by Decca Price
Hearing them, Montfort swung round and halted.
Claire placed herself between them. “This is Alice, Lord Montfort,” she said with mock formality.
Her eyes moistened as the child reached forward eagerly and offered her father a spray of deep red pomegranate blossoms freshly plucked from the trees where she’d been playing. The rich spicy scent floated around them.
As Montfort bent to accept the gift, Alice’s bonnet fell back, exposing a cloud of dark, hyacinthine curls and bright, dark eyes that mirrored his own.
Barely suppressing a gasp, Montfort reached for Claire’s hand and firmly entwined his fingers with hers.
They stood that way for a moment, and by mutual assent, they walked without speaking into the garden and disappeared under the sheltering trees. Safe in each other’s arms at last, they lost themselves in a kiss.
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Acknowledgments
To have my first completed novel, “Daughter of Eve,’” honored as a Daphne du Maurier finalist in the unpublished historical category in 2015 was both encouraging and humbling. It showed me I hadn’t wasted my time researching and writing it—and how much reworking needed to be done. I received valuable feedback from the judges for the Kiss of Death chapter, which runs the contest, as well as editors and agents at RWA 2015 in New York and after. As a consequence, the book has received a significant overhaul and a new title, “Memory’s Bride.”
But it was the day-to-day encouragement from friends and fellow writers that kept me going and finally led me to revisit the novel this year and decide it was worth publishing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my fellow members of our writing “Quad”—Heather Heyford, Heidi Hormel and Geri Krotow…
… and to poet/writer/mentor/journalist extraordinaire/friend Tom Squitieri, for reminding me so eloquently of why we write in the first place.
Deepest thanks also to DeLynn Royer for reading a draft of the novel back in its beginnings and asking good questions; to my long-time friend, encourager, book-sharer and travel buddy, Elizabeth Bechtel; and to Barbara Phillips Long, who never tires of discussing the minutiae of history—and historical accuracy—in “historical” novels. I did my best to avoid anachronism in “Memory’s Bride,” Barbara, but if there’s something wrong, I know you’ll find it first and tell me gently.
And thank you to book designer Merry Banerji and graphic artist Anjali Banerji for bringing “Memory’s Bride” to fruition so beautifully.
I would be remiss if I did not explain how my fascination with Herefordshire, England, came about. Author Phil Rickman’s Merrily Watkins series gripped me from the very first volume I happened upon, “The Wine of Angels,” several years ago. The novels seamlessly blend crime, folklore, history, contemporary issues and mystical experience with memorable characters, chief among them Herefordshire itself.
The first chance I got, I went to Herefordshire, a place still so remote despite its short train distance from London you can feel like you stepped back centuries. Ancient spirits abide despite motorways, modern housing schemes and 5G.
Though I will never do it the justice that Rickman does, I had to write about Herefordshire at least once. I hope I captured some of its spell for you. And if you like contemporary mystery with an evocative setting and a generous helping of the supernatural, go read Phil Rickman.
And finally, I salute you, Anthony Trollope. Charles Dickens is justly renowned for his indelible, colorful characters and stories that pluck at the heartstrings. Trollope wrote in that great and prolific vein of Victorian realism, with stories just as engrossing but created around complex characters you could imagine taking tea with or see stalking the halls of Parliament. “Memory’s Bride” owes no small debt to two Trollope novels: “Miss McKenzie,” in which a plain spinster comes into an unexpected inheritance and discovers who her true friends are; and “The Prime Minister,” in which the often tedious Miss Emily Wharton pines for a man (over her father’s objections) and learns too late he’s a cad. Claire Burton was a little luckier on both counts.
About the Author
An award-winning journalist, Decca Price lives in the foothills of Pennsylvania’s Allegheny Mountains. Among her passions are Victorian England, travel and cats—especially her two Siamese rascals—and mysteries of all kinds, especially the mysteries that lurk inside every human heart.
The Nancy Drew novel her Great-Aunt Ada sent all the way from California one Christmas (“The Mystery of the Old Clock”) put her on the path of other classic mystery writers--Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Margery Allingham, Daphne DuMaurier, Victoria Holt, Mary Stewart and Pennsylvania’s own Margaret Sutton among others. More modern favorites include P.D. James, Ruth Rendell, Barbara Michaels, Minette Walters, Anne Perry, Peter Robinson and Kate Atkinson.
She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Sisters in Crime and Pennwriters. She is available for workshops on craft, writing and productivity. See more at www.deccaprice.com/workshops.
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Don’t miss the next Burton Brides mystery!
Deception’s Bride
Spy vs spy—with love held hostage between them.
Frances Burton is jubilant when Lord Grimthorpe’s youngest son comes through with a long-expected marriage proposal despite the scandal brought down on the family by her older sister. But could he be having second thoughts? She’s shocked into action when Henry postpones the wedding and sets off for a diplomatic posting in St. Petersburg without her. Determined to hang on to her reluctant bridegroom, she engineers an invitation from Henry’s mother and travels with her out to Russia, determined to force him to the altar there.
Sir Edward Lindsay chafes at his latest assignment from the Foreign Office: To escort a party of diplomats’ wives and other female relations from London to the British mission in St. Petersburg. It’s 1875, and the clandestine “Great Game” between the British and Russian empires vying for dominance over Europe is entering it final stages. Someone at the embassy is stealing secrets vital to British security, and Lindsay suspects the elusive spy known only as the Spider murdered his brother to protect his identity. Sipping tea and fetching shawls for even a week is almost more than he can bear, despite the distraction of the lovely, headstrong Francie.
Francie soon has reason to regret leaving England. Henry evades her, and the sudden death of a young grand duchess who befriended her leads Francie down a dark path of cruelty, blackmail and deceit. What she uncovers will allow Edward Lindsay to crack the case, but only if she lives long enough to reveal the secret.
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