Intertwine (43 page)

You’re welcome.

1. "You are eternal in both directions. If you look far enough into the past, you'll find the future there." This is my paraphrase of a quote by Paul Tillich that I used as a philosophical basis for the book. Thoughts? Have you ever felt this way about your own life?

2. As a writer, I feel that the look of words on the page can communicate meaning as well. Therefore, I deliberately used line breaks, non-traditional punctuation 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?

3. When writing historical fiction, as a writer you face a conundrum. Do you stay completely true to the language of the period, knowing that it will feel stilted and perhaps boring to many readers? Or do you relax the language and allow it to be more modern, therefore making it more engaging to present-day readers (but not entirely historically accurate)? How well do you feel this book deals with the differences between modern and early 19th-century English?

4. Considering Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity (yes, I really just went there), one could argue that time is merely a construct of our limited understanding of the universe. Based on this, did you like the visual metaphor of all events being present, occurring simultaneously on a vast cosmic ocean? Could all things be present?

5. Alright, let’s cast the movie of the book. (Cause hey, we can dream big, right?) Who plays Emme? James? 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?

6. Are we having fun yet?

7. What came first, the locket’s creation or Emme finding the locket? How do you feel about these ‘chicken or the egg’ situations that often occur in time travel novels?

8. As an author, I do have plans (as of this writing) to redeem Linwood in the last book of this series. Can this be done? Could he actually change enough to become the hero in his own novel and get the girl? Is he truly a bad person or just a product of his environment? Please feel free to email any good ideas you come up with!

9. I chose to self-publish this book and never considered seeking a publisher for it (long story why . . . you can email me for that explanation too). 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?

Turn the page for a preview of

Divine
House of Oak Book 2

Georgiana's story and the next book in the House of Oak series.

Divine
House of Oak Book 2

The ballroom

Stratton Hall

Warwickshire

March 10, 1808

S
ebastian Carew was a man without a heart.

Not that he didn't have one in the conventional sense. There was definitely an organ in his chest that beat a steady rhythm, and friends regularly described him as good-humored and courteous.

He was by no means
heartless
.

But rather, Sebastian had quite thoroughly lost his heart years ago
.

He pondered this reality as he stood in the Earl of Stratton’s ballroom. Listening to bright, cascading laughter.

Not any laughter.

Her
laughter.

The sound had slammed into his solar plexus, hard and swift, leaving him gasping.

Straining to see through the crowd of people, he located her gleaming head on the arm of her brother. She was smiling, brilliant, drawing every eye. Candles flickered around her golden hair, surrounding her in light.

As if some angel were sending him a divine sign.

Sebastian swallowed and glanced away. He wasn’t sure he believed in signs, divine or otherwise.

And if there were some angel, it would be a decidedly ironic one with a wicked sense-of-humor.

Dwelling on
her
would only bring him heartache. And a man of his social position did not have the luxury of heartache. He should just walk away, out the door without looking back.

But against his will, his head turned, drinking her in.

He pushed against the memory of that morning six years earlier when he had topped a small hill, lifted his head into the rising sun.

And saw
her
.

Standing in the dew-kissed meadow, surrounded by wild flowers and burnished sunflare. Her back to him, blond hair hanging loose in waves down to her waist, shimmering like spun gold just as poets described. Her arms outstretched wide, face tilted toward the sky. The goddess of morning come to embrace her realm.

The moment had seared into his soul, stretching time. It was that precise point which had divided his life ever after into two distinct parts.

Before her
and
after her
.

When his heart had been irretrievably lost.

And now, like a helpless planet to her sun, she pulled him into her gravity, held him tethered and thralled.

Miss Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight.

It had been four years, six months and—here Sebastian did a quick calculation—fourteen days since he had seen her last. He shook his head.

How
pathetic
that he knew that.

Her grandmother’s estate, Lyndenbrooke, was part of the local parish where Sebastian’s stepfather was vicar. Georgiana had lived with her grandmother at Lyndenbrooke for a year after her father’s death. That one glorious year in which she became everything that he knew he would never have. A high born heiress like Miss Knight did not marry a poor vicar’s stepson with nothing to recommend himself beyond a charming smile and goodnatured humor.

Such were the rules of polite society.

And as one who inhabited merely the edges of polite society, Sebastian knew better than most the power of such rules.

He stared at her across the ballroom, surrounded by eager swains, all desperate to win her attention. She was here as a distinguished guest, whereas he had only been invited as a local gentleman and distant relation to the earl. Someone who could be relied upon to dance with every wallflower and flirt outrageously with each widow.

Sebastian knew he had few uses in life, but charm was definitely one them. His lack of prospects were all that prevented Georgiana from considering him as a potential suitor. If he were wealthy and titled, then she would
see
him.

