News — Historical

Slowly Rising Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Fresina   Prologue Lost and Found   Once upon a time, a man called Amos Wilding unintentionally built himself a singing house. It is debatable, whether or not he ever heard it sing. But certainly, when other folk did, they wished they hadn't. The sound was described as a fluttering, flickering, puttering whisper that traveled through the walls like a swarm of invisible butterflies— not the customary, fragile, dainty sort, but a dangerous, rare breed, poisonous and arbitrarily destructive— drifting from no fixed place and traveling in no discernible direction. This music was...

Slowly Fell A Tale of Love and Thumbscrews Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Fresina   Prologue 1806   "Do you believe in witches?" Moved not by her small fingers, which had briefly rested against it, but kissed by a wending draft from somewhere within the house, the door standing ajar before her creaked gently, exhaling a quizzical moan. She heard her aunt's voice inside the room. "Witches, Silas? No, I most certainly do not. I know that sailors are sometimes betaken by flights of fancy and superstition, especially when they've been at sea for months, the grog has run out,...

An Unconventional Desire Copyright © 2018 by April Andrews Joss shuddered. ‘Unconventional’, that was what he had always termed it in his mind. Wider society did not term it thus. To them it was ‘unnatural’, or ‘abhorrent’. And, if Joss was ever found out to be harboring such feelings both he and his family would be forever disgraced. What if Nicholas was simply being friendly? What if he did not harbor the same feelings that Joss did? It was entirely possible. Joss had next to no experience of how other men reacted when they felt like this. What if Joss...

The Mutinous Contemplations of Gemma Groot An Unlikely Romance Copyright © 2017 by Jayne Fresina     Introduction Revelation Meat   One of the things I remember most about her, is that her nails were always well-tended, the fingertips blushing pink as the spring buds on her quince trees. Only later did I conclude that this effect was the natural result of meticulous scrubbing, necessary in the disposal of evidence. Venetia Warboys, by most accounts, a mild-mannered, generous, church-going woman, attractive but of modest deportment, had reached her thirty-fifth year with little out of the ordinary happening in her life....

Chapter One 1760   "Don't believe a word of it," said the spit-boy, his jaw thrust forward defiantly. "Yon lass is ever makin' up yarns. She's a liar, that's what she is. She's got a tongue as long as 'er legs and just as swift at getting out o' trouble." The subject of his scorn remained serene, holding a candle in both hands, the flame tall and unwavering until she spoke again, resuming her story as if he never spoke. "But they found the dead man's bones fifty years later, when the hidden door were discovered by accident." Now her...