New British historical!

My latest e-novel, Dunstable Park House-A Victorian Time Travel Romance is available on Amazon! For fans of Downton Abbey you'll love this book. The link to the new historical is http://amzn.to/1hIYR8S

Here is the first chapter...

 Present-Day London, England

CHAPTER ONE

 

Visiting England was better than death.

Brenna Keelin stared out the window of her English tour bus at an early morning fog. The mist-swathed countryside lay in a gray blanket that shrouded any view of the bright emerald fields and crisp white sheep she’d hoped to see.

Just when Brenna thought the gray view and the stale bus air might undo her well-organized to plans to have a desperately-needed vacation, the bus finally drove past a sign for Cambridge, the second stop on their two week tour of England.

The fog cleared just enough to reveal an inn that could have been featured on a British postcard, with its rose-tangled doorways and row upon row of centuries old stacked-stone fencing protecting the perimeter.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” Brenna elbowed her sister Janelle, who dozed against the padded headrest, her mouth gaping open. “We're here.”

Janelle slicked on some lip-gloss, then followed Brenna out of the bus. Once they had loaded themselves down with suitcases and bags, mostly Janelle's, Brenna lead the way through the chilly air toward the pension, fought with an unforgiving revolving door, and finally stumbled into a quaint lobby.

Brenna released handles and shrugged straps until the luggage clunked to the floor. She stretched to ease the ache in her shoulders. Looking around the reception room at all the plates and platters hanging on the walls, she nodded at the décor. Very British. “Like the place?” She looked for her sister.

Janelle was chatting up their tour guide, Jacob.

Two hotel staff we`re watching her from behind the desk, as Janelle was a blonde hair, blue-eyed torpedo as their father used to call her. Any man in a ten-mile radius would be under her allure.

“Well, I love it,” Brenna said to no one in particular. She stepped toward a blue plate that caught her eye. The plate showed a faded painting of a woman in a wedding dress. An ache lodged in her chest. Her idle wedding dress still hung in her closet. She wrapped herself with one arm, not sure this trip was such a good idea. But it was better than wishing to be dead.

“We are in England.” Janelle gave Brenna a hearty side hug. “Aren’t you happy now?”

“Yes,” Brenna pasted on a smile. “Now all I need is a cup of tea.” She nodded at the hotel employee who handed her a room key. “Thank you.”

“Oh Bren—you sound just like an English woman,” Janelle whispered as they passed their handsome leader on the way to their room. “What I need is a British boyfriend. What do you think of Jacob our tour guide?”

“First, he’s Austrian, oddly muscular, and a little like a football player who has taken a few too many hits,” Brenna said as she unlocked the door and collapsed onto the bed. “You need to find someone smart and reliable like Dad.

“You are hopeless...lighten up.” Janelle fluffed her white-blonde hair in the mirror. “And with your good looks, it wouldn’t do you any harm to start paying attention to men again.”

“My good looks? Oh please, don’t do that, I’ll humor my older sister thing. We all know who got the beauty in the family.” Brenna playfully pulled on her sister’s hair. She then leaned over and pulled out a stack of postcards she’d bought at the airport, trying to think of whom to send them to.

“Bren, what’s happened to you? You were the most sought after event planner in Virginia. People booked you a year in advance.” Janelle flounced onto the bed. “Tell me again why you quit.”

Brenna twirled a lock of her hair around and around as was her habit whenever she felt overwhelmed. “You know.” She had to admit, she did miss the excitement of her previous job. “That last wedding I did really got to me. All those happy people...I couldn’t stand there and smile, pretending nothing was wrong—”

A gentle knock on their door distracted them.

Janelle bounded up to answer it.

“Hello,” greeted their brawny Austrian tour guide. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but a few of us are going out to a pub. Want to come?”

“Sure thing.” Janelle grabbed her jacket. “You want to go?”

“No, thanks.” Brenna let go of her hair and pretended to get something from her suitcase. “I‘m pretty tired.”

Jacob’s grin dropped. “We won’t be out late.”

“I think I’ll turn in early. I want to unpack, get organized.” She held up a book on English history and fixed a smile in place. “But you all have fun—ah, Janelle, don’t stay out too late.”

