:>)

This mug (shown here both front and back) depicting a line from Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal to Elizabeth will go to one of my wonderful reader friends in the U.S. who leaves a comment about a) one of her special Valentines, or b) anything marriage proposal-related!

Let me start off by telling you about my marriage proposal. My husband tried desperately to get me to his apartment because he had this big engagement scenario planned. But we were late for a party, so I refused to go! I had no idea that he wanted to propose to me before this party–it turns out he’d told all his shipmates to be prepared to cheer when we walked in (he was very confident of my answer, wasn’t he?).

Well, he picked me up in downtown Charleston on Tradd Street, which is a beautiful old street. And right there in the car, in a parking lot next to the Battery wall, he asked me to marry him and presented me with a beautiful engagement ring.

It might sound unromantic being proposed to in a parking lot <g>, but it was very sweet. I had no idea it was coming! Here we are at that party about an hour after we got engaged (please ignore our late 80′s attire):

If you look really closely, you can see my ring on my left hand.

Chuck’s still my Valentine 23 years later, and I have others, too–I’m grateful for all my family and friends. And that includes you. Thanks for all the love and support you’ve given me and my books.

I wish everyone a bit of chocolate on Tuesday, and here’s a virtual hug from me to you:

{{{{{{{{{{ALL MY READERS}}}}}}}}}}}

If you’re an international reader, please let me know in your comment. I’m sending one of you a copy of one of my books–you decide which one you’d like–and a special tea bag favor.

Hugs,

Kieran :>) P.S. If you’re not on my Facebook page, you haven’t seen my latest book cover: Loving Lady Marcia, available for pre-order now.

Love, Kieran XO

Note: This story first appeared under a different title at the blog  http://www.ramblingsfromthischick.blogspot.com, which belongs to my very sweet friend Dani, a huge supporter of romance.

 Four Lords a-Lurkin’

A Regency Christmas Tale

by

Kieran Kramer

            The Earls of Bonham, Berwick, Chauncy, and Deare were being naughty. Their families supposed each of them to be at the Goodmans’ annual Yuletide masquerade ball—a dreary affair, really, with simpering misses and flirtatious widows demanding their constant attention. There was bowing left and right, country dances in which elbows were bumped and toes trod upon, the sharing of stale on dits, and if one were truly unfortunate, the opportunity to sit next to one of Lady Goodman’s four daughters at supper.

           Oh, it should be mentioned that none of the Goodman girls were the least bit interesting. Pretty, perhaps, but not interesting. They were good, you see. And it got worse: their father was a good man, making his name entirely appropriate. And Lady Goodman was good herself. Which was all well and good, one would suppose…if one had a shred of decency.

          But when you’re a hot-blooded youth of twenty-three with no cares in the world, as all four lords were (separated at birth, their headmaster at Eton used to tell them), then good is the last thing on your mind.

          No, on this Christmas Eve, when they were properly drunk, Lords Bonham, Berwick, Chauncy, and Deare sought bad–

          Bad girls, that is.

          “You don’t suppose they all have the evening off, do you?” asked Lord Bonham (Tripp to his friends, and the most ridiculously handsome among them: he’d once posed for a portrait of the archangel Michael).

          They were making their way down a usually sad, dilapidated London street, although this evening it was quite pretty, what with the snow falling in big, puffy pieces, like lamb’s wool from the sky.

          Lawrence Davis, Lord Chauncy, was an out-and-outer, a Corinthian extraordinaire, known as the infamous winner of the naked curricle race to Brighton. “I suppose even lightskirts want to enjoy the Yuletide season,” he said on a chuckle.

          “I hope they’re enjoying it with no clothes on,” said Anthony James, Lord Deare, who found the most success out of the four with women because of his bedroom brown eyes and hapless charm. Now he wore a mischievous grin–which disappeared when he promptly ran into a gas lamp.

          Fortunately, the brim of his top hat took most of the impact.

          “Good God, Deare,” said Lord Bonham, stopping in his tracks, as did the rest of the party.

