kindle store for Tangled Love by Rosemary Morris, visit the reviews, find the only 1* review and reply: No this review was not helpful.

Amongst other things the reviewer commented on clichés in Tangled Love. As I explained yesterday, my contents and line editors would dispute their use and I would agree not to use them, unless I used a cliché very occasionally in conversation.

I would be pleased to do this for another novelist who receives an unjustified attack on a novel.

Personally, if I can’t give a book a 4**** or 5**** review, I don’t post one – in other words if I don’t have anything nice to write, I don’t post anything.

 

All the best,

Rosemary Morris

Historical Novelist

 

Visit my website to read the first three chapters and view the book trailer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tangled Love. Historical Novel. Special Offer.

 Just to let you know that my historical novel, Tangled Love, is on special offer for £1.84 OR $3.05.

 Tangled Love set in England in 1706 during Queen Anne Stuart’s reign is a story of two great estates, duty, honour, betrayal and passionate love.

 Available from:

https://museituppublishing.blogspot.com/bookstore

www.amazon.com.
www.amazon.co.uk
and elsewhere.

 Read the first three chapters and view the book trailer for free on Rosemary Morris’s website. www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Show Don't Tell - Be A Stylish Writer

Show Don’t Tell

One way to make your work fascinating is to use the active rather than the passive voice.
Passive

Passive designates a form of the verb by which the verbal action is attributed to the person or thing to whom it is actually directed: i.e. the logical object is the grammatical subject. E.g. He was seen by us. Passive. The opposite of active. Active: We saw him.

In a grammatically active construction, the subject is performing the action.

eg Jack ate the chocolate. (Jack is the subject, he’s performing the action, the chocolate is the object.)


Exposition

At the beginning of a play the dramatist is often committed to giving a certain amount of essential information about the plot and events which are to come. He may also have to give information about what has ‘already happened’. All this comes under the heading of exposition. A skilful dramatist is able to introduce material without holding up the action of the play and with recourse to the obvious devices of narrative.

Exposition is also a subject which other fiction writers need to consider. A writer might do well to remember that in Writing Circles, was, were, had, feel, felt and feeling are often considered to be passive words which tell instead of showing. A writer should also remember that modern editors and publishers tend to shy away from exposition.

***
I could have begun my published novel, Tangled Hearts, like this:

Richelda Shaw was in her nursery when Elsie, her mother’s maid, told her that her father had summoned her. After she had delivered the message, Elsie had followed her to the great hall where her father was waiting.
This tells my reader what happened but is not interesting.

Instead, I began.

“Richelda Shaw stood silent in her nursery while thunder pealed outside the ancient manor house and an even fiercer storm raged deep within. She pressed her hands to her ears and, eyes closed, remained as motionless as the marble statues in the orangery.

‘Nine years old and you’ve not yet learned to be neat!’ Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, pulled Richelda’s hands from her ears. ‘Come, your father’s waiting for you.’

Richelda’s hands trembled. What was wrong? Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while the servants spoke in hushed tones.

Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down the broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire the lilies of the valley in a Delft bowl. Only yesterday, she picked the flowers to welcome Father home. After she had arranged them with tender care, she placed them on a chest, which stood beneath a pair of crossed broadswords on the wall above.

Elsie opened the massive door of the great hall where Father stood to one side of the enormous hearth.
This shows the heroine acting in a way consistent with her situation, instead of telling the reader about it.
However, as for ‘telling’ being wrong, it is not. Was, were, had, feel, felt and feeling are part of the English language and if I showed every single event in a novel it would be too long for publication.

It is how I use was, were, had, feel, felt and feeling which matters, not whether or not I use them.

I need the skill to decide when telling is too much and when I should stop telling and start showing.

Characterisation

In Tangled Hearts, I could have written the following to tell my reader that Chesney, the hero, is handsome:-

“Chesney had the classical features of Adonis. He was tall, had perfect proportions and was in good health.”