Janelle made a face. “Brenna is never up passed ten. She’s an attached lady you know—I mean, she used to be—” Janelle cast an, I’m sorry, look toward her sister. “Well, I guess we’d better go.” Almost out the door, Janelle ran back into the room and planted a kiss on her sister’s forehead. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked.

But before Brenna could answer, her sister skipped out the door.

Brenna sat on the edge of the bed as her anxiety flowed through her veins like a champagne fountain. This was better than suicide.

***

The next day, the city of Cambridge worked its charm on Brenna with its outdoor markets and quaint shops. But the most fascinating excursion took place on their second day in the enchanting town, a ride in the long, narrow boats that glided on the Cam River behind the colleges of Cambridge. Brenna felt her melancholy trailing away as the view of the ancient bricked buildings along the water brought an unbelievable sense of being back in time. It was as if one could just lean over and touch history.

She held her face up to a peek of sunshine, fighting to get through the gathering clouds. A smile touched her lips as the short-lived warmth filled her body—until she remembered the boat accident. The sail-boat that was discovered drifting off the Virginia coast with no one aboard. The body of her fiancé that was never found—

The boat rocked as Jacob moved from his center seat and sat down next to her, his tight black t-shirt bulging with muscles. “Are you looking forward to the rest of the tour?”

“I’ve always wanted to come to England.” She dipped her fingers in the cool water and a shiver went up her spine.

Jacob flexed his muscles and stretched his arm along Brenna’s back.

The smell of his musky cologne filled her nose.

“Isn’t this trip supposed to help you get over your loss?”

Brenna shook her head. Janelle. Her gaze drifted to the college students lounging by the river. The grassy slope that overlooked the water provided a quiet place for them to read, talk, study. With Stephen gone, she had nowhere to feel safe. “I think so. I mean yes, of course. I’ll be ready to get back to work as soon as we’re home.”

“If you don’t mind my asking…what happened?”

“My fiancé died in a boating accident three months ago.” She nodded. It felt good to put the horror of it all into one orderly sentence.

“I’m so sorry. Do you think you’ll ever want to date again?” His arm tightened around her.

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready for that.” She would never allow herself to be that vulnerable again. She flitted her gaze away from Jacob’s steely blue eyes. “Where did Janelle’s boat go? That girl, I turn my back for a second—”

“If you ever want a private tour of Vienna,” he handed her his card. “I’d be very happy to oblige.”

She read, Heit World Tours: Jacob Heit-Tour Organizer and Guide.

“We have offices in London, York, and Vienna. If you ever need anything, or if you are ever back in England, call me.” Jacob’s voice sounded husky.

“I’ll remember that.” She sat up straighter, distancing herself from his touch as she filed his card in a card organizer in her purse. “So, where are we off to next?”

“The medieval city of Yorkshire. One of my favorite places to visit.” Jacob raised his brows and smiled mischievously.

“Oh really? So what’s the surprise?”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s just that the settlement has retained so much of its medieval structure, it’s like walking back in time. Very mysterious, that village.”

“Really? In what way?”

“You’ll see.” His face was engulfed in an admiring grin, his eyes twinkling. “It used to be a city of marshes before it was settled, so people often went missing.” He nudged her shoulder. “It would be a good idea for you to stay close to me.”

Brenna widened her gaze. “Okay, thanks for the warning.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t lost a client yet.”

***

Early in the morning, the tour bus headed toward the city of York and its famous cathedral, the York Minster. As Brenna and Janelle made their way up a crumbly set of stone stairs and entered the Great West Door, a cool swath of air swept over Brenna’s neck, sending a chill down her spine. The cold seemed to leach off the ancient walls and seep into her bones.

Janelle was decked out in a white fur vest, while Brenna went with sweats and jeans. She was very proud of how organized her clothing selection was for the trip. Sturdy, practical, multi-functional. No wonder she always felt like the step-sister to Cinderella? She tucked her long hair behind her ears. After being Janelle’s sister for eighteen years, you’d think she would be used to being the wallflower by now. She rubbed at the chill in her arms as she followed the tour group farther into the cathedral.

Brenna’s head almost involuntarily swung upward toward the breath-taking vaulted ceiling. But as she stepped forward, each of her steps thudded loudly. She cringed and looked around at the fifteen or so other tour members in her group, but no one else seemed to notice the sound.

“The York Minster, England’s largest church, was constructed beginning in 1220 and was completed in 1472...” Jacob motioned their group forward as he began his lecture.

