A REGENCY ROMP...
I first met Joanna Maitland -- as I have so many authors who've been my guests here this year -- via the internet as a newly published author. And then, delightfully, I discovered that she was sitting next to me at an author lunch.
Since then we've shared many memorable lunches and a lot of fun and I'm delighted that she's found time from her incredibly busy life to drop by and share in the cyber celebrations for my 50th book.
Joanna, whose work has been shortlisted for the RNA's Romance prize, writes delightful Regency romances and His Cavalry Lady promises to be another wonderful read. I'll leave Joanne to tell you all about it...
I’m delighted to be blogging here today. Thank you so much for inviting me, Liz, and congratulations on producing 50 of your wonderful stories. I don’t have quite all of them, but I do have a fair number on my keeper shelf. They’re exactly the kind of stories I return to, again and again, when I need a bit of escapist me-time. A pot of tea, a Liz Fielding story, and a lounger in the garden — what more could a woman want? Well, yes, I agree some sunshine would make it perfect, but we’d better not talk about that this summer, had we?
It’s a really exciting time in my writing life at the moment. I’m just about to finish the third in a trilogy of Regencies set in the period just before the battle of Waterloo. The stories roam all over Europe, and beyond, following the twists and turns in the lives and loves of the Aikenhead family of spies — Dominic Aikenhead, Duke of Calder, Lord Leo Aikenhead, and Lord Jack Aikenhead. The trilogy is called The Aikenhead Honours after the code-name of their spying band. The stories are set in some of my favourite locations, like St Petersburg in Russia, Venice in Italy, Vienna in Austria, and Lyons and Paris in France. I love the fabulous locations, and I loved the fact that I was able to fill these stories with lots of intrigue and danger, as well as romance and passion.
The first of the trilogy, His Cavalry Lady, is in the shops now in the UK (and will be published next spring in the USA). Books 2 and 3 will be published in late spring/early summer next year, in both markets.
Here’s an extract from His Cavalry Lady to whet your appetite.
Boulogne, June 1814
It was the smell that woke him.
For fully three seconds, Dominic lay quite still in the Lion d’Or’s best bed, trying to make sense of the strange messages tumbling into his brain. Dark. Silence. Smoke? Fire!
He flung himself out of bed. Light! He needed light! And where the devil were his breeches?
A terrified neighing ripped through the pre-dawn silence. Then a whoosh, as if a giant were sucking in a monstrous breath. Followed by red, hellish light.
The smoke had turned to flames. The Lion d’Or’s stables must be on fire!
Dominic threw wide the half-open window, stuck his head out and yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Au feu! Au feu!’ It was surely loud enough to wake even drunken grooms.
He dragged on his breeches and crammed his feet into boots. A voice rang out below. At last! Then more voices. A woman’s despairing wail. And the ominous crackle of the fire taking hold in dry straw and ancient timbers.
Dominic took the stairs three at a time. In the yard, the silence was turning into utter chaos. Yelling, cursing men milling around in the eerie light. No one fetching water. No one saving the horses.
He grabbed the nearest groom by the shoulder. ‘Get to the pump,’ he ordered in crisp French. ‘Start filling buckets. And you—’ he seized another by his flapping shirt ‘—rouse all the men from the house. Get them into a line to pass the buckets. You two. Don’t stand there gawping. Start getting the horses out.’
In the space of half a minute, Dominic had turned the commotion into the beginnings of order. The terrified horses were being led to safety. Water was being brought. But the flames had a head start. And they were winning.
The front part of the stables and one side of the doorway were ablaze. One panicked horse was refusing to be led through. It was fighting against the halter, rearing, eyes rolling, hooves flailing. With a cry of pain, the groom dropped to the ground. The horse fled back into the stables.
Dominic lunged forward, hefted the unconscious groom over his shoulder and raced across the yard to the inn. By the door, a maidservant stood motionless, wide-eyed with fear. ‘You, girl.’ He laid the boy ungently at her feet. ‘Make yourself useful. Look to his hurts.’ He did not wait to see whether she obeyed. He had to help save the horses. Only one other man left to do that. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
The smoke was now so thick that it was difficult to see. And to breathe. Dominic looked around for something to use as a mask over his face. If only he had thrown on a shirt. But he had nothing. He would have to continue as he was. Taking a deep breath of the cooler air in the yard, he plunged into the hell of the burning stables.