Instead I wrote:-

“…‘Who is that Adonis?’ A high-pitched female voice interrupted Chesney’s thoughts.

Chesney looked round and saw a powdered and patched lady with rouged cheeks staring at him.

‘I don’t know, I think he’s a newcomer to town,’ her companion, a younger lady said in an equally strident tone.


Unaffected by their comments he laughed. Since his youth women remarked on his height and his perfect proportions. He did not consider himself vain, but unlike some members of his gentlemen’s club, who took little exercise and overate, he fenced, hunted and rode to keep his body fit.

The older lady inclined her head, the younger one winked before they went about their business.”

Of course introspection is a form of telling but it is effective and reveals the character.

In Tangled Hearts it was not enough to tell my reader that Chesney is brave. I needed to show him in action.

“Chesney rushed to the cottage. ‘Keep back, Richelda,’ he shouted, ‘the thatch will ignite like tinder.’

Taking no heed of his instructions, she ran after him and followed him down the short corridor to the kitchen where smoke poured from beneath the door. ‘I think Elsie is in there,’ Richelda screamed above the roar of the fire.

Every trace of an indolent nobleman vanished. Chesney snatched off his periwig, wrenched off his coat and swathed it round his head.

‘Go outside! Your clothes will burn like kindling.’ He disappeared into the kitchen.”
***
I believe that I must strive to grab my reader’s attention from the first line to the last, and that passive writing – or telling – weakens the prose.
When I revise my work I use the search and find facility on the computer to highlight the words which tell and decide whether or not I can improve the text.

To be a writer not only do I need to be an artist, I also need to craft my work. Words are the tools which I use to write a page turner for my readers.


Flashbacks


Chesney lived in France with his father etc., is exposition in conversation. “Do you know I lived in France at the court of James II in St Germaine etc.,” is description.

A flashback reveals something that occurred in the past as though it occurs in the present.

Even if the reader needs to know about my character’s past I am cautious as to how I reveal it.

Frequently, flashbacks are often badly written and they jerk the reader from the present to the past.

The knack is to slip in essential facts without disrupting the story - memory of something that happened in the past, the reply to a question, a letter or an entry in a diary

Tangled Hearts is set in England in 1702 at the beginning of Queen Anne’s reign. In order to avoid flashbacks full of historical detail to I began with Author’s Notes.

“When the outwardly Protestant Charles II died in 1685, he left a country torn by religious controversy but no legitimate children. The throne passed to his Catholic brother James.

It was an anxious time for the people, whose fears increased when James II, became so unpopular that he was forced into exile. In 1688, James’s Protestant daughter, Mary, and her husband, William of Orange, became the new king and queen of England.

Some English Protestants, who had sworn allegiance to James II, refused to take a new oath of allegiance to William and Mary and joined him in France.

When James’s younger daughter, Anne, inherited the throne in 1702, many Protestant exiles returned to England. Others declared themselves Jacobites and supporters of James II son, James III, by his second wife, Mary of Modena, and stayed abroad. They believed James III should be king.”

In my rough draft of Tangled Hearts the scene in the manor house when my heroine, Richelda, is a child, (quoted above) was a flashback. When I revised the novel I realised it was too long so I scrapped it and began with a prologue that contained the essential information.

Conclusion

Words are a writer’s tools. Avoid dull narrative, boring flashbacks and unnecessary exposition. Write stylishly. Words should sparkle and grip the reader.

