Showing posts with label the maid of milan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the maid of milan. Show all posts

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Beneath the glitter of the Regency - The Maid of Milan

By Beverley Eikli

Remember your first love? The one you loved with such passion it bordered on insanity?

Today we can give way to our feelings, and - generally - not carry the damage for the rest of our lives.

For a Regency debutante, however, 'letting go' would be a huge error of judgement. In an age where sex outside marriage was taboo, a debutante who'd 'strayed' would never be readmitted into society, should her sins be discovered. She'd be regarded as impure, and a woman with a 'past'.

For Adelaide, my heroine in The Maid of Milan, the only way to escape such a fate was to invent 'a past'. One that would be acceptable to the respectable, honourable MP who courts Adelaide when she's mourning her lost love.

Here's a scene at the end of the first chapter, when Adelaide gets a nasty shock.

The following scene takes place after Adelaide has decided she cannot be present for the visit of her former lover and the man who was her husband’s childhood friend. Here, she is suddenly caught off-guard.

Mrs Henley knocked and they entered as Tristan rose, his forced smile replaced by one of pleasure when he saw Adelaide. He took a step forward, extending his hand for hers, the flare in his eyes as intense as the day she consented to be his wife, and Adelaide felt an unexpected jolt somewhere in the region of her heart, her determination bolstered to bridge the distance between them, despite the oppressive presence of her mother, always a footfall away,it seemed.

‘Tristan, I—’

She stopped, pulling back as a warm, fragrant breeze stirred the papers on his desk. The French doors from the garden had been thrown open, and the heavy tread of Hessian boots upon the wooden floor pulled their attention towards the muslin curtains which swirled in eddies, silhouetting the shape of a man: a slender man of middle height – the only ordinary thing about him – dressed in a black cutaway coat and buff breeches, who materialised before them like a young demigod, smouldering with an enthusiasm he did nothing to inhibit, for good manners were always in abeyance to the passion that ruled James’s life.

‘Tristan!’ Tossing his low-crowned beaver upon the ottoman, James strode forward, arms outstretched, his voice taut with emotion.

Nearly four years, it had been, and from first impressions it was as if nothing had changed. Inky curls framed his delicately boned face and his eyes were like coals burning the fire within. No, nothing had changed, she could see, for James was still like a coiled spring, eager for love, eager for life, as ready to give as he was to take … without discernment.

Adelaide froze with nowhere to go, tense with premonition while shafts of sensation, painful and familiar, tore through her. Could this really be happening? Unwillingly, her gaze was fixed upon James’s profile, dusted with dark stubble, tapering up to angular cheekbones delineated with the slivers of sideburns sported by the fashionable Corinthians of the day.

In four years he could not be so unchanged whereas she …

She touched her face, her heart. She was a mere husk of what she’d once been. Tristan knew nothing of the passions that burned within her when her heart was engaged – and she didn’t know if he ever would, for suddenly she felt reduced to nothingness by the force of James’s personality.

She’d been his equal once – a woman of fire and vitality – and she’d loved him with a savagery that her mother claimed bordered on insanity. She’d been a child, thrust into adulthood by this charismatic older man. Married older man. But as she looked between the two men before her it was Tristan who made her heart beat faster, as much with
longing as with fear of what he would think of her if he knew the truth.


The Maid of Milan Blurb

After three years of marriage, Adelaide has fallen in love with the handsome, honourable husband who nurtured her through her darkest hours.

Now Adelaide’s former lover, the passionate poet from whose arms she was torn by her family during their illicit liaison in Milan four years previously has returned, a celebrity due to the success of his book The Maid of Milan.

High society is as desperate to discover the identity of his ‘muse’ as Adelaide is to protect her newfound love and her husband’s political career.

