The Chases came to me all at once. For my first books, I wanted to write about people who were affected by their times, and 17th century England seemed like the perfect storm of political and social upheaval. So the Chase siblings were born: strong personalities forged through childhood experiences of war, exile, and tragedy.
After their 7-book series, I was ready for a new direction but I wasn’t willing to leave the Chases behind! They felt as real to me as my own family. So I created a new generation of Chases in the elegant Regency era. I had a lot of fun tying these characters together across the centuries. Though over a hundred years had passed, traces of the original Chases are woven into the Regency novels, hidden in old portraits, hereditary traits, and family legend (the truth of which astute readers will know better than the Regency Chases do!).
My daughter and I are now writing Chase books set in the Renaissance era, so the tradition continues. Will I ever write about a different family? I can’t say for sure, but I'm not ready to walk away from the Chases yet!
I love to keep in touch with my readers! Join my e-newsletter to receive free and bargain book suggestions each week as well as new release bulletins. And if you fall in love with the Chase Family, I'd be thrilled to see you in my Readers’ Group on Facebook, where I share sneak peeks and gather suggestions from my favorite readers!
There are so many great romance novels out there—thank you for choosing mine. I so hope you’ll enjoy James and Juliana’s story.
Happy reading!
To see the Regency Chase Family Tree, click here!
For my best friend and fellow writer
Glynnis Campbell,
because she hates stories that include dancing at balls,
so I couldn't resist dedicating this one to her.
Thanks for your friendship—it means more than I can say.
ONE
The Foundling Hospital, London
Saturday, June 8, 1816
LADY JULIANA Chase's family often accused her of looking for trouble. Of sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Of exaggerating—if not outright imagining—other people's problems and sorrows and miseries.
But she would swear she'd never seen anything quite so sad in her life.
Upstairs in the Foundling Hospital's picture gallery, she stared through the window down into the courtyard. There, arranged in six neat, regimented lines, a hundred or more young girls performed calisthenics, resignation written on their faces. In all of her twenty-two years, Juliana couldn't remember ever feeling that grim.
"William Hogarth was a genius."
Sighing, she turned from the window to see her younger sister scrutinizing the art on the gallery's pale green walls. "I thought you preferred the Dutch masters."
"I do," Corinna said. "But look at the characters in this painting."
The work was titled The March of the Guards to Finchley, and the people depicted were, indeed, characters. Humor, rowdiness, and disorder abounded. "The drummer looks quite amused," Juliana said, swiveling back to look out the window.
The painting seemed a complete contrast to the figures outside.
Miss Emily Neville, Juliana's eight-year-old next-door neighbor, stood gazing through the glass beside her. "The girls don't appear to be ill. So why are they in hospital?"
"Hospital is an old word that originally meant 'guesthouse,'" Miss Strickland, the battle-axe of a woman assigned to shepherd visitors through the orphanage, explained in her no-nonsense way. "This is a charitable institution for children whose mothers couldn't keep them."
"My mother died." Still gazing outdoors, Emily absentmindedly raised a hand to stroke a slim, olive green snake that rested upon her shoulders. "May I play with the girls?"
Ranging in age from about five to perhaps fourteen, the children all had identical haircuts and wore aprons of stiff, unbleached linen over brown serge dresses. Juliana smoothed her palms over her own soft yellow skirts. "I'm afraid your snake might scare them."
"The girls aren't playing." Miss Strickland crossed her arms across her ample bosom. "They're exercising. Outdoor exercise is advocated for maximum health. And you couldn't play with them in any case, young lady, with or without that horrid creature."
"Herman isn't horrid," Emily said, slipping her hand into Juliana's. "He's just a common grass snake. Can't you tell by the black bars along his sides and the yellow collar behind his head? He's absolutely harmless, I assure you."
Juliana hid a smile. My, such a vocabulary for a girl of eight. Emily certainly was articulate.
But carrying a snake around was just not done.
Emily was Juliana's latest project, and Juliana was sure—positively sure—that with a bit of patience she could turn the girl into a perfect little lady. A few more outings with Herman ought to convince the child that the creature wasn't welcome in public.
She squeezed Emily's hand and turned back to Miss Strickland. "Do the girls ever play?"
"Of course they do," Miss Strickland said. "For an hour every Sunday." As though suddenly remembering her duty—principally to encourage donations—she stretched her lips in a smile that appeared rather forced. "Are you ladies enjoying your visit to the gallery?"
"Very much." Corinna moved to view the next painting. "George Lambert," she breathed. An artist herself, she'd suggested this day's outing to the Foundling Hospital's gallery. "What a lovely scene."
Mr. Lambert's picture was lovely, but Juliana couldn't peruse the painted people for long. Not when there were real people—disadvantaged children—to consider.
"What do the foundlings do all day?" she asked. "If they don't play?"
Miss Strickland squared her shoulders and began reciting by rote. "They rise at six and prepare for the day, the older girls dressing the younger children, the boys pumping water and such. At half past seven they breakfast, and at half past eight they begin school. At one o'clock they dine and return to school from two until dusk." She paused for a much-needed breath. "After supper, those not employed about the buildings are instructed in singing
