Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and geese that go bump in the night!
Hank, Baron Grey, might have found ghoulies and ghosties as he lay in the dirt on this cold autumn night watching and waiting for pumpkin thieves. With widespread food shortages in 1816, this Year Without a Summer, pumpkinnappers—pumpkin kidnappers or pumpkin thieves—have threatened his friend Emily’s pumpkins. Instead, he got a goose. A big, mean goose who “watched” him in a very embarrassing place. Repeatedly.
Any sane man would give up. But Emily is here—Emily, the special playmate of his youth. He could never let anything endanger her. Ten years ago when they last saw each other, they might have become more than playmates. Perhaps now they can pick up where they left off—if her pet goose ever stops damaging him.
The widowed Mrs. Emily Metcalfe reluctantly allowed Hank to try and catch the would-be pumpkin thieves, partly as an apology for accusing him of being the pumpkinnapper. But that may have been a bad idea. Her pet goose will warn her of any villains and he intensely dislikes Hank. And then there is Hank himself, the lost friend of her youth, and with whom she would like more than mere friendship.
He’s unwed, and she a widow. Can a flame from so long ago once more burn bright? Or will the pumpkinnappers and the goose thwart them?
A sweet, traditional, drawing room not bedroom, Regency romantic comedy with paranormal elements. A new version of the previous work, expanded and completely rewritten. 31,000 words, about 120 pages.
“That reminds me. Yesterday in the tavern, the owner mentioned a night roamer carrying a lamp. You cannot stay here.”
“Oh, that.” She lifted a shoulder. “Just a tale. No one has ever seen this lantern-bearer up close, if he exists at all. Nothing to worry about.”
“I disagree. Even with Henry, formidable as he is—” Don’t you even think of getting in my way, bird.
The goose’s narrowed eyes spat Hank’s thought back at him.
“—you need protection. I will send over some footmen to guard the place.”
“No. Turnip Cottage belongs to Charlotte’s husband. What will the townspeople think, with Lord Grey’s servants about my house?”
“Well, then, I will send over Lindsell’s servants.”
“Again, no. The neighbors will still know who made the arrangements. In any event, the earl’s steward checks on the tenants every week, and I sent him a message about the pumpkinnappers. He was here before you arrived, and I convinced him I was safe. Henry and I can manage quite well by ourselves, can we not, Henry?” She nodded at the goose.
“HONK!” The goose smirked. If geese could smirk.
This one probably can.
“But thank you anyway.”
Hank balled his fists as his patience thinned and something else thickened. He would explode if she didn’t see reason. The sight of her petting that benighted goose didn’t improve his mood, either. “I will find you a guard dog. You require protection out here all alone.”
“But I have Henry.” She petted the demon bird’s head. Again.
The goose snuggled into her hand. Again.
“Henry is a very good watch animal. He also crops the grass and eats weeds. Though I might consider replacing him.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Do you eat weeds?”
“I could be tempted.” Curse it, but Emily had always been stubborn. If only she would touch him instead of that blasted goose, and then, afterwards—long afterwards—they would celebrate with a goose dinner featuring this particular goose. “Very well, then, you leave me no choice. I will help you catch the villains.”
“Fustian, I am fine.”
He raised a restraining hand. “I insist. I worry about you. Please agree, for old time’s sake.”
He changed his voice to the voice that either melted a woman or earned him a slap in the face. “Who knows, mayhap we would enjoy ourselves as I lie in wait with you.” I would love to lie with you.
Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “I cannot stay alone with you. You know that as well as I.”
“You are a widow in your own home. No one will see. I promise.”
“No.” She marched into the cottage and slammed the door.
Henry smirked—that was definitely a smirk—and waddled away.
Hank grinned. He would be back, whether she liked it or not.
April 5, 2018 The New AN INHERITANCE FOR THE BIRDS is here!
