by Nichole Van
“Sebastian, stop!” She was laughing more helplessly now.
“And then, it wasn’t even a question, really, was it?”
“Well, it was to be my eighth and final marriage proposal—”
“Eighth? Really? Quite impressive.”
“Do I detect some sarcasm in that?”
“Well, after witnessing so many proposals, one would think you would be more experienced. I mean, you should have at least knelt down—”
“Sebastian Carew, you are truly a dreadful man.” She punctuated the statement by pulling his head in for a decidedly not-dreadful kiss.
A kiss which lingered for a while.
“Heavens but I adore you,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Darling,” he murmured in return.
She sighed and leaned back in his arms.
“I have always wondered why men fumble with marriage proposals so,” she said “Now, I know. It’s like a thousand emotions all crowding in, demanding space in your head, and before you can think clearly, words just slip out.”
He chuckled and opened his mouth to speak, but she stayed him with a hand.
“No. Let me try again. As I intend this to be the last marriage proposal of my life, I want it to be perfect.”
She straightened her shoulders. Gave herself a shake. Nodded.
“Sebastian Carew, my sometime investigative wingman, efficient toe-warmer extraordinaire, giver of bone-melting smiles, but most importantly, dearest love of my heart, I would be forever humbled if you would do me the honor of accepting my hand and make me yours. Darling, will you marry me?”
The tears tumbling down her cheeks did nothing to dampen the luster of her smile.
Sebastian was quite sure his face looked the same.
“Georgiana.” He cleared his throat. “Darling, dearest girl.” He kissed her forehead. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
With a giggle of joy, she threw her arms around his neck, and he swept her up, into his embrace.
After a moment, she pulled back with a start. “The will! I had completely forgotten. Seb, your birthday is tomorrow, there is no way, with the banns to be read and Gretna Greene too far—”
He laughed and kissed her nose.
“Nonsense! I am not an earl for nothing. I arranged last week for a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. We can marry at first light, in whatever location you wish . . .”
She smiled.
That wide, wide smile.
Lush.
Impossible not to kiss.
And so he did.
Epilogue
The meadow
Stratton Hall
October 8, 1813
Sebastian’s twenty-seventh birthday
Sebastian Carew reclaimed his heart on his twenty-seventh birthday.
He stood in that same meadow near Stratton Hall—morning light slanting through the surrounding autumn fire trees—where he had first lost his heart.
Watching as Miss Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight walked slowly toward him through the dew-kissed grass. Blond hair hanging loose in waves down to her waist, shimmering like spun gold just as poets described.
The goddess of love come to him.
That precise point which divided his life ever after into two distinct parts.
Before her and after her.
When she firmly tethered him to her gravity, finally claiming the other half of his soul.
The special license granted them permission to marry anywhere, indoors or out, and so Sebastian chose this meadow. The place where all his hopes had begun.
As vicar, his step-father officiated the service. His mother wept.
His sisters, their husbands, and all his nieces and nephews cheered wildly as he kissed his new bride.
It was as if some divine angel were smiling down upon them all, bestowing grace and joy.
The quickness of their marriage did not allow Arthur and Marianne to attend, and so Georgiana asked to honeymoon at Haldon Manor, turning Duir Cottage into a cozy love nest.
As was expected, Arthur Knight was beside himself over their union. It is said he shed more tears than anyone when informed of the marriage.
This day found the happy newlyweds curled up together on a sofa in Duir Cottage. It was not the same sofa as existed in the twenty-first century, nor was it in the kitchen (that being the realm of servants, as befitted nineteenth century life), but it was still a comfortable sofa, overstuffed and situated in front of the fireplace in the front parlor.
Georgiana was curled up beside him, snuggled completely against his chest. For his part, Sebastian had one hand around his wife’s waist and the other wrapped around her ever-cold toes.
“You are a countess and, yet, you still cannot seem to keep stockings on your feet,” he murmured against her hair.
She laughed softly and cuddled closer to him.
“You are a horrid enabler,” she said in return. “You provide me with no motivation to want to be toe-responsible—what with your deliciously warm hands. You have only yourself to blame.”
She made sure her voice sounded properly prim.
He chuckled under her cheek.
“Impossible woman,” he muttered.
Later on. Not on that day, but a week later when the sun shone bright and the leaves clung desperately to that last gasp of warmth, Georgiana stood in the hallway at the closet door.
Clutching a folded bit of foolscap in her hand.
“You have to come down with me and not let me go,” she said, turning to Sebastian. “If something goes wrong, there is no way I will be separated from you again.”
“Agreed.”
Hand in hand, they descended the cellar stairs. The portal hummed, sending electrical pulses through the air.
“This probably won’t work, but I have to try,” she said into the quiet damp.
Squeezing his hand tightly and keeping him close by her side, she walked forward to the portal. Kissed the note in her hand and pressed it against the stone.
And then gasped, as it was instantly absorbed into the rock.