Half an hour into the tour, Brenna drifted from her sister’s side, to admire the beautiful stained-glass windows. A sense of holiness filled the air around her. Perhaps, it was the vaulted ceiling, or the other-worldly quietness that lulled one into a sense of peace. The vast size of the cathedral made her feel small, as if there was a world beyond what she could see. Hope rose in her heart. Maybe there could be a new start for her just around the bend.

As she walked farther down, well beyond her travel companions, she rounded the corner to the middle section of the Minster. She stepped up into a semi-circle shaped alcove that overlooked the rear of the church. Right in her line of vision was a small, wooden door.

With a glance over her shoulder, she stepped over and gave the aged door a gentle tug. Poking her head in, and peering up to the left, the smell of dank, musty drafts filled her senses. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a set of narrow, wooden stairs. Dust and glistening particles hung in the air, illuminated by a shaft of light coming down from the top where there was an opening.

Brenna continued to study the stairway, as if, for a brief second, she could hear the tread of shoes and the rustle of skirts climbing up the wooden corridor. She had the sense of touching time, if one could do such a thing.

She glanced behind her to find only a few tourists taking pictures in the distance, none of whom were paying any attention to her. Adjusting her purse straps farther up on her shoulder, she licked her lower lip. A compelling longing to climb the stairs overcame her normal reserve and fear of doing the wrong thing. She pressed forward. The door closed behind her with a thud like the final gong of a clock. The passage was a tight fit, but she could just make it through. The sense of countless days gone by seemed engraved into the space. If only these walls could talk…

Each wooden step creaked and protested her unfamiliar weight as glistening particles swirled around her. She ran her hands along the roughhewn walls. The same walls that people from centuries ago had touched. The enclosed area made her heart race as the sound of her careful tread echoed around her. An intoxicating sense of destiny beckoned her forward. What was at the top of these stairs?

She wiped the moisture from her forehead. Further and further she continued. Something important waited for her, some discovery. Curiosity propelled her up the cramped steps to what? A secret passage way? A hidden room? She cast a look behind her at the steps that disappeared into the darkness. She swallowed. What was she doing?

Once she reached the top, she stepped out onto a choir loft that overlooked the back of the church. Brushing some of the dust and smudges from her jeans and dark gray sweatshirt, she imagined herself singing in the church. But as she looked over the rear of the Minister, she frowned. Where had all the tourists gone? Everyone had vanished, except for one cleaning woman, sweeping the floor between rows of wooden pews. The scrape of a straw broom was all that could be heard.

Brenna craned her neck, leaning over the balcony to get a better view of the front of the church, trying to see her sister, Jacob, or any of the tour group. The cathedral looked vacant and deathly quiet except for a few people dressed in some sort of Victorian costumes coming down the walkway. Were they getting ready to put on a play?

 

 

 

English Life in the 1500's Found by Therese Stenzel (Not sure who the author is)

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s: Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married. Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water.. Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying . It's raining cats and dogs. There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house.. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence. The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entranceway. Hence the saying a thresh hold. In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme, Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.. Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat. Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous. Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust. Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake. England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a ...dead ringer.

 

AN AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE IN LONDON excerpt two

In 1998, my accountant husband said the three little words all anglophiles long to hear, "move to England." So we packed up our two boys and our belongings and shipped off to Bedfordshire for eight months with his company.

An excerpt from my non-fiction as yet unpublished book;

An American Housewife in London

One weekend My husband and I and our two young sons had the original idea to travel to old English town of Cambridge, but when we got there, to our surprise we found there was an entire tourist industry set up and running to service our original idea.

The drive to Cambridge was like a trip back in time. We drove past crumbly old kirks, thatched roofed cottages, cobblestone streets, and meadows that revelaed a patchwork of farms and fields. Cambridge is a beautiful historical town with an "oldy-worldy" feel to it.

The highlightof our visit was a trip to Cambridge University which is not one university but thrity-one distinct colleges. Our favorite was King's College. The first stone was laid in 1441 and was completed in 1515. It contains a dark oak screen that was a gift from King Henry VIIIth and bears his initials and those of Anne Boleyn.