          “He’s not your dear,” Halston Avery, Lord Berwick, said to Bonham. Berwick, an orphan now, was the wealthiest, the cleverest, and the naughtiest of them all. Not only was he able to concoct harebrained schemes with great élan, he tossed gold coins around to see that his wild plans were enacted promptly–with the added bonus of no guilt.

          The others still had parents to consider. Not that they did…at least very much.

          “Yes,” Lord Chauncy added, swaying. “You sound like his mother, Bonham.”

          “What am I supposed to call him?” Lord Bonham poked Chauncy in the chest, and reached out to grab his arm when his good friend almost fell backwards. “He’s Deare.”

          Lord Deare, meanwhile, had taken the crumpled black hat off his head and was now staring at it in rapt fascination. “You sh-aved me, Hat,  he slurred.

          The snow began to cover his chestnut curls.

          “It’s a hero,” Lord Berwick said with confidence, eyeing the hat. “It got squashed in the line of duty.”

             “That’s sad,” replied Lord Bonham, and apparently, he meant it, for one small tear slid down his cheek.

            And it was rather tragic, especially when you were four drunken lords with nothing more important on your minds than entertaining yourselves on Christmas Eve.

            “Le’s all squash ours,” suggested Lord Berwick, “in sympathy.”

            So they did, and while they were busy squashing their hats—Lord Chauncy stomped on his for added measure, and Lord Berwick punched a fist through his for the sheer joy of it—a young lady walked by, carrying a basket.

            They all stopped punching, stomping, and crushing and stared after her.

            She wore a cloak, but that look in her eye…they’d all seen it: a certain twinkle. A twinkle no good girl ever had, as far as they knew.

            “Happy Christmas!” called out Lord Deare.

            “Yes, Happy Christmas!” the others shouted after her.

            God, they sounded desperate—and they were. Desperate for a delicious romp in the proverbial hay with a warm, willing bit o’muslin.

            The girl stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Happy Christmas to you gentlemen,” she said with a warmth in her tone that could only mean—

            They stumbled after her.

            “Care for a drink?” one of them asked.

            She giggled. “I know what you’re after,” she chided them. “But it’s Christmas Eve. My friends and I have the night off.” And she turned on her heel and kept walking, swinging her basket.

            “I knew it!” Lord Bonham cried. “They get the evening off, too! Everyone does!”          He seemed quite excited at being right.

            But the other lords weren’t so happy about that fact.  Neither was a large woman with bushy black brows pleased with his outburst. She threw open her shutters from the second story of the building behind them.

            “Shut your gobs down there,” she shouted in a fishwife’s accent. “We’re busy getting a start on having Happy Christmases—we don’t need no drunken lords interfering!”

            And promptly pulled her shutters shut again.

            “Dammit all,” Lord Chauncy murmured, looking after the pretty, twinkly-eyed girl.

            Berwick and Deare merely threw their arms around each other’s shoulders to prop each other up, watched the girl’s swinging hips, and sighed.

            “I suppose we could actually go to the Goodmans’ ball,” muttered Bonham.

            “Too drunk,” said Deare.

            “I rather like the eldest Goodman daughter,” confessed Chauncy. “She laughs like bells. Bells are nice at Christmas.”

            “I like her, too,” said Berwick. “But I prefer the third eldest.”

            “She’s got a lovely bosom,” said Deare with a small hiccup.

            “Don’t talk about her bosom,” warned Berwick.

            “Right,” said Deare. “She’s yours. I’ve got dibs on the second eldest. She likes horses almost as much as I do. And she’s got a very kissable mouth.”

            “Not as kissable as the youngest Goodman,” said Bonham. “Dibs on her.”

            And then, for the first time in their history as best friends, it seemed there was nothing left to do or say. The snow kept falling. The street was silent. And the four lustful lords felt lonely, even though they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

            But even worse, they felt a wee bit ashamed of themselves. Each one wore an expression of regret.

            “We’ve got dibs on no woman,” said Berwick, a catch in his throat, “Good or bad.”

            “Because we’re always gadding about,” added Deare.

            “Busy cavorting,” Chauncy said.

            “In high spirits,” Bonham explained further. “Who can ever keep up?”

            Not a one of them moved, their expressions wistfully woebegone.

            Then from half a block away, they heard a feminine shout. “Oh, come on, you four.”