Tangled Hearts by Rosemary Morris - Chapter Two

Tangled Hearts by Rosemary Morris

Chapter Two


Chesney stepped from Lady Ware’s spacious house into King Street and walked towards Whitehall. Although the proposal to marry Mistress Shaw took him by surprise, he gave further thought to accepting it. Yet he would not wait for Mistress Shaw to come to town and parade in the latest fashions, powder and patch. Where did she live? He searched his memory.
Ah, now he remembered. She lived at Bellemont. Lady Ware had mentioned the estate lay close by his newly purchased property. Why not hazard a journey there and cast an eye over both domains?
His stride quickened to keep pace with his racing mind. Was Mistress Shaw tall or short, plain or pretty, blonde or brunette? Was she meek or shrewish, illiterate or well educated?
Cocksure, Chesney took Mistress Shaw’s acceptance of his proposal for granted. For, when all else was said and done, he was a viscount, well educated and not ill-favoured.
If the lady proved suitable he would wed her partly for her inheritance and partly because it was time to settle down and have a family. For his part, he would try not to give her cause for complaint and to ensure she lacked naught. They would refurbish Field House, improve the estate and purchase a town house.
His inner voice nagged him. What of love?
For most people of his rank, sentiment had little to do with marriage. In fact, some said no lady concerned herself with the vulgarity of love and passion. A wife should derive happiness and satisfaction through ensuring her husband’s comfort, good works, plying her needle and raising children.
He sighed. A man in his position must marry if only to father heirs.
‘Who is that Adonis?’ A high-pitched female voice interrupted his thoughts.
Chesney looked round and saw a powdered and patched lady with rouged cheeks staring at him.
‘I don’t know, I think he’s a newcomer to town,’ her companion, a younger lady said in an equally strident tone.
Unaffected by their comments he laughed. Since his youth women commented on his height and his perfect proportions. He did not consider himself vain, but unlike some members of his gentlemen’s club, who took little exercise and over ate, he fenced, hunted and rode to keep his body fit.
The older lady inclined her head, the younger one winked before they went about their business.
Chesney whistled low and wondered what Mistress Shaw would think of him? He contemplated the future with pleasure. With a smile, he thought of the entertainment London offered: coffeehouses, theatres, parks, concerts and pleasure gardens.
Mistress Shaw’s inheritance, added to his more modest one, would ensure they could command the elegancies of life.
When he reached his lodgings, he summoned Roberts. ‘Pack, we leave for Field House tomorrow. Send a message to the stables. I require the coach at eight in the morning. Is there anything to eat?’
Roberts shook his head.
‘Order some mutton pies from the tavern. Do you want me to die of hunger? Hurry, man, what do you tarry for?’
Roberts bowed low, straightened and regarded him, his face creased in familiar lines of despair.
‘What?’ Chesney asked. Why did he always feel dishevelled in the presence of a manservant only six years his senior?
He could not remember a day when Roberts did not wear an immaculate black cloth suit, a neat black waistcoat and unwrinkled stockings.
‘Firstly, my lord, the sooner you purchase a London House and employ a cook the better it will be. Secondly, with all due respect, my lord, your appearance grieves me.’
Chesney looked contritely at his black, buckled shoes and his white silk stockings splashed with muck from London’s filthy streets. He knew Roberts aspired to take the credit for him always being dressed to perfection and teased. ‘Do not despair, you shall have the pleasure of dressing me in fine clothes on my wedding day.’