“Oh! Oh my!” She jumped back, clapped her hands in delight. “Sebastian! Do you think it worked? Do you think James will get my note?” Even in the gloomy darkness, her eyes shone brightly. “I just so wanted him to know about our marriage. That I am happy and whole and at peace.”
Sebastian smiled, kissing her forehead. “I am sure he will know, my love, one way or another.”
Still hand in hand, they walked back upstairs and spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the foundling hospital they were to build near Stratton Hall, Georgiana’s eyes glowing with excitement. For his part, Sebastian eagerly awaited the completion of the new bathing rooms being installed.
Hours later, Georgiana peeked down the cellar stairs. There, resting on the dirt floor, a large envelope gleamed in the darkness.
“Sebastian!” Breathless with excitement. “It worked! He sent something back—”
Sebastian was at her side in an instant. Again, clutching his hand tightly, they descended the stairs. She snatched the envelope and scrambled back up to the hallway.
Georgiana studied the envelope. There was a large post-it note affixed to it. James’ bold, swooping handwriting was unmistakable.
Congratulations, Georgie! Emme and I are so happy for you and Stratton. As I said, I could not have let you go to any less a man than he.
I am relieved the portal understands our lives will always be linked, allowing us to send messages to each other. You are so very dear to me, and I cannot wait to hear about the mysteries and scrapes you land yourself in over the years. Just as I am eager to tell you about my travels and life here with Emme. Be happy, darling Georgiana. Know that you have a brother in the twenty-first century who cherishes and loves you.
On another note, this came in the post for you. Or rather, for Stratton.
I love you, sister mine. James.
Shooting Sebastian a puzzled look, she o
pened the envelope. And gasped.
Inside was a plastic sleeve—so very familiar—but the letter was different.
Though she did recognize it, despite the paper now being yellowed and moth eaten.
Licking a tear off her lip, she wordlessly handed the letter to Sebastian.
Haldon Manor
October 7, 1813
Beloved keeper of my soul,
How I have missed you, my darling! I have returned, never to leave.
I had always imagined true love to be like a gothic romance: the brave, mysterious knight rescuing the swooning heroine, winning her devotion. But I was wrong. True love—true bravery—is a best friend who never gives up. Who waits for you, who comes for you, even through Death and Time, if needed.
Thank you for cherishing my heart, for keeping it close, long before I knew you held it. For indeed, you are my heart, steadily beating, fiery and bright.
I love you, my darling. More than anything and anyone else.
Georgiana
“Oh my love,” Sebastian whispered, kissing away her tears.
“—it’s just . . . the most divine—”
And indeed it was.
All of it.
Upcoming Books
The House of Oak series will eventually feature four books (and perhaps a prequel novella showing how the locket was sent on its way to the US, but I haven’t firmed that up yet).
As of this writing, the books in the series are/will be:
Intertwine (James and Emme)
Divine (Georgiana and Sebastian)
Clandestine (Marc and Kit—coming Spring 2015)
Refine (Linwood and, yes, Jasmine—coming Summer 2015)
If you haven’t yet read Intertwine, book one of the House of Oak series, click here for a preview.
Author's Note
As usual, when writing a story set in the past, I have incorporated select aspects of history and then blatantly made up others.
Some facts that I borrowed from reality and/or history:
Gooseberry societies and competitions were an actual craze in early 19th century Britain. The obsession described in this book was rooted in very real historical fact. Gooseberry clubs and competitions continue to be popular today. Also, I use the original meaning of the phrase ‘to do gooseberry’ or ‘to be a gooseberry’ in the book. The phrase isn’t one that most Americans would be familiar with at all. But nowadays in Britain to be a gooseberry means to be a third wheel, an unwanted interloper. Originally, to do gooseberry meant to be a lax chaperone—someone who was along for propriety’s sake, but would turn a blind eye to lovers stealing a kiss or two. The meaning of the phrase has just morphed and changed over the last 200 years.
Genealogical Good Samaritan societies do exist, though they usually focus on reconnecting descendants with old family bibles.
Cosprop (www.cosprop.com) is an actual organization which provides period costumes for film, television and theater. My thanks to them and to the Brigham Young University Museum of Art for the amazing Cosprop exhibit they hosted. There’s nothing quite like seeing period costumes up close and personal.
Additionally, Major-General Sir Isaac Brock was killed in the Battle of Queenston Heights near Tecumseh, Ontario on October 13, 1812. And from my (admittedly limited) research, the Eleventh Light Dragoons did see action on the Peninsula. Dr. James Carson, who I mention in passing, was an early researcher of tuberculosis working in Liverpool in the early 19th century.
Things I completely made up: the golden gooseberry of Labrador, the town of Marfield and all the estates listed in the book. Also, in several instances, I deliberately chose to use the American word for something instead of the British, just to avoid unnecessary confusion. For example, Georgiana runs around with a flashlight instead of a torch. But given that she is in the past at the time, she very well could have had a torch too . . . so you see the problem. Wherever I could, I chose the most accurate word possible.
