My
Victorian historical GABRIELLE will be available in ebook format on May 9th!
Here is an excerpt and blurb for my upcoming title! This story is very dear to
me and will also be available in print—release date to come on that.
BLURB
From
the windswept plains of India to the tropical beaches of The Seychelles, to the
glittering ballrooms of London Society….
Gabrielle
Jordan has survived a bloody uprising in India and not without a great deal of
loss. The death of her family in the British Garrison in Cawnpore leaves her
shaking and wondering where her place in life really is. In the space of a
heartbeat all her hopes and dreams are radically changed. Will she be able to
find her footing and allow herself to find a happy ending amongst the ashes of
what was once her life?
Devlin
Reese, Duke of Kendrick arrives in Cawnpore, India unsure what he would find
but praying the family he loves as his own will be fine. When he finds
Gabrielle, his best friends sister amongst the surreal ruins of a once proud
garrison he realizes his world will never be the same again. The young girl he
thought he knew so well has forever changed and he will do what he must to make
sure she realizes that dreams can come true and the he will not give up on her
or on them.
EXCERPT
Cawnpore, India
May 1857
Smoke and dust hung like a heavy veil in
the humid air. The miasma of death assaulted the Duke of Kendrick as he rode
into the center of the British army garrison.
No matter where he looked, total
destruction met his gaze. Shredded garden flowers littered the earth like
macabre pieces of colored confetti. A child’s rag doll lay on the ground,
forgotten by the little owner. Overturned water buckets, parasols and bonnets
were strewn about. The Union Jack that once proudly flew from the center of the
garrison parade grounds, hung torn and burned, dragging the earth.
With narrowed eyes he took in his
surroundings, a preternatural silence met his ears. He turned in the saddle
praying he would find some sign of life. Where
were the soldiers and families that called this place home?
He dismounted and drew his sword from
its scabbard as he cautiously moved into one building after another, finding
broken furniture, paintings shredded and scattered about. Damaged swords and
abandoned firearms gave evidence of the brutal fight the garrison had endured.
And lost.
Where was Gabrielle? Panic gripped his
stomach with an iron fist when all he heard was the sound of his own footfalls,
echoing against the wood floors in each building he searched.
A small house, isolated from the rest of
the buildings drew Devlin. The outside façade showed little damage which he
found disconcerting when he considered all he’d seen thus far. He pushed the
door open, the creaking of the hinges sounding like gunfire in the thick
silence. Immediately he noted the interior was not so fortunate. Stuffing had
been pulled from the chairs, tables were overturned. A crystal decanter lay
shattered, the pieces of glass, glinting in the sun, the fading scent of whisky
drifted in the dusty air that came through the door. The ticking of a clock
reverberated obscenely loud in the stillness. What should have been a calming
sound, grated on Devlin’s raw nerves. Each swing of the pendulum a taunt,
reminding him of the precious seconds slipping away. Seconds not spent looking
for Gabrielle.
Devlin gripped his sword tightly,
needing the connection to his weapon to ground him in the here and now. When
his best friend, Andrew sent the letter to him, requesting help in evacuating
his family from India, Devlin never thought for a moment the rumors of the
uprising would lead to so much destruction. Or that war would be made on the
innocent women and children of the garrison. It was unheard of. But evidence to
the contrary was hard to ignore when forced to face the obliteration of the
once strong British garrison.
He turned on his heel, taking in his
surroundings. Shadows filled the corners and it took him a moment to realize
this place smelled different. There was no spilt blood, no lingering gunpowder
or sweat filling the space. Instead he noted something spicy in the air, maybe
cinnamon, a total dichotomy to the destroyed rooms. How could it smell so
inviting and yet be in the center of a mutiny?
A leather bound book lying amongst the
debris caught his eye. Bending, he retrieved it and dusted the dirt off the
cover and opened the small tome. With his heart in his throat, he read the
first page.
The
travel diary of Lady Gabrielle Jordan
Carefully he turned the pages, noting
her elegant and neat penmanship from the numerous letters she had sent him in
La Digue since he left England. One particular entry caught his eye.
