Would you impersonate another to solve a crime against your family? IMPOSTER is getting 5 STAR reviews!

He’s the last man she wants to see.

But he’s the only man who sees right through her.

Haunted by their past, they’re desperate to save their future together…if they can.

He’s the last man Viv wants to see. 

Vivienne de Massé goes to Paris impersonating her oldest sister, the infamous Drury Lane actress, Charmaine Massey. Viv has a reason…and a plan to avenge the capture and death of their other sister during the Terror. Only one man can stop her.

Tate Cantrell is the only man who sees right through her.

Tate Cantrell bursts into her dressing room one night in Paris, and calls Viv’s bluff. He reminds Viv she plays a role—and a dangerous game she cannot win alone.

He declares she needs him. She always has. Indeed, he’s spent the last decade helping the émigré Massé family—and falling in love with charming Viv. Now the Earl of Appleby, Tate works as a spy for Scarlett Hawthorne’s network on the Continent. He alone has the means and the connections to help her….if she’ll let him. 

Haunted by their past, they’re desperate to save their future together…If they can survive those who would destroy them.

Excerpt, All rights Reserved, Lord Appleby’s Gorgeous Imposter, Cerise DeLand 2024.

Viv halted her mount. The sight before her brought tears to her eyes. Cringing, she caught her breath at sight of the huge, vacant plot where, according to witnesses, her father had been marched up a platform, hauled to Mademoiselle Machine Horrible, and murdered in the middle of the square. 

“Come away, my dear.”

She sniffed back her tears, caught and yet not surprised by the sound of the bass voice in her earshot. Tate Cantrell again. Was he her personal Paris plague? She chanced sight of him. So broad-shouldered, muscular, and bold, he presented that vibrant mix of flashing blue-green eyes and sugared cinnamon hair that made her mouth water. As if she weren’t in his thrall already, he added to the drama of his presence in a magnificent mahogany-brown riding habit. “I should expect you everywhere I go now, is that right?”

His eyes danced. But of course, said his look. “I know you well.”

Indeed. “Too well. You cannot annoy me into conducting a conversation with you.”

He gave a laugh. “Then I shall annoy you enough to protect you.”

Once she would have kissed his cheek for that. Now, congenial as his promise was, that irritated her. She ground her teeth and urged her horse back toward Pont Neuf. “I have enough protection.”

Tate rode beside her, easy as if he’d been invited. “He does look the part. I hope you pay him well.” 

“Ba! Look at him, monsieur.” 

She nodded toward her groom. Older, gruff with a day’s growth of beard and a bulbous nose long disfigured by too many brawls, Fortin flashed his black eyes at Tate. Then, with suave menace and a hand to the butt of his pistol at his side, he said, “Monsieur, if you please.”

“I assure you, sir,” Tate cooed in the sweetest French as he raised both gloved hands, “I am a friend and I mean no harm.”

Viv sniffed the air.

Her guard grimaced. “The lady does not want you, monsieur.”

Tate checked her eyes. “I believe she does. In fact, he always has.”

BUY LINK: https://books2read.com/u/3JBdJe

Honeymoon cottages and other delights of deep research!

 Writing historical romance requires often more research than you, the reader, can often imagine! More than even I can imagine, too.

One of the biggest challenges, I find, is that I have to really SEE what I'm describing. I have to have a feel for what it is and where it is so that my characters also know where they are. A room, a house, the countryside often give you a feeling, don't they?

I remember what it was like to ride on a Ferris Wheel at the school fair on Fourth of July. I recall the shivers I got as I walked World War One American cemeteries in France. The eerie feeling of the underground fortress of Verdun France. (It was so cold, so miserable that even my husband who loves the cold turned to me after a tour that lasted much too long beneath ceilings dripping with ice cold water and said, "I must leave. Coming with me, are you?"

I was.

And so here is a picture for you of the place I choose that would be Kendryck and Tynley's honeymoon cottage on the coast of Wales. Lovely, isn't it? Cozy. 

I also thought they deserved this for their honeymoon because so much was so wrong with his family and the tow of them had to solve that, didn't they? What they needed was the affirmation of a good future together before they could join hands and resolve all the wrongs that lay before them.