            It was the girl!

            They half-ran, half-stumbled after her.

            “You can come inside and sober up at our Christmas party,” she said, and held up her basket. “I’ve got a lovely plum pudding from my gran. She made it special for all the ladies. We’ll put some coffee on and have a bit a’ Christmas cheer, eh?”

            The four exchanged glances.

            “Does that mean spirits?” Bonham asked. “As in brandy, whisky–”

            Chauncy held up a hand to interrupt Bonham. “And does Christmas cheer include…“ He paused, waggled his eyebrows, and hoped the twinkly-eyed girl would understand the rest.

            “Don’t even think it,” she said loftily. “I told you. It’s our night off.”

            There was a collective sagging of broad male shoulders.

            And she went walking away from them down the street.

            The men stared after her.

            “Just coffee, puddin’, and good company,” she said without looking back. “Take it or leave it.”

            “We’ll take it,” Berwick said immediately, never one to give up.

            “Yes,” echoed his mates, and followed her a few doors down to a three-story, narrow house that leaned only slightly to the left. A taper flickered in every window, lending it a welcoming air.

            “They told us at the club it leaned to the right,” Deare whispered loudly.

            The girl chuckled. “I’m Stella. Come in.” And she threw open the door.

###

            “Only thirty-five minutes ‘til Christmas,” one of Stella’s housemates said an hour later.

            She was a gorgeous girl, with rosy cheeks, a modest air–and a shimmering gown with almost no bodice, it was so low.

            The men did their best to take only discreet glances at her voluptuous bosom, although Bonham dropped his plate of pudding by accident when she leaned over to throw more lumps of coal on the fire.

            Everyone was seated in a half-circle before the meager flame, the men on rickety chairs and the girls on worn tufted ottomans. In total, there were five young ladies, all of them beautiful and similarly attired in jaw-dropping, shimmering gowns.

            “We wear our finest frocks on Christmas Eve,” said Stella.

            Every one of them was as friendly as a shop girl would be…but no more than that. No special friendliness, that is.

            Although one of them with long, black hair and exotic black eyes had taken off her slippers and placed her tender bare feet in front of the fire, exposing a bit of shapely leg in the process.

            The men sipped their coffee and exchanged tortured glances. A loud clock ticked on the mantel.

            “Well, I suppose it’s time for you lot to go,” said Stella, on a yawn, and stretched her arms above her head, which only served to tighten her bodice across her breasts in an enticing fashion.

            “Are you sure about that?” asked Chauncy, trying to look at her eyes and not her bosom.

            Stella let her arms drop to her sides and laughed. “Yes, really. We get to go to bed early tonight. It’s quite a Christmas treat, isn’t it, girls?”

            They all murmured assent.

            Four male hearts sank.

            Stella leaned forward and put her hand on Berwick’s knee. “Besides,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “you boys need to go back to Mayfair and do what gentlemen do on Christmas Eve. Attend a ball. Pay your respects to the good ladies there. Make your mark on the ton.”

            “Excuse me.” Berwick laid his hand over hers. “You’re good ladies, and we thank you for sharing your hospitality with us tonight. I insist on ringing in Christmas with you. Don’t you, boys? It would be an honor.”

            “Of course,” was their enthusiastic answer.

            But Stella withdrew her hand and stood. “Sorry, but we really must insist you go. Happy Christmas to you all, and thank you for making our little party special.”

            The other women stood as well.

            The lads knew the ladies meant business—erm, that is, they meant no business. At least not tonight.

            “Hurry,” Stella said. “You can make it back to a ball on Grosvenor Square by midnight if you leave now.”

            “Just a minute,” said Chauncy, and lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then he went down the line of prettily dressed maidens and kissed every girl’s hand. “Happy Christmas,” he said with feeling.

            His friends followed suit.

            “A token of esteem freely given by a happy heart,” Stella murmured when the last man was done, and clutched her kissed hand to her heart. “That’s the best Christmas gift of all, isn’t it?”

            “Yes,” said Berwick with more sincerity than he knew he was capable of.

            “Jolly right it is!” Bonham added fervently.

