Welcome to the History Lovers Grand
Tour & Scavenger Hunt!
—International—
As the name implies, we’re a group of readers and authors who love
both history and romance, especially when they’re combined in a delightful
story. If you feel the same, you’re welcome to join us on our Facebook page and converse with us about historical romance fiction.
Below you’ll find authors of historical romances set in a wide
variety of time periods. Perhaps by participating in our Grand Tour you’ll
discover some new authors for your future reading pleasure. Hop around to your
heart’s content, feel free to comment on the posts, hunt for answers to the
authors’ questions, and perhaps you’ll be one of our 25 lucky prize winners
(see contest details below)…although you’re already a winner if you find a new
story to read, do you not agree?
The theme for this tour is Courting
Rituals, but for my post, I’ve chosen to take a bit of a meandering path and talk about the ways women might find power - particularly within marriage - or how they greatly they were deprived of it, when they had no legal rights until well into the nineteenth century.
Power within marriage for women of the Past
‘Woman’s
empire is an empire of gentleness, skill and obligation; her orders are
caresses, her threats are tears. She ought to reign in the home as a minister
does in a state – by getting herself commanded to do what she wants to do.’
The above quote by 18th-century
Genevan philosopher and writer, Rousseau, is a reminder that since a woman had no
legal rights, she must exert her power within the home, the only domain in
which might be lucky enough to have any authority.
It’s easy to forget that until little
more than a hundred years ago, a woman - with the
exception of the fortunate widow - was entirely dependant upon her closest male
relative. Her husband could force her to have sex and, if he chose, have her
children taken from her and brought up elsewhere. (This is the subject of my
Regency Romance Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly.)
Until 1891, if a woman ran away from an
intolerable marriage the police could capture and return her, and her husband
could imprison her.
Susannah Palmer who escaped from her
adulterous husband in 1869, is only one example of the inequalities suffered by
women. After years of brutal beatings, Susannah finally fled and, after working and saving hard, made a
new life for herself and her children.
But when her husband found her, she was stripped
her of all her possessions (which was sanctioned by the law) and left destitute. In a
fury she stabbed her husband and was immediately prosecuted. (Sounds a bit like Tess
of the D’Urbervilles, who I’m sure was only the tip of the iceberg.)
Prior to marriage, only an unladylike lady
would make her romantic interest in a gentleman apparent before he’d all but made
a formal offer.
Such convention is part of why writing
historical romance can be so difficult.
On the one hand the historian will know the
real limitations placed on a woman, say, two hundred years ago, yet it is an
author’s job to create a heroine worthy of a twenty-first century reader’s
interest.
And that interest would not be whipped up if
the heroine’s strength of character went no further than the simple obstinacy
that was often the tool of first and last resort for many a real-live woman who
had set her heart on a potential husband who was not quite ‘up to snuff’ in her
family’s opinion.
For this reason I prefer to write about
married heroines. Virginal heroines in real life were so restricted in terms of
where and how they could meet. Therefore, writing about a widow or a married
woman means I’m less constrained, knowing I can be accurate as well as
injecting spice, passion and sometimes sex, into my historicals.
The prize I am offering is an e-copy of my debut Regency The Reluctant Bride, which won UK publisher Choc Lit's Search for an Australian Star competition and which is available for pre-order in paperback but will be released in e-book on September 15. (I receive my author copies in a few days and am trembling with excitement.)
In the blog post published the day before this one you can read two extracts from The Reluctant Bride.
Here’s my question for the scavenger hunt: If a woman ran away from an intolerable marriage the police could capture and return her, and her husband could imprison her. What year did this change?
In my latest release, Her Gilded Prison my heroine has never known power, either before or during marriage, and has never known the love of a man. Her Gilded Prison is written under my Beverley Oakley pseudonym for Ellora's Cave's Legend Line for, although the content is not overtly sexual, the theme is - the forbidden love between a younger man for an older noblewoman trapped for 20 years in a loveless marriage.
Take a tour through the blogs and websites of our participating History Lovers Grand Tour Authors and answer the questions when you return to History Lovers Grand Tour page. Each author is offering their own prize in addition to the grand prize, overall.
Prizes
1. Each author will offer a prize for a contest, the specifics of which is set up entirely by her. The contest will be open to all participants, regardless of geographic location. For logistical purposes, authors may substitute a digital prize (gift card, etc.) of equal value for another prize that might prove difficult to mail to a distant location.
2. The Grand Prize for the Scavenger Hunt will be awarded to the participant with the most correct answers to the authors’ scavenger hunt questions. In case of a tie, the winner will be chosen randomly.
Scavenger Hunt
· Click on the above links to each author’s blog. The blog tour entry can be identified by the graphic in the upper right corner of the post. If it is not the top post, look for the graphic in a prominent location on the sidebar, and click on it to find the blog tour entry.
· Read the blog post and the author’s short answer question at the end. Locate the answer to the question, then click on the link to the History Lovers Grand Tour page and type in the answer next to the author’s name. Be sure to fill in the your name and email address!
· You may go back to same page and read more of the author’s post (excerpt, etc.) or you may click on another author’s name on the answer sheet and repeat the process.
· When you are finished, check to make sure the spaces for your name and email address are filled in correctly, and submit your answer sheet to the tour coordinator. If you submit an incomplete answer sheet, you may come back later and make another submission with the remaining answers when you have more time.
· Any questions about the scavenger hunt should be directed to the tour coordinator .