Here is my picture of the eerie Cliffs of Glamorgan in Wales, which is what Tynley sees as she approaches Kendryck's home. And the picture of Rhoos, Wales.

And here is the sunny picture of the land where Kendryck's house stands. Lovely, isn't it? But in a fog and in the cold, I imagine it to be rather forbidding. This is a picture of Caswell Bay.

Finally, the article I read in an old British newspaper that gave me the idea of a lady sadly missing.

What to wear for mourning a king? George III dies in Jan. 1820!

When George III died January 29, 1820 in Windsor Castle, the Court sent out official orders two days later for members of the Court (his family, relatives, attendants et al.) and parts of the official government. This was "to begin upon Thursday, the 3rd day of February instant." 

Initially, everyone in the United Kingdom was to wear black. The mourning period, usually a full year after anyone's death, was extended in many finite ways after the death of a monarch.

In these two excerpts from a newspaper published days after his death, we see that clothing was specifically addressed. (Do enlarge the photos here so you can them.)

But I excerpt this for you:

"Ladies were to wear black bombazine, plain muslin or long lawn linens, crape hoods, shammy shoes and gloves and crape fans.

"Undress—Dark Norwich crape.

"The Gentlemen to wear back cloth, without buttons on the sleeves and pockets, plain muslin or long lawn cravats and weeps. shammy shoes, and gloves, crape headbands, and black swords and buckles.

"Undress—Dark grey frocks."

Specific instructions were issued by the Lord Chamberlain for:

Horse Guards: "...black crape over the ornamental part of the cap, the sword knot, and on the left arm. Officers on duty are to wear black gloves, black crape over the ornamental part of the cap...the sash covered in black crape, black gorget ribbon, and black crape scarf over the right shoulder.

The drums are to be covered with black...

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Admiralty Office: "...black crape on their left arms, hats, and scrod-knots...except at Court, when they are also to wear black waistcoats, breeches, stockings and buckles...

In addition, theaters were closed. Many shops closed too.

For three months, the Court held no public affairs. Balls and many social events were cancelled. The new King George IV, though not yet crowned, did not attend social functions. 

Gradations of mourning in terms of events one might hold or attend were normal. Three months, six months and then one year were the usual periods of mourning. Changes in the color and types of clothing changed with the periods.

Mourning for old King George III was particularly difficult for the Court and for all in the country because six days before one of his sons, the Duke of Kent who was Princess Victoria's father, had died of pneumonia.  He was buried in St. George's Chapel, Windsor, February 12, 1820. For days later, February 16, 1820 was the day that George III was buried in the same chapel. 

Not until one year and half later is George III's son, the Prince Regent, crowned King George  IV.

In HIS NAUGHTY MAID, my heroine goes to the public celebrations for Coronation of George IV July 21, 1821. That official day-long event, long after mourning was ended for the previous monarch, was a lavish affair with week-long celebrations. It also cost the equivalent of MILLIONS of  British pounds!

This Countess worries her daughter may be enchanted with (gasp!) the stable boy! Your chuckle for today!

Number 6, Dudley Crescent

London

July 15, 1821

Dearest Lucinda,

I write to you today to share my outrage at occurrences in Dudley Crescent. I simply cannot abide the recent changes and must have your advice.

Two years ago, a murder occurred at Number 10. The horrid matter was quickly resolved when the culprit was identified and put away from fine society.  But the greater scandal was that the widowed lady of the house had intimate relations with her butler! Then last year, a noted member of society hired a young woman as ward to his child…and later, did marry the woman! She was far below his station, though, I do understand, an heiress of considerable worth. I must tell you the man is one of our finest gentlemen with a spotless reputation and high military honors.

Yet, I worry. Another event occurring last week causes me to question my presence here!

I understand that another noble gentleman has paid attentions to one of his servants! This time, said woman is not a governess. No, indeed, she is his maid-of-all-work! Can you imagine? I’ve been inconsolable, riddled with a nervous stomach and headaches. My usual little dose of laudanum is simply not enough to calm me.