Still at least half a dozen terrified horses to save. Possibly more. He could barely make out the back of the stable. It was full of smoke, though not yet ablaze. But he could hear the sounds of hooves thundering against stall boards. At least some of the horses must still be tethered. He raced to the back of the building, keeping as low as he could, to avoid the choking smoke. Let the groom deal with the horses nearer the door.
Like a ghostly apparition, a slim shape in grubby white emerged from the swirling smoke, leading a horse. No more than a boy, from the little Dominic could see, and dressed only in a bedgown and boots. But a boy who knew horses, for he had covered the animal’s eyes to quiet it. ‘Well done, lad,’ Dominic gasped as they passed. No reply. The boy had his mind on his task. Just as Dominic must.
It was taking too many precious minutes to rescue the horses. All the time, the fire was engulfing more of the building. Yet the boy in the bedgown was fearless, always going back into the most dangerous area of the stable. He had a way with the terrified beasts, too. More than once, Dominic fancied he heard the lad’s voice, murmuring strong and low, urging the animal towards the flaming doorway. He had even started to cover the horses’ nostrils against the acrid smoke. Part of Dominic’s brain registered that he would find the lad after this was all over, and reward him for his bravery. He would have been proud to have such a boy in his own service.
Out in the yard again, Dominic caught a dripping cloth tossed to him by one of the inn servants. Gratefully, he covered his head, hoping that the boy had done the same. With this, there ought to be a chance of rescuing the remaining animals. Only a few more to bring out now. He ran back into the thickening smoke.
He found himself struggling with the tether of one of the last horses. The straining beast had pulled it tight in the iron ring. Its thrashing hooves were threatening to crack Dominic’s head open. If only he had a knife. Damnation! The rope refused come free. At this rate, they would both burn!
A strong, lean hand appeared out of the smoke holding a knife. Bless the boy! A single slash cut the rope. Then the hand disappeared again. No time to say a word of thanks. The horse, suddenly freed, reared up to its full height with a loud and terrified whinny. Dominic ducked under the deadly hooves and grabbed the trailing rope, forcing the animal down. He had to get this horse out. The fire was really taking hold now. Soon the stable roof would be aflame. There would be no more rescues then.
At last, Dominic managed to coax the horse through the stable doorway. Someone had taken an axe to the blazing wood so that the gap was wider and the flames were less fierce. The broken, smouldering timbers lay on the ground. Dominic thrust the rope into a waiting hand and raced back inside, ignoring the prick of sparks on the bare skin of his back and chest. He had tiny burns all over his body now. No doubt he would look as though he had a dose of smallpox when this was over. But he had to be sure that there were no more horses hidden by the smoke.
It seemed the lad in the bedgown had had the same thought. His eerie figure was just visible through the swirling darkness, searching among the stalls. Dominic ran towards the boy. ‘Is that all of them?’ he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the noise of the fire.
Before the boy could say a word, there was an ominous crack above their heads. Dominic caught a glimpse of a huge, flaming beam dropping towards them. Towards the boy! Dominic bridged the space between them with a single stride, grabbed the boy and thrust him aside. The beam hit the stable floor just inches from where they stood, showering them both with sparks. In seconds, the boy’s bedgown had caught alight.
Dominic made to tear it off him.
‘Non!’ It was a scream of anguish.
The boy must be a idiot. Surely he knew that it was better to be naked than to burn?
‘Non!’ the boy cried again, ripping the tail of his bedgown out of Dominic’s hands.
There was no time to argue. And only one solution. Dominic pushed the boy to the ground and covered him with his own body, rolling them both in the dirt to stop the sparks from taking hold.
And then he understood.
This was no boy. The lithe body straining against his own belonged to a fearless, and extraordinary, girl!
And for the competition? Well, Liz is one of those amazing writers who can find new avenues and new ways of writing while still giving us readers the buzz and the glow we expect from her stories. As far as I know, she was the first to write an HMB romance in the first person. I reckon it was a triumph, and it’s one of my all-time favourites. To win the competition, email the title of that mould-breaking book to firstname.lastname@example.org The winner, drawn at random, will receive a signed copy of His Cavalry Lady.
With very best wishes from Joanna