Mr. Christopher "Kit" Winnington never expected his favorite aunt to dream up something as ridiculous as a contest to determine the heir to her sizeable property.
But there it is, in black and white, in the letter from her solicitor. In order to win the inheritance, Kit must vie with his aunt’s companion, Miss Angela Stratton. Their task: Make his aunt’s pet ducks happy. Odd, for such a sharp-witted lady, and definitely out of character.
Still, making ducks happy is better than his current, despised job. Shouldn’t be much of a problem, either. Quack at them, pet them and maybe feed them some stale bread. He should win handily.
Angela liked her employer very much, but the most she expected from the will was a little money. But now, a chance to win an entire estate! Since she cares for the ducks and knows their quirks, she should win easily.
The ducks, already happy, quack along their merry way as Kit and Angela discover that love may be a greater prize than any inheritance.
A sweet, drawing room, not bedroom, Regency romantic comedy. 40,000 words, about 145 pages. A new version of the previous book, expanded and completely rewritten.
Yawning, Kit shut the door behind him. Enough ducks and prickly ladies for one day. He undressed and then donned a nightshirt he dug from his valise before he blew out both candles.
Simmons had already drawn back the bedclothes. The counterpane was silky under Kit’s palm, and covered a featherbed.
Mayhap they had stuffed the mattress and pillows with down from Aunt Augusta’s pets.
He grinned. That was a thought.
After tying back the bed curtains, he settled into the soft cocoon. Tomorrow, he would have it out with Miss Stratton about the steward’s residence, but that was tomorrow. He fluffed up his pillow and turned onto his side…
A bundle of flapping, squawking feathers exploded from the depths of the covers.
Kit tumbled out of bed. Throwing his hands over his head, he scrambled up and then bolted for the door.
"QUACK!" The thrashing, quacking explosion pummeled him the entire way. A serrated knife edge scraped over his upper arm.
"Ow!" Batting at the avian attacker with one hand, he groped for the latch with the other.
The door crashed open. Miss Stratton, her agitated candle flame flinging wildly careening light on the walls, darted in. "Busick, you stop that right now!"
With a squawk, the feathered windstorm fluttered to the floor in a graceful arc.
Kit jerked up his arms, ready to fend off another attack.
Kit looked out from under his arms before slowly lowering them. A duck. He should have known.
October 5, 2017 The New MISTLETOE EVERYWHERE Release Day!
A man who sees mistletoe everywhere is mad—or in love.
Mr. Charles Gordon sees mistletoe. Not surprising, since he's spending Christmas at Mistletoe Manor. But the mistletoe always hangs over Miss Penelope Lawrence, the despised lady who jilted him the day after she accepted his marriage proposal. Even worse, no one else sees the benighted plant. Real or imagined, the weed taunts him with the treasure he lost. And might also drive him insane.
Penelope wants nothing to do with the faithless Charles, who broke her heart into tiny pieces when he cried off after proposing marriage. But try as she might, she’s never succeeded in removing him from her heart and mind. The baffling thing is, he stares at her all the time. Or rather, at something on the empty ceiling over her head.
Despite their struggles to extinguish every ounce of feeling, their love still burns bright. According to folklore, mistletoe is the plant of peace. Can Penelope and Charles, so full of hurt and anger, heed the mistletoe's message and make peace?
A sweet, traditional Regency romantic comedy. 34,000 words. A new version of the previous work, expanded and completely rewritten.