September
21, 1856
I
can’t help but realize I’m sailing in the very waters that lap at the shores of
Devlin’s island. I’ve been thinking of him frequently of late. How has he
changed? Does he still have his long dark hair? Does the water appear as blue
to him as it does to me? Does he enjoy the beauty of the sunsets and spectacular
grandeur of the sunrise?
So
many questions without answers, yet I can’t help but wonder how he is doing. Is
he happy on his island paradise?
I
wish with my whole heart we could sail to La Digue, rather than Calcutta. Being
so close, yet so far from him, is almost unbearable. How my heart aches for
him. Perhaps my preoccupation is due to the fact I have excessive time on my
hands. But, I think this is a poor excuse.
We
will be docking in the Maldives tomorrow. Daphne tells me these are beautiful
islands, and I will be hard pressed to find such clear, blue water anywhere. I
wonder how they compare to the Seychelles. Again, my musings bring me back to
Devlin. Will this ever end?
Devlin closed the journal and held it
close to his chest. Fear seized his vitals with burning talons. The walls were
closing in on him, the stagnate air making him nauseous. Devlin went outside in
time to see his best friend, Army Major Andrew Jordan as he rode into the
garrison yard.
“Have you found them?” he called from
his mount.
“No.” He returned to his stallion and
secreted the journal in his travel bag. When he looked up he noticed a man
sitting against a tree across the garrison grounds.
He had not been there earlier when
Devlin had arrived.
Devlin approached the man intent on
getting some answers. “Excuse me. Could you please direct me to the garrison
commander? I need to speak with him directly.”
The soldier stared vacantly at Devlin
but didn’t answer.
“Did you hear me?” He resisted the urge
to shake the man from his stupor.
“Wot you need him for?”
The question as much as the soldier’s
tone took Devlin aback. “I’m here to find my friend’s family, man. They were
here visiting an uncle. Now, direct me to the person in charge.”
The soldier stood, shaking his head
while he continued to stare at Devlin. “No one survived, mate. Not a single
bloody person. If you had family here, they be dead.”
“Surely you’re wrong! There were women
and children here. Where have they been moved?” Devlin asked.
“You don’t get it, mate. The bloody Indians
killed ‘em all. The savages slaughtered the women and stuffed them down the
well. Tossed the little ones down also. No one survived.”
The words stunned Devlin into action and
his control slipped as he shook the man slightly. “No one makes war on women
and children!”
“Say wot you will, that won’t change the
facts. The bloody Indian’s slaughtered ‘em they did.”
“Where is the Bibighar, Private?” Andrew
asked as he stopped beside Devlin.
Devlin turned noting his friends rather
damning control. The cool and unemotional expression on Andrew’s face chilled
Devlin to his core. Had this been his family missing, he would have been out of
control, angry and perhaps even violent.
The soldier straightened and snapped a
salute, noting for the first time the officer before him and pointed in the
other direction. “It’s over by the well.”
Andrew turned to Devlin. “Did you manage
to check out that building before I arrived?”
“No.” Devlin scanned the garrison
grounds, still having a difficult time processing the entire scene before him.
“This is beyond what I thought
possible.” Andrew removed his Calvary hat and ran a distracted hand through his
hair.
Devlin agreed there was a systematic air
about the destruction of the compound. “We need to hurry.”
“I agree. I’m going to speak with our
guide. Tell him he can go,” Andrew said as he turned and left Devlin standing
there alone.
The stench of death clung to his clothes
and the heat from the sun beat down on him. Standing there, he vowed silently
he would find Gabrielle before the sun set on this cursed day.
Movement out of the corner of his eye
caught his attention. He watched as a small figure slipped into a building the
soldier had called the Bibighar.
“Dev, come over here, I think you should
hear this.” Andrew motioned to a small young woman with a serene face and sad
dark eyes.
“In a moment.” He turned and strode
toward the building.
