Please help me welcome my friend Debra Holland to my blog today.

Sometimes an author carries a story around in her head for years before she actually has a chance to write it. Such was the case for me with Glorious Montana Sky. I can’t tell you when the idea for the story of Joshua Norton, son of Reverend Norton (the minister in my small Montana town) and his wife Mary, came about. I do know I started formulating the story about three years ago.

The first scene that came to me and I wrote down at the time was between Joshua and his father. In the scene, Joshua, a missionary who’d just returned from Africa after the death of his wife, was telling his father about his feelings of burnout. (But since it’s 1895, I couldn’t use the word “burnout.”)

As I wrote this scene, another character came into being—Joshua’s nine-year-old son, Micah. Joshua told his father how Micah had run wild for the previous year because his mother was dying. The boy bonded with the African natives, whom he considered family, and was grieving and resentful about leaving them. Joshua had been focused on caring for his wife and neglected his son. So his relationship with Micah is strained.

Ah, two hurting men or, rather, a man and a boy. I had to find a partner for Joshua—a woman who’d both challenge him and help him heal, one who’d bond with Micah and help him adjust to living in Sweetwater Springs, Montana.

A definite challenge for I had no character in Sweetwater Springs who would fit for Joshua. Therefore, I had to bring her from somewhere else. So the idea of Delia Fortier, a quadroon woman fleeing New Orleans with her father, came to me. I knew he’d have a heart attack on the train, forcing the two to stay in Sweetwater Springs while he recovered. Delia has a secret that she hides from Joshua—the reason she and her father left New Orleans. This secret will keep her and Joshua apart and may even threaten their lives.

With the idea for the book firmly in my mind, I wrote down my notes. I commissioned Delle Jacobs, my cover designer, to do the cover for Glorious Montana Sky, telling her I wanted a sweeping sky scene with a train in the distance. We played with the size and angle of the train, and I settled on a small barely seen version.

Then I set the story aside and focused on writing Painted Montana Sky and Montana Sky Christmas, both smaller books that I could write quicker than the longer story for Glorious Montana Sky. Then I had the idea for The Mail-Order Brides of the West subseries, and wrote three of those books.

So Glorious Montana Sky had plenty of time to simmer in my mind. In the years since thinking of the story and writing it, I would have ideas or bits of dialogue come to me. Often this happened in church during the sermon. One of the ministers at my church was a missionary and also grew up on a farm in North Dakota. Sometimes he’d tell a story that had me scribbling notes on my bulletins. When it came time to write the book, I had a stack of church bulletins to go through.

A week ago, I received my author copies of Glorious Montana Sky. Holding the book in my hand, with the beautiful cover designed three years ago, I had a huge sense of accomplishment—a dream that was three years old was now a reality. What a wonderful feeling!

DESCRIPTION
After years as a missionary in Africa, Joshua Norton is mentally exhausted. He returns home with his estranged nine-year-old son in tow, hoping to rebuild their relationship.

Meanwhile, Delia Fortier plots to escape becoming the mistress of a cruel, powerful politician. The mixed-race secret daughter of a wealthy businessman, Delia seeks help from her father who offers her an opportunity: travel west with him, pretending to be his legitimate daughter.

When Joshua and Delia meet, their attraction is undeniable. But will Delia’s secret stand in the way of their love?

EXCERPT

No sign of Delia. Anxious to see her, Joshua stepped through the glass door and onto the brick path. He moved toward the fountain, then veered to the right, checking underneath the arbor, and then looked across to the other. The wooden benches under both were empty.

Disappointed and wondering if she’d gone in to check on her father, Joshua continued his stroll around the fountain, choosing the slanting path toward the gazebo. The breeze brought the scent of the roses growing in beds along the wall. From this angle, he could see through the doorway to where Delia sat reading on a cushioned bench that circled the interior. His stomach did a little flip, and his feet rooted to the ground.

Sunlight filtered through the lattice and hanging morning glory vines to gild her gold-and-brown patterned dress and burnish auburn highlights into her dark hair. He could see her profile…the line of her throat, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

Somehow, Joshua knew he’d always remember this image of her. Reluctant to shatter the picture, he watched for another moment before taking off his hat. “Miss Bellaire,” he called softly.
Delia looked up from her book and saw him.

The way she smiled and how her eyes lit up caused Joshua to catch his breath.

“Reverend Joshua.” She placed a bookmark between the leaves and closed the volume. “How good to see you.” She waved him in.