* * *

Mid-March was mild. After an early thaw the roads dried sufficiently for the coach to travel faster than usual. Protected by armed outriders and postilions, Chesney did not fear highwaymen. Besides, armed with his sword and firearm he trusted his ability to deal with any miscreant.
They reached St Albans before dark and proceeded to Bellemont Village where they put up for the night at The King’s Head.
In the morning, Chesney delighted his manservant by being more particular than usual about his appearance.
With deep satisfaction, Roberts drew up Chesney’s black silk stockings embroidered with gold before he adjusted the black velvet garters.
Chesney stood and twitched the lace frothing at his wrists into place. ‘My waistcoat.’
He took the cream satin waistcoat embroidered with gold Celtic knots from Roberts.
‘Allow me to help you, my lord.’
‘I am not a complete milksop.’ Chesney put his waistcoat on before allowing Roberts to ease him into a black velvet coat trimmed with parallel rows of gold buttons and buttonholes bound with gold thread.
‘My lord, if only you dressed so fine every day.’ Roberts removed the periwig as black as Chesney’s natural hair from a stand and put it on his master’s head.
Ready to depart, Chesney held a black hat trimmed with gold lace and a curled plume in one hand and in the other hand a cane ornamented with a knot of black and gold ribbons.
Now, Chesney thought, his curiosity intense, to seek out Mistress Shaw. He went down a flight of narrow stairs and passed the innkeeper, who bowed so low his nose nearly touched his knees. Outside, he picked his way across slippery cobbles dampened by a recent shower. A muffled figure approached him.
‘Lord Greaves, please accept this petition,’ a low voice said.
Chesney looked round the yard with the expectation of seeing Lord Greaves, the corrupt, greedy tax collector for the area. He frowned. ‘I fear you mistake…’
‘My lord, read the petition.’ The female concealed by a voluminous cloak and hood drew closer. She held out a scroll sealed with red wax and stamped with the mark of a pomegranate.

‘Doubtless you think I am impertinent to approach you. But the landlord expected you to pass the night here and I seized my chance to speak to you.’
One of his outriders dismounted and seized the woman’s arm. ‘Off with you.’
‘Release her and remount,’ Chesney ordered. His interest aroused, he hesitated by his coach. ‘Who are you?’
‘I serve Mistress Shaw of Bellemont and promise you that my mistress intends no mischief.’
By her accent, he judged she was not a servant. ‘You may enter my coach and discuss the petition,’ he drawled with feigned indifference.
She scrambled up the steps. A fold of her cloak slipped away from her hand in which she clutched a pistol.
He sat and did not betray his fear that she might be a dangerous lunatic. ‘How sad to see on someone of your tender years brandishing a firearm.’
‘I am not brandishing it,’ she protested. ‘My mistress’ friend, Master Wynwood, told her I must arm myself.’ She lowered the pistol. ‘You did not answer Mistress Shaw’s letters. This is the only way for her to present her case.’
What to do or say? He doubted the baggage knew about the vindictive nature of the licentious tax collector or the cruel bullies he engaged.
‘My lord, my mistress wrote to you and explained Lady Shaw, God rest her soul, supported the Established Church and attended its services twice on Sundays. My mistress is not a Catholic. I implore you to reduce the illegal taxes on Bellemont. That will ensure she has sufficient wherewithal to excavate a short canal to float oak logs to the river to supply the navy. I beg you to oblige me. If you do not …’
