Today I have the lovely Cate Parke visiting and talking about her wonderful historical, Dreams Within Dreams.
EXCERPT
Heads swiveled their way. Painted and many-patched men and their ladies, garbed in gorgeous court clothes and dripping with jewels, thronged St. James Palace on this Thursday evening for the queen’s bi-weekly Drawing Room. Word of the Berkeleys appearance had spread through St. James District like fire through a ramshackle barn stuffed with dry hay bales.
Richard’s and Alexandra’s sponsors, her grandmother and aunt, flanked them. Two duchesses as sponsors—such had never before been the case to everybody’s certain knowledge.
Richard led Alexandra forward through crowds that parted like the Red Sea before Moses when they passed down the center of the mammoth room. Halting before the pregnant queen, Richard swept his grey tricorn from his head, extended a foot and bowed from his waist while his wife sank into a deep curtsy.
Waves of murmurs swept through the assembly behind them, scarcely audible confidences, overheard by Richard’s keen ear. One of them, a girl born with every advantage, had allied herself to a mere gentleman whom nobody had ever heard of before, nobody would distinguish with an invitation anywhere, and nobody wanted to know. Yet from the number of invitations flooding in to Her Grace of Argyll’s secretary, everybody most plainly did. From the corner of Richard’s eye, he glimpsed several short men and a few women clamber onto chairs to capture a better view of them. One elderly dame even lifted a lorgnette containing pink glass to match her silk gown. Richard successfully stifled a smirk. For somebody nobody wanted to acknowledge, he’d garnered enormous attention.
“We have not enjoyed your presence in our Court for the past year and more, Lady Alexandra.”
Queen Charlotte’s gaze swept her from bright red, high-piled curls to the hem of her magnificent embroidered cloth-of-silver wedding gown, the only acceptable attire for her appearance today.
“We hear you have given birth to a son, Lady Alexandra. What did you name him?”
“Edward Thomas Rutledge Campbell Berkeley, Ma’am. He was born last December.”
“We are pleased to see you in good health, for you appear well, indeed. You give no evidence of your recent travail. And you are happy, we see, for you are aglow with it. Very well, very well,” she smiled, a rare occurrence during one of these tedious events, and waved her hand in dismissal. “Now step aside, gel, while we acquaint ourself with your gentleman.”
Richard snapped to attention and bowed his head. “Your servant, Ma’am,” he drawled. His accent, with its long, slow, in-gliding vowels brought a smile to the queen’s lips. Those near enough to witness her open appreciation gasped, their eyes widened with amazement.
The small woman before him lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. He’d come to recognize such smiles. He’d seen them since he was a boy, fighting off advances from flirtatious females.
“We are charmed by your distinctive accent, Mr. Berkeley. You are from Charlestowne of our South Carolina colony, are you not?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I am.”
“Yet you spent a number of years in England.”
“That’s true, Ma’am,” he grinned, impressed she knew anything of him. Of course, Alexandra had written her and, doubtless, explained. “I attended school in England. Lord Edward Campbell convinced my father to send me to Eton when I was eight years old. Later, I entered his alma mater, Christ Church, Oxford. Afterward, I trained in the law at London’s Inner Temple.”
“Is that when you met Lady Alexandra?”
“No, Ma’am. I didn’t have that privilege until several years later.”
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Alexandra slanting a glance at him while he stood at ease, with hands folded behind his back, and flashed a grin at the queen. The small brown-haired, sallow-skinned woman with striking turquoise eyes lifted her chin. He suspected nobody ever presumed to grin at her. But Her Majesty was a woman and, he supposed, from her widened eyes and the flirty grin playing on her lips, he’d surprised and stricken her, as had most women all his life.
“How was that, Mr. Berkeley?”
“Lord Edward Campbell, Lady Alexandra’s father, was my mentor and, later, my business partner, Ma’am. He and my father planned a betrothal between us since we were children—though, they didn’t bother to share the information with either of us until the spring of 1768. Since I was soon to embark upon a voyage to England, His Lordship sent along a letter of introduction to the Duke of Argyll, in Inveraray, Scotland. After I saw to my affairs in London, I travelled north—and met my wife.”
“I see. Yet, Lady Alexandra failed to mention it to us during the following year when she served us as a Maid of Honor.”
Richard grinned again, amused. Her Majesty gasped and leaned toward him, her eyes widened further. He doubted any gentleman had ever been so audacious as to display genuine friendliness toward Her Majesty during all the years she’d sat beside her husband on his throne.
“A delicious tale, Mr. Berkeley. We have always been fond of your lady wife, and are pleased you make her happy.”
“I’ve tried, Your Majesty, but I’ve not always succeeded.”
“And why is that, sir?” By her alert posture and the crinkling of her eyes at the corner, Richard knew laughter lurked while she awaited the outcome of his anecdote.
“You see, once I refused to burn a house down for her. On another occasion, I forbade her to ride. I recall even threatening to post guards on her. She was remarkably unhappy with me on both occasions, Ma’am.”
“And why were you commanded to burn a house down, Mr. Berkeley?”
“It contained a nest of snakes, Ma’am.”