EXCERPT: “Here’s to Christmas!” Gavin, on Baring’s far side, raised his class in a toast. Everyone around Gavin joined in and then drank heartily. “And here’s to the New Year!” Lord Fane added his own toast. The rest, including Charles, joined in. Toast followed toast again and again, until the end of the table rang with alcohol-fueled jollity. The plates, the table, the people—all grew a little fuzzy around the edges. Now what had bothered him so? Smythe, on Charles’s other side, stood up shakily and raised his glass. “And here’s to—uh—what’s left?” “How about mistletoe?” Baring’s words slurred. Charles’s head whipped toward Smythe. And toward Penelope—and the monstrous bunch of mistletoe above her. “Gordon? What is it?” Smythe set down his glass and then swiveled toward the top of the table. He looked up and down, and then from one side to the other. “I say, with your mouth hanging open like that, you must see something spectacular, but curst if I see anything.” With an audible click, Charles clamped his jaw shut. “I thought I saw…” He smiled at Smythe. “Nothing. I imagined I saw mistletoe.” Smythe’s eyebrows rose. “Mistletoe?” “Yes. The house’s name is ‘Mistletoe Manor’, so mistletoe decorations fill the place. Pictures, wall hangings, ceiling trim, whatnot.” Smythe’s eyebrows shot higher. “That ‘mistletoe’ you didn’t see is over Miss Lawrence.” His lips curved into a knowing grin. “Lovely little filly. My jaw dropped the first time I saw her, too.” Charles stiffened. “I was not looking at Miss Lawrence. I believed I saw mistletoe over her.” “‘Mistletoe’.” Smythe’s grin widened. “Of course.” He raised his glass again. “A toast to mistletoe!”
March 23, 2017 The new GIFTS GONE ASTRAY is here!
at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, Inktera, Overdrive and
Smashwords. Read for free with subscription to Scribd.
A book as fairy godmother? Stranger things have happened...
Everyone looks forward to the Earl of Langley’s annual family party because everyone, relative and employee alike, receives a gift.
Which includes Mr. Stephen Fairfax, tutor to the earl’s bratty son. But what a gift! And from the demure widow Mrs. Anne Copely, the earl’s niece, no less. If he accepts the gift book’s implicit invitation, his wildest dreams about the beautiful lady will come true. He might also lose his job, but he’ll take the chance.
Mrs. Anne Copely has enjoyed every minute she’s spent in the handsome tutor’s company. The subject of her gift interests them both, and studying the book together is the perfect way for them to spend many happy hours together. Although why he’s uneasy about an innocent collection of illustrations puzzles her.
A mix up of the first order, but when gifts go astray, love comes to the rescue.
A sweet, yet sensual Regency romantic comedy. 33,000 words.
EXCERPT: The mantel clock chimed the hour. Mrs. Copely jumped. “Oh, dear, look at the time! I must go back to the drawing room. So much to do before the party tonight. But, before I leave…We had some trouble with the gifts today. Yours went missing. I apologize—” “But I received a gift. Someone left a parcel outside my door.” “Thank the stars.” She pressed her hand to her bosom. Her ripe, perfectly formed bosom. His throat dried. “I worried that your present was lost.” She worried about me. Capital! He coughed. “I have not yet unwrapped the gift. A book, I take it?” “Yes. That book was one of my husband’s favorites. Mine, too. We spent many happy hours enjoying every page. I selected that particular volume with you in mind.” I have a chance. “You flatter me with your consideration.” “My pleasure.” She folded her hands at her waist. “As much as I long to, I will not ruin the surprise by telling you what the book is.” She smoothed her countenance into a blank stare, but her glorious chocolate eyes twinkled. So, she wants to play games. He gave an inward smirk. He would love to play games of a different sort. But he would settle for a guessing game—for now. “Let me see.” He rested his chin in one palm. “A book on astronomy?” Not a muscle in her face twitched. “A collection of prints, mayhap? Of horses? Dogs?” Her face remained immobile. Damnation, but she was good at this. “Cats?” A shapely brown eyebrow arched upward. “Cats?” “Well, then, not cats. How about—” Erotic prints? “—bridges?” Nary an eyelash flickered. He spread his arms wide. “Very well, I give up. You are quite adept at this. I daresay you would prove formidable at the gaming tables.” “Perhaps I should take up wagering, then. I can just see myself at the tables, winning everyone else’s money.” She laughed. “But I will not spoil your fun when you open the gift. I will offer a hint, though.” She gave a little hop. “I am sure you will like that book as much as I do.” “You have piqued my curiosity even further. I will unwrap your present straightaway.” “If you wish, we can study it together. That book was meant for more than one person.” By Jupiter, yet another chance to be with her! Today was his lucky day. “I would like that very much.” More than anything. “How I would love to see your face when you open the book!”