            Chauncy slapped Deare on the back, and he didn’t teeter in the least.

            It seemed that all four of the bachelors had found their legs again. And their good spirits, as well.

            Deare gave the ladies a sweeping bow with an elaborate flourish. “Good evening, sweet angels,” he said, and the girls giggled.

            And why not? Christmas was soon upon them all. It fairly shimmered in the air.

           “I hear a hackney,” the ebony-haired girl said of a sudden.

            And the warm spell was broken.

            Bonham flagged down the shabby hired vehicle. When it rolled up before the house, its creaky wheels hissing in the snow, the horse drawing it snorted, impatient to be gone.

            “Good night,” the prettily dressed Sirens called like a chorus of songbirds to the men from their open door.

            The tapers in every window of their home flickered brightly.

            After Bonham instructed the driver to take them to the Goodmans’ ball, he was the last to enter the hackney. At the open door, he turned around. “Thanks for making us feel at home,” he said gruffly, “when we’re really just four rich ne’er-do-wells. Four rather selfish, rich ne’er-do-wells.”

           “Nonsense,” said Stella firmly. “Beneath your bluster, you’re fine men—or nearly there. And for tonight, we’re princesses. Christmas reminds us, doesn’t it? To have hope.”

            Hope.

            The hackney jerked forward, and the fellows exchanged wary glances.

            “That was…interesting,” Berwick said after a moment, his gaze fixed on the snow still falling gently out the window. He sounded more thoughtful than usual. “Although I could have done without the lecture at the end. How can a lightskirt have hope? It’s ridiculous.”

            “They live in the worst part of London,” Deare said, and shook his head.

            “They have to sell their bodies for a living,” added Chauncy.

            “Right,” muttered Bonham sheepishly. “I fell for it, too, there, didn’t I? They were so damnably pretty.”

            No one made fun of him. In fact, no one said a word. The atmosphere in the vehicle was tense, which only made sense. The effects of their boisterous evening at a few pubs were wearing off.  They’d never got their roll in the hay, either, a fact that had somehow seemed all right mere moments before but which now made for four unsatisfied gentlemen.

            A few more seconds passed, and the hackney swayed on its axle.

           “Dammit, I forgot my cane,” Bonham said with a hint of annoyance.

            After he opened the door and called to the driver to turn back, Chauncy told a fast, rude joke about a dancing monkey and a cane, which seemed to restore the quartet to a sense of normalcy.

           When they returned to the leaning house, it was dark.

           “We’ve only been gone a minute,” said Deare, rather surprised.

            Bonham drew in his sculpted chin. “They’ve already blown out all the candles in the windows.”

           “They said they would enjoy their sleep,” Chauncy reminded them.

           “There’s no way they could have fallen into a slumber yet.” Berwick opened the hackney door and hopped out.

            “It’s my cane—I’ll get it,” insisted Bonham, and jumped out after him.

            “We might as well go, too,” said Deare to Chauncy. “You can never see too many pretty girls. Pretty, sweet girls with hearts of gold. And voluptuous bosoms. I don’t know which I liked more—their hearts or their bosoms. Do you?”

            “No. I liked both. We’re pathetic, aren’t we?” Chauncy murmured, and followed him out.

            Bonham gave three loud, firm knocks on the door.

            The snow kept falling.

            And nobody came to answer their summons.

            “Knock again,” said Deare.

            Bonham did, but there was still no response.

            “Try the knob,” Berwick urged Bonham.

            Bonham did, and the door swung open easily. The small foyer was completely dark.

            “They move fast,” said Chauncy.

            All four men stepped inside and slowly looked around.

            The foyer was empty.

            “I could swear they had a small table here,” Deare whispered. “And a looking glass. I saw myself in it.”

            “Perhaps they didn’t.” Berwick frowned and moved forward. “Let’s go into the drawing—“

            But he stopped abruptly at the drawing room entrance. It, too, was empty.

            “The entire house is vacant,” said Chauncy in disbelief.

            “You’re right.” Bonham gulped. “I felt it outside when we returned. There’s no one here.”

            “We’re in the wrong house, clearly.” Berwick’s voice was a bit thin. “We were in our cups, remember?”