This causes me to ask you if you think I should move to a better part of town. Is there a curse on the Crescent? Must I expect more servants who will climb above their station to enthrall their masters or mistresses? Worse, will such an affliction affect my own house? I must tell you, quite confidentially, that my only daughter, Lady Mary, seems far too taken with one of our own servants. The new…dear me, I can barely write this…stable boy. Yes! He is most definitely nota boy. Not by any means. He is thirty years of age or more. Tall, taller than my dear departed husband. In strapping good health and devilishly handsome with hair the color of coal and eyes like lavender. He is quite ethereal. 

I do rattle on!

Advise me, please!

Most sincerely,

Catherine

Countess of Trelawny

Coming soon in my DELIGHTFUL DOINGS IN DUDLEY CRESCENT series!

Cerise's Amazon series!

Travels with Cerise, TV, research trips and scullery maids!

Have you watched the BBC/Netflix series Bodyguard? If so, you've seen the Home Secretary pull up to the home of the Prime Minister.

Later they ID it as Chequers, the home once of Winston Churchill, now the PM's.

Well! This one in the show is not the real Chequers! No!

It's Ham House, a marvelous 17th century darkly gorgeous brick home in suburb of London along the Thames! Built for the Dysarts, this home is a wonderful example of Stuart, early Georgian architecture and a wonderful place to visit.

The interior is rich with black walnut walls and tiled floors of many colors. Done in parquet designs too. Many of the furnishings are of the period, too, including a Queen's Bedchamber done in rich reds and gold.

One aspect of touring the house and kitchen gardens was for me the informative plaques describing servants' duties. Here for you is Mary Hobley's. Mary was a scullery maid. Do read about her work, her pay and her superiors.

Waterloo's heroes: men after our hearts in CHRISTMAS BELLES series! Debuts October 29

'Capture of the Eagle' by Royal Dragoons, 1815, Battle of Waterloo,
only capture of French Eagle by British cavalry.
By William Holmes Sullivan, 1898

Outfitting a Waterloo hero for my CHRISTMAS BELLES series I spent many hours combing pictures of Waterloo period memorabilia, diagrams and more!

Here are a few for your enjoyment. First, the Victorian era painting by William Holmes Sullivan of the 'Capture of the French Eagle' by the Royal Dragoons. A dashing scene, this depicts the impression Sullivan gave of the cavalry unit that brought home the only French Eagle from that famous battle at Waterloo in Belgium. This uniform is that of my hero in THE EARL'S WAGERED BRIDE, Book 1, of CHRISTMAS BELLES.  Here I imagine he looks like Luke Evans, but he is really Griffith Harlinger, Earl of Marsden! And yes, I really do have A Thing for Evans, so I show him to you in period and contemporary!

Luke Evans. Love the hair!

Luke Evans

Two friends travel with Griff from Paris to Brighton for the Christmas house party. One is Alastair Demerest, new Duke of Kingston,  Viscount Lowell, the hero of THE DUKE'S IMPETUOUS DARLING. This novella debuts in a box set with 5 other marvelous Regency authors. (I promise to post that book cover when it becomes available along with a buy link!)

Griff's other friend is Neville Vaughn, Viscount Bromley, a major in the Foot Guards, Coldstream Guards. Their uniform you see here too! Bromley is about to resign his commission and return home to his profitable estate. He hopes to take one of the charming Craymore sisters with him as his second wife! Look for him in THE VISCOUNT'S ONLY LOVE, BOOK 2. I imagine he resembles this charming man whom you know as actor Cillian Murphy.

Perhaps the biggest surprise in this series is a man who is charmingly handsome, in his mid-thirties, and is recently hired by the Countess of Marsden, Griff's widowed step-mama. Not only is Simms, the butler, (that's Octavian Simms please) droll, dapper and decidedly opinionated, but he spouts quotes of Shakespeare at any opportune moment. and like any self-respecting butler, he knows everyone everywhere, even the staff at Prinny's Royal Pavilion. And who, pray tell, represents Simms in our modern era? Why this super(b) man, of course. Another heart-throb, Henry Cavill! Just where did Simms acquire his marvelous education? And why, for heaven sakes, is he in service?