December 7, 2016 LORD LOVELY is here!
Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, iBooks, Smashwords, Inktera, Overdrive and other retailers.
Ladies adore him. Gentlemen despise him. But everyone is dying to learn the identity of the anonymous male romance author known as LORD LOVELY.
“How lovely” sigh the ladies of Regency London as they read Lord Lovely’s books, thus giving him his popular (and somewhat annoying) name. Who is this gentleman who writes such splendid stories of love? He has to be young, handsome, witty and able to fulfill any woman’s sexual fantasies.
No! Say the gentlemen. Any man who writes about love affairs must be too unattractive to have one of his own. He’s probably old, fat, bald and missing a few teeth. At least they hope he is.
Ladies in a tizzy, gentlemen ready to commit murder, London aquiver with controversy. Lord Lovely’s fame and book sales increase by the hour.
The gentleman known as Lord Lovely scratches his head. How could his books touch off such a conflagration? Granted, male romance authors are a rare breed, but not entirely unknown.
The problem is how to reveal himself. Or should he? He welcomes his books’ earnings, but the disclosure of his identity could destroy his non-book career.
The widowed Bel, forced to marry another, hasn’t seen the gentleman in question in ten years. The best of friends in their childhood, they might have become more, but her father forced her to wed another. Perhaps they’ll pick up where they left off.
But not if a scheming temptress who has her eye on Lord Lovely has her way. And not if a mysterious, unknown nobleman puts an end to both the author and the man.
Sweet Regency historical fiction with romantic comedy and mystery. 119,000 words.
Wheels scraped on the street, the telltale sound of a carriage slowing and then stopping. Heart pounding, she dashed to the window once more, but the dark shrouded everything except the hackney lamps and the movement of people and horses. Then the doorknocker rapped, and the front door scraped open. Sara’s lilt and her husband’s lower tones drifted up the stairway, along with an unfamiliar baritone rumble. Footsteps trod on the steps and finally reached the entrance. Rogers stepped inside. “Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Barnett, and Mr. William Borland.” Sara, lovely in a jonquil gown that set off her fair hair, rushed in and hugged her. “Bel, we are so happy to see you.” She pulled forward the tall, dark-haired man beside her. “You know my husband, Edgar.” “Your servant, your ladyship.” Mr. Barnett bowed and kissed her hand. They matched well, her husband’s dark good looks the perfect foil for Sara’s blonde beauty. “Please, since you are Sara’s husband, call me Bel.” “If you will call me Edgar.” He stepped away. And there, framed in the doorway, he stood. Bel’s breath stuttered. Broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, this tall, long-legged man bore scant resemblance to the lanky youth, all elbows and knees, of her memory. The planes of his face had sharpened, a more chiseled, mature version of the good-looking boy’s visage. His blond hair, unstylishly long and tied back with a ribbon, still shone as bright as the sun, although his lashes and eyebrows had darkened to a sootier shade. But his eyes were the same—a deep, liquid blue so intense, his gaze glued her in place. His blue frock coat, frayed at the cuffs, had greyed with age, and his coat, breeches, and buckled shoes were as outmoded as her dress. Not that it signified. He was splendid. She held out a hand that trembled slightly. Would he still be angry after their last day together? Please not. “I am so glad to see you.”
March 4, 2016 LADY OF THE STARS is here!
Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, iBooks, Smashwords, Inktera, Overdrive and others.
EPIC EBooks Award Finalist in Science Fiction Romance
The Romance Reviews Finalist for Best in Historical Fantasy/Paranormal
Legends are fun, but not real. Or are they?