“Mrs. Graves tells me your father is resting.”

“Yes, I insisted. Although Papa does seem much stronger and has started to chafe at staying in bed.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“Your son is a godsend, the way he entertains my father. After their chess game, Micah walks him in the area outside the bedroom. It’s something to see, Papa’s hand on Micah’s shoulder, their painstaking progress, that boy’s patience with a sick man.”

Her words gave Joshua a sense of pride. For so long, he’d only heard complaints and criticism about his son, mostly he reflected with some guilt, from the boy’s own mother. And she’d made him believe their son’s normal boyhood mischief was a more serious behavioral problem. Thank goodness, Micah and I are gradually growing closer.

“Visiting with Andre has helped Micah too,” he said. “My son seems happier lately. I’m hopeful adapting to Montana won’t be as difficult as he and I feared.”

She patted the bench next to her. “Come sit. I imagine my father will awaken soon and will be happy to see you.”

Joshua took a seat next to her, perhaps closer than he would for any other lady, setting down the bowler on his other side. “I’ve been in better spirits, too.”

Delia gazed at him, sympathy in her eyes. “You’ve been in mourning.”

He let out a long breath. “Yes, but I’ve also struggled with a feeling of malaise.”

She touched his hand. “I’ve seen signs of that.”

“Being home…with my family and old friends…” He gazed at her sure she could see his feelings in his eyes. “And new ones…has proven to be a tonic.”

Pink rose in her cheeks, and she glanced away.

He reached inside his coat, pulled out the letter from his vest pocket, and handed it to her. “The stationmaster sent this with me. He says it’s from New Orleans.”

The light left her eyes, and her skin paled. With obvious reluctance, Delia reached to take the letter from him.

Concerned, Joshua leaned toward her.

Delia glanced up at him, her eyes wide and apprehensive. “It’s from my mother.”

“Would you like me to leave so you can read in private?”

Her hand shot out to clasp his. “Oh, no. Please stay.”

Joshua squeezed her fingers and had to prevent an instinctive need to bring her hand to his lips. Reluctantly he released her.

Delia took a deep breath, opened the envelope, pulled out the single sheet of paper, and began to read.

From the glimpse Joshua had of the writing before he turned his face away, her mother had only written a few paragraphs.

Delia made a small gasping sound of distress.

His stomach tightened. What’s wrong?

When she finished reading, Delia kept her head averted. With shaking hands, she clumsily folded the paper and tried to stuff the sheet back into the envelope.

BIO

Debra Holland is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Montana Sky Series (sweet historical Western romance.) She’s also the author of The Gods’ Dream Trilogy (fantasy romance.) Sign up for her newsletter and download a free copy of her ebooklet: 58 Tips For Getting What You Want From a Difficult Conversation. Http://drdebraholland.com

I am delighted to be a guest on Cindy’s blog today! It’s an honor to spend time with such a talented writer. Thank you for inviting me, Cindy!

My most recent release is hot off the presses! Christmas Hope is an uplifting holiday novella available on Amazon as an ebook for 99¢. It will also be included in an anthology called Romancing Christmas that is scheduled for release on November 3 and will be available for pre-order on October 24. It’s a real pleasure to be included with nine authors and a range of exciting Christmas stories!

Christmas Hope is Book 4 of the Appalachian Foothill series, and includes secondary characters who appear in at least one of the previous books: Hijacked, Unholy Bonds, and Opal’s Jubilee.

The inspiration for this story came from a couple of different places. I swim, and one day I noticed one of the lifeguards at my pool has a prosthetic leg for an above-the-knee amputation. He got my imagination going, and initially, Sam, in Christmas Hope, was going to be an amputee. Then I saw an article about the Wounded Warrior Project that focused on burns—and in my imagination, Sam’s injuries morphed, leaving him with a bum knee and a mangled face. He now had a different set of problems to overcome.

Part of the inspiration for Becca came from a niece whose tattoos tell much about her, if one is willing to listen—or can create a barrier of preconceived notions, much like Sam’s facial scarring. The other part of Becca’s inspiration came from a widely circulated story from China about forced abortions. While it wasn’t an element that I spent much time on in the story (it is a Christmas story, after all), I wanted to include that as part of my attention to women’s issues in my writing. Becca also had to face the challenges of single motherhood so (unfortunately) common to many.