Cillian Murphy, or Neville Vaughn, Viscount Bromley

Henry Cavill or Octavian Simms,
Marsden Hall's butler

2nd Regiment of Foot Guards, 
Coldstream Guards
Uniforms

Uniforms of various Regiments,
Waterloo, 1815. Note #1 and #2 Dragoons.

English Country Houses! You need to hear how they were built! Monday at 2 EST!

How were those huge country houses built? How much did they really cost? Who designed them? Who decorated them?

I've begun a series of short chats on Facebook to describe my research—both in books and in person—to help me portray these houses in my novels. A lot of what I've learned cannot go into every book. THAT would be "hanging the drapes" and telling you every tiny detail you don't need to know to enjoy a novel and get its verisimilitude.

Do come here to chat with me! https://www.facebook.com/cerise.deland

SWEET SIREN is Book 3 in my series,
THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS, out now.
At a reduced introductory price for a limited time!
Amazon 

But I give you a few tidbits, a few illustrations, most of which are my own pictures!
Join me, ask questions!

I began this research years ago to complement my novels and have continued, especially with my newest out now, SWEET SIREN. Here the hero—an American tycoon and robber baron—commissions an architect and his designer to build a country house for him in Brighton in 1879!

A posting in a newspaper about the opening of Harlaxton Manor House, the house you see in my post above! Marvelous, isn't it, that it was open to the public...for a price?

I will discuss my tour, among others, in Brighton of REGENCY TOWN HOUSE.
This building is owned by a non-profit and renovated by experts in period construction!
Do Follow them on Twitter for more info!

My picture of a part of Prince Regent's Royal Pavilion in Brighton!
I will talk about this in detail and tell you why and how it influenced the growth of seaside Brighton!

My picture of one facade of Spencer House in London.
I will discuss at a future date how this townhouse differs from many others, especially those in Brighton!

Come build an English Country House with me Tuesday night Live Chat on FB!

Tuesday night at 8 EST, 7 Central I'll chat LIVE about English Country Houses! I built one in my latest novel SWEET SIREN, as well as 24 new townhouses!

Link: https://www.facebook.com/cerise.deland

If you've ever wondered who build these marvelous mansions, why, how much they cost and what went into the building of them, come chat with me!

I plan a series of these chats. The topic is worthy of more than 30 minutes! And you'll want to ask about plumbing (w.c.s), electricity, who designed them and much more!

Pre-order on Amazon now for reduced price!
Releases Friday March 23AMAZON Buy Link!

Release Party Saturday on FB!

An older hero? A vibrant heroine? Romance at any age! SWEET SIREN debuts soon!

Amazon.com: Cerise DeLand: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

Ever wondered if you could find a romance with an older hero? I decided to give my 48-year-old father of three and robber baron a lady love who initially gives him the cut direct! 

She has reasons.

He, however, shows persistence. And when he encounters her again at another family wedding—this time his niece Marianne's to her French duc de Remy—Killian Hanniford decides he will demand to know why she was so rude to him!

You'll want to know too.

And in the meantime, you'll come along with me as I show you Brighton, England in all its glory in the Victorian period. I'll show you how wealthy men had grand country houses built. I tell you about how much they cost! GASP!

And I'll will show you how they decorated the interiors! And yes, I give you a grand love affair for two people who never thought they'd love so well ever again!

Here, too, I show you my full print covers for SWEET SIREN and for Book 2 in the series, DARING WIDOW. I just adore the art...and there is a story to each panorama!
Come with me and learn what those stories are...and experience Brighton in the age of the "bathing machine" and Paris in the age of Belle Époque!

A nibble of my new cherry, MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS! You need it!

Masquerade With a Marquess, Regency Romp #3

          Amazon   ARe   NOOK   KOBO   iTunes

An excerpt from Cerise DeLand’s MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS

Copyright 2016, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.

Victor made his way toward the threesome—and stopped in his tracks.