            “And still must be,” Chauncy insisted. “We’ve made a mistake, is all. We were probably at the house next door.”

            “But there’s my cane!” Bonham strode to the hearth, picked up his cane, then bent low and held his hand over the hearth. “It’s completely cold,” he said, and turned to face his friends. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

            “No,” said Berwick in clipped tones.

            “Yes,” Chauncy said at the exact same time.

            Deare said nothing but crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look menacing, a habit of his when he didn’t know what to do.

            “My mother always told me about them,” Bonham said, “but I never believed her.”

            “Told you about what?” asked Deare.

             “Angels,” Chauncy said on a ragged whisper. “Christmas angels. My grandmother swore by them.”

            “Yes.” Bonham gazed around the empty room. “That’s exactly right. My mother told me they existed when I was a boy, but I thought she was merely entertaining me.”

            Berwick, the most cynical of them all, appeared rooted to the spot. “Impossible,” he finally said, then slowly went forward and took Bonham’s cane. He looked at the fireplace, back at the cane, and then at his friends. “I don’t know what to say.”

            Deare gave a short laugh. “Say you’ve been visited by angels, Berwick.”

            “Say it,” Bonham urged him, and grabbed his cane back.

            The horse outside the door whinnied and stamped his hooves.

            “I’ve been visited by angels.” Berwick’s tone was flat as he stared into the dark, cold space that was the hearth. Slowly, he crouched before it and held his hand over what only a few minutes ago was a humble coal fire. “And they were the most beautiful angels I’ve ever seen,” he added, his voice cracking just a tad.

            “They’re the only angels you’ve ever seen,” Deare reminded him.

            Everyone chuckled, and Berwick stood, his face reflecting the same wonder his friends’ expressions revealed in the shadowy darkness of the vacant room.

            “But why would they visit us?” Bonham gazed at each of his companions in turn. “We’re four lecherous lords. They knew it, too. Stella even said we weren’t quite men.”

            “Yet,” Chauncy corrected him. “She did say yet.”

            There was a beat of silence, and then from far away, bells began to ring from St. Paul’s. Christmas had come to London.

            And so had hope.

            “Right,” said Berwick, his voice steady and strong. “Off to that ball.”

            “And to dancing with the wallflowers,” added Chauncy.

            “Before we dance with the Goodman girls.” Deare grinned.

            “Ah, the Goodman girls,” said Bonham lightly. “They’re probably not missing us in the least.”

            And without another word, the four earls left the house, pulling the door gently shut behind them–a little closer to being men already.

~The End~

Congratulations to Diane S., the winner of A CHRISTMAS PROMISE and the bubblebath! Thanks to all of you who left comments. I enjoyed every single one, and I hope you did, too. I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah!  XOXO

My heroine Daisy in If You Give a Girl a Viscount relaxes each night by eating shortbread and drinking warm milk in the kitchen with her friends, Hester and Joe. I wish I could do that, too, but I have to save those shortbread moments for only a few days during the holiday season.

So with better health in mind, I’ve thought of a great way to unwind this month: a book and a bubblebath. I’m going to give away an apothecary jar filled with curled soap made by my multi-talented friend Leah Marie Brown.  Not only is she a regular Etsy contributor, she’s a Francophile and Marie Antoinette expert; the author of Silence in the Mist; a military wife and mom; and a former radio and television broadcaster in the U.S. Air Force!

Along with Leah’s beautiful gift, I’m going to send you one of my favorite Christmas Regencies…Mary Balogh’s A Christmas Promise, to read in that bubblebath I hope you’ll take!

To enter: Either: 1) Leave a comment about a special aspect of your plans for the holidays,  or 2) tell us about a random act of kindness you performed for a stranger. It can be from long ago, last month, or even this morning!

Shipping restrictions means this giveaway is open only to US readers–sorry, my international friends!

Please answer at least one of the following questions:

1) my favorite song from MY FAIR LADY

2) my favorite scene from MY FAIR LADY

3) my favorite character from MY FAIR LADY

4) if you’ve never seen MY FAIR LADY, your favorite musical

5) character traits you like best in your romantic heroines in books, movies, etc.