The queen’s eyes flew wide and she glanced toward Alexandra. “A nest of vipers, Mr. Berkeley? Pray share the tale with us.”
“Well, you see, I’d bought a sawmill upriver from our home. After cleaning and repairing homes for the workers I’d hired, my wife pulled aside a bed, and there they were. Believe me, Ma’am, I’ve never heard such blood-curdling screams.”
“We should say not! What did you do?”
“Well, I carried my wife outside before she strangled me, while others carried out the snakes. Once they were gone and the place was cleaned, there was no need to burn down the house.”
“She nearly strangled you, you say?”
“Yes, Ma’am. She jumped at me and wouldn’t let go of my neck. It felt like I’d imagine a tightening noose might feel, you see. On that same occasion she nearly suffocated herself and our child, as well.”
****
Beside him, and amused by his tale, Alexandra fidgeted, wanting to supply some detail that did not present her actions in quite such a…colorful manner. Queen Charlotte pointedly ignored her, though, and she dared not speak unless addressed by Her Majesty.
“I must hear this tale now, if you please, Mr. Berkeley,” the queen demanded.
“My wife took it upon herself to burn vermin-ridden bedding in a fireplace that didn’t work properly. Lady Alexandra was not happy with my response, I fear.”
“Indeed? What did you do?” Another of her rarely seen public smiles wreathed her face. The muscles in her cheeks and about her mouth twitched with the effort to maintain her regal composure.
“I wanted to turn her over my knee, I assure you. That might not have been appropriate, given her delicate condition, though. Instead, I snatched her into my arms, carried her outside and ordered her to sit. Without a single chair on the site, however, my only alternative was to assign her a simple task. It gave her something to do and kept her out of everyone else’s hair, at least.”
A Queen of England may never be said to roar with mirth but her laughter rang through the Presence Chamber and she clapped her hands in delight. Her ladies fluttered about her, fanning her and dabbing the tears streaking her cheeks with lacy handkerchiefs.
Finally, re-gaining control of herself, regret crossed her face. “We fear we must excuse you, Mr. Berkeley, and remember the others awaiting our notice. We look forward to meeting you again at court. Lady Alexandra, we are glad to welcome you back.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Alexandra replied, sinking into another curtsey, then backed away from the throne, her hand again in Richard’s.
Her Majesty had extended the usual five minutes granted to each couple by twice as long. This, to the consternation of her formidable chamberlain who stood nearby drumming his fingers on his lectern and waving his hand each time the queen glanced his way, hoping to attract her attention.
After they retreated from the throne, another couple approached who had been kept waiting. The redoubtable Lady Mary Coke, ever present at these bi-weekly affairs, sallied forth and accosted Alexandra. Her Grandfather Argyll’s first cousin was the daughter of the great Second Duke of Argyll. Lady Mary reigned over St. James District. “You may introduce your gentleman, Lady Alexandra,” she commanded, as though nobly bestowing a great honor.
Inward rage roiled within Alexandra’s breast at the woman’s haughty demeanor toward her tall, handsome husband. Richard bowed when Alexandra introduced him. Her grandfather, the Duke of Wessex, approached and greeted Lady Mary. Afterward, he claimed Richard’s attention and took him to meet a friend. Alexandra could have murdered him for taking Richard away and leaving her alone to combat the arrogant woman. She expected nothing but censure from the fearsome dame, nor was she long disillusioned that she might escape.
A BIT ABOUT CATE
My blog is called Tuesday’s Child. As it happens, I was born on a Tuesday. I’m convinced my mother made a big mistake, though. I believe she meant to give birth to me on the previous Thursday. According to the old Mother Goose tale, which says Thursday’s Child has far to go, my life would have been far better defined. I would also have been born under the sign of the lion, which would have reflected my redheaded temperament much, much better. It’s true. What could my mother have been thinking??? (I really had red hair once upon a time. I was born with it and had it all my life–until not long ago…but that’s another story. But it’s true, too.)
According to that dear old Mother Goose tale, I should have been born full of grace. So very sad, but nobody ever, ever attributed that particular virtue to me. After only college class in dance, I was convinced of the unfortunate truth. I can’t sing, either. True. Nobody would ever ask me to do more than hum or add volume to a chorus. Nor can I paint, or even draw a picture. My mother was an artist. Dear Mom didn’t pass along a single shred of her skill. So what does a girl do whose soul demands expression? She becomes a writer to fulfill its burning need. That’s also a true story.
CONNECT WITH
website: http://www.cateparkeauthor.com
Blog: Tuesday’s Child: http://www.cateparkeauthor.com/tuesdays-child.html
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cateparke
Google+: https://plus.google.com/+CateParke
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Cate_Parke
BUY LINKS
Amazon Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/Dreams-Within-Cate-Parke-ebook/dp/B00KHECBW4/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1401074846&sr=1-3&keywords=Cate+Parke
Barnes and Noble buy link: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dreams-within-dreams-cate-parke/1119589606?ean=2940149499205
Turquoise Morning Press: http://www.turquoisemorningpressbookstore.com/products/dreams-within-dreams-by-cate-parke