‘If I do not?’ Chesney kept an eye on the firearm clutched in both her hands.
‘Mistress Shaw will not be able to support herself. Oh, you cannot imagine how hard Lady Shaw found it to maintain herself while Lord Shaw lived in France.’
‘A Jacobite?’
She hesitated for no more than a moment. ‘Like many other gentlemen his only fault, if you deem it a fault, lay in keeping his oath of allegiance to King James.’
About to reveal his identity, he raised his eyebrows. ‘I regret I cannot help Mistress Shaw and…’
The pistol wobbled. ‘Cannot help her!’ she interrupted. ‘That is not true. You can help her, even if she won’t sell Bellemont to you.’
Chesney eyed the girl from head to toe. Her full cloak revealed little of her person. ‘Has Mistress Shaw no relatives to save her from … er … want?’
‘Her mother’s family ignore my mistress and her closest relative, Lady Ware, her father’s sister ignores her. And her ladyship has enough money to…’
‘Did neither Lady Shaw nor Mistress Shaw apply to her?’
‘No my lord, Lady Shaw wanted nothing that was not freely offered.’
‘But you say your mistress does?’
‘She wants justice. The taxes are unjust.’
The coach bumped violently over a deep rut. The hood slipped from the girl’s head. Chesney braced his feet. A jolt threw her across the coach. Breast to breast with her, Chesney seized her upper arms to prevent her tumbling onto the floor of the coach. For the first time he saw her face, one of such classical beauty it was likely to haunt his dreams. Enchanted, he inhaled the fragrance of the girl’s skin, redolent of fresh air, and appreciated its delightful contrast to Lady Ware’s cloying scent and Maddy’s spicy perfume.
‘Release me, my lord.’
Chesney shuddered. The pistol pointed towards his genitals. He quailed for a split second before he grasped her slender wrist hard enough to release the weapon. It slipped from her grasp. He put his foot on it and looked into her defiant sapphire blue eyes.
‘W-will you help my mistress, Lord Greaves?’
He would pity any lady whose situation drove her to such desperate measures. ‘If I can help, I will.’
Chesney released her and rapped twice on the roof to indicate he wanted the coach to halt.
‘Are you fobbing me off or are you promising to help me?’
‘Odds fish, you are a minx. Be grateful to me for not summoning the constable,’ he teased.
The coach drew to a halt. Chesney flicked open his gold snuffbox and feigned interest in its contents. ‘Perchance we will meet at Bellemont,’ he said in a smooth voice.
‘Bellemont! Why are you going to Bellemont?’
Apprehension lurked in her eyes and her lips, which he still wanted to kiss, tightened.
He snapped shut his snuffbox. ‘I am not obliged to explain my reason to you but I assure you it is a good one. Words fail you. I am not surprised.’ He smiled. ‘Forgive me, although I am sorry to witness your distress, I must to take my leave.’
An outrider let the steps down for his bold but delectable companion.
‘You forgot something.’
‘What?’ she asked her voice sharp as the silken hiss of sword blade against sword blade.
‘Your pistol.’ With an exaggerated flourish, he handed it to her. ‘If you wish to vent your spleen, shoot me, but I fear such an extreme measure will not help your mistress.’
‘Will you help her?’
‘Alas! I am unable to reduce her taxes for I am not Lord Greaves.’
‘Why did you not confess earlier?’ Her eyes darkened like the sky before a storm. ‘You are not a gentleman,’
‘Oh, I am a gentleman but I am certain you are not a servant.’
‘If you are not Lord Greaves, who are you?’
Chesney chuckled and did not reply.