Have fun!!!

Cheerio, mates~

Kieran :>)

***Congratulations, Katie R., for winning the $10 Starbucks gift card! Enjoy!***

Oh, I love crosswords! Of course, I’m not good at them…which is difficult to admit as my mother and sister do the Sunday New York Times one every week! Have you ever tried that one? It’s brutal!

But anyway, that’s okay. I can have my little crossword from If You Give a Girl a Viscount <g>, can’t I? 

I hope you enjoy it, and if you finish it and send the scan or document to kkramerbooks@aol.com, along with your snail mail address, I’ll send you a bookplate and an “autographed by the author” gold sticker that you can put on your print version of VISCOUNT. If you bought it in e-book format, I’ll send you my four romance trading cards from the Impossible Bachelors series.

Have fun! First one to finish also gets a $10 Starbucks card!!!

Love, Kieran XOXO

Here’s a link if you’d rather print it from the source: If You Give a Girl a Viscount crossword puzzle. But there’s one thing about that version you should be aware of: number 9 Down should read, “Charlie and Daisy’s makeout spot.” Not “Charlie and Daisy’s first makeout spot,” which would be her own drawing room! Nope, it’s not the drawing room I’m referring to here. It’s someplace else. I couldn’t change it on the linked version of the puzzle without losing the formatting, so I apologize for that one small change.

Of course, the mistake would be on the sexiest clue!!!  <g>

Now this version you see here below is in perfect condition, so you decide which one you want to use. Good luck!

Oatmeal.

Doesn’t that gentleman on the label looks so friendly and unassuming? Hah. He’s actually laughing at me, I think. Laughing at me for being so trusting!!!  

:>)

So anyway, after I fill in the mortifying details at Blame It on The Muse today, I’ll be giving away a copy of one of my books to three different commenters! The winners can choose from When Harry Met Molly; Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right; and Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage. Each book also comes with a Regency-inspired porcelain tea rest, a small tea tin with a few packets of my favorite teas, and some of my favorite tea biscuits. I’ll include my romance trading cards as well!

Come join in the fun!

***Random.org has selected Lora as the winner of the ARC of IF YOU GIVE A GIRL A VISCOUNT & the Nature’s Wick candle and infuser gift set! Thank you to everyone who entered the contest. I LOVED all your stories!***

Boo!

I’ve got an extra Halloween surprise. I told my Facebook friends to leave a comment about Halloween to be eligible to win an advanced reader copy of If You Give a Girl a Viscount.

But I’ve got one more thing to add if you’re in the continental US…I’ll throw in a beautiful “Bonfire” scented Nature’s Wick candle and mini-infuser gift set!

I wish I could send the gift set to other places in the world, but it’s too complicated to post because there’s liquid involved and customs doesn’t like packages like that, LOL!!!

But if you’re overseas, I’ll be happy to send you the ARC, along with some American Halloween candy tossed in the envelope!

Hugs, everyone, and I’ll leave you with my favorite Halloween memory…my brother Patrick, who’s a year older, was very, very young. One Halloween night, he dragged around his sack of candy from house to house, which made a hole in the bottom of his bag. So all the candy leaked out. I remember feeling traumatized when this happened to him–I couldn’t even imagine how awful he must have felt! But everyone rallied round and gave him some candy. Since six of the seven siblings were trick-or-treating that night, it wasn’t hard to do! :>)

***Note: we have our winners! Thanks to all of you who welcomed Theresa so warmly.  Beebs won a copy of Theresa’s book. Yay, Beebs! And the winners of the two tea packages are Tanja, who came up with those answers about McVitie’s Digestive Biscuits right away, and Betty Hamilton, who won the second tea package given to a commenter chosen at random. Congratulations, ladies! 

I’m thrilled to have my fabulous friend Theresa Romain here with us to celebrate the release of her first novel…drumroll, please…the Zebra Regency historical Season for Temptation!

I love a romantic tale in which someone is caught between duty and passion. A handsome viscount named James must choose between two sisters: Julia, the outgoing one, and Louisa, the shy one he’s betrothed to already. What’s he going to do? Who’s he going to choose?

You’ll have to read this scintillating story to find out!