But one of these visits was life-threatening to our one and half year old son. Benjamin was sitting in his stroller, sucking on a lollipop, when all of a sudden he started making these awful strangling noises. I paniked. Immediately I tried to get him out of the stroller but in my hysteria I couldn't get the clasp released. My husband pushed me out of the way and calmly undid it. My mind raced with --where was the closest ER? We had parked miles away how would we get to our van in time? Could an ambulance pull up to a chapel built in 1441?

Benjmian's eyes were bulging as we slapped his back over and over, finally he threw up the lollipop and everything else in his stomach all over the himself, the stroller and the ancient chapel floor. I grabbed my son and hugged him firmly to my chest.

A few weeks later, a friend who was with us at the time put the incident into an amusing news flash.

AP Newswire--The building and grounds of Cambridge University will reopen their chapel after an unforeseen shutdown over the weekend. The grounds were closed after an incident involving some American tourists. Apparently, the youngest member of the group expelled large quantites of gastric fludis onto the sacred stones of King's Chapel. Chapel officals reported that the situation seemed to escalate when a blonde-haired woman tried to dismantle a stroller with her bare hands to release the child. Onlookers were agast as the object finally dislodged from the child's throat, shot fifty meters across the courtyard, bounced off a statue, and impaled a pigeon."

AN AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE IN LONDON

In 1998, my accountant husband said the three little words all anglophiles long to hear. "Move to England." So we packed up our two boys and our belongings and shipped off to Bedfordshire for 8 months with his company for the adventure of a lifetime..

An excerpt from my non-fiction as yet unpublished book;

An American Housewife in London

“Oh, for an American bathroom.” I would mutter as I sat in a bathtub in the early morning hours. Unbelievably, our seven-year-old English home did not possess a shower. So every morning, as my husband was shaving, I sat in a pale pink tub, covered in frothy bubbles, relaxing when I should be trying to wake up. I soon discovered that bathtubs, not showers had always been the custom in English bathroom.

I noticed this bewildering attachment to tradition over and over during our stay. The homes in our neighborhood were not hundreds of years old, most had been built in the last ten years, but baths were simply how it was done and how it would be done regardless of modern inventions like an invigorating, hot shower.

In contrast, Americans are known to be constantly looking for a new and better way to get things done. A throw-the-tradition-out-with-the-bath-water kind of attitude. In my humble opinion, a steaming, brisk shower would be more efficient in the morning, but in British minds, baths were far cozier, and in England, coziness was next to godliness.

 

Our master English bathroom was quite large, but we missed our familiar spacious sprawling counter top framed with a large mirror and individual double sinks. Instead, this room had one tall thin sink and one tiny slip of a mirror. There was no linen closet. Actually, the entire house had no closets rather the English tended toward using an armoire in the bedroom, or had closets built in around the bed.

Our bathroom’s sink’s were quite confusing too. There were two spigots pouring into the sink. One had hot water and the other cold. But how did one mix the two without scalding one hand and freezing the other? The English may have been credited with inventing the bathroom in the 1800’s, but us Yanks made them much more comfortable.

Three months later, despite being in a rental home, we paid to have a shower put in!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRITISH TIME TRAVEL

DUNSTABLE PARK HOUSE

Book one in the English Time Travel Series

 

I am working on my next British Historical that will  be a three book time travel series--a sort of Downton Abbey with supernatural twists!  I thought  you might like to read a bit of what is to come...

 

 

As Brenna walked further down, well beyond her travel companions, she rounded the corner to the middle section of the York Minster. She stepped up into a semi-circle shaped alcove that overlooked the rear of the English church. Right in her line of vision, was a small, wooden door.

With a glance over her shoulder, she gave the aged door a gentle tug. Poking her head in, and peering up to the left, the smell of dank, musty drafts filled her senses.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a set of narrow, wooden stairs. Dust and glistening particles hung in the air, illuminated by a shaft of light coming down from the top where there was an opening.

As Brenna continued to gape at the stairway, it was as if, for a brief second, she could hear the tread of shoes and the rustle of skirts climbing up the wooden corridor. She had the sense of touching time, if one could do such a thing.