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Tangled Hearts by Rosemary Morris. Authors notes and prologue

I am proud to announce that my historical novel Tangled Hearts, set in the reign of Queen Anne, will soon be available in bookshops. It is now available from my

Author’s Notes

When the outwardly Protestant Charles II died in 1685, he left a country torn by religious controversy but no legitimate children. The throne passed to his Catholic brother James.
It was an anxious time for the people, whose fears increased when James II, became so unpopular that he was forced into exile. In 1688, James’s Protestant daughter, Mary, and her husband, William of Orange, became the new king and queen of England.
Some English Protestants, who had sworn allegiance to James II, refused to take a new oath of allegiance to William and Mary and joined him in France.
When James’s younger daughter, Anne, inherited the throne in 1702, many Protestant exiles returned to England. Others declared themselves Jacobites and supporters of James II son, James III, by his second wife, Mary of Modena, and stayed abroad. They believed James III should be king.


Prologue
1693

Richelda Shaw stood silent in her nursery while thunder pealed outside the ancient manor house and an even fiercer storm raged deep within. She pressed her hands to her ears and, eyes closed, remained as motionless as the marble statues in the orangery.
‘Nine years old and you’ve not yet learned to be neat!’ Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, pulled Richelda’s hands from her ears. ‘Come, your father’s waiting for you.’
Richelda’s hands trembled. What was wrong? Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while the servants spoke in hushed tones.
Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down the broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire the lilies of the valley in a Delft bowl. Only yesterday, she picked the flowers to welcome Father home. After she had arranged them with tender care, she placed them on a chest, which stood beneath a pair of crossed broadswords on the wall above.
Elsie opened the massive door of the great hall where Father stood to one side of the enormous hearth. Richelda’s eyes searched for her mother before she spread her skirts wide and knelt before him.
Father strode forward and placed his right hand on her bent head. ‘Bless you, daughter, may God keep you safe.’ He smiled. ‘Upon my word, sweetheart, I vow the colour of your hair reminds me of a golden rose. How glad I am to see roses bloom in these troubled times.’
Richelda chewed her lower lip again. She did not know him well and dared not speak. Therefore, when he sat and beckoned to her, she hesitated.
Putting an arm round her waist, he drew her to him. ‘Come, do not be nervous of your father, child. Now, my daughter, do you know King James II now holds court in France and that his daughter, Mary, and William, his son-in-law, seized his throne?’
‘Yes, Mother told me we are well rid of King James and his Papist wife,’ she piped up, proud of her knowledge.
With a sigh, Father lifted her onto his knees and held her close. ‘Richelda, I must follow His Majesty for I swore an oath of allegiance to him. Tell me, Richelda, while the king lives how can I with honor swear allegiance to his disloyal daughter and her husband?’
Unable to think of a reply, she lowered her head.
Father held her closer. ‘Your mother pleads with me to declare myself for William and Mary and begs me not to return to France, but I am obliged to serve King James. Do you understand, Richelda?’
She nodded. Her cheek brushed against the softness of his velvet coat and she breathed in his spicy perfume.
‘If you remain in England, you will be safe. Bellemont is part of your mother’s dowry and I doubt the Crown will confiscate her estate.’
If she remained in England! Startled, she stared at him.
Smiling, he popped her onto her feet and stood. ‘Come, we shall ride. I have something to show you.’
Before long, they rode away from the house and estate. They drew rein on the brow of a hill. At its foot lay Field House, their ancestral home seized by the Roundheads soon after poor King Charles I execution.
He pointed at the Elizabethan manor house. ‘Richelda, I promised my father to do all in my power to regain the property.’ Grey-faced, he pressed his hand to his chest. ‘Alas, so far I failed to keep my oath and now I cannot,’ he wheezed.
Richelda yearned to help him keep his promise to her grandfather. She also yearned to find the gold and jewels legend said her buccaneer ancestor, Sir Nicholas, hid.
After her father breathed easy, she ventured. ‘If we found the treasure trove you could buy Field House.’
‘Ah,’ he teased, ‘You believe Sir Nicholas did not give all his plunder to Good Queen Bess.’
‘Elsie told me legend says he hid some of his booty in Field House,’ Richelda said, excited by the thought of pearls and rubies, diamonds and emeralds, gold and silver bars and coins. Less shy of him, she asked. ‘In his old age, when Sir Nicholas retired from seafaring, did he put his ship’s …’ she broke off for a moment in an attempt to remember the word and continued triumphantly, ‘…his ship’s figurehead, Lady Luck, in the great hall?’
‘Yes, for all I know she is still above a mighty fireplace carved with pomegranates, our family’s device.’
‘I want to find the treasure.’
He chuckled and wheeled his thoroughbred mare round. ‘Come, time to ride back to Bellemont.’
‘Do you know our family motto, Richelda?’
‘Fortune favours the brave.’
‘Are you brave, my little lady? Will you swear on the Bible to do all in your power to regain Field House?’
To please him, she nodded.


All the best,
Rosemary
www.rosemarymorris.com. www.rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Tangled Hearts available from www.enspirenpress.com, Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and soon in bookshops.
Tangled Hearts is set in the reign of the last Stuart monarch,Queen Anne (1702-1714)and has received five star reviews.