* * * *
The heat and buzzing flies barely
register as Gabrielle entered the Bibighar. She tasted the metallic, copper
scent of spilt blood in the air and gagged. The fetid stink left her
lightheaded. Gabrielle braced herself against one of the pillars, her heart
pounding frantically as she attempted to process the sight before her.
The piano Elizabeth Ingram took such joy
in playing lay in pieces. The marble floors and columns were now a sickly rust
color. Her friends and family’s life blood.
Realizing the error she’d made by coming
here, Gabrielle went to leave on shaking legs only to stop short. A small
ragged scrap of gold fabric caught her eye. Walking over to the corner,
Gabrielle bent to retrieve the piece of fabric and realized it was from her
mother’s favorite dress. So many comments had been made about its unique color
and style when they‘d first arrived in Cawnpore. The gown was a stunning new
creation by Worth and her mama had been the envy of all the women who’d not had
the chance to see the latest fashion plates.
Gabrielle sank to her knees, clutching
the material close and began to sob. Her beautiful, loving mama and her handsome,
strong papa were dead.
Wiping away the salty evidence of sorrow
off her cheeks, she squared her shoulders. She was here for a purpose and would
not let her sadness derail her from what she had to do.
Gabrielle lifted pieces of furniture,
shards of vases and other glass ornaments that littered the floor. Mindless of
the danger of injuring herself, she searched for the music box she had not
taken into hiding with her.
The music box was the very last thing
her parents had given her when she turned sixteen. Inside lay a strand of
pearls her mother had given her. The treasured pearls had been passed down from
mother to daughter for over a century.
Frantic, Gabrielle dug through the
debris, looking for her mother’s trunk, knowing it would be safe inside, if only
Gabrielle could locate it.
Tears streamed from her eyes, her nose
was running and sobs burned her throat and still she tossed gowns and combs,
mirrors and other feminine frippery out of her way, all in vain. Where was her
precious music box?
Without warning, strong arms wrapped
around her. She screamed as they picked her up and held her against a tight
male body. Beating her fists on the man’s arms, Gabrielle tried to escape the
unyielding hold this person had on her, ignoring the small voice in her heart
resigning itself to the fate about to be dealt her. Deep down she knew she
didn’t deserve to be alive while everyone else died. Knew that like her
parents, like Elizabeth, her time would come. Part of her couldn’t wait to see
her mama and papa again. Slowly it began to register that someone was murmuring
in her ear and Gabrielle stopped struggling. Through her gasping breaths and
the steady heartbeat throbbing in her ears, she heard the voice. A deep,
velvety voice that for the past three years, she only heard in her dreams
“It’s all right, little one,” the voice
said. “It’s going to be all right.”
Gabrielle froze, her heart stuttering in
her chest. “Devlin?” she breathed. She shifted in his arms and they relaxed,
allowing her to turn around. She reached out with a trembling hand and traced
the beard-roughened face before her. A visage so very dear to her she knew it
better than her own.
“Is it you? Is it really and truly you?”
Devlin wiped the tears from her face
with a warm, solid thumb. “Yes, Gabrielle, I’m here.” Her hand shot up to her
cheek, capturing his hand and gripping it tight. He was real. Her breath caught
in her chest as she looked at him for the first time in three years. He still
had his long dark hair, those same beautiful blue eyes.
Exhaling, she threw her arms around his
neck, afraid when she opened her eyes he’d be gone, a cruel joke played on her
by her own sad, broken heart.
But dreams did not stroke your hair, or
murmur reassuring words in your ear. They didn’t place kisses on the top of
your head and make you feel safe for the first time in a long time.
She pulled back, her lips quivering as
she tried to form words she didn’t want to speak aloud. “They’re dead, Devlin,
both of them. They’re gone.”
A heaving sob broke free. Devlin’s embrace
tightened. Gabrielle clung to him like a limpet as the grief poured from her.
She could no more stop the tears than she could stop the world from spinning.
Burrowing close, she allowed herself to grieve knowing she was safe. Devlin was
there.
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