I just read this morning that Cambridge University has done a study and learned that those who read regularly have a lesser chance of getting dementia! The rate? Less by 1/3!
That works for me!
And you, too, I do hope!
Facts, fun, drama of writing fiction by Cerise! (copyright 2009-2025, Cerise DeLand)
That works for me!
And you, too, I do hope!
Lush romance with months of forced proximity~
A woman determined to survive cruel prison guards~
A hero who saves her hair, her skin, her mind, her soul—and wants her only for himself~
Magnificent romance that soars above the secrets and lies that could ruin limb, life and all happiness!
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www.regencyfictionwriters.org |
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| BUY LINK: https://books2read.com/SirDurhamsDisarmingAsset |
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Read all 7 for hours of serenity...and hot romance! BUY LINK: https://amzn.to/4clTGvi
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Yes! I got to travel! Here I am at Cheverny on the Loire Valley, France. |
Why? In those days, to impress the trad publishers in New York or London with your proposal for fiction, one needed a resume. I got one.
Along the way, I also got a corporate job and wrote for the CEOs and for their testimonies before Congress and Senate.
But on the Metro in the mornings, I wrote long hand (no laptops then!), on yellow pads. On Saturday mornings, I transferred it all to my first computer. That was a giant thing as wide as your current flat screen tv and 10 times as deep. The printer was a thing called dot matrix. Letters of the alphabet formed by dots. Fun.
I joined Washington Romance Writers as one of the original founders. There, we taught ourselves to write fiction. Plotting, characterization and motivation were actual classes or meeting topics.
We worked hard. I also joined a small group of would-be authors. We were 8, all unpublished when we started. Eight years later when we began to disperse, move away, etc., all but one of us was unpublished.
What we learned together was that writing was a joy, a release, a process...and a job. Because once you had a contract, you most likely wanted more. And so did your publisher.
We wrote romance because, female all of us, we understood that emotion and attachment very well. If a few of us also wrote mysteries or murders, we did it because we also understand that often people let you down, betray you and leave.
But love of romance stayed. That was because we saw change in our sisters out there in the world. They had college degrees and were paid less than the men with equal position. (I raise my hand on that one...until I told my corporation I had to be paid equal to a man or I was not interested in their promotion of more work but less pay.) We saw that women needed to stand up and stay up. We saw they needed role models and not just Gloria Steinem or Dolly Parton or a new Congresswoman from San Francisco named Pelosi.
We understood that romance was the starry beginning of a relationship but that without talking, that little thing called loved died. If you don't share your experience, strength and hope, you cannot find your similarities or your divisions.
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| Our daughter's anniversary gift! |
Reading a romance allows the reader to experience that art. It shows the way.
Writing it also helped me in my marriage. Now almost 57 years of it, we still have our moments when we must re-learn each other's experience, strength and hope.
Romances still feature conflicts that are real and terrible if unresolved.
Read one. Two. More. If you have a problem in your relationships, you will find the one that fits your situation. And it will give you a shot of confidence that it can be solved.
I teach a course October 15 - October 30 that you want to take especially if you love the Regency period, know nothing about Paris during the Napoleonic wars...and you plan a visit soon!
For a small fee, you can learn about the real Paris, before the Eiffel Tower, after the Terror. Who lived there, who loved there and who traveled there will surprise you.
Plus you will learn what perfume Josephine wore. What a 'Recamier' is. Why you need to take the tour beneath the Louvre. Oui.
This course is open to the public. The fee is $35.00 for a non-member of the Regency Fiction Writers group or $20.00 for a member.
An offer that is timely and inexpensive!
https://regencyfictionwriters.org/academe/
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Forevers in Fenwick Series Page on Bluestocking Belles https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/foreversinfenwick |
The Legend Begins:
https://books2read.com/u/mlv75v
and
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZF9WJVH
Along the Road to Ruin
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GXGMQVJR
https://books2read.com/u/mdZJVX
Forevers in Fenwick Series Page on Bluestocking Belles
https://bluestockingbelles.net/belles-joint-projects/foreversinfenwick
FOLLOW ME! BOOKMARK ME!
Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0089DS2N2
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Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/CeriseDeLandAuthor/
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Travels with Cerise YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCba82P_Q1kUrJUVVW0CwJmw/
Website - http://cerisedeland.com
Join me! I am in the TEA. ROOM at 5 EASTERN here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/265460994261469/
I celebrate the release of the story about the AMERICAN GIRL who went to school with Caroline Bonaparte and Hortense Beauharnais! There really was such a person and I have 'adapted her" to be my feisty heroine in Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset.
ASSET is the 7th in the scintillating romantic suspense series, SCARLETT AFFAIRS.
When Rafe Durham rescued a young lady from prison, he planned to nurse her back to health. Not discover she is the very air he breathes.
And when she makes it clear to him that she loves him, how can he deny he adores her?
But when he does, what does he expect her to do?
Walk away?
RELEASING 9/17/2026 here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HCRXDL2S
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I like a man with a good hand. A slow hand. A determined hand. A kind one.
This is "a part" of a new Box Set cover that I am releasing in the next few weeks!
Stay tuned for all of him!
An irresistible man meets an irresistible woman. She learns to live again with his care. With her, he learns to believe in the goodness of life.
But when she insists she loves him...and she knows he adores her, he refuses to admit how he cares.
Tough love is his plan.
Bold desire is hers.
Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset by Cerise DeLand is the 7th in the scintillating romantic suspense series, SCARLETT AFFAIRS.
RELEASING 9/17/2026
BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HCRXDL2S
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| Rafe's House, No. 15 Queen Square, London |
“My reason to see you is a matter of business. I did not intend to come here to apologize.” Her declaration pierced his indulgent ramblings. “Though I do believe in leaving the past where it is. No crying over spilt milk and all that. I hope you forgive my sour words of our last discussion. Today, however, I have news and I need your thoughts.”
The joy he felt at her statement relieved him of most cares about her appearance here before him. “Tell me all. I am yours.”
She blinked at that.
He didn’t blame her. Their recent past was too raw for him to speak with such sentiment. He tried for reason instead. “What has happened?”
“You know that I wished to learn what had happened to my father’s profits that he put in a French banker’s hands.”
“Lenoir was his name.”
“Yes. I was agonizing how to find him. I did not know where in England he was, nor even if he had landed here.”
“And?”
She arched two long, exquisite red brows. “He came to me this morning. Along with his daughter, who was a young friend of mine. She was at Campan’s school but for only a few months. Still, she was and is dear to me.”
Rafe leaned forward. “What did he say?”
“He has kept my father’s funds. Invested them, actually.”
“Amazing that the man had the ethics to keep your father’s money.”
She snorted. “I agree. Given his rather unethical reputation.”
“You knew the sums your father deposited with him, didn’t you?”
“I knew Papa had on deposit with Lenoir in 1802 the amount of five thousand dollars. I assume my father continued to deposit more each year for my upkeep. I do not know if that is so or the amount. These monies were profits my father earned by selling his tobacco in the port of Bordeaux.”
“And Lenoir had his banking centers originally in Bordeaux.”
“Most did until recently,” she said, looking bemused. “Then they went to Paris.”
He smiled at her. Smart woman, she was a rare beauty with an ironmonger’s grasp of might and a Les Halles broker’s grasp of finance.
“And Lenoir invested your father’s money in what?”She frowned, her mouth moving in ways that implied the horror she considered speaking aloud.
Rafe knew what Lenoir did—controlling Frenchmen’s investment in the production of rifles, cannon, and rolling stock, Lenoir, along with his cousins the Jarre family, had been the leading banker for Bonaparte’s army. The size of the French Grand Army had grown from forty thousand to more than two hundred and fifty thousand in six years. So had grown the need to supply those soldiers with everything from uniforms and shoes to all the weapons of destruction a man might need to attack and defend himself on the field of battle.
“Rifles.” Her word held no emotion. “The same ones we Americans used to fight the British in our war for independence.”
The severity of this fell hard on her. She was a sensitive woman. Caring, honorable. She could not bear to think of her father enslaving people. Why would she accept that her father also invested in weapons to kill people? “Zeph—”
She inhaled, at once a businesswoman, hard, logical. “I wanted you to know. I ask that you help me plan how to use this money to create a better life for others somewhere, somehow, and soon. That needs to be a complicated plan. I own too much money and others have so little. Think on this, do.” She stood up.
“Meanwhile, I am pleased you have received me.”
"Sweetheart— He swallowed the endearment and shot to his feet. “Anytime you appear, I will receive you.”