Besides the themes of finding hope and family in unexpected places, the necessity of looking beyond outward appearances shows up in both Becca and Sam. It is a rare person who is able to quickly look past differences to find common ground. May we all develop that ability.

Here’s the back cover copy for Christmas Hope:

Sam Bledsoe prefers his reclusive existence. A one-man landscape business keeps a roof over his head and food on the table—and keeps his badly scarred face away from curious eyes. But when a woman faints on her way from neighbor Maggie Ross’s house, he doesn’t hesitate. He rushes to help while grappling with memories of the incident that burned him so badly.

Free spirit Becca Sweet is pregnant—and down on her luck. The father of her unborn baby showed his true colors when he showed her the door. The apartment she has lined up isn’t available until the first of the year, and with Christmas and a storm on the way, living in her car is no longer an option. Becca appeals to her no-nonsense sister for help, but Maggie, unaware of Becca’s pregnancy, chooses that moment to dish out some tough love.

When Sam comes to Becca’s rescue, their battered hearts collide. In a moment of holiday magic, they discover that Christmas hope applies to all, even to them. And will hope lead to love, the most precious Christmas gift of all?

Read on for an excerpt from Christmas Hope:

A KALEIDOSCOPE OF MANIC and sorely out-of-season butterflies took flight in Becca Sweet’s stomach as she lifted her hand to press the doorbell of her sister’s house.
Or maybe it was the barely visible baby growing a few inches lower. Nah. She wasn’t quite far enough along to feel anything yet.

Either way, she didn’t relish the next few minutes. She stalled, looking at Maggie and Mike’s house. Her forefinger hovered over the lighted oval in a moment of indecision.

Light flowed out around partially opened draperies, a Christmas tree adorned with sparkling multicolored lights taking center stage in the picture window. A crèche stood silent vigil in the front yard. Snowflakes danced in the wind and settled on her cheeks, then decorated her eyelashes. Her breath created small clouds in the air.

It was so lovely and picturesque, it nearly took Becca’s breath away. Then again, maybe it was the bitter cold that stole her breath. An involuntary shiver ran through her and made up her mind.

She stabbed the bell and stood back, firming her lips and squaring her shoulders.

No more nights in the car. Even if it meant owning up to her failure to keep up payments on the loan Mike and Maggie had advanced awhile back. Evasion had been a bad plan to start out with, but now concern for her baby eclipsed Becca’s pride.

Footsteps sounded in the house, and Becca presented a tight smile at the peephole and waggled a gloved hand.

The door jerked open, revealing Maggie, who planted herself as a human shield between the warmth behind her and the cold swirling around Becca. A range of emotions crossed Maggie’s face, but a flash of what might have been joy was quickly chased off her face and replaced with suspicion.

“Becca. It’s been a long time.” Maggie drew herself up to her full height of nearly five feet four inches.

The tone of her voice almost cowed Becca, but there was more at stake for her now, and she didn’t retreat from her sister’s disdain.

“Hi, Mags.” The fantasy of a welcoming smile and Come in, come in was too much to hope for, so she didn’t.

“What do you want?” Maggie didn’t bother with a smile, whether tight or genuine.

Megan, who was closing in on her fifth birthday, ran up behind her mother and peered around her legs. Maggie put a proprietary hand on her daughter’s head, preventing her from venturing any further. Both sported riotous carrot-colored curls, Megan’s marginally corralled in a whale-spout ponytail atop her head. Maggie wore her hair cropped shorter than the last time Becca had seen her.

Becca buried her ego and forced a light note into her voice. “Got any extra Christmas spirit around? Any you’re willing to share with me?”

Award-winning author Leslie Lynch gives voice to characters who struggle to find healing for their brokenness—and discover unconventional solutions to life’s unexpected twists.
Leslie lives near Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband and her adult children’s cats. While not engaged in wrestling the beautiful and prolific greenery of their yard into submission, she flies as a volunteer for the Civil Air Patrol, loves the exuberant creativity and color of quilting and pottery…and, of course, writes.
You can find her at:

Website: http://leslielynchauthor.wordpress.com/
Facebook: Leslie Lynch Writes
Twitter: @Leslie_Lynch_

Please help me welcome JoAnne Myers to my blog today. JoAnne is giving away, to two lucky commenters, a paperback copy of their choice of her books, so be sure and leave a comment.