I am proud to announce that my historical novel Tangled Hearts, set in the reign of Queen Anne, will soon be available in bookshops. It is now available from my

Author’s Notes

When the outwardly Protestant Charles II died in 1685, he left a country torn by religious controversy but no legitimate children. The throne passed to his Catholic brother James.
It was an anxious time for the people, whose fears increased when James II, became so unpopular that he was forced into exile. In 1688, James’s Protestant daughter, Mary, and her husband, William of Orange, became the new king and queen of England.
Some English Protestants, who had sworn allegiance to James II, refused to take a new oath of allegiance to William and Mary and joined him in France.
When James’s younger daughter, Anne, inherited the throne in 1702, many Protestant exiles returned to England. Others declared themselves Jacobites and supporters of James II son, James III, by his second wife, Mary of Modena, and stayed abroad. They believed James III should be king.


Prologue
1693

Richelda Shaw stood silent in her nursery while thunder pealed outside the ancient manor house and an even fiercer storm raged deep within. She pressed her hands to her ears and, eyes closed, remained as motionless as the marble statues in the orangery.
‘Nine years old and you’ve not yet learned to be neat!’ Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, pulled Richelda’s hands from her ears. ‘Come, your father’s waiting for you.’
Richelda’s hands trembled. What was wrong? Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while the servants spoke in hushed tones.
Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down the broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire the lilies of the valley in a Delft bowl. Only yesterday, she picked the flowers to welcome Father home. After she had arranged them with tender care, she placed them on a chest, which stood beneath a pair of crossed broadswords on the wall above.
Elsie opened the massive door of the great hall where Father stood to one side of the enormous hearth. Richelda’s eyes searched for her mother before she spread her skirts wide and knelt before him.
Father strode forward and placed his right hand on her bent head. ‘Bless you, daughter, may God keep you safe.’ He smiled. ‘Upon my word, sweetheart, I vow the colour of your hair reminds me of a golden rose. How glad I am to see roses bloom in these troubled times.’
Richelda chewed her lower lip again. She did not know him well and dared not speak. Therefore, when he sat and beckoned to her, she hesitated.
Putting an arm round her waist, he drew her to him. ‘Come, do not be nervous of your father, child. Now, my daughter, do you know King James II now holds court in France and that his daughter, Mary, and William, his son-in-law, seized his throne?’
‘Yes, Mother told me we are well rid of King James and his Papist wife,’ she piped up, proud of her knowledge.
With a sigh, Father lifted her onto his knees and held her close. ‘Richelda, I must follow His Majesty for I swore an oath of allegiance to him. Tell me, Richelda, while the king lives how can I with honor swear allegiance to his disloyal daughter and her husband?’
Unable to think of a reply, she lowered her head.
Father held her closer. ‘Your mother pleads with me to declare myself for William and Mary and begs me not to return to France, but I am obliged to serve King James. Do you understand, Richelda?’
She nodded. Her cheek brushed against the softness of his velvet coat and she breathed in his spicy perfume.
‘If you remain in England, you will be safe. Bellemont is part of your mother’s dowry and I doubt the Crown will confiscate her estate.’
If she remained in England! Startled, she stared at him.
Smiling, he popped her onto her feet and stood. ‘Come, we shall ride. I have something to show you.’
Before long, they rode away from the house and estate. They drew rein on the brow of a hill. At its foot lay Field House, their ancestral home seized by the Roundheads soon after poor King Charles I execution.
He pointed at the Elizabethan manor house. ‘Richelda, I promised my father to do all in my power to regain the property.’ Grey-faced, he pressed his hand to his chest. ‘Alas, so far I failed to keep my oath and now I cannot,’ he wheezed.
Richelda yearned to help him keep his promise to her grandfather. She also yearned to find the gold and jewels legend said her buccaneer ancestor, Sir Nicholas, hid.
After her father breathed easy, she ventured. ‘If we found the treasure trove you could buy Field House.’
‘Ah,’ he teased, ‘You believe Sir Nicholas did not give all his plunder to Good Queen Bess.’
‘Elsie told me legend says he hid some of his booty in Field House,’ Richelda said, excited by the thought of pearls and rubies, diamonds and emeralds, gold and silver bars and coins. Less shy of him, she asked. ‘In his old age, when Sir Nicholas retired from seafaring, did he put his ship’s …’ she broke off for a moment in an attempt to remember the word and continued triumphantly, ‘…his ship’s figurehead, Lady Luck, in the great hall?’
‘Yes, for all I know she is still above a mighty fireplace carved with pomegranates, our family’s device.’
‘I want to find the treasure.’
He chuckled and wheeled his thoroughbred mare round. ‘Come, time to ride back to Bellemont.’
‘Do you know our family motto, Richelda?’
‘Fortune favours the brave.’
‘Are you brave, my little lady? Will you swear on the Bible to do all in your power to regain Field House?’
To please him, she nodded.