Author Bio

Beverley Eikli is the author of eight historical romances.
She has worked as a journalist, magazine editor, a safari lodge manager in the Okavango, and an airborne geophysical survey operator on contracts around the world.
Beverley wrote her first romance at seventeen, but drowning her heroine on the last page was symptomatic of the problems she grappled with during her 23-year journey towards publication. She did however stumble upon lasting romance, herself, when the handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met around a camp fire in Botswana whisked her off into a world of adventure, encompassing 12 countries in twenty years. A romantic adventure that’s lasted to the present day.
Recently Beverley received her third nomination from Australian Romance Readers for Favourite Historical Romance with her suspenseful Napoleonic espionage Romance The Reluctant Bride.
She now teaches in the Department of Professional Writing & Editing at Victoria University, Melbourne.
Beverley writes under the name Beverley Oakley for more sensual stories.
You can read more on her website or blog.
  
And you can buy The Maid of Milan in paperback, ebook and soon audiobook at Amazon US | Amazon UK | iTunes |  Barnes & Noble


Drug addiction during the Regency era - The Maid of Milan

By Beverley Eikli

'Dynasty' - version of a Regency
Romance with its love triangle
and drug addiction
The glamour and glitter of the Regency era concealed an underbelly of vice and misery when you take a holistic view of society. These contrasts fascinate me, and although often my hero and heroine live in comfortable if not lavish circumstances, I like to contrast this with the extremes of life at that time.

In The Maid of Milan, my latest Regency Romantic Intrigue, my heroine has what no self respecting woman in those days could reveal: a 'past'. Her controlling mother has therefore found measures to ensure her beautiful daughter's wayward ways are forever subdued, and Adelaide lives in a haze of unhappiness and laudanum addiction.

When the story opens, she's just discovered that her feelings for her husband of three years have gone from resignation to acceptance, to gratitude and now to full-blown love. The problem is that her life is one big lie. As if that's not bad enough, who should whirl into her life but the charismatic poet who stole her heart and effectively 'ruined' her. He's now a celebrity due to his sensational book The Maid of Milan...

And high society is as desperate to discover the identity of his 'muse' as Adelaide is to protect her husband's bourgeoning political career and her new-found love with him.

Here's an excerpt:

Chapter One

It was not the name by which she knew him. Since inheriting
the title, he’d won celebrity as a poet and become the
darling of the gossip columnists. Adelaide’s mother couldn’t
keep those snippets of the real world from her, though she
tried.

James. Fifth Viscount Dewhurst. Adelaide closed her
eyes against the afternoon sun and tried to block her last
memory of him: desperate, pleading. Not the James she
knew – the irrepressible charmer who knew no woman
could resist him, least of all Adelaide.

Tristan must have misinterpreted her shocked silence for
memory failure, for he squeezed her hand and repeated,
‘Lord Dewhurst. I’m talking about my old friend, James.’

Very gently he added, ‘He and his wife were very good to
you, if you remember.’

If you remember…

Her husband’s reference to her previous life was almost
more painful than the reference to James, though panic
quickly succeeded shock at his next remark.

‘James is coming to visit us? Here?’ She gripped Tristan’s
arm tighter and concentrated on the path. One foot in front
of the other, head down so she didn’t stumble on the stones
that bordered the hydrangeas from the neat gravel walkway.

Tristan continued to talk in the measured, comforting
tone he used when her equilibrium was unsettled. In the past
he’d sought her reassurances that she was comfortable with
his plans; that there was nothing he’d neglected to facilitate
her comfort. Always Tristan put Adelaide’s feelings first.

Not today.

Tristan was too excited at the prospect of seeing his
boyhood friend to recognise her horror, assuming Adelaide
would be delighted to play hostess since she’d foolishly
voiced the desire just last week to entertain more often.

She remained silent as she walked at his side,
contemplating her own strategy if this visit was a fait
accompli. She just needed to know when, so she could
prepare.

‘At the end of the week!’ She repeated Tristan’s calmly
delivered answer to her question in the tone Black Jack,
the South American parrot she’d owned in Vienna, used to
mimic the death throes of a man at the end of the gallows.

A good thing her husband considered Adelaide an invalid,
that he’d misconstrue the flare in her eyes, the gasp as she
pressed against the pain in her side – her heart?