For as long as I can remember, I have had an artistic flare-whether that be for writing, painting, sewing or drawing. I recall as a child how much I enjoyed drawing. The writing came later. My seventh grade English teacher was Mrs. Henderson-a young mother and wife. She gave us a writing assignment and after gifting me with an A+ told me I should consider writing as a career. She meant as a journalist. I did not take her advise and become a journalist (one of my many misgivings). My mind went toward other things as many young girls dream of-a husband, home, and family of my own. I put my love for writing and painting on hold for years. I unfortunately married a man who like my mother never encouraged me to be artistic. It was not until my children were grown and I no longer had a husband, that I went back to my first love-art. I got a late start, but always encouraged my children and others to partake of artistic endeavors. I now have six books under contract with two publishing houses. So my words to you all, is that no matter what road you choose, never forget your passion, and always keep it close to heart. Don’t let anyone or anything stop you from enjoying your natural talents. You might need to put art on a temporary hold, but never ever give up.

Blurbs for “Flagitious” a four crime/mystery anthology

“Too Solve His Mother’s Murder”

After his Air Force career was interrupted by his mother’s untimely murder, Steven Moore, returned home. Met with a cold reception of lies, secrets, and threats, he is determined too find Wanda’s killer, even at the cost of his own life. Was Wanda a victim of the legendary Hatchet Man? Was this loving and devoted mother killed because of her shady past, or for her inheritance? Between finding the truth and falling in love, Steven stops at nothing, too solve his mother’s murder.

“The Other Couple’s Child”

Charlotte had it all. A loving and devoted husband. Supportive family and friends, and a house full of beautiful children. Everything was perfect for this Super Mom, until a medical procedure turns her life upside down, and spirals into a child abduction case. Time is running out. Will police arrive in time to save Charlotte and the other couple’s child?

“3381 Market Street”

Katherine Sims, a young widow working for a brokerage firm in a small southeastern town, is tired of the excuses concerning Charlie’s absence. She knows something terrible must have happened to her favorite nephew with the sad blue-eyes. After exposing the killer, Katherine’s life is turned upside down and she finds herself fighting for her life. Filled with maniacal suspects, a Satanic Cult, and danger around each corner, this story depicts one woman’s courage too avenge a child’s murder, while finding unexpected love.

“The Tarot Card Murders”

New Detective, and ex-navel man, twenty-six-year-old Nick Difozzio, returns to his small county determined too abolish crime. Not until death knocked on his door, did he know the face of evil. Will the decorated veteran destroy the Lycanthropes, or will he succumb to their murderess desires and become one of them? He took an oath too protect, honor, and uphold the law, but can he defy the lust, riches, and power offered, or are the ‘dark forces’ stronger than his will?

Excerpt from “The Tarot Card Murders”

The Scene: Detective Nick Difozzio has been called to another bizarre murder scene, located in the abandoned industrial section of town.