She arched one brow, skeptical. “Good to hear.”
As she whispered her excuses and turned away for the door, he caught up to her. “You apologized. I did not. Allow me.” I would keep you forever if it were wise. “I was angry.”
Her golden eyes widened in question. “Really? I thought it something else.”
Frustration. Longing. “It was.”
Her gaze mellowed and she took a long, searching look at his eyes and his mouth. “Perhaps someday you will tell me.”He sucked in a breath.
“Good afternoon, Rafe. Lovely to see you.”
He stood rooted to his floor because if he went after her, if he touched her, if he said any other word to her, he would carry her over his shoulder up his stairs like some madman. In the secret haven of his draped Tudor bed, he would lay her down and make her his own. She would not object. He knew it. She would welcome every caress, every kiss, even his intimate invasion of her body. And in one afternoon, she would be his. But only for that hour. Only for that day.Because he would pause. She would rise and leave him.
And justly so.
He had apologized but had not said the words she needed, the ones he dared not speak, lest she see his fear—and leave him forever.
BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HCRXDL2S
Zephora Butler had stolen from the deputy chief of police. Even though she had influential friends like Hortense Beauharnais and Caroline Bonaparte, prison was her fate...until Rafe Durham took her far away to a little French cottage by the sea, his charm—and his zest for living.
He brought her back to health, fed her, bathed her, cut all her hair from her head to rid her of vermin, and allowed her to rediscover herself...and her own desire for a full life.
He is infatuated with her. Isn't he?
After all, he is so much older than she. So much more experienced. So jaded.
But he cannot stop himself from wanting her company, her smiles, her gaiety.
No wonder he wants his heart back. He gave her everything else he had.
How could she not love him?
Copyright 2026, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.
Zephora visits Rafe to tell him about her inheritance, a fortune gained from her father’s dubious investments.
“My reason to see you is a matter of business. I did not intend to come here to apologize.” Zephora's declaration pierced Rafe's indulgent ramblings. “Though I do believe in leaving the past where it is. No crying over spilt milk and all that. I hope you forgive my sour words of our last discussion. Today, however, I have news and I need your thoughts.”
The joy he felt at her statement relieved him of most cares about her appearance here before him. “Tell me all. I am yours.”
She blinked at that.
He didn’t blame her. Their recent past was too raw for him to speak with such sentiment. He tried for reason instead. “What has happened?”
“You know that I wished to learn what had happened to my father’s profits that he put in a French banker’s hands.”
“Lenoir was his name.”
“Yes. I was agonizing how to find him. I did not know where in England he was, nor even if he had landed here.”
“And?”
She arched two long, exquisite red brows. “He came to me this morning. Along with his daughter, who was a young friend of mine. She was at Campan’s school but for only a few months. Still, she was and is dear to me.”
Rafe leaned forward. “What did he say?”
“He has kept my father’s funds. Invested them, actually.”
“Amazing that the man had the ethics to keep your father’s money.”
She snorted. “I agree. Given his rather unethical reputation.”
“You knew the sums your father deposited with him, didn’t you?”
“I knew Papa had on deposit with Lenoir in 1802 the amount of five thousand dollars. I assume my father continued to deposit more each year for my upkeep. I do not know if that is so or the amount. These monies were profits my father earned by selling his tobacco in the port of Bordeaux.”
“And Lenoir had his banking centers originally in Bordeaux.”
“Most did until recently,” she said, looking bemused. “Then they went to Paris.”
He smiled at her. Smart woman, she was a rare beauty with an ironmonger’s grasp of might and a Les Halles broker’s grasp of finance.
“And Lenoir invested your father’s money in what?”
She frowned, her mouth moving in ways that implied the horror she considered speaking aloud.
Rafe knew what Lenoir did—controlling Frenchmen’s investment in the production of rifles, cannon, and rolling stock. Lenoir, along with his cousins the Jarre family, had been the leading banker for Bonaparte’s army. The size of the French Grand Army had grown from forty thousand to more than two hundred and fifty thousand in six years. So had grown the need to supply those soldiers with everything from uniforms and shoes to all the weapons of destruction a man might need to attack and defend himself on the field of battle.
“Rifles.” Her word held no emotion. “The same ones we Americans used to fight the British in our war for independence.”
The severity of this fell hard on her. She was a sensitive woman. Caring, honorable.