Meanwhile, since I’m a big fan of tea, and tea is a big part of any Regency lady’s lifestyle, I thought I’d ask Theresa what her tea-drinking habits are…and to share a few delicious tidbits from her book.

Take it away, Theresa!!!

Kieran, thanks so much for hosting me today! I’m delighted to visit about tea and the release of my debut, SEASON FOR TEMPTATION—which have more to do with one another than you might think.

When I started thinking about tea, my first thought was, “oh, I’m actually a coffee drinker.” But that’s only somewhat true. Coffee is my morning drink. Coffee gets my day started. Coffee is for work. But tea…tea is for fun.

Tea to me is the drink of coziness, and it’s what I like in the afternoon when I need a little extra boost.  I love Celestial Seasonings Bengal Spice tea, which is an herbal blend that smells like gingerbread in a cup.  For black tea, I like Bigelow’s Constant Comment, which is another sweet and spicy blend.

Since I drink tea to warm up and wake up, I associate tea itself with fall and winter. When I see the leaves of our Autumn Blaze maple turning flame-red, and when the wind starts to blow chilly instead of hot (because there is ALWAYS wind in the Midwest, where I live), then it feels like tea season.

I like to wrap my hands around a big mug of scalding tea and sip at it slowly.  This has two benefits:

1) it keeps my hands warm, and

2) no one else in my family can take it away and drink it themselves.  (In our house, making tea is apparently a specialized skill that only I possess, but drinking tea is a skill everyone has.)

So you see that, for me, tea has lots of associations with leisure, comfort, and family power struggles.  And it’s the same way in the first chapter of my romance debut.

SEASON FOR TEMPTATION is a lighthearted Regency-set historical romance featuring family scandals and a love triangle.

What? Lighthearted scandal? A lighthearted love triangle?

Well…yes. The hero, James Matheson, tries to save his family’s reputation by making an engagement of convenience with the serious Louisa. But when he travels to the country to meet Louisa’s family, he falls into a very inconvenient love with her impetuous stepsister and closest friend, Julia.

In this love triangle, all three people mean well. All are very devoted to their families, and all do their best to act nobly despite their own feelings.

Since it’s a romance, you know it’ll end well. But how does it begin? Well, I promised you tea. The first time James meets Julia, she offers him tea to smooth over the unconventional way her family has greeted him. Let’s see how it goes:

*          *          *

She laughed softly as she poured out two more cups of fragrant dark tea.

“Heavens, we are coming at you all wrong. I am so sorry, my lord. The only explanation I can think of is that we are out of practice in receiving Louisa’s fiancés.” She smiled at James. “Milk or lemon?”

James blinked. Surely she hadn’t just said what he thought she’d said. “Er…have there been many?”

“Many what? Lemons? I suppose so. We all like them prodigiously.”

“No, fiancés.” He held his breath waiting for her answer.

Julia looked puzzled for a moment, regarding the tea tray as if looking for the fiancés in question. Then understanding broke over her face.

“No; you’re the one and only, which I would have thought you’d have known. But it is so much easier to throw Louisa to the wolves than to blame the whole household for our topsy-turvy welcome. Especially since that option includes my own poor greeting.”

She laughed, and James let a relieved breath whoosh out of his lungs. He settled against the sofa back again, considering this thought process.

No, it still didn’t make any sense to him, but the distraction was delightful. After a moment, he gave up and just chuckled. “Miss Julia, your logic is impressive. Lemon, please, and one sugar.”

*          *          *

There you have it. In any century, tea heals all wounds. At least for a few minutes, anyway.

Thank you, Theresa, for sharing some time with us! I wish you tremendous success with your first book, and I hope someday we can share a cup of tea together at a writers’ conference!

Okay, dear reader friends, in honor of Theresa’s debut, we’ll be giving away a signed copy of Season for Temptation to one commenter. Here are two questions to get you started: 1) What do you like best about love triangle stories? and 2) Have you ever been caught in one?

Sssshhhh, don’t tell, but I have!! <ggg>

And in light of James’s and Julia’s tête-à-tête over the tea tray in Season for Temptation, Theresa has another question you might like to consider: “Has tea (or coffee, or any other non-alcoholic drink) ever helped you get through an awkward situation?”