All the best,
Rosemary
www.rosemarymorris.com. www.rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
Tangled Hearts available from www.enspirenpress.com, Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and soon in bookshops.
Tangled Hearts is set in the reign of the last Stuart monarch,Queen Anne (1702-1714)and has received five star reviews.

Introduction

My infant memories are of the stories I made up, the stories read to me and the night sky coloured by fires, the aftermath of incendiary bombs.

I grew up first in Kent and then Surrey from where I visited ‘the sights’ such as St Pauls Cathedral, the Tower of London, Westminster Cathedral, Dick Whittington’s stone on Highgate Hill and St James Park. In the countryside, to name a few, I visited Hampton Court, Richmond, Windsor and Eton. My heritage inspired my love of history. I read voraciously and my imagination grew.

My late husband encouraged me to pursue my dream of becoming a published author. If he were alive today he would be proud to know I have achieved my ambition.

Writing, researching and reading must run in my veins and I am so glad that I joined the Historical Fiction Critique Group and through the owner, Anne Whitfield, submitted my novel to Enspiren Press which accepted Tangled Hearts.

Every time I look at my debut novel a thrill runs through me. For months the hero and heroine, Chesney and Richelda, stayed by my side at the computer and while going about my daily business. Their life is so interesting that I suffered withdrawal pangs after I typed ‘The End’.

Richelda and Chesney lived in England during the reign of the last of the Stuart monarch, Queen Anne, who ruled from 1702 –1714. In common with the rest of the population Chesney and Richelda suffered fears and uncertainties about who would reign after the queen’s death. The economic and political situation affected every aspect of my hero and heroine’s lives. I fell in love with the period’s elaborate clothes, stylish houses, sumptuous food and the concept of honour and dishonour at that time. .

Being a historical novelist is amazing. It sweeps the author into another time and place with all the happiness and tears the characters experience.

Authors want to share their tales with readers which leads to the challenge of how to publicise their books. I live in England. When Tangled Hearts is available in my home county, I plan to promote them, in bookshops, libraries and elsewhere. In the old days Enspiren Press would have sent me on a book tour. Today, my commissioning editor, Anne Whitfield, and Enspiren Press have inspired me to blog. This enables me to keep in touch with old friends and new.

Fingers crossed, 2008 will be a fantastic year during which I will network in person and on the worldwide web to let readers know about me and my work.

Published Historical Novel. Tangled Hearts available from www.enspirenpress, amazon.com, amazon.co.uk and soon from bookshops.

Work in progress. A new novel set in the reign of Queen Anne.

Website. www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

Blogsites www.rosemarymorris.blogspot.com
www.penwoman.gather.com
www.enspirenpress.com

Member of:

The Romantic Novelists Association of Great Britain
The Historical Novel Society
Watford Writers

All the best,
Rosemary

www.rosemarymorris.com. www.rosemarymorris.blogspot.com

Tangled Hearts available fromwww.enspirenpress.com, amazon.com, amazon.co.uk, barnesandnoble.com and soon in bookshops.

Tangled Hearts is set in the reign of the last Stuart monarch,Queen Anne (1702-1714)and has received five star reviews.