She could not bear to think of her father enslaving people. Why would she accept that her father also invested in weapons to kill people? “Zeph—”
She inhaled, at once a businesswoman, hard, logical. “I wanted you to know. I ask that you help me plan how to use this money to create a better life for others somewhere, somehow, and soon. That needs to be a complicated plan. I own too much money and others have so little. Think on this, do.” She stood up. “Meanwhile, I am pleased you have received me.”
Sweetheart— He swallowed the endearment and shot to his feet. “Anytime you appear, I will receive you.”
She arched one brow, skeptical. “Good to hear.”
As she whispered her excuses and turned away for the door, he caught up to her.
“You apologized. I did not. Allow me.” I would keep you forever if it were wise. “I was angry.”
Her golden eyes widened in question. “Really? I thought it something else.”
Frustration. Longing. “It was.”
Her gaze mellowed and she took a long, searching look at his eyes and his mouth. “Perhaps someday you will tell me.”
He sucked in a breath.
“Good afternoon, Rafe. Lovely to see you.”
He stood rooted to his floor because if he went after her, if he touched her, if he said any other word to her, he would carry her over his shoulder up his stairs like some madman. In the secret haven of his draped Tudor bed, he would lay her down and make her his own. She would not object. He knew it. She would welcome every caress, every kiss, even his intimate invasion of her body. And in one afternoon, she would be his. But only for that hour. Only for that day.
Because he would pause. She would rise and leave him.
And justly so.
He had apologized but had not said the words she needed, the ones he dared not speak, lest she see his fear—and leave him forever.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HCRXDL2S
Today only!
Get LORD RAMSEY’S RED-HEADED RUIN.
ASIN: B0CW1FYBHM
What can you possibly learn from LORD RAMSEY?
Oh, be still my heart. Lots! Read this as an intro!
Copyright 2024, Cerise Deland. All rights reserved.
What is historically accurate in RUIN includes a few delicious facts. There are tunnels under the city of Compiègne. Under Paris as well. In fact, you can visit them and view the sculls of thousands whose bodies were buried there for decades. Also, on the butte of Montmartre sits the lovely little cemetery of St. Pierre. You can go there and on days when the proprietor opens it, you too may sit on the bench where Ram and Amber met.
Reims Cathedral where all French kings were crowned, was closed during many of the first years of the Revolution. During the Consultate, government lawyers did take up residence inside. Only later, when Bonaparte allowed Catholics to worship once more did the cathedral return to its original purpose.
The famous Charleville guns were indeed the ones France shipped to the American colonists and it is those weapons accredited with winning the American Revolution.
The small towns of the north east—Sedan, Varennes and Verdun—were increasingly fortified during the Consulate. Many weapons factories were located in the north and similar modern facilities still exist there today. The method of learning how many weapons were delivered to each fortified town by sending aides-de-camp who knew not preciely what they were doing or why, is true. Many of them grumbled over what they thought were useless missions far from Paris.
Famous salonnières, like Julie Recamier appear in this story and in the next. Recamier was aiding her husband who was a banker to befriend Bonaparte. The First Consul who did not care for bankers or their profession. But he did tolerate Monseiur Racamier and allowed the man to fund his rearmament.
Meanwhile, Josephe Fouché built a tight network of police and spies. Talleyrand courted everyone, though he failed to influence Bonaparte to keep the peace of Amiens.
I include the day-to-day collapse and tensions of the peace of Amiens. The increasing antagonism between Bonparte and his British Ambassador, Charles Whitworth, was based on personal dislike of each for the other. But of course, worse were the political issues neither man could solve.
Throughout the winter and early spring 1803, Bonaparte increased his arms production and fortifications on the boundaries of France. He purposely increased the territory of a minor German margrave, Karl of Baden, whose land sits on the Rhine. That man increased taxes on his citizens and began a conscription of soldiers from his citizenry. My great great grandfather was one of them. In the coming years, he fought in many battles as a German for the French emperor. He lived to tell the tale.
Bonaparte diminished the power of the Austrian empire and befriended other German states. Thus he made secure France’s borders to the east. He became more popular with the French public, improving the economy and ensuring greater safety among the populace. Among his colleagues, he accumulated power—and focused on increasing his own status as emperor. He knew Britain would not allow it.
As Bonaparte closes the doors of the Continent to the British, Ram acts decisively! Read the book to find out!