Here’s an excerpt from my latest release,
Her Gilded Prison, about the lovely Lady Sybil Partington, who has never known
love, either before or within her marriage, until she meets the ‘laddish’
Steven Cranbourne, her husband’s distant cousin and heir to the estate who’s
arrived to learn how to run the estate since Sybil has ‘failed’ to provide her husband with a
son.
After years of following the army, Stephen finds that life within a family, enjoying the love of a good women, is too precious to squander.
But then an unwelcome contender arrives to usurp Stephen from his position and Stephen must fight for what he has come to value above all else: his love for Sybil.
Extract from Her Gilded Prison
“Ooh, careful!” The gasps of both young ladies
was balm to his youthful ego.
“Come,
my pretty. Come, Lady Zena.” Carefully, he extended his hand toward the bird.
After
some contemplation, the little bird decided to make him work for his reward.
When she hopped onto the sill of the farthest casement windows, Stephen had no
choice but to follow.
This
involved a heroic full-body thrust followed by a hasty snatch at the stone
ledge. With heart hammering and very conscious of his audience below, Stephen hauled
himself across the wall, securing one foot on the buttress. Victory was in
sight. Lady Zena hadn’t moved position for some minutes and soon he’d pop her
onto his shoulder and descend to the rapturous cries of the young ladies. It
would be a just recompense for what, he realized looking down, was a rather
risky ascent after all.
Eyeballing
the canary, he whistled softly. She hopped daintily toward him then hopped backward.
Clearly she was enjoying the game.
Stephen
growled, hoping this dance of seduction was not going to become prolonged.
It
was only the merest flash of something in his peripheral vision that made him
turn his head slightly to the right. There was certainly no intent to peep
through the misted windows. Yet the shock of seeing a shapely pair of thighs
connected to a round, ripe naked bottom as its owner bent down to pick up one
stocking was completely unexpected. He didn’t pause to consider that due to the
high risk of discovery he should hasten away. He was riveted to the spot,
wondering what else the lovely creature had to offer in the way of fleshly
delights.
Tingling
with excitement, Stephen squinted. He could see a bathtub to the rear of the
room and realized she’d just risen from it, for steam swirled in eddies that
partially obscured her until she discarded the linen she’d been using to dry
herself.
The
young ladies below called to him but he was rooted to the spot, desperate to
see what more this as-yet-unintroduced female had in the way of sensuous
charms.
He
couldn’t make out her face, but her light hair rippled to below her waist and
her pale limbs, the color of whipped cream, were well turned. He tried to gauge
her age for she walked with calm, fluid movements, like one who has grown used
to her body without realizing how lovely it is.
Anticipation
gripped him as she made her way languidly from her bathtub towards the bed. It
was a large, intricately carved tester covered in a sumptuous white counterpane,
edged with ermine, and as she lowered herself onto it her lustrous tresses
swirled about her waist.
And
then with the most enormous shock he realized that this was the quiet, modest
woman who’d welcomed him here. He’d barely noticed her in the carriage with her
hair covered by a blue silk bonnet and her manner almost deferring to her
eldest daughter, who certainly wanted to put herself forward.
This
was Lady Partington.
Torn
between the desire to scramble away as fast as he could and to strain his eyes
to see what other secrets she’d been hiding, prurient interest won out. She was
exquisite.
And
she certainly seemed not about to raise her eyes to the window.
She
flicked aside the curtain of her hair as she reached for a stocking, raising
her leg to put it on so that Stephen was treated to the most intimate view a
newly arrived heir no doubt had ever received of his benefactor’s wife, the
lady of the manor.
He
ignored the cries and shouts from his admiring audience below as he enjoyed the
visual extravaganza before him.
Lady
Partington eased the stocking onto her ankle then, in a seemingly unrelated act
Stephen could not at first explain, she hooked her ankle over her knee and
placed her head on her thigh. Then she raised her head...
And
looked him squarely in the eye.
At
first he did not move. He registered the flare of shock in her expression,
quickly followed by confusion. She stood up quickly, her hair frothing about
her waist, one hand moving to cover the fluff at the juncture of her legs, the
other to conceal her full, heavy breasts. From this distance he could see the
sheen of moisture from her bath and the faint marks left by pregnancy on her
soft and rounded body.
He’d
been with women who’d given birth to children but never one who’d shied away
from him with such outraged horror.
As
was only to be expected. Lady Partington preserved such delicacies for her
husband and Stephen was guilty of gross voyeurism. He ought to be ashamed of
himself yet he was curiously aroused in a way he’d not expected. Against her
vibrant eldest daughter she’d been a soft little pouter pigeon, clucking her
welcome. Now she’d stepped into a different league altogether.
Lady
Zena chose this moment to hop onto his shoulder and Stephen deemed it timely to
beat a rapid retreat. With his heartbeat roaring in his ears, he descended in
record time, leaping the last six feet and going over on his ankle, surrounded
by the young ladies—Hetty who gripped his arm and Araminta whose regal
self-possession was nevertheless disturbed by the violence of his fall.
“Did
you hurt yourself, Cousin Stephen?” she cried.
He
was about to dismiss their concerns when he checked himself, adding slyly, “I
might have twisted my ankle. Perhaps if we retired indoors you’d be so good as
to administer a soothing poultice.”
Araminta
read his meaning at once, offering him her shoulder to lean on, which he made
good use of, and the close proximity. She was worldly enough to know he’d
hardly make a fuss over a minor injury and she would be flattered that he’d use
the opportunity to gain access.
Yet
while her perfume teased his senses and her ministering touch was gratifying he
could not get out of his mind the lush, ripe nakedness of Lady Partington’s
unexpectedly desirable body.
END OF EXTRACT
Buy Her Gilded Prison:
@BeverleyOakley