An abrupt silence you could cut with a knife filled the room. “Shape-shifters?” said one from the group. “You mean like a Yeti turns into a deer to avoid those who track it. Or the Lock Ness monster turns into a log.”
After Ted and the others poked fun at his fantastic idea, Nick laid it out, “Not exactly. But certain creatures are believed to have shape-shifting powers of one sort or another, and what other possibility is there to explain these bizarre murders?”
“Well, we could have a psychopath lurkin’ around. Or a nutty drifter or escaped convict,” Ted said. “But it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to understand that, if shape-shifters do exit, they would be very elusive creatures, nearly impossible to detect and capture. What does take a lot of imagination, is believing in shape-shifters.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll see ya tomorrow,” Nick said. Once outside, he noticed the full moon, and wondered, who will die tonight? On reaching his vehicle, he discovered a surprise in his passenger seat.
“Denise, what’s going on?” he asked via the driver’s window.
With teeth white as snow, she said, “Well, sugar, I was thinkin’ about the last time you were at my house. You remember, when you cabbaged my safe contents so foolishly?”
With a chuckle, he nodded. “Honey, the only foolish thing I did that night was fail to realize the money in the safe was counterfeit. But I bet it’s all gone now.”
“And I bet you’re right,” she smiled. Just then, Denise’ partner in crime, twenty-two-year-old Wendy Goss zapped the lawman with a stun gun from behind, dropping him like a hot potato.
Jumping from the vehicle, Denise removed Nick’s gun and cell phone, placing them under the seat. Afterward, both women placed him in the backseat. Getting behind the steering wheel of Nick’s car, Denise drove his Mustang, while Wendy followed in her Firebird.
Halfway to the destination spot, Nick regained consciousness. With his gun gone, he played dead, hoping to find the gang’s hangout. Soon both vehicles stopped. Denise exited the Ford then helped Wendy search the Firebird’s trunk, for items needed for Nick’s demise.
“Someone better keep an eye on the cop,” Wendy said.
“Don’t worry, that pig’s out cold,” Denise said, finding rope. Peering out the back window, Nick realized he was on an abandoned farm. Searching for landmarks, he memorized a foreclosure sign reading Stonewall Realty.
Uncertain if the girls were armed, Nick made the decision to strike now or never. Disabling his car’s dome light, he cautiously retreated from the backseat. As quiet as a mouse, he snuck up on the chattering women foraging for items to gag and bind him.
As soon as the murdering beauties were finished gathering their supplies, Denise slammed the trunk shut. Immediately Nick punched her between her baby blues, knocking her to the ground before turning on Wendy.
Struggling with the yellow-haired lady, who, like her partner, was trained in Judo, Nick swapped blows with the tall slender gal and encountered a high degree of skill. Then, recovering, Denise attacked him from behind with a blow to his ribs, bringing him to his knees. Both women struck like tigers from all sides.
Doing his best to avoid their most deadly kicks, Nick used every device not nailed down as a weapon against the feisty felines. First, his leather belt with the sterling silver buckle, then, a stray piece of firewood left behind by the homeowners. Across the parking area, the trio fought. Nick matched his street skills against the trained martial artists as each one fought for their own reasons.
The gallant cop battled for his life and self-respect, while the women fought for control over the detective representing the authority they loathed. Or perhaps, Denise and Wendy’s desire for domination extended to include the entire county, not just the town, thought Nick. Whatever the reason, they’re formidable.
Bruised and bleeding, the women fought until Nick broke Wendy’s arm. Seizing the opportunity to get away, she escaped in her vehicle leaving her comrade helpless and easily overpowered.
“Get off me, you bastard!” Denise screamed as Nick slammed her to the ground, cuffing her.
“You’re under arrest.” Wiping the blood from his lip, he threw her into his vehicle then drove to the local hospital. On the way there, Nick phoned headquarters, “I got one of the blood members. We’re on our way to the ER.”

Author Bio:

JoAnne has been a long-time resident of southeastern Ohio, and worked in the blue-collar industry most of her life. Besides having seven novels under her belt, JoAnne canvas paints. When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, JoAnne spends time with relatives, her dog Jasmine, and volunteers her time within the community.
JoAnne is a member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, Savvy Authors, Coffee Time Romance, Paranormal Romance Guild, True Romance Studios, National Writers Association, the Hocking Hill’s Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center.
JoAnne believes in family values and following your dreams. Her original canvas paintings, can be found at: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com

Other books by JoAnne:

“WICKED INTENTIONS” a paranormal/mystery anthology
“LOVES’, MYTHS’ AND MONSTERS’,” a fantasy anthology
“THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY,” a biography true-crime
“POEMS ABOUT LIFE, LOVE, AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN”
“TWISTED LOVE,” a true-crime anthology
“MURDER MOST FOUL,” a detective/mystery

Contact JoAnne:

http://www.facebook.com/joanne.myers.927
http://facebook.com/authorpage.joannemyers

http://amazon.com/author/joannemyers

Email: authorjoannemyers@yahoo.com

Buy links:

Amazon Kindle:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NOZGUPG

Paperback:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/joanne-myers/flagitious/paperback/product-21812982.html

Left to Right: Montagu House, Townley Gallery and Sir Robert Smirke’s west wing under construction (July 1828)

My debut novel is a time travel romance called MUST LOVE BREECHES, and the heroine works at the British Museum in present day, but finds herself in 1834 London. I thought it would be fun for her to visit the museum while she’s in 1834 to see her reaction.

When I wrote my first draft, I knew I needed to do research on the museum, but waited until I was polishing my third draft. I wondered if the current building was even around in 1834, and sure enough, it wasn’t. But, it was right during the time it was being built. It took some digging to find out which wing was built when, and which was yet open for the public, but I discovered that in 1834, she would be visiting the previous museum’s lodgings, Montagu House. The British Museum’s website has some very helpful history posted. This initial led me to many more on their history, with photos and drawings, and even a history of each wing.