Facts rule twenty-first century astronomer Caroline’s life. And then she steps through that gazebo’s back doorway into Regency England, where she meets a man she knows she’ll never see again. But time travel, though improbable, is a scientific fact.
In mathematician Richard’s world, there’s no such thing as time travel. Until a woman who claims she’s from the future demolishes his view of reality.
But legends certainly aren’t real. Richard can love Caroline, unconcerned by his family legend. Until the legend takes control of his life, and Caroline’s, too.
A mainstream Regency time travel romance with science fiction elements. 34,000 words. A new version of the previous work, expanded and completely rewritten.
Caroline followed her host into the kitchen.
He advanced to the banked fire.
Fire? Where were the stove and refrigerator? And all the chrome and stainless steel of the ultramodern kitchen where she had breakfasted this morning? This kitchen contained a scarred wood trestle table surrounded by several chairs. Pots and pans hung on wall racks, the shiny metal reflecting the dim firelight. A cupboard stood against the far wall, next to a sink with a pump.
With shaking hands, she set the lantern on the table. Then she pulled out one of the chairs and sagged into the seat.
She was in trouble, very deep trouble.
His back to her, her host busied himself at the fireplace. He placed the candelabrum on the mantel above the hearth and then drew aside the fire screen. Dropping onto his haunches, he pulled several logs from the nearby basket and then arranged the wood into a neat pile on the smoldering embers. Almost at once, the flames blazed to full, roaring life.
Silhouetted before the light, he straightened and then replaced the screen. He removed his hat, and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the headgear onto the table.
Her jaw dropped. Good heavens, the aggravating man was gorgeous. Tall and lean, his broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips and long legs. But where had he found that outlandish outfit? He wore a top hat, out here in the middle of nowhere. His shirt collar was turned up and held in place with a huge white tie. And his waist-length, double-breasted jacket had tails, like an orchestra conductor’s. Muddy black boots with the tops turned down came up to his knees. Skintight trousers, or were those breeches—of all things?—emphasized every well-formed muscle.
Now, if his face matched his form...
She shook herself. What was she thinking? She hadn’t felt anything for any man in a long while. Not since...
Finally, he turned, the candle and firelight for the first time revealing his face.
She gasped. Had she seen a ghost through the gazebo’s rear entry? “Richard?”
Puzzlement spread over those chiseled features she now saw only in her memories. “How do you know my name?”
11/22/2014 GOOSED! OR A FOWL CHRISTMAS, Book 1 of The Feather Fables, is here!
Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, iBooks, Smashwords, Inktera, Overdrive and others.
BLURB: The Feather Fables—where birds twitter and chirp and usher in romance.
Ah, Christmas, what a glorious season. Decorations, friends, good will to all, a time of magic and miracles.
But not for Miss Julia Shaw. She is new to the area, her farm desperately needs upkeep, and the pittance she earns from her artwork doesn’t pay the bills. And then her pet goose escapes. Making matters worse, when she first meets the devastatingly attractive Lord Tyndall, the abominable man insults her as he returns her goose. No peace and good will for her this Christmas.
Exhausted from a year of business travel, Robert, Baron Tyndall, returns to London only to fall prey to his mother’s matchmaking attempts. Escaping to his country estate, he finds solace with the birds in his aviary. Except that a plague of a goose that belongs to his new neighbor, Miss Shaw, has somehow entered his aviary and wreaked havoc. That disagreeable lady had better keep her misbegotten bird to herself. Too bad she is so lovely. What a horrendous Christmas this season has become.
But even in the blackest depths, a spark of light can glimmer. For at this wondrous time of Christmas, miracles and magic can and do happen.
A sweet, traditional Regency romance novel with fantasy elements. 61,000 words.