‘Adelaide, you are discomposed. Perhaps I should not
have invited James without consulting you, but I thought
since…’ Concern clouded his kind blue eyes as he trailed
off.

‘He was very good to me.’ She whispered the old litany.
It’s what Tristan liked to believe.

‘He was. Shall we go back to the house?’ He stooped to
cup her face in his hands, as tender with her as if she were
another of his rare hothouse blooms. As if she might wilt at
the suggestion of anything beyond the ordinary, the mindnumbingly
mundane.

And yet today she more than wilted as she stumbled on
the smooth, carefully raked gravel path. Her heart was in
danger of tearing in half. James. Here, at Deer Park …?

She pushed away the fear, straightening of her own
accord. Adelaide could be a good deal stronger than Tristan
believed her. Than her mother painted her.

‘So silly of me,’ she murmured, smiling as she tucked her
hand once more into the crook of her husband’s arm, firming
her step, indicating with a nod that they continue their usual
morning walk. Minutely managed and predictable. Around
the path that bordered the maze, over the little bridge and
across the lawn, skirting the deer park beyond the iron
gated border to the dower house where her mother would
be waiting. Keeping up the pretence of recovery in response
to his troubled gaze, she added, ‘Really, I’m perfectly fine.’

How many times had she made similar reassurances?
Of course, she hadn’t been fine when Tristan had made her
mistress of Deer Park three years before; a marriage offer
she’d only accepted because she believed she’d be dead of
grief within the twelvemonth. And if not dead, then at least
free of her mother. Neither had happened.

‘So James has left Milan.’ She forced herself to say his
name. It came out as a faint thread of sound.
James. He needed to stay far across sea and land if she
were to have any peace in this life.

‘James’s father died three months ago so of course he must
return from the Continent and take up his responsibilities
at Dingley Hall.’ Tristan stopped and put his hands on her
shoulders to study her more closely. ‘Darling, you’re very
pale. Perhaps we should call Dr Stanhope—’

‘No!’ She truncated the hysteria in her response, adding
with commendable calm, ‘Please, let us carry on.’

Tristan was clearly not convinced by her assurances, but
he returned to his commentary as they walked sedately
through Deer Park’s beautiful gardens. ‘James’s standing
has changed with his father’s death, and now that his book
has become a sensation so have his fortunes. He’ll be able
to put to rights all that his father almost destroyed through
his love of gaming.’ He gave a half laugh. ‘I’m told my old
friend is nearly as famous as those fellows up in the Lakes. I
daresay I should read The Maid of Milan before he arrives.
Perhaps you’d enjoy it, Addy.’

The Maid of Milan. Dear God! An image of herself and
James, naked limbs entwined upon a vast expanse of white
linen tablecloth in the Villa Cosi after the guests had gone,
seared her brain.

No, she was getting beyond herself. James had continued
living in Milan with Hortense, the wife he despised. Of
course there’d have been other women after Adelaide had
been dragged, screaming, from James’s arms. Adelaide could
not be James’s Maid of Milan. Not after the terrible finale to
their affair. In three years Adelaide had heard nothing from
him. Nothing, except that one terrible, terrible letter …


AUTHOR BIO

Beverley Eikli is the author of eight historical romances.

She has worked as a journalist, magazine editor, a safari lodge manager in the Okavango, and an airborne geophysical survey operator on contracts around the world.
Beverley wrote her first romance at seventeen, but drowning her heroine on the last page was symptomatic of the problems she grappled with during her 23-year journey towards publication. She did however stumble upon lasting romance, herself, when the handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met around a camp fire in Botswana, whisked her off into a world of adventure, encompassing 12 countries in twenty years, that’s lasted to the present day.
Recently she received her third nomination from Australian Romance Readers for Favourite Historical Romance with her suspenseful Napoleonic espionage Romance The Reluctant Bride.
Beverley teaches in the Department of Professional Writing & Editing at Victoria University, Melbourne..
She writes under the name Beverley Oakley for more sensual stories.

You can buy The Maid of Milan at Amazon US | Amazon UK | iTunes |  Barnes & Noble