Across the room, a woman stood near the wall. Attired in a simple gown of cream, she portrayed a Greek or Roman queen. Her half mask was white, covering a straight nose and framing eyes that darted and scanned, settling here and there and moving on. Her hair glowed like pale sunlight. Beneath a headband of gold and white satin, her tresses curled in a braid high around her head. In a bow to current fashion, delicate wisps dangled at her ears. But the disarray made her more elegant, more classically beautiful. He could not drink in enough of her—and his mind stalled.

His stomach clenched. Oh, most definitely, this was the elusive housemaid. Or more accurately, Sophia di Bertolla di Contini, the daughter of the famous Italian courtier and poet, Marco di Bertolla.

Why would she come here to this party disguised?

 The irony that she should appear here in plain sight when he had searched for her for weeks had him setting his teeth. What game did she play?

The woman had disappeared from Whiting’s house that night in December. He’d run out into the streets to search for her, to no avail. He’d hired men he often employed to track thieves or those who owed him money. But they’d found no one answering her description in any lodgings in greater London. He’d extended their territory to search for her in Dover and Calais, assuming she might seek refuge there to book a packet across the Channel. They had come up short.

But here she was.

No maid’s drab cloth for her tonight. The opposite. Poised, shining and polished as a marble goddess, she surveyed the guests, all grace and purpose. She spoke with no one. In truth, she seemed to hug the walls. Was she here alone?

He made his way across the ballroom. In the crowd, that took him time. Too much, in fact. And as he wove his way among his guests, she left her secluded spot to wander toward the central hall. Odd, that. The ladies’ retiring room was on this wing. If she wondered precisely where, she need only ask a servant who would redirect her.  But she didn’t.

She continued toward the foyer. Scurrying, really.

Then she froze. Her eyes rounded.

Victor followed her line of sight.

Dray appeared straight ahead of her in the doorway, his ginger hair mussed by the wind and the half-black mask he wore. She turned aside, deftly weaving around Dray with not so much as a nod of greeting. That easily, she slipped out.

Victor hastened to catch her. But damn the crowd.

Threading his way through the throng required more greetings and diplomacy than he had expected. Next year, by god, he’d stay home. He wished to speak only to this intruder who appeared here as a guest. A creature who perennially danced in his memory like Salome.

Muttering to himself about his failure to eradicate her from his thoughts, Victor picked up his pace toward the hall.

But in his path stood Dray.

“I must speak with you.” Dray stepped toward him, straightening his tailcoat but looking oddly agitated.

“Later.” Victor clasped his step-brother’s hand. “Wait for me, please.”

“This is important. Where’re you going?” He turned as Victor passed him by.

“A guest.” He’d explain her identity later. “She’s headed the wrong way to the retiring room.”

“Put a footman to the task. I have news from Windsor—”

“Dray, wait.”

“I can’t!”

Victor ignored him and hurried away.

At the first floor landing of the staircase, he came to a stop. He turned to one side, the movement of a figure catching his eye. But it was a man, not Sophia.

In a stealthy move, the man shut the door behind him. As the latch clicked, so did knowledge of who the man was.

Otis Underwood. A degenerate of the first order.

Was he stalking Sophia? Was she in that room?

The reason that she might have gone there rose like bile in his throat. Did she seek an assignation with Underwood?

Preposterous. She had better sense than that. Or had years ago. Why would she consider alliance with such a man as he? She had no reason.

But he squeezed his eyes shut a second. Of course, it was her looks. The soft blue eyes that mesmerized a man. The lush rosy lips that inspired erotic fantasies in any man who gazed upon her. Young, old, infirm, any man with blood in his veins took one long look and coveted her.

Distaste for Underwood and his nefarious actions washed away all condemnation of Sophia.

Still, why was she floating around Winterbourne’s house?

She wasn’t a thief. Or hadn’t been that night at Whiting’s.

But was she in that room and if so, what did she want?

Flummoxed, he ripped off his mask and swung about, once more in complete review of the hall. No doubt of it. Unless she’d left the house, she was in that room where she should not be.

He’d root her out. He would.

He took the hall on cats’ feet. With utmost care, he turned the knob and thrust open the door.

Ah.

Across the moonlit room she stood in profile to him facing Underwood. The man advanced on her, a salacious smile upon his fleshy lips, his hawk-like nose hooked like the predator he was.