Pipe up to win!

And there’s more…

I mentioned on Facebook that I have another prize to give–

To the first commenter to tell me 1) where McVitie’s Digestive Biscuits were first produced, and 2) why they have such an unusual name, I’m going to send you a box of Theresa’s two favorite teas–Constant Comment and Bengal Spice– as well as a Regency-inspired porcelain tea rest so you can feel all ‘la-di-da’ when you squeeze those steeped tea bags. :>)

I’m also going to throw in a package of my favorite Pepperidge Farm Gingerbread men cookies and some of Theresa’s favorites: McVitie’s Digestive Biscuits! I had a choice: plain or chocolate covered? Take a wild guess which kind I got!

***Note: Since someone already won the tea package–good for you, Tanja!!–I’m going to give away another identical prize to a random commenter who visits today.  :>) 

Theresa’s Bio & Buy Links!

Theresa Romain holds degrees in psychology, English literature, and history, an impractical education that allowed her to read everything she could get her hands on.  She has worked, interned, and translated for libraries and universities, all of which fed her love of books and her fascination with the past.  She lives with her family in the Midwest and lives online at http://theresaromain.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.
Order Theresa’s book: Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Indiebound • Powell’s

Order ebook: Kindle • nook

Are you enjoying the start of the new school year? At the end of summer, I’m just teetering on the brink of craving a schedule again, so September is my month for getting back into my routines. A big part of my day is drinking tea. I’m mad for it! I grew up with an English nanny and an Irish mother, so no wonder. <g> 

My books wouldn’t be Regencies without the ritual of drinking tea included somehow. Nothing like a heroine fumbling over the tea tray in the presence of her worried mother, the snooty duchess who lives next door, and the hero (the duchess’s son, perhaps?), who is watching our tender heroine’s every move from a strategic position at the fireplace mantel.

I could start a story right from there, couldn’t I? We could talk it out over a cup of tea! And some delicious chocolate-covered tea biscuits, of course.

:>)

But back to September fun…I’m giving away two tea-inspired gifts on both my Facebook page and on Writerspace.

For Facebook: Click here if you’d like to win the darling teapot and matching cups you see at the top of this post, along with my favorite tea and buscuits.

And for Writerspace: Just click on this contest link and follow the directions to enter my September contest. In anticipation of the November release of If You Give a Girl a Viscount, I’m offering one reader friend a Regency-inspired porcelain tea bag rest along with some “tea time” goodies and a signed copy of Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage, plus a set of my Impossible Bachelor romance trading cards.

Oh, and just in case you’re wondering, Joon, my cat, is not included in the Writerspace prize you see here! She likes to pose for prize giveaways, however. Kind of like the models on The Price Is Right:

Thanks for visiting me here today, and I wish you many cozy cups of tea–and romantic Regency tales–this autumn! 

Kieran XOXO

My beloved sister-in-law Sharon Wray, of whom I’m vastly proud, is a writer of military romantic suspense novels and has garnered many awards on her path to publication. She’s also a talented photo essayist. I hope you’ll enjoy the story she tells in this photo essay she created about our most recent family reunion at the height of summer in the Lowcountry.

Faith, Hope, and Publication–A Study in: Summer Family Reunion by Sharon Wray

Enjoy!

Meanwhile, I want to show you a picture of Sharon. She’s as sweet as she looks, but she’s spunky, too…she has to be to put up with my family, LOL!

And here’s a short, fascinating bio of her:  A librarian/archivist who also studied the art of embroidery in the couture houses of Paris and designed custom wedding gowns, Sharon is now a mother of twins and an RWA 2010 and 2011 Golden Heart romantic suspense author of the Black Ops Brotherhood series.

P.S. She’s also now a Maggie finalist in Single Title with her latest manuscript, JULIET’S ROGUE! Congrats, Sharon!!!

If any of you would like to leave a comment about Sharon, her photo essay, or tell us about YOUR childhood home(s), I’d love to hear from you. How much do you think the setting you lived in as a child shaped who you are today? 

Thanks for stopping by!

Hugs,

Kieran :>)