Saturday, March 31, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
When the Last Dance is Over is far from Glen's first Avalon book. Some of his other titles are: Ghosts from the Past, The Crying Girl, Grave Justice, A Rocky Road, Unwanted Inheritance, To Breathe Again, and Woven Hearts.
Maybe another time, we'll hear from Glen himself. With all those books to his credit, I'm sure he'll have something interesting to say.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
In my upcoming release A Grand Deception, the third installment for the Gentlemen of Worth series, there is a trinket bestowed upon the hero called a Lover’s Eye.
Even those who read Regency novels may not be familiar with these miniature paintings popular between the 1780s and 1830s.
Lover’s Eyes were small portraits worn as a pendant, ring, brooch, or stickpin of a loved one.
A wisp of hair or the bridge of the nose would hint at the subject’s identity thus preserving anonymity. Quelle jolie, n’est pas?
The intent was to keep the lover’s identity secret by not revealing the whole face. The focus was the eye, often with an eyebrow and lashes.
It is said the Prince of Wales, the future King George IV, and his mistress Maria Fitzherbert exchanged gifts of one painted eye as tokens of love. Prinny wore Mrs. Fizherbert’s eye portrait under his lapel. Once it was known the Prince Regent possessed such a trinket, it became quite fashionable.
This is Lady Muriel Worth's Lover's Eye I used in A Grand Deception.
A new book as been released:
Here are some other URLs that might be interesting:
Vanity Fair: A Lover’s Gaze
New York Times: Cultivating a Love of “Lover’s Eyes”
Monday, March 26, 2012
By Elisabeth Rose
Stan didn’t try to hail a cab outside the restaurant he bundled me along the sidewalk and around the corner, icy pellets stinging my cheeks, feet slipping and sliding in my clumsy rubber boots which had unaccountably grown a size or two.
I was getting very, very sick of this. In fact I’d had enough. Along with the whole incomprehensible Stan situation I’d been chased, frightened to near babbling hysteria, grabbed at by a strange scary man, lost my phone, probably ruined my designer dress, coat and shoes, been drenched, frozen and deprived of a meal -- unappetising though it may have been, it was food and I was hungry. A girl could not and would not endure this.
I stopped in the swirling wet, miserable slush that passed for weather in this city and announced, “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m going to my hotel to collect my suitcase and I’m leaving.”
I peered up and down the street looking for a cab. If he wasn’t hailing one I sure was.
Stan had forged ahead a few paces before he realised I’d dug in my new second hand rubber boots and wasn’t following like an obedient dog. He strode back and grasped my arm.