EXCERPT: What was that infernal din? Catching up her shawl, Julia dashed down the stairs and then out through the front door. Winding her shawl around her, she rounded the house and almost slammed into an unfamiliar gig. The vehicle blocked her view of the goose pen, from which the honking emanated. But no one was there—her pet goose had run off. She ran around the conveyance and stopped dead. Her pet had returned! Flapping, honking and biting, the flying goose—He could fly? She had never before seen him do so—attacked a large, stylishly dressed gentleman. The man, his arms high to protect his head, flailed at the goose. His back was to her, his upended hat lay in the dirt and white feathers covered his black greatcoat. He swore. Loudly. Julia’s ears burned. “Do not hurt my goose, sir!” The man batted at the goose again and turned toward her. Julia gasped. He was the man on the road a few days ago. His dark eyes blazed, his brown hair was mussed, and his sharp cheekbones had flushed from the effort of warding off the goose. Her pulse raced. He had looked handsome at a distance. Up close, he was magnificent. Tingles raced over her skin. “This spawn of Satan is your property, madam?” He jerked his head back from the goose’s open bill as the bird dove in for a bite. “He is, sir, and you will not harm him!” She jumped between the man and the goose. The goose, breathing heavily, plopped to the ground. Eyes afire, he angled his head around her. He hissed at the man. “Gracious, what is the matter?” She stroked the goose’s head. The bird went limp, as if he had been pumped full of air and all the gas suddenly escaped. She tipped her head back to glare up at the man. Good gracious, he was tall. “He has never acted this way before. What have you done to him?” The man’s jaw dropped. “I? This feathered blackguard has tried to bite me ever since I saw him. And just now he attacked me.” He scowled at the goose. “If he is your property, you are welcome to him.”
8/14/2014 A DISTINCT FLAIR FOR WORDS, Book 3 of Love and the Library, is here!
Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, iBooks, Smashwords, Inktera, Overdrive and others.
Love and the
Library - A celebration of the beginnings of love wherein four young Regency
gentlemen meet their matches over a copy of “Pride and Prejudice” at the library.
Book 3: Felicity
should have her own Mr. Darcy—unless she prefers Mr. Bingley.
strange goes on in that library.
Not one, but two
of Mr. Frank Wynne’s friends found the ladies of their dreams at the library
over a copy of “Pride and Prejudice”. Magic? Divine providence? Hardly. Coincidence
or luck? Perhaps. And to prove or disprove the possibilities, he’ll go to the
library and read “Pride and Prejudice”. Day after day after day. To his
surprise, the book is funny, and he does like that Bingley chap. His lady
doesn’t appear, though. Of course not. But still…
White adores “Pride and Prejudice”. But while most ladies swoon over Mr. Darcy,
Mr. Bingley is the man after her own heart. Happy, good-natured, cheerful,
outgoing Mr. Bingley. She loves him so much, she even rewrote “Pride and
Prejudice” from his perspective. Now, if she can only find a gentleman like
and Frank run into each other, the enchantment of “Pride and Prejudice” and the
library just might strike again.
traditional Regency romance, but not a retelling of “Pride and Prejudice”.
I write in the
style of my favorite author, Barbara Metzger. If you like her Regency comedies,
you may enjoy mine.
“I have the
most wonderful news!” Felicity maneuvered herself and Frank to the only two
seats together. Unfortunately, they were in the middle of the semicircle, with
ladies on both sides.
Frank sat on
the edge of his seat. The chairs’ arrangement was unnervingly like a gigantic
feminine claw, ready to snap shut on a tasty treat.
Mayhap if he didn’t move, they would forget he was there. And pigs will fly.
clapped and the murmuring ladies quieted. “Felicity, please tell us your news.”
up. “You know I have written Pride and
Prejudice from Mr. Bingley’s viewpoint.” She gave a little bounce. “Mr.