He tossed that thought around his brain. Tried to convince himself of its truth.

Tried to believe she was the kind of woman who cared about status and money.

She was not.

He watched Georgiana curtsy prettily to Lord Harward—Lord Stratton’s son and heir—and his new bride. Her long neck graceful, the pearls around her throat and elegant white dress proclaiming to one and all her eligible status as a wealthy debutante.

Lovely. Angelic. Always just out of reach.

Sebastian would just watch her from a safe distance. That would be enough.

But his feet had other ideas apparently, as he soon found himself threading his way through the ballroom toward her.

As he drew near, her head swiveled, and his heart thundered as he saw recognition dawn. One of her wide, glorious smiles lit up her face. Warm and welcoming.

It was enough to slay a man.

His emotions seesawed between excitement and dread, neither emotion quite gaining the upper hand. He swallowed, tight and hard.

There was no helping a greeting now.

“Miss Knight, it is a pleasure to see you.” Sebastian performed a short bow and gave her his melting smile. The one that his mother said could charm birds from trees. Granted, mothers
had
to say such things.

But Georgiana returned the smile in full measure. She was something of an expert in melting smiles herself, Sebastian realized. The kind that turned one’s insides to pudding.

“Mr. Carew, what a delight!” Georgiana curtsied in return. Her brother cocked a curious eyebrow, and she turned to him. “James,
this is one of my friends from my time with Grandmama, Mr. Sebastian Carew. Remember? I believe you may have met. Mr. Carew, may I present my older brother, Mr. James Knight.”

Sebastian executed another of his flawless bows, noting the resemblance between James Knight and his younger sister: golden hair, shockingly blue eyes, that same wide smile.

“Carew, eh?” Knight asked, also bending in greeting. “You are a relation of the earl?”

“Distantly. My father died when I was a babe and my mother remarried the local vicar.”

Knight nodded his head, casually scanning Sebastian’s attire. Noting the serviceable coat which didn’t fit quite as tightly as it should, the boots still shabby despite the hours spent polishing them. All the subtle telltale marks that did
not
add up to money, to prospects.

There was no judgment or condemnation in Knight’s eyes, thank goodness, unlike other powerful men. But there
was
an air of dismissal. That quiet assessment which instantly placed Sebastian into a box labeled ‘Not Eligible for My Sister.’ A look with which Sebastian was long familiar.

The orchestra struck up the first bars of a waltz.

Don’t do it. Do
not
ask her.

“Miss Knight, may I have the honor of this dance?”

He asked her.

Even a poor distant relation of the Earl of Stratton deserved a moment of heaven. A tiny taste of the life he would never have.

“Of course, Mr. Carew. I would be honored.” She placed her hand in his. Even through gloves, her fingers seared.

“Miss Knight?” she murmured as he led her to the dance floor. “Really, Sebastian, have we become so formal as that?”

Oh, how he had missed the sound of her voice in his ear.

“Well, I decided to have pity on your reputation and not call you ‘Georgie’ with everyone looking on,” he chuckled lowly.

She gave him another lushly wide smile and playful tap with her fan. “Heavens, but it is so wonderful to see you. How are you, my oldest friend?”

Gutted to the core at the sight of you but otherwise fine,
was what he wanted to say.

Thank goodness his mouth obeyed him enough
not
to say that.

“Delighted to see you, as always, Georgie,” he said instead.

He placed his hand on to the small of her back and twirled her into the familiar down-up-up rhythm.

This made four, he realized.

Four times that he had danced with her. And this was the first waltz.

It felt shockingly right to hold her in his arms, to feel her warm breath against his chin as she spoke. He saw her reflected in the mirrored walls of the ballroom. Tall and slender, white skirts swirling around them.

He had always loved her height, that he didn’t have to crouch down to talk to her as with other women. Being the tallest man in the room did have its drawbacks. As it was, her head still only reached his shoulder, golden hair contrasting with his brown.

Blood pounded in his ears. It was the worst sort of agony. Having her in his arms, feeling so much like home, and yet knowing there would never be anything beyond this moment.

Why was he doing this to himself? Dancing was only going to make everything worse. He twirled her once, twice.

“I assume you are staying at Lyndenbrooke with Mrs. Knight?” he asked.

“Of course. We just arrived earlier today. Grandmama has been happy of our company before we continue on to London.”

Georgiana stared off into the mid-distance, lost in thought.

“Still an expert at wool-gathering, I take it,” he said, suppressing a smile.

Georgiana started slightly and gave him a rueful grin.

“Please tell me your thoughts, at minimum, involved a dank castle and dastardly rogue?” He arched an eyebrow.

She laughed, quicksilver and bright.