However, I wanted to find what artifacts she’d be seeing. I thought I’d need to write the British Museum and see if they’d be so helpful as to do something like this for a newbie writer. Thankfully, on the off-chance that Google would pull through, I searched online. Would you believe that the British Museum published guides to their artifacts room by room at various times in the 1800s? And they’re posted online? Talk about a writer’s wet dream! They’re available on Google Books. Here’s the one from 1814 and the one from 1838. Using these and other online sources, I was able to form a picture of what she might have seen. I had to draw a map on paper, to figure out some of this, as the photos got confusing.

Anyway, here’s a before and after of the hero and heroine approaching the museum. Notice the lack of detail in the first version. I had no idea what she was “seeing.” (There’s other things lacking, too!). The hero doesn’t know she’s from the future.

Second Draft:

They rode in silence until they pulled up at the marbled façade a few blocks later.

Once inside, however, Miss Rochon seemed so completely absorbed with just the interior of the building, with the displays off the main room, that Phineas felt he would be intruding if he interrupted her to redirect them to a person knowledgeable about Colonial artifacts. If she was enjoyably engaged, that was all that mattered. He smiled, looking at her as she flitted from one object to another.

“Wow, the way they’re displayed! This is just so weird!”

“Weird?” Phineas looked around, trying to comprehend how any of what he saw could be construed as ‘weird’. Some of the items, to be sure, but how they were displayed?

“It’s just so old-fashioned! I saw a museum once outside of Atlanta, a little local one, that had display tables with the artifacts set up like this, with little cards all lined up, one next to another, but…”

“Old-fashioned? Atlanta?” Phineas felt a surge of patriotic fervor rise in his chest. How insulting could she be?

Miss Rochon whipped her head around and stared at him, color draining from her face. She almost appeared as if she had forgotten his presence. Phineas felt even more insulted.

“Oh my gosh, I keep forgetting…”

“Forgetting what, Miss Rochon?”

“Nothing, sorry, I sometimes ramble. I just love museums and can get carried away.” She turned her back to him, attempting to be engrossed with something she observed there, but Phineas could not suffer the statement to pass without comment.

“What is this business about old-fashioned? And what, pray tell, is Atlanta?”

“Oh, um, sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive, though I know that’s how it appears. Did I say old-fashioned? I just meant, how, well, old everything was, the items, you know. And, uh, Atlanta is a place I used to live.”

“In America?”

“Yes.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I know.”

“You know?” Realizing he was marching toward her, he deliberately slowed his pace and stopped a foot from her. “What the devil does that mean? You expect me to be ignorant of your country’s history and places? I find myself more and more insulted.”

“Oh God, I keep making it worse. I assure you I didn’t mean that. I can’t explain… I, uh, oh wow, look at that [insert some cool artifact]. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in such good condition. This is so amazing.”

Final:

He took a deep breath and directed the horses onto Russell Street. He forced himself to remember that he was here as her guide. “Up ahead are the entrance gates to the museum.”

She stiffened beside him and breathed in sharply. He frowned, but continued with his tour. “Behind this building, the old gardens are now a construction site for the new museum Smirke is erecting.”

Their carriage wheels clattered over the courtyard stones. He threw the reins to a servant and assisted Miss Rochon from the curricle. As she placed her hand in his, another carriage passed; the same one he had noticed behind them earlier. A shadowed face peered from the interior, and he could not shake the feeling they had been followed.

“So, you said they’re building a new museum behind here?” Miss Rochon’s excited voice interrupted his speculations. He must be more vigilant. The carriage continued on its way, however, and did not stop.

He gave his full attention to Miss Rochon. “Yes, I have heard the present structure will be demolished soon to make room for the new museum’s South Wing.”

She seemed as interested with the building’s exterior as he’d expected her to be with the interior. She lingered and surveyed the whole façade.

Once inside, a guide conducted them through the ground floor library and up the main staircase, the specimens of unusual animals of the world looming above. Phineas wished to ask the guide about their collection. However, Miss Rochon seemed so completely absorbed with the building’s interior, the paintings by La Fosse on the ceilings, and the displays themselves, he felt he would be intruding if he interrupted. If she were enjoyably engaged, that was all that mattered. She flitted from one object to another. He dismissed the guide, smiled, and followed her every movement with his eyes.

“Wow, the way they’re displayed. This is just so weird.”