As with all books, this one couldn’t have been written without help and support from those around me. I know I am going to leave someone out with all these thanks. So to that person, know that I totally love you and am so deeply grateful for your help!
First of all, thank you to all those who read Intertwine and sent me excited emails, asking about the next book in the series. Your encouragement and enthusiasm means more than I can say.
To my beta readers—you know who you are—thank you for your helpful ideas and support. And, again, an extra large thank you to Annette Evans and Norma Melzer for their fantastic copy editing skills.
A huge thank you goes to Lois Brown, author extraordinaire, for being a wonderful writing buddy throughout this process and ensuring Georgiana’s mystery was satisfyingly tied up at the end.
And I cannot even begin to thank my brilliant editor, Erin Rodabough. She has the amazing gift of being able to hone in on problems and provide solutions. No to mention just being an all-out awesome friend. Thank you so very much.
Thanks, again, to Andrew, Austenne and Kian for your patience and all the nerf gun wars waged outside my office door while I wrote.
And finally, no words can express my love and appreciation for Dave. Really, just . . . no words. Except, maybe, I love you.
Reading Group Questions
Oh yes, this book has reading group questions.
Why?
Well, the English professor in me couldn’t publish this book without making it vaguely educational. And obviously your reading group would show excellent taste by selecting this book—reading groups don’t always have to be about the classics and Oprah’s Book Club. Sometimes you just need a shameless don’t-judge-me read. And any book that has reading group questions has to have redeeming literary qualities, right? So you’re totally justified in assigning it.
You’re welcome.
Was Sebastian too obsessive in holding on to Georgiana? Was Georgiana too obsessive in her love of mysteries? Is there a point at which we should let go of something, even if it really matters?
From the very beginning, Georgiana is faced with the terrible decision of staying with her brother in a century she likes well enough, or returning to the century of her birth and a way of life that is infinitely more dear to her heart. Throughout history, people have chosen to leave their parents and siblings behind and pursue a life elsewhere with their spouse. How do you feel about Georgiana facing such a decision? Were you content with the resolution at the end?
At what point did you solve the mystery? Did you feel like the resolution with the original love letter and the villain were satisfying?
For me, writing is only fun when I can incorporate a lot of voice, meaning there is attitude and personality in the narration—so you get a sense of Sebastian or Georgiana’s thoughts throughout the book. Do you find this kind of narration more enjoyable to read or do you prefer the writer’s tone to be ‘invisible’?
When writing historical fiction, you face a conundrum. Do you stay completely true to the language of the period or do you allow it to be more modern (and therefore more accessible to readers)? Some argue that the language of the past would sound colloquial to those of the same time period. For example, a gentleman of 1813 might describe a new carriage as ‘bang up the mark,’ whereas my brother would describe his new truck as a ‘sweet ride.’ Though the phrasing is different, the words would have the same casual meaning in both eras. Considering this, how should language be used in historical fiction? Should authors use completely modern language, instead of trying to recreate the cadence of older English, in order to more perfectly capture the sentiments expressed?
As a writer, I feel the look of words on the page can communicate meaning as well. Therefore, I deliberately used line breaks, non-traditional punctuation, italics and visual cues to help convey tone and cadence. Did you find this helped as a reader, making your reading flow more easily? Why or why not?
Alright, let’s cast the movie of the book. (Cause hey, we can dream big, right?) Wh
o plays Georgiana? Sebastian? Etc. In the movie version, what aspects of the book should be thrown out, condensed or altered? Also, what should the theme love song be?
I chose to self-publish this book and never considered seeking a publisher for it. How do you feel about the indie self-pub book market? Are you more or less likely to read a book that has been self-published? Do you even notice/care if a book is self-published?
About the Author
Nichole Van is an artist who feels life is too short to only have one obsession. In former lives, she has been a contemporary dancer, pianist, art historian, choreographer, culinary artist and English professor. Though Nichole still prefers the label ‘adaptable’ more than ‘ADD.’
Most notably, however, Nichole is an acclaimed photographer, winning over thirty international accolades for her work, including Portrait of the Year from WPPI in 2007. (Think Oscars for wedding and portrait photographers.) Her unique photography style has been featured in many magazines, including Rangefinder and Professional Photographer. She is also the creative mind behind the popular websites Flourish Emporium and {life as art} Workshops, which provide resources for photographers.
All that said, Nichole has always been a writer at heart. With an MA in English, she taught technical writing at Brigham Young University for ten years and has written more technical manuals than she can quickly count. She decided in late 2013 to start writing fiction and has loved exploring a new creative process.
Nichole currently lives in Utah with her husband and three crazy children. Though continuing in her career as a photographer, Nichole is also now writing historical romance on the side. She is known as NicholeVan all over the web: Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, etc. Visit http://www.NicholeVan.com to sign up for her author newsletter and be notified of new book releases. You can see her work at http://photography.nicholeV.com and http://www.nicholeV.com