Blackmore of Blackmore Publishing has requested the manuscript!”
squeals reverberated around the room. Miss Barrett rose to shake Felicity’s
hand. “Well done. Mayhap you will pave the way to the future, when others will
want to read about the further adventures of the Pride and Prejudice characters.”
one of the ladies who had squinted when he entered, squinted anew. “I doubt
anyone will want to read about Mr. Wickham’s experiences. Or Lydia’s.”
never.” Miss Nisbet, seated at Frank’s other side, sniffed. “Some people enjoy
tales about villains. I daresay they like to see the blackguards receive their
just deserts.” She leaned closer to Frank. “Have you read Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Wynne?”
Gazes on both
sides of the pincer-like arrangement of chairs closed in on him. More
perspiration broke out on his forehead. “Yes, I have.” Outnumbered. Perhaps he
had better say as little as possible.
squinted again. “You are unusual, sir. Most men do not read novels. Or at
least, they claim not to.”
He flashed his
most winning smile, the one that normally made the ladies melt. Almost-clergyman
he might be, but that did not preclude him from appreciating the fairer sex. “I
am not most men.”
11/19/2013 A GIFT FROM THE STARS, Book 1 of The Regency Star Travelers is here!
Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, iBooks, Smashwords, Inktera, Overdrive and others.
The Regency Star Travelers--Where the Regency and outer space meet with romance.
A gift from the stars can change your life.
Miss Elizabeth Ashby loves astronomy. She especially enjoys her once-in-a-lifetime chance to observe the Great Comet of 1811. However, her excitement vanishes the night an odd-looking meteor proves to be a sky craft which lands nearby. The man who emerges from the vehicle doesn’t see her, but as he reenters his craft to fly away, he drops a small red stone.
The stone from the stars glows and sends waves of warmth and something else through Elizabeth. Her incipient cold disappears, her illness-prone mother shakes off her maladies, and everyone else who comes near the stone, which Elizabeth wears as a pendant, feels in the pink of health.
Including Mr. Jonathan Markham, who also saw the strange meteor but was too far away to determine what the object was. Gored by a bull, Jon has been show to mend until he meets the enchanting Elizabeth. Does his sudden speedy recovery emanate from his fascination with the desirable lady? Or something else?
A sweet, traditional Regency romance novel with science fiction elements. 71,000 words. A clean read.
EXCERPT: Lower and lower the shooting star descended, much too slowly to Elizabeth’s way of thinking. From the angle and rate of its motion, the object would likely strike the earth close by. If she could distinguish some landmarks by its glow, perhaps she could find the stone.
She craned her neck back as the meteor soared across the firmament. The unearthly rock blazed with the colors of the rainbow from friction with the air.
Coldness pricked her spine. A meteor that enormous should race through the heavens, shrieking in outrage as its surface pounded through the atmosphere. This one was silent. And the stone—or was it a stone?—sloped down in a leisurely, graceful curve, as gently as a feather floating in a light breeze.
With eerie stillness, the object continued its glide across the ebony sky, looming ever immense as its bulk neared the ground.
She could even make out features. In her experience, meteors were dark, pitted lumps of rock or metal. This one was white, its pointed nose flaring out behind to form a stretched-out triangle, almost like a bird with unfurled wings.
And its size! Her heart in her throat, she jumped up. The thing was larger than a mail coach. And it would fall onto Sentinel Moor beside her house!
Continually slowing, the peculiar entity descended. The object slipped below the level of the high Sentinel Oak across the field, and then behind the top of the six-foot hawthorn hedge separating her garden from the meadow.
Elizabeth took a step to run around the tall shrub. Blinding whiteness exploded on the moor. She threw up her hands to shield her eyes and then tumbled to the ground.
Lightning strikes again!Pumpkinnapper finaled in the 2011 EPIC eBook Awards Competition in the Historical Romance category. After my Lady of the Stars finalled in Science Fiction Romance in the 2010 EPIC contest, I didn't expect to final again. I'm two for two now--both my entries in the EPIC contest have finalled. Thank you, EPIC. Buy Pumpkinnapper here!