“Weird?” Phineas looked around. How could any of it be construed as ‘weird’? Some of the items, to be sure, but how they were displayed?

“It’s so old-fashioned. I saw a museum once outside of Atlanta, a local one, that had display tables and cases with the artifacts set up like this, with little cards all lined up, one next to another, but―”

A surge of patriotic fervor rose in his chest. How insulting could she be? “Old-fashioned? Atlanta?”

Miss Rochon whipped her head around and stared at him, color draining from her face. She appeared as if she had forgotten his presence until he spoke. Why did he feel as though he were back at Harrow, except this time he was being ignored and taunted simultaneously?

“Oh my gosh, I keep forgetting…”

“Forgetting what, Miss Rochon?”

“Nothing, sorry, I sometimes ramble. I just love museums and can get carried away.” She turned her back to him, engrossed with the artifacts before her. However, he could not suffer the statement to pass without comment.

“What is this business about old-fashioned? And what, pray tell, is Atlanta?”

“Oh, um, sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive, though I know that’s how it appears. Did I say old-fashioned? I meant, how, well, old everything was, the items, you know. And, uh, Atlanta is a place I used to live.”

“In America?”

“Yes.”

“I have not heard of it.”

“I know.”

“You know?” Realizing he marched toward her, he slowed his pace and stopped a foot from her. “What the devil does that mean? You expect me to be ignorant of your country’s history and places? I find myself more and more insulted.”

“Oh God, I keep making it worse. I assure you, I didn’t mean that. I can’t explain… I, uh, oh wow, look at these Inuit artifacts. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a whalebone net in such good condition. This is so amazing.”

(Thanks to the booklet, as the scene progressed I was able to insert other items she saw. I took a little liberty by using the 1838 guide as that was the closest to 1834. Because of the guidebook I was also able to have some unexpected fun and inserted this little snippet (background: she’d asked him if they had any artifacts from America):

Phineas crossed his arms and cast his eyes upward. He wanted to continue questioning her, and glared at her, awaiting an opportunity.

Mumbling to herself, she ran from that case to another, pulling out a small notebook and scratching notes.

Phineas uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, his eyes consuming her every move: so unlike the regular crop of ladies of fashion who cultivated an air of ennui. They would never dare admit to, much less evince, enthusiasm of any kind.

She strode to another case and absentmindedly adjusted her spectacles. Thinking about how she differed from fashionable ladies made him realize why he found her spectacle-wearing so pleasing. No lady of fashion would dare it. Obviously, Miss Rochon possessed intelligence and a healthy disdain for frivolity.

“Look, they have a steersman’s cap from the western part of Georgia. Looks as if we found the right room.”

Phineas smiled. He hoped she had not observed the plaque at the entrance to the room which said, “Artificial Curiosities from Less Civilized Parts.” He walked to the room’s center and chuckled—within a glass frame sat one of the original copies of the Magna Carta.

How about you? When you read historical romances, do you like getting this kind of detail? Writers, have you had times when research has paid off or given you unexpected boons?

Blurb
She’s finally met the man of her dreams. There’s only one problem: he lives in a different century.

“A fresh, charming new voice” – New York Times bestselling author Tessa Dare

HOW FAR WOULD YOU TRAVEL FOR LOVE?

A mysterious artifact zaps Isabelle Rochon to pre-Victorian England, but before she understands the card case’s significance a thief steals it. Now she must find the artifact, navigate the pitfalls of a stiffly polite London, keep her time-traveling origins a secret, and resist her growing attraction to Lord Montagu, the Vicious Viscount so hot, he curls her toes.

To Lord Montagu nothing makes more sense than keeping his distance from the strange but lovely Colonial. However, when his scheme for revenge reaches a stalemate, he convinces Isabelle to masquerade as his fiancée. What he did not bargain on is being drawn to her intellectually as well as physically.

Lord Montagu’s now constant presence overthrows her equilibrium and her common sense. Isabelle thought all she wanted was to return home, but as passion flares between them, she must decide when her true home—as well as her heart—lies.

Author Links
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Bio
Angela Quarles is a geek girl romance writer whose works includes Must Love Breeches, a time travel romance, and Beer & Groping in Las Vegas, a geek romantic comedy in novelette form. She has a B.A. in Anthropology and International Studies with a minor in German from Emory University, and a Masters in Heritage Preservation from Georgia State University. She currently resides in a historic house in the beautiful and quirky town of Mobile, AL.