She glanced behind her find only a few tourists taking pictures in the distance, none of whom were paying any attention to her. Adjusting her purse further up her shoulder, she licked her lower lip. A compelling longing to climb the stairs overcame her normal reserve and fear of doing the wrong thing. She pressed forward. The door closed behind her with a thud. The passage was a tight fit, but she could just make it through. The smell of countless days gone by seemed engraved into the space. If only these walls could talk…

Each wooden step creaked and protested her unfamiliar weight as glistening particles swirled around her. She ran her hands along the roughhewn sides—the same walls where people from centuries ago had touched. The enclosed area made her heart race as the sound of her careful tread echoed around her. An excruciating sense of destiny beckoned her forward. What was at the top of these stairs?

She wiped the moisture from her forehead. Further and further she continued on. Something important waited for her, some discovery. Curiosity propelled her up the cramped steps...to what? A secret passage way? A hidden room? She cast a look behind her and the stairs behind her disappeared into the darkness. She swallowed. Was this a good idea?

Once she reached the top, she stepped out onto a choir loft that overlooked the back of the church. Brushing off some of the dust and smudges from her jeans and dark grey sweatshirt, she grinned at her fertile imagination. Those stairs were simply how one got to the choir loft.

For a moment, she imagined herself singing in the church. But as she looked over the rear of the Minister, her breath caught in her chest. The area she had just been in was empty. Everyone had vanished, except for one cleaning woman, sweeping the floor between rows of wooden pews. The scrape of a straw broom was all that could be heard. Where had all the tourists gone?

She craned her neck, leaning over the balcony to get a better view of the front of the church, trying to see her sister, Jacob, or any of the tour group. The place was vacant and deathly quiet except for a few people dressed in some sort of Victorian costume just coming down the walkway.

 

Where they getting ready to put on a play?

 

 



FREE CONTEMPORARY BOOK WITH A BRITISH HEROINE!

 

A British Bride by Agreement—a contemporary marriage-of-convenience story is a a FREE download on Amazon.  You can download it to your Kindle, Ipad, Computer, or Iphone. Just downlaod the free Kindle app first.

 Here is the link; http://amzn.to/19LPWj7

 

Here is the blurb: Widowed and far from her native England, Emma Banks is devastated to realized the scope of her dead husband’s financial disaster created by his secret addictions. Facing eviction from her cottage on the Steller estate, and morally unable to accept her con-artist parent’s money, she is terrified of being sent to prison. Is a marriage-of convenience proposal from Jonathan Steller, heir to the Steller beverage fortune an answer to her prayers? Still reeling from being jilted at the altar, Jonathan Steller must find a wife and produce two kids to meet his father’s requirements to be considered the heir apparent to the three generation family business, and to prevent his older, ruthless cousin from taking his place. Unpretentious Emma strives to adapt to the overwhelming expectations of this wealthy lifestyle, but she never expected to fall in love with her blue-eyed, blond-haired husband, when their marriage was merely an agreement.

 

Enjoy!

Therese

 

 

 

 

QUIRKY ENGLISH BOOKS

 

 

If you're like most anglophiles, you love coming across a quirky English book. Here is a few of some of the gems I have come by. You may have to dig around on the internet for used copies, but they are sooo worth it!

 

84 Charing Cross Road by Helen Hanff. A coorespondence between and outspoken New York lady and a gentile book store owner in England, set in the late 40's early 50's.

 

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. Seventeen-year-old Cassandra and her family, live in not-so-genteel poverty in a ramshackle old English castle. Here she strives, over six turbulent months, to hone her writing skills. She fills three notebooks with sharply funny yet poignant entries. Her journals candidly chronicle the great changes that take place within the castle's walls, and her own first descent into love. By the time she pens her final entry, she has "captured the castle"--and the heart of the reader--in one of literature's most enchanting entertainments.

 

In Search of England by H. V. Morton.

Currently in its 40th printing with its original publisher in the UK, this is the book that one British newspaper has called "travel writing at its best. Bill Bryson must weep when he reads it." Whether describing ruined gothic arches at Glastonbury or hilarious encounters with the inhabitants of Norfolk, Morton recalls a way of life far from gone even at the beginning of a new century.

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My Love Affair With England by Susan Allen Toth. A wonderful American Anglophile's tales of her trips to England and how she came to fall in love with this counry from tea to crumpets.

 

Twopence to Cross the Mersey

Liverpool Miss

The Waters of Loverpool

Lime Street at Two by Helen Forrester If you buy any book here, buy these four. This is the captivating,heart-wrenching, true story of her childhood growing up poor in Liverpool. I've reread and reread and reread these stories.